Lt Cdr Wynne
Roberts, being the Squadron C.O. had landed first. (MB 744) It was customary for
the ground crew to assist the pilot out of the cockpit on landing. My close
friend Glynn (Spiv) Daly was the C.O’s ‘airframes’ mechanic, and the ‘engines’
mechanic was Gordon Cansdale. Apparently Spiv and Gordon regularly competed to
be the first to climb onto the aircraft. Whoever won the race, would release the
pilot from his safety harness, and then claim prime position sitting on top of
the cockpit to watch the remainder of the squadron landing. The loser would take
second prize, and sit on the wing.
On this occasion, Spiv won the race. He released the C.O. from the cockpit, and
took up his position on top. Gordon had to be content to sit on the wing. The
next two aircraft landed successfully and parked up forward. The fourth aircraft
then came in to land. Unfortunately the pilot cut his engine when he was much
too high from the deck. Landing heavily, he missed the arrester wires and
bounced over the two crash barriers, hitting another parked aircraft before
landing on top of Spiv who was sitting on top of the cockpit. Gordon saw the
danger and was able to scramble along the wing and jump over the side of the
ship into the safety net. The aircraft’s batteries must have exploded on impact,
and Gordon was drenched with battery acid. Both aircraft were taken over the
port side into the sea.
The aircrew were recovered from the sea safely, the pilot suffering a broken
leg. However, my mate was never found, he was obviously sandwiched between the
two aircraft and had no chance. It was a terrible shock to me as we were very
close. Gordon was fished out of the safety net, washed down, and admitted to
sickbay with acid burns. He remained there for two days. (Relating this incident
some 53 years later, the terrific noise of that crash still haunts him).
The tragedy didn’t end there, my aircraft was the next, and last to land. Lt
Butterworth also missed the arrester wires, and bounced over the crash barriers,
finally going into the sea over the starboard side. Both aircrew were recovered
safely from the sea, suffering only from shock and bruises.
Another mate, John Crick also had a lucky escape from this second incident. He
had been sitting on top of a forklift truck watching the events, when he
realised that it was almost dinner time. He was on duty that day as mess cook.
The duties of a mess cook were to collect the food, in trays, from the galley,
and serve it out to his messmates. He had climbed down from the forklift truck,
and was making his way to the galley when he heard the terrific crash. He
realised just how lucky he had been, when he discovered that as my aircraft went
over the side, it had taken the forklift truck with it. As a result of these
accidents, the powers-that-be decided that we were out of flying practice and
were grounded until we arrived ashore at Auckland, New Zealand, in some three
weeks time.
Questions were starting to be asked, WHY! The official report given to the
newspapers was that when the ship was steaming directly into the wind, it was
also directly into the sun, thus obscuring the pilot’s vision. Everybody knew
what the real reason was, it was quite obvious that we’d had too much of a good
time. Flying from a carrier needs the utmost concentration and precision, and
the lifestyle that we’d all been living wasn’t conducive to these requirements.
One cannot ‘burn the candle at both ends’.
The older ‘regular’ servicemen put another interesting theory forward. When we
first arrived in Australia, the Admiral’s wife had previously travelled out to
join her husband. She became the first woman ever to stay on board Theseus. When
she arrived, there were murmurings among the older members of the crew. There is
an old naval superstition that any woman on a ship is bad luck, and they were
unhappy about it. The recent accidents were an opportunity for them to vent
their feeling again (but advisedly only among themselves).
No more flying for three weeks, so the next day started with squad drill on the
flight deck. This was to be a daily event until we reached the high standard of
smartness set by our C.O. Perhaps this was a way of taking past events out on
us. I suppose the officers had to release their frustration on somebody.
I had the task of collecting up all Spiv’s personal effects, which was an
unpleasant task. They were duly auctioned off in true naval tradition He had
been brought up in a Dr Barnardo’s Home, but had a foster mother so I assume the
proceeds from the auction went to her. I kept his station card – the navy’s form
of I/D - as a keepsake, and still have it.
The ship carried out sea exercises with the Australian fleet, and RAAF Mustangs
and Liberators frequently attacked us throughout the day.