Johnson - The last British Dambuster

SERGEANT GEORGE LEONARD JOHNSON was born in Lincolnshire in 1921, the sixth child of a farm foreman. On the outbreak of World War II he volunteered for the RAF. After completing initial training, Johnny was sent to the USA for pilot training but failed the course. He returned to England and remustered as an air gunner. In July 1942 he was posted to 97 Squadron, where he became a bomb aimer. A chance meeting introduced him to Flight Lieutenant Joe McCarthy, and they were soon flying together on a number of major raids before joining 617 Squadron.

Johnny went on to complete a further 19 operations with 617 Squadron before he was posted elsewhere. He remained an instructor until the end of hostilities. Post-war he served with 100 Squadron and 120 Squadron Coastal Command. In 1962, after a period in the Far East and a final tour in the UK, Johnny retired as Squadron Leader.

Following the death of his wife, whom he adored for over 60 years, Johnny moved to Bristol where he is supported and much loved by an extended family of three children, eight grandchildren and 18 great grandchildren.

Johnny Johnson is 92 years old and one of the very few men who can recall first-hand the most daring and ingenious air raid of all time. He can also vividly remember his childhood spent working on a farm in the 1920s, the series of events that led him to the RAF and the rigorous training that followed. But it was his decision to join 617 Squadron and the consequences that have truly stayed etched in his mind.

On 16 May 1943, Johnny, alongside 132 specially selected comrades, took off from Scampton airbase in Lincolnshire. For six weeks they had been trained to fulfil one mission that was near impossible: to destroy three dams deep within Germanys Ruhr Valley. It was a daring task but, against the odds, Johnny and his crew survived. Sadly, 53 comrades did not.

For the first time, Johnny relives every moment of that fateful night and the devastating aftermath. He recalls with unique wit and insight the difficult training conducted in secrecy, the race against time to release the bomb, and the sheer strength and bravery shown by a small unit faced with great adversity and uncertainity. Embodying a whole squadron, and leaving a lasting legacy for generations to come, Johnnys story is like no other.

I HAVE SO many people to thank for helping to make this story possible. In particular, my children, their partners and my grandchildren for their unfailing love, support and encouragement. The Morgan family, who showed me in those early days what family life could be like, and particularly Dave and Margaret, whose support in recent years has been so generous. Thank you to those friends who over the years have always been on my side. Not just Christmas card friends but people who make you smile whenever you think of them. Pip and Jean Mounfield, Ruth and Vernon Cavey, Jack and Kate Batty. To Joe McCarthy Jnr for his continued interest and for being a constant reminder of the man who probably had the single most important influence on my life his father. To the 617 Squadron Association who have shown their support at all times. More recently, Dave Harrigan and the team at Aviation Heritage Lincolnshire and Roger and Pat Wright, whose friendship is very important to me. To Terry and Sue Pendry, who made one of the most important days of my life possible.

In terms of writing this book, my son, Morgan, did most of the donkey work and listened to my endless ramblings over many hours together. Thank you to Mark Postlethwaite whose early encouragement helped to get the show on the road; Robert Owen, author and historian, for his authoritative help and advice; John Sweetman, author of Operation Chastise, which, in my view, is the definitive work on the Dams Raid and has been a constant reference work; and Gill Kelly and the Sternians Association for their remarkable archive material on Lord Wandsworth College, which helped me recall those pivotal years. And to all those people who scrabbled around old photo albums to find the right pictures.

A particular thanks to Sara Cywinski at Ebury Press for believing that this was a story worth telling and her constant encouragement. And finally my great thanks to Rod Green, whose insight and creativity have been so instrumental in making it all come alive.

I WAS NEVER frightened. Not when I was standing right there by her side. I knew that she would look after us, no matter what. She was a real beauty in her own purposeful way, and truly inspirational. I felt a great glow of confidence and enthusiasm when I leaned against her. I certainly wasnt scared not when I was standing next to Chuck-Chuck. I dont think any of us were at that point. Later, when we were up there in the darkness with German fighter pilots and flak gunners trying to seek us out and kill us, there would be plenty of time to be frightened. Chuck-Chuck, you see, was our Lancaster, our state-of-the-art warplane the pride of RAF Bomber Command and the envy of every air force in the world in 1942.

Having just spilled out of the crew transport at our dispersal area, we had a few moments before we were due to climb aboard, the chat and banter flowing seamlessly from the cramped confines of the truck or bus that had brought us across the airfield to the patch of grass where Chuck-Chuck was parked. Inevitably, cigarettes were fished out of pockets in our bulky flying gear and matches were struck. It never occurred to us that we shouldnt have one last fag before getting on with the job. Thinking back, it might indeed have been more sensible for us to have refrained. The Lancasters four Rolls-Royce Merlin engines were notorious for leaking oil, and Chuck-Chucks were no different. The ground crew used to cover the tyres on the undercarriage with tarpaulins to make sure that they werent corroded in any way or made slippery by dripping oil. So, lighting up while standing on dry, oil-stained grass next to an aeroplane filled with more than 2,000 gallons of fuel and loaded with over 6 tons of high explosives and incendiaries might not have been entirely safe but then, neither was flying off into the night to bomb Berlin. Even if it had been forbidden for us to stand there having a smoke, I daresay wed have sneaked one in anyway. What could they have done about it? Told us we couldnt go?

The banter amongst the crew was always quite buoyant, exactly as you would expect with any group of seven lads in their early twenties girls, beer, girls, football, girls, cricket, girls. I have to admit that I wasnt one of the most talkative of the bunch. For reasons that will become clear, I was a bit quiet, a bit of a loner. By no means did that mean that I was considered an outsider. I was very much part of the crew, one of the team, and that was the major contributing factor in the feeling of confidence that we all shared. We were a team and we knew that we could rely on each other. To say that your crew on a Lancaster was a family is a much-used analogy, but it is much used because thats what it was like, thats how close we felt to one another. For me, coming from a background that was sadly lacking any real family bond, the affinity that I felt with the rest of the crew was something new and intense. I treasured it, and still do.

I pitched into the chat from time to time and enjoyed my smoke, listening to the other lads taking the mickey out of each other. You might think that the chat was just bravado young men putting up a front to hide their fear from each other, maybe even from themselves. I dont believe it was that sort of bluster at all. It was just the way that we did things.