John Thomas (Jack) O’Brien in WWII - In His Own Words
Foreword by Rob Landsberry
Somehow my Mum managed to end up with a lot of O’Brien family material, but this one has got me completely stumped. Recently, as I sorted through yet more of Mum’s memorabilia, I came across 34 handwritten pages penned by my uncle, and Mum’s eldest brother, John Thomas (Jack) O’Brien. You can see the handwritten document by clicking here.
It documents Jack’s time as a pilot during WWII, spanning three separate periods:
Malaya – 1940 to 1942
Supply Dropping in New Guinea - 1942 – 43
Operations in Liberators in New Guinea - 1944
Small sections of this material were included in several books which cover the war in the air. These are documented elsewhere on the website (click here). But I believe that most of what follows has not seen the light of day for many years.
Along with the handwritten material, there was a typed transcript of Jack’s document, and at first I thought Jack may have given the material to my Dad (Alf Landsberry) to type up for him, as Dad was a shorthand/typist. But there are too many typing errors, misspelt place names, and other errors for Dad – he was an absolute stickler for getting those sorts of things right. And my Dad didn’t know the O’Briens at the time Jack wrote the letter and diary in 1944. My Mum was just 16 then, and she and Dad were yet to meet.
You’ll also notice at the top of Jack’s introductory letter to his father‑in‑law, Tom Flanagan (click here), there are the handwritten words “5 copies – Single spacing”. This doesn’t look like my Dad’s writing, nor does it look like Jack’s, so perhaps it belongs to whoever was tasked with typing up the document.
I discussed this with Jack’s daughter and my cousin, Mary Zabell, and one possible explanation is that after he got the document back from his father‑in‑law, perhaps Jack gave it to his Dad (Bill O’Brien) to read, and somehow it was never given back. Because Bill lived near our place until his death in 1974, when his house was cleared out, Mum ended up with material that crossed the various O’Brien families. So, perhaps that’s it.
Any information that helps to explain how this document ended up in my hands would be most welcome. You’ll be pleased to know that it’s now been returned to Jack’s children.
Whatever the reason, it was an AMAZING find, providing a first hand insight into the war in the air from a close relative, and in their own handwriting.
After discussion with a few people (Mary Zabell included), we agreed that I could make some editorial changes to Jack’s original document, to make it easier to read. These included some small changes to sentence structure, correcting a few spelling and grammar issues, changes to punctuation, and modifying place names where they were incorrectly spelt. I’ve also added some text in square brackets where place names have changed since WWII, and to provide additional context and links.
None of these changes takes anything away from Jack’s original intention, but if you want to read Jack’s account exactly as originally written, the handwritten version is here, and the typed transcripts are here and here.
Introduction by Mary Zabell (nee O’Brien)
My father, John Thomas (Jack) O'Brien was born in Cootamundra NSW in 1918.
John Thomas O’Brien with his sister Mary Caroline O’Brien in 1918
He was the second eldest of twelve children. At the time of writing the letter below in 1944, he’d been in the RAAF for 5 years, having volunteered in 1939. He’d been a bomber pilot who’d flown almost 100 missions through Southeast Asia, notably across the the Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia), Malaya, Singapore and New Guinea.
Family stories indicate Dad may have developed his love of flying from a visit, perhaps to Wagga Wagga, of Charles Kingsford Smith who was barnstorming around Australia raising money for another long flight. It’s said that, as a teen, Dad took a flight with Charles Kingsford Smith, but this is entirely apocryphal, and no evidence exists to support the tale. That said, the following press clipping does show that Kingsford Smith was in Wagga Wagga in November 1933 when Dad was 15.
Whatever the truth, Dad joined the RAAF in 1939 after returning to do his Leaving Certificate at St Joseph's at Hunter's Hill in Sydney, aged twenty. He’d apparently been determined to do it as fast as possible as he completed the year's course in three months.
St Joseph’s College, Hunters Hill, 1940
At the time of writing the following letter to his father in-law, Tom Flanagan, Dad had returned from operational service with the RAAF in Southeast Asia, and he, his wife Cecilia and their first-born child, John were living at the Tocumwal Hotel, with Dad serving at the nearby airbase.
RAAF Station Tocumwal was a major Royal Australian Air Force base established early in 1942 to provide a secure base for United States Army Air Forces heavy bomber units. It had been constructed by the Americans to support Australia's armed forces and their efforts to repel a possible invasion of Australia, with Tocumwal chosen as it was located in the far south of NSW, and was seen to be well away from the potential dangers of northern Australia.
While the USAAF doesn’t appear to have used the base, it was heavily used by the RAAF and, from 1944, it was home to the RAAF's heavy bomber support and operational conversion units including No. 7 Operational Training Unit in which Dad served as a flying instructor.
Group photo of air and ground personnel of No. 7 Operational Training Unit
Mum and Dad had married in Wagga Wagga NSW in 1942 and their first child John was born on May 26th, 1943.
Mum and Dad on their wedding day - 26 May 1943
At the time of writing the letter below, with its references to their uncomfortable lodgings in the Tocumwal Hotel, John Junior would have been aged about sixteen months and Mum recounted some interesting hurdles faced with the lady who ran the accommodation. She must have been a formidable and forbidding person because she refused to allow Mum to use the kitchen to boil an egg for John's dinner. What a battleaxe! Mum was forced to use subterfuge. She befriended the cook who allowed her to sneak down to the kitchen after dinner was completed and cook something for herself and the baby. Dad refers to moving into a flat and that this would be much more comfortable. I have no doubt Mum was behind the move!
Tocumwal Hotel 1940’s
The letter promised to recount Dad's 'adventures' while flying missions around the islands and countries of Southeast Asia. There are hair-raising accounts of damaged planes being carefully flown to bases, near misses and tragic losses of crew members which must have been unspeakably difficult to process. But duty was paramount and there was no time to mourn lost comrades. Perhaps the sheer magnitude of their task took over and allowed those pilots and crew to just keep going as best they could. I would not be writing this introduction if it were not for that indomitable spirit.
Letter from John O’Brien to Tom Flanagan
Tocumwal Hotel, Tocumwal
7/7/1944
Dear Mr Flanagan
You will find enclosed my story of my experience in ops of war. I feel that as a literary effort it is very poor, but I hope you will find some of the incidents and happenings interesting reading. Some of the Singapore dates may be a day or two out, but all the facts are correct as far as I can remember.
Unfortunately I have been very busy since I came back, and have been doing a lot of night flying, with the result that I had to rush through the story and haven’t had a chance to re-write it. However I hope you will be able to understand my very poor handwriting and excuse the untidiness of the epistle.
We move into our flat on Monday and I think it should be very good, much better than here at any rate.
Give my chin-chins to Mrs Flanagan, also Charlie and the Ities. Hope to see you again in a few weeks’ time.
Yours sincerely
John
A Note from Mary Zabell
You’ll notice that Dad refers to the ‘Ities’ in the above letter. The word ‘itie’ (pronounced ‘eyetie’) is a derogatory term for an Italian which emerged during WWII when the Italians joined forces with the Germans.
Dad’s mention of the ‘Ities’ in his letter is a reference to the fact that, during WW2, my grandfather Tom Flanagan had Italian POWs working for him on his farm at Ladysmith, near Wagga, NSW. There were several POW camps in the Riverina region of NSW, including one at Yanco and one near Hay. These camps were not only used to house POWs, but also Australian residents of Japanese, Italian and German descent.
After Italy signed an armistice with the Allies in September 1943, Australian authorities took between 13,000 and 15,000 Italian prisoners out of the POW camps and put them to work, mostly on farms, where there were significant labour shortages due to the war.
I have no knowledge of how Tom gained access to some of these POWs, but they worked on the farm for some time, and I think had quite good relationships with the Flanagan family.
One story my mother recounted, with some disgust, was concerning the Ities’ lack of appreciation for the food they were given. Or perhaps the Itie involved just didn’t realise what was happening. In any case, one of the Ities was tasked with carrying a plate of lamb loin chops up to the nearby woolshed to be used for lunch. Mum must’ve followed him a little later because she found lamb chops lying in the dirt at various intervals along the road to the woolshed.
She also told of seeing a photograph of one of the Ities’ family. One can only imagine their distress and homesickness. Living for years so far away from Italy and not being able to contact their loved ones must’ve made the incarceration very galling.
You can read more about the Italian POWs by clicking here.
Aerial shot of Laverton airbase - 1940’s
No troubles were experienced on the trip, and we landed in Singapore four days after leaving Laverton. This was just about 18 months before the Japanese War started. Singapore, we found, was a cosmopolitan city, but a good time could be had in various night clubs if one had plenty of spare cash. However I will brush over the Singapore and Malaya of peace days and endeavour to give an outline of my experiences in the Malayan campaign.
On the 6th of December 1941 No. 1 Squadron was stationed at Kota Bharu, Kelantan, about 16 miles south of the Thailand border. Apparently, Far East Headquarters had been nervous about the intentions of the Japanese for some time and had had us doing regular patrols from Kota Bharu towards Indochina [now Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos].
On the 6th of December 1941 one of our Aircraft on patrol found a large Japanese convoy rounding Cambodia Point in Indochina, and reported it as consisting of a battleship, 25 merchant vessels, and a large number of cruisers and destroyers. This intelligence was immediately conveyed to Far East Headquarters, and no doubt the whole world knew of it next day [the next day was the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour]. It is significant at this stage to realise that, although America must have known of the activities of the Japanese fleet and merchant marine, the attack on Pearl Harbour was a complete surprise.
However, to get back to the Japanese convoy, immediately it was reported, extra aircraft were sent out to shadow during the night, but unfortunately contact with it was lost, and it is assumed that it altered course up the Indochina coast into The Gulf of Siam [now the Gulf of Thailand].
However, about 7 o'clock on the night of the 7th of December, one of our patrolling aircraft located four merchant vessels escorted by cruisers and destroyers about 80 miles northeast of Kota Bharu and was fired upon by the Japanese. At this time we all realised that the war would probably start that night, so all aircraft were bombed up in readiness.
Our first indication that we were at war with the Japanese was machine gun fire from the beach four miles away.
Soldiers of the 5th division of the Imperial Japanese Army land during the invasion of Malaya in early December 1941
Just after midnight on the morning of the 8th of December, the Army reported four ships standing offshore with Japanese troops attempting to land. We immediately went into action and the first aircraft was airborne about half past twelve.
I was the second aircraft off to attack the shipping, doing a dive bombing and machine gunning attack on a large merchant vessel about four miles from the beach. It was a surprise attack, and I did not have a shot fired at me, but unfortunately my bombs hung up and would not release. I returned to the strip where the trouble was rectified, and I took off for another attack. The CO ordered me to do a search out to sea some 30 miles from the coast behind the merchant vessels to ascertain if there were any cruisers and destroyers out further, but to come back and attack the merchant vessels near the beach, as they were the number one priority.
I found several cruisers and destroyers out some distance from the coast and then returned towards Kota Bharu to attack the merchant shipping. Seeing a ship underneath me about 10 miles from the coast, I decided to attack. It was a nice moonlight night and going out wide I came in at sea level for a mast height attack. When within half a mile of this ship it put up such a concentrated ack-ack barrage that I realised it was a cruiser and veered off around its bows, taking violent avoiding action while my rear gunner machined-gunned the decks as we passed. Realising the mistake I had made In attempting to attack a cruiser from low level, I returned towards the merchant ships near the beach and carried out a mast height attack on a large merchant vessel which was stationed about four miles from the beach, apparently unloading troops, as it was surrounded by barges.
I encountered considerable light ack-ack fire during my bombing run, but took violent avoiding action and dropped my stick of 4,250 pounders across its bows, getting a direct hit. It is possible that my other bombs did considerable damage to the barges which were clustered around the side of the vessel, but it was too dark to say definitely.
There was considerable barge activity from the merchant vessel to the beach, and there was no scarcity of targets, which we machine gunned as opportunity offered while returning to the aerodrome.
When I landed, I had to pull in behind about half a dozen Hudsons all lined up with their crews clamouring for their aircraft to be bombed up. The armament section was completely swamped with the rapidity with which the Hudsons dropped their bombs and returned for more, and I had to wait about an hour and a half before my aircraft was ready for another raid. The Japanese ships were only eight miles from the aerodrome and a raid could be carried out from take-off to landing in less than half an hour. However I took off again just about dawn and found that the Japanese were withdrawing the remnants of their shipping northwards towards Singora in Thailand [now Songkhla].
An RAAF Lockheed Hudson of the type flown by Jack
The bombing attacks from the Hudsons had sunk a large Japanese transport just offshore from Kota Bahru and another large transport was on fire from stem to stern and subsequently sunk. While checking up on the retreating convoys course and speed, I was fired upon by the cruisers and destroyers who put a barrage of heavy and accurate ack-ack fire. I also ran into a formation of nine Japanese bombers over the convoy, who were I think, returning from the first enemy raid on Singapore. I had no difficulty In eluding them as there was a considerable amount of cloud cover about.
Unfortunately I was unable to report the position of the convoy by wireless, as my wireless set was unserviceable, and I had received orders before I took off to return to the aerodrome immediately and report its position verbally. This I did after spending a pleasant few minutes bombing and strafing all the barges and Japanese troops I could find in the immediate vicinity of the beach opposite Kota Bharu.
I had the pleasure of witnessing an excellent piece of work by two of our Hudsons at the same time. They had located about 500 Jap troops with 50 horses on a small strip of sand near the beach, and bombed and strafed them until not a living thing moved. After firing a few hundred rounds to add to the carnage myself, I landed and reported the position of the convoy, and a squadron of torpedo bombers were dispatched to attack but failed to do any damage.
A squadron of Hudsons had arrived from Kuantan just after dawn to attack the Jap convoy, but not knowing it had been withdrawn and was some 40 miles north of Kota Bharu, did the next best thing end attacked the barges and armoured boats that were still around in large numbers.
At about 9 o'clock in the morning, the Zeros attacked the aerodrome for the first time. They attacked It seven times during the day. During their strafing runs at different times, they destroyed or rendered unserviceable six Hudsons.
Zeros in formation over Asia
About midday the army reported a large transport and barges at the mouth of the Kota Bahru river [now the Kelantan River], so myself and two others were sent off to attack It. There was no sign of any large transport, but we found several armoured barges and other enemy craft which we bombed and strafed, sinking several and damaging others. However we could not sink the armoured barges. They were very small and hard to hit with bombs, and I fired a thousand rounds of ammunition at one barge without any visible effect. I could actually see my bullets bouncing off the armoured deck.
Captured Japanese Armoured Barge WWII
Each armoured barge was armed with a heavy machine gun in turrets fore and aft, and managed to shoot us pretty well full of holes, bursting a tyre on one of the Hudsons. However ack-ack is not nearly the hazard in the daytime as it is at night, and we strafed these barges with complete disregard for any ack-ack, mainly because we couldn't see any. This was the last operation I was destined to fly from Kota Bahru, as the next time I flew was at 4.30 in the afternoon, when we were forced to evacuate the aerodrome, which was only four miles inland.
Although It was reported we had killed some 12,000 Japs in bombing and strafing attacks, the remnants of the Japanese Force had succeeded in establishing a foothold on the beach, and were pushing Inland. They had infiltrated through the jungle and had captured the end of one of the runways. At about 3 o’clock in the afternoon the order was given to evacuate the drome.
The operations room and all the big buildings on the drome were set on fire, and everyone assembled and prepared to evacuate. The one landing strip still in our command presented an amazing spectacle with several crashed Hudsons and one crashed Buffalo strewn along its 1,500 yards of length.
A Japanese Zero fighter sits on the runway at R.A.A.F. Kota Bharu airfield after the site's capture by Japanese forces
Between 3 o'clock and 4.30 the Zeros were strafing us almost constantly and it was decided to evacuate our aircraft as soon as possible to Kuantan, which is halfway from Kota Bharu to Singapore to try and save them. The aircraft I had been using all night, Hudson A16-92, had been badly damaged by strafing and was unflyable, with all the petrol tanks and both tyres being badly holed. I was ordered to try and fly A16-23 to Kuantan. This aircraft had been badly shot up during the previous night’s bombing, and I found that a .5 calibre bullet had penetrated the side of one of the cylinders and had found its way into the combustion chamber. At that time I did not know that this bullet had penetrated the top or the piston, and with every revolution of the engine, it was pushed up against the top of the cylinder head. I flew this aircraft from Kota Bharu to Singapore in this condition, a distance of 350 miles, and when it was dismantled it was found that ail the rings had been welded to the piston, and extensive damage had been done to the cylinder head and walls. However, the motor kept going, which speaks volumes for the design of Pratt and Whitney engines.
Engine mechanics working on the Pratt & Whitney Twin Wasp engine of a Lockheed Hudson
However to get back to the story, at about 4 o'clock in the afternoon I climbed into A16-23 with 17 passengers to take off for Kuantan. I started the port motor OK, but the starboard motor, which was the one with the bullet in the engine, refused to start. I was giving this motor all my attention trying to get it started when I heard someone yell, and looking out the port window I saw about a dozen Zeros peeling off to strafe the aerodrome. They were obviously making for four Hudsons in line, of which I was one, so I decided it was time I left that vicinity very quickly.
I yelled to my crew to jump out and take cover, but before we could do so the Zeros were shooting. We were amazingly lucky as they picked out two other Hudsons and filled them full or holes, and we escaped unscathed. We all managed to eventually pile out of the aircraft and take cover while the Zeros strafed the aerodrome at will. As soon as they had gone, we jumped back into the aircraft and I managed to get the starboard motor started, although It was banging and spluttering badly. I immediately taxied up to the end of the runaway and started to take off. It proved to be a rather intrepid take-off, weaving in and out among crashed aircraft, but the starboard engine kept going and we made It OK.
Incidentally, I had warned my rear‑gunner that there were Japanese snipers and machine gunners on the end of the other runway and told him to keep a sharp lookout as soon as we were airborne. We were fired on as soon as we cleared the tops of the trees, and the rear gunner returned the fire and reported that he thought he had knocked a couple of Japs out of the trees.
Shortly after becoming airborne I sighted six Zeros cruising around about 30 miles south of Kota Bharu obviously waiting to descend on aircraft attempting to get away. I managed to give them the slip by flying about 10 feet above the beach alongside the coconut palms which were about 50 feet high and effectively hid me.
An AI interpretation of a bomber flying just above the beach
We arrived at Kuantan after an hour’s flight and landed just before dark and managed to get a few hours’ sleep. We were woken up about dawn by the air raid siren which announced the fact that we were about to be bombed. We were bombed three times while we were at Kuantan during the morning of the 9th of December. There were no ack-ack defences at Kuantan and the Japs’ bombers strafed the aerodrome in formation after bombing us.
Far East Headquarters ordered the evacuation of ail aircraft to Singapore island. I again took off in A16-23 with the dud motor and made it again, safely landing at Singapore just after midday. We immediately set to work to get our remaining aircraft serviceable. Of the 16 Hudsons we had at Kota Bharu, we’d lost nine, two being shot down during the bombing attacks, while others were so badly shot up they had to be destroyed on the drome. Our total damage sustained was two crews missing and nine Hudsons destroyed. This left us with only seven aircraft, so five crews were dispatched to Darwin to bring back five Hudsons.
For the next fortnight we were doing mainly recco patrols out into the China sea, and up the east and west coasts of Malaya, with occasional bombing attacks on Kuantan aerodrome which the Japs had swiftly occupied. On the 15th of December, myself and two other crews were called to the operations’ room and given a recco to do up as far as Kuala Pahang, just south of Kuantan and out to sea for 50 miles. We were told that a report had come through of a Jap battleship with escort In that area. Our orders were to attack the battleship on sight. Fortunately for us there was no battleship in the area, as we considered our chances of surviving an attack on a battleship in Hudsons to be practically nil.
On the morning of the 26th of January one of our recco patrols reported a large convoy consisting of several cruisers, about eleven destroyers, and three merchant vessels about 80 miles north or Singapore, attempting to land troops just north of Mersing, on the east coast of Malaya. The convoy had been located at 7 o’clock in the morning, but we were told to standby, and were not given the order to attack until 3 o'clock in the afternoon.
The attacking force consisted or nine Hudsons in formation with a fighter escort of six Buffalo fighters, the first and last time we received fighter escort during the Malayan campaign.
An F2A Buffalo Fighter
It took us less than half an hour to get to the target area. We were no sooner in sight of the Japanese ships, when some 50 Jap Zeros jumped on us from above. I was in the centre of a closely packed formation of nine aircraft and the first Zero attacked from above. With his first burst he killed my wireless operator, who was on one of the side guns, and also killed my second pilot who was sitting alongside me. My second pilot was killed by a bullet through the head, which afterwards struck me on the shoulder, knocking me over the controls, and lodging underneath my badges of rank on my shirt. The bullet when it struck me was apparently almost spent, although it struck hard enough to knock me forward over the stick, and it cut and bruised my shoulder.
We were at 7,000 feet when attacked, and the next thing I remembered was diving, almost vertically through clouds. I pulled out of the dive and remaining in the cloud I took stock of what had happened. My second pilot was obviously dead alongside me, when I looked back down the cabin, I could see that my wireless operator appeared to be dead also. I tried to call my rear-gunner on the intercommunication, but it had been shot away during the attack, and I was unable to find out if he was alive.
My second pilot’s feet were all tangled up amongst the throttle and bomb door levers, and I was unable to control the aircraft and lift him out of the way at the same time. I could not get my bomb doors open for bombing, so i Immediately decided to return to base.
The cloud cover was big lumpy cumulus from 2,000 to 7,000 feet, and about 7/10ths covered. The Jap fighters were playing a game of hide and seek tactics with the Hudsons. They would cruise around above the cloud waiting for the Hudsons to come out and then shoot them up. After several attempts I made my way from cloud to cloud and eventually got out of the area.
My aircraft, although considerably holed, was flying OK and I had no difficulty landing back at base. My rear gunner, when he stepped out of the turret and saw the two other crew members dead, received such a shock that we had to put him in hospital, and I had to get an entirely new crew.
Three days later, on the 29th of January, all the bomber aircraft on Singapore were evacuated to Sumatra, as too many of them were being destroyed on the ground owing to heavy Jap bombing attacks. The Japs attacked our aerodrome on Singapore almost at will because of the lack of fighter and ack‑ack protection.
In Sumatra we were based at a big secret aerodrome about 40 miles inland from Palembang, which we called P2 [note there were two airfields near Palembang: Pangkalan Benteng, known as "P1" and a secret air base at Prabumulih (then Praboemoelih), known as "P2"]. From P2 we carried out raids on the Malayan Peninsula by flying up to the top end of Sumatra and landing at Medan. From here we refuelled and carried out night raids on Alor Setar, Singora [now known as Songkhla], Penang and other Jap bases, as well as carrying out recco patrols out in the China Sea, east of Singapore.
On the 14th of February one of our patrols located the large Jap convoy which attacked Sumatra. It consisted of approximately 25 merchant vessels with cruisers and destroyers escorting. Eleven Hudsons were dispatched to attack this convoy. I was in the first flight of three Hudsons to take off. We formed up and headed for the convoy in formation.
Three Hudsons in formation
While flying past the main aerodrome at Palembang, which was about 40 miles from ours, we saw a large number of Jap parachute troops being dropped on the aerodrome. However we flew on and located the enemy convoy about 100 miles northeast or Palembang. We were flying at 6,000 feet above a layer of broken cloud, and we could see the convoy below through the breaks. I lined up on the convoy for the attack and opening my bomb doors I dived through the cloud on the tail of the leader of the flight. I broke out of the cloud at 3,000 feet doing about 270 knots and selected a large transport as my target. I released my bombs at approximately 1,500 feet and pulled away to go back into the cloud. The ack‑ack was getting pretty thick at this time. As we pulled away my rear gunner reported that all four or my bombs had hit the Jap ship which had stopped and was listing to starboard. I claimed this ship as sunk or badly damaged.
Of the 11 Hudsons which attacked the convoy, six were shot down by approximately 25 Zero fighters which were over the convoy. A seventh Hudson was so badly damaged that it crash‑landed on P1 aerodrome right Into the middle of the Japanese paratroopers. The crew escaped.
The leader of my formation was shot down just after completing his bombing attack, but I managed to get back into the cloud and escape. On returning to P2, I found the aerodrome covered in a pall of smoke. My first thought was that it had been bombed, but on landing I found that demolitions were in progress, preparatory to evacuating the aerodrome. When I landed I was ordered to load up my aircraft with personnel and fly to Bandoeng in Java [now Bandung].
The weather was bad, and I was unable to get into Bandoeng, and landed at Batavia [now Jakarta] instead, going on to Bandoeng early next morning. On arrival at Bandoeng we were ordered to go back to P2 and help evacuate the rest of the ground personnel.
I arrived back at P2 about midday on the 15th of February and found there were still a few aircraft on the drome, and these were preparing to fly to Java. All aircraft that could fly had been evacuated by nightfall, with the remaining ground personnel being sent by road.
From Bandoeng our squadron was sent to Buitenzorg [now Bogor City] which is about 20 miles west of Batavia. We only remained there a few days and only did one operation from there. We were bombed and strafed several times while we were at Buitenzorg, and several aircraft were destroyed. From Buitenzorg we moved to Kalijati which was a big aerodrome between Bandoeng and the north coast of Java. We were stationed there when Java was attacked on the night of March 1st. I was in charge of a detachment of 1 Squadron with six Hudsons, only two of which were serviceable for operations, the other four having been badly holed in the tanks, and with unserviceable electrical gear.
The organisation of the Air Force was in a state of chaos at the time, and everyone had to look after themselves. I managed to get all the aircrew with me billeted with some Australian and English people at a little place called Subang, about twelve miles from Kalijati, while our ground staff lived in huts on the aerodrome.
There were about 30 Blenheims besides our six Hudsons on the drome, and those aircraft constituted practically the entire Air Force of the Far East at the time.
Bristol Blenheim
Of the thirty odd Blenheims only seven were serviceable, so on the night of March 1st, when the Japanese attacked Java, those seven Blenheims and two Hudsons were all we had to attack the huge convoy which was reported to consist of about 100 ships. This was about the time of the naval battle off Java when some of Australia’s warships were sunk [this is a reference to the Battle of the Java Sea].
Several enemy ships were hit during the night’s bombing and two Blenheims were lost. Japanese troops started to land on the coast of Java opposite Kalijati at 3 o'clock in the morning. We had orders that all aircraft were to be grounded and dispersed by daylight, as we expected to be severely bombed after dawn. I had been up all-night getting aircraft bombed up and refuelled and getting assessments of damage caused from returning crews. I phoned these reports through at regular intervals to Far East Headquarters, which was at Bandoeng.
By daylight all aircraft were dispersed and at 6.30am I received a report that the Japs were advancing rapidly inland towards the aerodrome. I immediately rushed Into Subang and picked up all the aircrew we had billeted there and brought them back to the drome. I left Subang with the aircrews at 7 o'clock In the morning and I heard afterwards the Japs entered Subang at about 7:30. On the way back to the drome we ran into groups of Dutch soldiers in the trees alongside the road.
By 9.30 in the morning we could hear firing coming from the direction of Subang. By 10.30 the firing had advanced towards the drome and was quite close, and the English CO of the Blenheims and myself were standing outside headquarters discussing the advisability of evacuating the aircraft to Bandoeng. We had just decided to get the aircraft out when a Jap scout on a motor bike with a tommy gun mounted on the handlebars dashed past headquarters and machine gunned us as he went by. Fortunately no one was hit, and we piled into our cars and followed the Jap onto the aerodrome. This Jap was apparently an advanced scout and, having driven straight through the main gate of the aerodrome, he was engaged in shooting up everyone in sight. Realising that he would be quickly followed by a larger force we decided to get the aircraft off as quickly as possible.
Fortunately I had enough transport for all my ground personnel, and as the firing drew closer and it was obvious that the small Dutch force could not hold the Japs, I had withdrawn my ground staff to the opposite end of the aerodrome, and had them standing by for further orders. I hopped out of my car and handed it over to one of my officers with orders to contact the ground personnel and tell them to proceed to Bandoeng by road, while I dashed onto the aerodrome to fly out one or our four Hudsons that would still fly. Our other two Hudsons had been previously destroyed in bombing attacks by the Japanese. I got the Hudson started and took off just as four Jap tanks and several truckloads of Jap troops came In the main gate of the aerodrome.
All four Hudsons got off OK, although one was damaged by machine gun fire from one of the Jap tanks. None of the Blenheims succeeded in getting off and all were captured or destroyed, although most of the Blenheim personnel escaped. All my ground staff arrived in Bandoeng safely.
I reported the state of affairs to Far East Headquarters and had great difficulty In getting them to believe my story, until the Blenheim squadrons arrived minus their aircraft.
By this time it was obvious to everyone that Java would fall in a few days as the Air Force had been virtually wiped out, and the Dutch army was being overwhelmed. Our CO, a couple of our senior officers and I put our heads together with a view to evacuating as many of our personnel to Australia as possible.
All available shipping had been sunk a few days previously in one of the harbours on the south Coast, so that was out of the question. Eventually a plan was submitted to Headquarters to fly out the three Hudsons that remained (one of the four having been destroyed by a heavy bombing attack) to Australia and endeavour to pick up the rest of the Australian personnel at a rendezvous on the south coast.
It was decided to attempt to fly from Bandoeng to Port Headland in Western Australia, a distance of about 1,200 nautical miles. We realised the Hudson with its normal tankage of 530 gallons could not do this distance, so a scheme was worked out whereby 100 extra gallons was carried in the cabin in four-gallon tins. The refuelling had to done in the air and was accomplished by knocking out a side window, reaching out and opening a wing tank. Next, we had a length of rubber tubing which was thrust out the window and into the tank, leaving one end inside the aircraft. The petrol was poured out of the four-gallon tins through a strainer and funnel and down the rubber tubing into the tank. In this way an extra 100 gallons’ fuel supply was available, and we considered that would just about get us to Australia.
We took off on the night of March 4th at 11 o'clock from Bandoeng, with our improvised fuel system worked very well, and we landed in Australia at 9.30 the next morning, 5th March. We had no maps for the trip across, and on siting the coast of Australia, we hadn't the faintest idea where we were, so we turned starboard along the coast. We only had about 50 gallons of petrol left and were anxious to find a landing ground as soon as possible. After about five minutes we found a small township with an aerodrome and landed. We found we were at Roebourne some 50 or 60 miles south of Port Headland.
Welcome to Roebourne
Map of the route from Bandoeng (now Bandung) to Roebourne Australia, and then on to Melbourne
We arrived In Melbourne on March 6th and immediately reported to Air Board where we were taken in to tell our story to Air Chief Marshal Burnett, who was then Chief of the Air Staff.
Air Chief Marshall Sir Charles Burnett
We asked if there was any hope of getting Catalina flying boats to go back to Java to try and evacuate some or our personnel. However, we found that most of the available Catalinas had been destroyed at Broom two days before we landed In Australia. We went to Civil Aviation to try to get the Empire Boats to attempt the hazardous trip, but we found that they were not capable of doing the distance.
We eventually had to give up as a bad job our attempts to get assistance to our comrades in Java, as nothing could be done about evacuating them.
And so ended an experience I shall never forget, my only regrets being for the brave young men who were killed and taken prisoners during that short and hectic three-month campaign.
While the following article was not part of Jack O’Brien’s journal, the newspaper report of the arrival of their plane in Roebourne makes for interesting reading (Northern Times (Carnarvon, WA), Friday 1 May 1942).
Escape from Java – 11-hour Blind Flight - R.A.A.F. Men Land At Roebourne
A vivid narrative of events which culminated in a dramatic 11-hour blind flight from Java to Australia after the Japanese occupation was told today by an R.A.A.F. flying officer who was recently on active service.
"When the enemy made his big bid for Java, one part of a huge convoy of about 50 ships headed East of Batavia and the other part for Surabaya”, he said. “The man in the moon was on our side because in the moonlight we were able to see clearly the whole foamy wake of the convoy at 7,000 feet. From 6pm until dawn we bombed that convoy and the Japanese losses have never been officially assessed because they occupied the place next day by sheer weight of numbers. Next day their motorcycle troops attacked our drome, and we were told that if we could get away from the island in any aircraft to do so.
"I ran out into the clear space of the aerodrome to a Hudson, while Japanese motorcyclists sniped me with tommy guns. Soon the Hudson was as full of bullet holes as a colander, but I got her into the air. Then I wheeled around and shot at a Japanese who had been having a go at me.
“We made a beeline for Australia at 11pm and were in the air for 11 hours. Nobody in our plane knew where we were, as we did not have as much as a map or a light. At about 10 o'clock in the morning, after refuelling in the air, we landed near a little hamlet. I walked cautiously down the main street and scanned a sign on a store. It read Roebourne. This was a name I did not know. Several children ran inside, evidently mistaking our plane for a Japanese aircraft. Then a policeman came up recognising us as Australians. I have neve been so glad to see an Australian policeman.”
Article re the crew landing in Roebourne
Northern Times (Carnarvon, WA), Friday 1 May 1942
Supply Dropping in New Guinea 1942 - 43
In the words of John Thomas O’Brien
On the 11th of December 1942, I was detailed to lead a flight of three Hudsons from Bairnsdale to Port Moresby, for supply dropping to our forward troops at Buna. In all, there were 15 Hudsons dispatched from No. 1 Operational Training Unit Bairnsdale for the Job.
We struck a fair amount of trouble on the trip up, with weather and unserviceability, but I arrived in Moresby on the 14th of December. Most of the other Hudsons were already there and had already done a couple of trips over the Gap [The Gap, also known as The Kokoda Gap, is roughly 18 kilometres wide with a 610 metre elevation drop at each end that forms a ‘gap’ in the Owen Stanley Range in New Guinea. During the Pacific War, the Kokoda Gap was used by Allied and Japanese aircraft crossing the Owen Stanley Range as a gap in the mountains for aircraft flying from the north coast to the south coast or vice versa].
On the 15th of December, I did my first trip. The round trip was regularly accomplished in about 1½ hours. The first few trips we were dropping supplies from the air and returning to Moresby without landing. However it was found that too much of the tinned food and other supplies that we were dropping were being damaged, so we asked for permission to land and unload our supplies. There were several landing strips, all natural clearings, with the kunai grass cut down and left on the strips. Some of these strips, although very short, were excellent to land on, being very soft and springy, and they pulled the aircraft up in time quite comfortably. These strips were situated some four or five miles behind the Jap lines at Buna.
Between the 15th of December 1942 and the 10th of January 1943, I completed 50 trips across the mountains to Buna with supplies, equipment and army personnel.
Of the 15 Hudsons which were operating, two were destroyed by enemy action, one we believe being shot down by ack‑ack and three of the crew killed, the other being shot down by Jap fighters. In addition to those losses, three other Hudsons were badly shot up by fighters. I fortunately did not encounter any fighter opposition. On several occasions when Jap fighters attacked the transports In the Buna area, I happened to be on the Moresby side of the mountains.
On the 12th of January 1943 we were informed that our job in New Guinea was finished, and we returned to our unit at Bairnsdale.
Operations in Liberators – New Guinea - 1944
In the words of John Thomas O’Brien
After completing a Liberator course with the Americans at Charters Towers In Queensland, I was posted with four other Australian crews to the 60th Heavy Bomber Squadron 43rd Bomb Group of the 5th Air Force, which was stationed at Dobodura, New Guinea.
RAAF Liberator WWII
On February the 13th I did my first raid in Liberators, going along with one of the American crews as a passenger. The target was Kavieng. There was no fighter opposition, and the ack‑ack was light and inaccurate.
On February the 15th I was again on a raid on Kavieng, this time in charge of the aircraft myself, with my all-Australian crew. Opposition was again very weak, and the airstrip was heavily bombed.
My next show was to be Kavieng again, but we ran into bad weather and attacked the secondary target which was Rein Bay near Cape Gloucester. Due to electrical failure my bombs would not release, although we pulled and pushed every knob in the aircraft. I eventually had to get two of my crew on the catwalk in the bomb bay and release the bombs by hand. To accomplish this, five runs over the target were necessary. This raid was carried out on the 21st of February.
On the 27th of February I did my first raid on Wewak, when we attacked one of the four airfields. The ack-ack was heavy and fairly accurate, but there was no fighter opposition.
All these raids had been carried out at high altitude, ranging from 10,000 to 18,000 feet. However, on my next raid on the 29th of February, we bombed from 4,000 feet. This was a raid on the Admiralty Islands, the morning they were invaded. [For more on the Admiralty Islands Campaign click here – the campaign started on the 29th of February 1944 and ran through to the 18th of May 1944, when the Allies re-took the Admiralty Islands from the Japanese. The largest of the Admiralty Islands is Manus].
We took off from Dobodura in the early morning and bombed Jap coastal positions along the shore, just before the attacking force landed. It was a grand sight to see the cruisers and destroyers standing offshore and heavily shelling the beach near Momote Airfield.
On March 2nd I was again on a raid on Wewak, the bombing was good and large fires were started. Ack‑ack was still heavy, but our fighter escort kept them too busy for them to attack us.
On March 7th I again visited the Admiralty Islands and bombed Jap Coastal Batteries. No opposition. The weather was bad and only five of the B24s got to the target. We had to fly through a tropical front for some 200 miles.
Between the 7th and 13th of March we were busy moving from Dobodura to Nadzab. On the 14th of March I was on the raid on Aitape, where both strips were heavily hit and rendered unserviceable.
On the 17th of March, also on the 22nd and 25th, I did three more raids on Wewak. Opposition had decreased, and on the last two raids not a shot was fired at the Liberators, and no fighters came up to intercept. These raids were now carried out at 10,000 feet. Large fires and heavy explosions were observed on each raid, and it is believed considerable damage was done.
On the night of the 27th of March I was detailed for a night raid on Hollandia [now Jayapura] which was now the number one target in New Guinea. We flew from Nadzab to Saidor, where we were briefed and took off for Hollandia about one o'clock in the morning. This raid was not a success, all the Liberators running into foul weather, and most of them did not reach the target.
Three days later on the 31st of March, I had my chance and went to Hollandia on the 2nd big daylight raid. It was one of the juiciest targets I have ever seen. Hundreds of Jap aircraft on the airfield with practically no dispersal. Great damage was done among these parked aircraft with fragmentation bombs, and scores of them were destroyed. Some 50 Jap fighters attempted interception, but our P38 escort heavily engaged them, and they failed to carry out any determined attacks on the Liberators. The ack‑ack was fairly heavy and accurate, but the bombing was perfect, the airfield being completely straddled with bombs.
This was my last operation with the Americans, and I left them with I hope, a mutual feeling of regret. Their Air Force in New Guinea is doing a wonderful job and the Jap Air Force there has been practically knocked out of existence.
Squadron Leader John Thomas (Jack) O’Brien (front and centre) with his crew in front of the Liberator they flew on the Kavieng raids in New Guinea. This photo was taken on 5 April 1944 after those raids.
During my three visits into operational areas I have completed 98 operational trips, 35 being in Singapore, 50 on transport in New Guinea, and 13 with the Americans, involving some 300 hours flying in operations.
You can read more about Jack and his exploits in WWII in these stories:
Written by John Thomas (Jack) O’Brien, additional material by Mary Zabell, with editing and photos by Rob Landsberry, last modified 14 February 2024
Jack O’Brien – Air Force Cross
John Thomas (Jack) O’Brien was the second of Irene and Bill’s twelve children, and the eldest son. He joined the Royal Australian Air Force in January 1939.
Jack was commended by both his fellow pilots and his superiors as having fought bravely throughout the War in the Pacific. These are just some of the highlights of his WWII service.
He saw many of his fellow airmen die, including his own co‑pilot who was sitting right next to him.
He was shot in the shoulder and lost two crew members, still managing to make it back to base under heavy fire.
He was rendered unconscious, and when he came to had to pull his plane out of a spiralling dive.
He avoided an attack by a group of Zeros by flying at full tilt just ten feet (3 metres) above Malaysian beaches, sand whipping up all around his plane.
He flew planes that were only fit to be used as spare parts. Riddled with bullet holes. Damaged by flack attack. Pieces of wings and fuselage missing.
He limped back from Asia to Australia with a group of wounded airmen in a badly damaged plane, and having no maps or navigation equipment, no weather forecast service to help them, a missing wingtip, holes in the wings and fuselage, leaking fuel tanks, and damaged instruments.
You can read about Jack’s WWII exploits here. You may even want to read about two quite different paths through WWII here.
But this story is about Jack receiving the Air Force Cross.
What is the Air Force Cross?
While there is an Australian Air Force Cross, it didn’t come into existence until the 1980’s. An Air Force Cross (AFC) awarded prior to that was an award from the United Kingdom.
So, the AFC that Jack was awarded was a UK military decoration which was primarily awarded to members of the UK’s Royal Air Force (RAF) or members of a Commonwealth air force such as the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF). Like the Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC), the award of an AFC is in recognition of acts of exceptional gallantry while flying. The difference between the two is that the DFC is for flying in active operations against the enemy, while the AFC is for flying outside of active operations against the enemy.
That said the AFC and the DFC were both level 3 awards, sitting just below the Victoria Cross (VC) which is level 1, and the Distinguished Service Order (DSO) which is level 2.
I’m not sure of the specific acts which gave rise to Jack’s award. Perhaps one of his family may know that. But, if you read about his exploits while engaged with the enemy (which you’ll find here), then you’ll understand why some family members believe he should have been awarded the DFC.
To understand the importance of being awarded the Air Force Cross, you only need to look at a few statistics:
Just 444 have been awarded to Australians since 1918, with the last being awarded in 1983.
During World War II, only 198 UK Air Force Crosses were awarded to members of the RAAF.
And this was at a time when the RAAF had grown from around 3,000 personnel at the outbreak of war in September 1939, to a peak of more than 182,000 personnel in 1944.
Of those personnel, approximately 15,000 had been trained and deployed as RAAF pilots.
So, even if we were to assume that all 198 WWII Air Force Crosses went to RAAF pilots, that would mean that just 1.3% of those pilots were awarded one.
But it’s far more likely that those 198 AFCs were awarded across many different RAAF roles, in which case just one tenth of one percent (0.1%) of those who served in the RAAF during WWII would have received an Air Force Cross.
Whichever way you look at it, in receiving this award Jack was in very rare company.
What Does the Air Force Cross Look Like?
Jack’s Air Force Cross
The medal is a silver cross, 60mm by 54 millimetres. Its cross shape represents an aircraft’s propeller blades, with wings between the arms.
The front, as shown above, depicts Hermes, riding on the wings of a hawk holding a laurel wreath. Hermes is a Greek God who is considered to be the protector of human heralds, travellers, thieves, merchants, and orators. He can move quickly between the worlds of the mortal and divine because of his winged sandals, hence the connection with the air force, as I believe that a part of the kit for every pilot was a pair of winged sandals – pronounced “wing-ed sandals”. Of course, there was a high risk of getting them caught in the floor controls.
Hermes winged sandals
At the top of the upper arm is the royal crown, while the other three arms bear the royal cypher of the reigning monarch at the time of issue.
The back is plain, except for a central roundel bearing the reigning monarch's cypher and the date '1918'. Originally awarded unnamed, from 1939 the year of issue was engraved on the reverse lower limb of the cross.
Jack’s Citation
This is the citation which awarded Jack the Air Force Cross.
ROYAL AUSTRALIAN AIR FORCE
HONOURS AND AWARDS
AIR FORCE CROSS
SQUADRON LEADER JOHN THOMAS O’BRIEN (467)
CITATION:
Squadron Leader O'BRIEN was Senior Flight Commander of the Hudson Flight at West Sale, and then of the Hudson Squadron of No.1 Operational Training Unit at Bairnsdale from March, 1942, to September, 1943, and then completed a conversion course and short operational tour with the U.S.A.A.F. In April, 1944, he was posted to No.7 Operational Training Unit as C.O. Flying, on which duties he continued until July, 1945.
Squadron Leader O'BRIEN served with No 1 Squadron, R.A.A.F, in Malaya and Java prior to his evacuation, and subsequently completed 48 supply dropping sorties over the Owen Stanley Ranges during the Buna campaign, and 13 operational sorties with the 45th H.B. Squadron, 5th U.S.A.A.F.
This officer has completed 2282 hours' of flying, of which 1274 have been on operational duties, and 83 hours completed during the last six months.
PRIVATE ADDRESS: LADYSMITH, via Wagga, N.S.W.
Notification of the Awarding of the Air Force Cross
The Commonwealth of Australia Gazette of 12 June 1947 noted that “The Governor-General [Sir William John McKell] has received advice that the King [George V1] has been graciously pleased to approve of the following awards:”, and there followed a list of names under the heading “AIR FORCE CROSS” which included “Squadron Leader John Thomas O’Brien, No 467” as shown below. The London Gazette of the same date confirmed that this was no lie, and that the King himself had also approved the award.
This was confirmed in an article on page 7 of the Sydney Morning Herald of 23 June 1947.
Jack’s Award Day
Late in 1947, Jack was awarded his Air Force Cross at a ceremony held at Government House in Sydney. There were a few photos taken that day, as you’ll see below. Those photos show that accompanying Jack were his wife Cecilia, his Mum Irene, and his sisters Helen, Joan and Gwen. It seems that Jack’s Dad (Bill) wasn’t there. I can only imagine that there was something incredibly important on for Bill, as this would have been a very proud day for the family.
Officiating at the award ceremony, and also seen in the photos below were Lieutenant General Sir John Northcott and Air Marshal Sir John Patrick Joseph McCauley.
On 1 August 1946, Lieutenant General Northcott had become the first Australian-born Governor of New South Wales, going on to be one of the longest serving of the NSW Governors. Air Marshall McCauley, who was 19 years Jack’s senior, had joined the RAAF in January 1924, 15 years before Jack joined up.
The photo below was taken by someone from Jack’s family group as they entered the grounds of Government House.
Entrance to Government House Sydney on the day of Jack’s Air Force Cross awards ceremony
This is a photo of Jack’s support group – from left Jack’s wife Celia, followed by his sisters Gwen, Joan and Helen, and to the right is his Mum Irene.
Jack’s entourage on the awards’ day
The photo on the left hand side below is of Jack shaking hands with the NSW Governor, Lieutenant General Northcott. I believe that it was Northcott who would have given the AFC to Jack. You can see Gwen, Joan, Irene and Helen in the background looking chuffed to bits. The AFC is pinned just above Jack’s left breast pocket.
And the shot on the right is of Irene and Jack with Air Marshal Sir John Patrick Joseph McCauley after the award ceremony. Given that Jack and McCauley had joined the RAAF when it was relatively small, and that they’d served in similar places in both Australia and Asia, they would more than likely have known one another.
This last shot is also after the AFC has been awarded to Jack, as it’s pinned to his jacket. But unlike the other shots, everyone seems to be in a very sombre mood. I can’t be sure, but perhaps they’d been talking about their brother Alan who’d been killed over Egypt in 1944.
A sombre shot of Jack and his entourage after the awards’ ceremony
After just over ten years of service, Jack was discharged from the RAAF two years later on 21 April 1949.
Jack’s WWII service details
Written by Rob Landsberry, last modified 17 June 2023
Jack O’Brien in World War II
This is a part of the story of John Thomas O’Brien. John was Irene and Bill O’Brien’s second child and eldest son.
I say this is a “part” of John’s story, because there’s much more to be told than is written here, and I’m sure that one or more of his children will be able to put that together for inclusion as part of this project.
John Thomas (Jack) O’Brien
For my part, I always knew John Thomas O’Brien as my Uncle Jack who owned and ran a farm called Tilbuster in Armidale. It was a place I visited several times when I was a kid. They were fabulous trips. The life my cousins led there was so different to the life I had in Sydney. There are many treasured memories.
What I knew very little of about Uncle Jack was his record during WWII. Perhaps he was one of those who didn’t like to discuss his exploits. So many came back to civilian life just wanting to put it all behind them.
Jack had joined the Air Force on 16 January 1939, over eight months before the war started. I’m not sure whether he just wanted to fly, or whether he could see that there was a high risk of war, and he wanted to be ready to serve when it began.
What I’ve done in this story is to gather information from various books which mention Uncle Jack. These include:
War Without Glory by JD Balfe
Whispering Death by Mark Johnson
Australia in the War of 1939 -45, Air, Royal Australian Air Force 1939-42, by Douglas Gillison
And from those accounts, I’ve done my best to build Jack’s story in chronological order. Of course, others will likely have additional material which will help to fill this story out. If that’s you, please get in touch using the contact details here.
At the end of each quoted section, I reference the source and page number from the above list. Regular text (ie not as a quoted paragraph) has been written by the author based on a variety of material.
Shortly before midnight on 7 December 1941 word came that the Japanese had started to land 8 kilometres from Kota Bharu. The operations officer ordered the men to take the Hudsons and “sink everything you can see”.
At 3.30 am Flight Lieutenant J. T. O'Brien regular Air Force officer from Junee, New South Wales, who in time became Wing Commander AFC, took his Hudson on a search from Kota Bahru about 50 kilometres to sea. He found a cruiser and three destroyers heading off at speed into the north-east. He overflew them, turned and came back to attack the transports still disembarking troops inshore.
As he came in at full speed to bomb at low level, he realised he was zeroing in on the cruiser. A ghastly mistake! It was belching flak at him! It was fatal for Hudsons to attack cruisers at low level.
O'Brien swerved violently around the cruiser's bows and flew on inshore to the troopships. He found one, surrounded by barges and doubtlessly unloading soldiers. One bomb of the stick that he dropped hit home while the others would have damaged barges. He reported 'there was no scarcity of barges. We all machine-gunned them repeatedly as the opportunities offered on our way back to the aerodrome'.
War Without Glory - pages 40 to 41
In Jack’s own words, recalled at a later date:
Seeing a ship underneath me about 10 miles from the coast I decided to attack. It was a nice moonlight night and going out wide I came in at sea level for a mast-height attack. When within half a mile of this ship it put up such a concentrated ack-ack barrage that I realised it was a cruiser and veered off around its bows taking violent avoiding action while my rear gunner machine‑gunned the decks as we passed.
Realising the mistake I had made in attempting to attack a cruiser from low level, I returned towards the merchant ship near the beach and carried out a mast-height attack on a large merchant vessel which was stationed about four miles from the beach apparently unloading troops, as it was surrounded by barges. I encountered considerable light ack‑ack fire during my bombing run, but took violent avoiding action and dropped my stick of four 250‑pounders across its bows, getting a direct hit.
It is possible that my other bombs did considerable damage to the barges which were clustered round the sides of the vessel, but it was too dark to say definitely. There was considerable barge activity from the merchant vessel to the beach, and there was no scarcity of targets, which we machine-gunned as opportunity offered while returning to the aerodrome.
Australia in the War of 1939 -45, Air, Royal Australian Air Force 1939-42 - pages 210 to 211
Flight Lieutenant O. N. Diamond and his crew made a direct hit on a transport, just forward of its bridge, on their second run. It began to burn. They strafed the ship's decks before heading off, but anti-aircraft fire knocked out an engine and holed the Hudson's wings, fuselage and tail as they headed back to the airfield. Gunfire also damaged a Hudson flown by Flight Lieutenant J. K. Douglas DFC. He was able to get the Hudson back to base. Douglas, from Orange, New South Wales, was formerly a bank clerk. Two months later as the Japanese approached Banka Island to invade Sumatra, Douglas and his crew were shot down into the sea. All were killed.
War Without Glory – page 40
Lockheed Hudson
[Flying Officer Peter] Gibbes' Hudson and six others headed for the light-show created by gun flashes, bursts and tracers. When 500 metres from the source of these lights, he dropped close to sea level, opened his bomb doors and sped towards a shadowy vessel. Just 20 metres away he jettisoned his bombs, then swept over the target. Anti-aircraft guns chased them as they flew on, then he turned back towards his new home as quickly as possible. It was the first of numerous 15 - 20 minute shuttles the Hudsons would make as they bombed, strafed, replenished their weapons (a five‑minute job) and returned to the action. Refuelling was not necessary after each sortie, as the enemy was just a few kilometres away. On returning to base from one flight, a crewman was smoking the same cigarette lit on take-off.
Whispering Death – page 62
Wing Commander Davis called a halt at 5 am for the Hudsons to be refuelled, rearmed and inspected for damage. The crews were questioned by Intelligence. Who could make accurate assessments in the heat and hazards of the battle that had been going on? But by their reports one enemy ship had been blown up; one was burning, all troopships had been damaged and there were hundreds of Japanese bodies. Twenty-four barges had been sunk or overturned in the heavy sea that was running. The naval vessels were moving off to the north-east.
Two Hudsons had been lost. Nearly all had been damaged in some way or other, several so that they could not fly again that night.
The vessel blown up was one of the landing fleet's four transports, Awagisan Maru of 9855 tonnes. She finally sank, hit by ten bombs. No. I Squadron's bombs were the first to be dropped against the Japanese in the Pacific—South East Asia war and Awagisan Maru was Japan's first ship lost.
War Without Glory - pages 40 to 41
Awagisan Maru (aka also known as Awajisan Maru or Awagisan Maru)
The first Japanese casualty
After refuelling, the Hudsons resumed their attacks. They pressed the enemy fleet as it withdrew, until finally it was lost from sight under the monsoonal cloud. The air defence was then directed wholly to the three points on the Kota Bahru landing beaches where the Japanese had come ashore. The Hudsons followed them as they moved inland and in barges towed along the Kuantan River. By dawn on 8 December, No. 1 Squadron had flown seventeen attacks, ten of them on the invasion fleet and landing barges, seven on the troops ashore, who also faced a regiment of 8th Indian Brigade Dogras. They confronted the Japanese along eight kilometres of beach and sixteen of river front.
A brigade of Indians was spread widely over the Kota Bahru area. The beaches near them were heavily wired and had concrete pillboxes spaced at every 900 metres. Their crossfire was a deadly menace to the landing invaders, pinning them down and causing heavy losses.
Flight Lieutenant O'Brien returned from another search and reported that he had seen the cruiser, destroyers and transports high-tailing it out from Kota Bahru still on the previous course but overhead were nine Japanese bombers, the first sighted. His crew sank six more barges on the way home. By this time the enemy had knocked out two of the strong points in the beach defences and cut their way through the wire. Hudsons from No. 8 Squadron down at Kuantan were coming in to join with No. 1. But the Japanese were moving inland and fanning out toward Kota Bahru airfield.
War Without Glory – pages 40 and 41
Jack (front and centre) with his crew
I discovered more about the photo above here. It’s a group portrait of RAAF men who were training with US airmen under the command of Lieutenant General George Kenney, United States Army Air Force, in a manned US Consolidated B24 Liberator aircraft on a mission to Kavieng. Left to right, back row: Sergeant (Sgt) Kenneth Charles Murray of Sydney, NSW, wireless air gunner; Sgt Alan Grant Harvey of Sydney, NSW, wireless air gunner; Sgt W. Loftus of Sydney, NSW, engineer; Sgt H. Wilmington of Berniden, Qld, gunner; Sgt D. Anderson of Melbourne, Vic, gunner. Front row: Pilot Officer J. Gilbert of Parkes, NSW, bombardier; Flying Officer (FO) MacPherson of Brisbane, Qld, co-pilot; Squadron Leader J. T. O'Brien of Sydney, NSW, pilot; FO A. W. Ducas of Perth, WA, gunner; Flight Lieutenant D. W. Brisbane of Sydney, NSW, navigator.
Of course, those who know their history, and who saw the date of this battle above, will know that during this battle, Pearl Harbour was also being attacked. In fact, the event familiarly known as “Pearl Harbour” was an all-out lightning strike on US and British holdings throughout the Pacific. On a single day, the Japanese attacked the US territories of Hawaii, the Philippines, Guam, Midway Island, and Wake Island. They also attacked the British colonies of Malaya, Singapore, and Hong Kong, and they invaded Thailand.
I guess the fact we refer to that day as “Pearl Harbor” reflects the US-centric view of the world. As the US President, Franklin D Roosevelt said the following day, “Yesterday, December 7, 1941 - a date which will live in infamy - the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by the naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan”.
From the Japanese perspective, the whole day was a phenomenal success. Japan never conquered Hawaii, but within months Guam, the Philippines, Wake, Malaya, Singapore, and Hong Kong all fell under its flag. Japan even seized the westernmost tip of Alaska, which it held for more than a year.
It’s interesting to note that the invasion of Malaya preceded the attack on Pearl Harbor by an hour and a half, making it the first Japanese campaign of World War II, which therefore makes the Awazisan Maru (also known as Awajisan Maru or Awagisan Maru) the very first casualty in the war with Japan.
The following day – 8 December 1941 - it became clear that the Japanese invasion had been successful and had involved a very large group across a huge amount of territory.
The Kota Bahru based squadron was ordered to destroy the damaged Hudsons and the main buildings, and then make their way to Kuantan.
Flight Lieutenant Douglas whose aircraft had been damaged in the night attacks on the fleet, knew that its wing flaps, used in taking off and landing, had been put out of action. They would not stay retracted, and crept down while the Hudson flew straight and level during the cruise.
Nor would the undercarriage come up from the wheels-down position. The systems to retract the flaps and raise the wheels had both been shot through. The drag that this would create would slow his Hudson by at least 100 kilometres an hour and make it 'cold meat' for any Japanese. Douglas tied the flaps up with wire and, picking up nine airmen ground crew as he taxied to the runway, took off and flew to Kuantan. He landed safely at dusk. A week later Flight Lieutenant Douglas was killed in action.
Flight Lieutenant O'Brien crammed seventeen men into his aircraft, as well as the stores aboard. He gathered speed agonisingly on the soaked airfield, lumbered the Hudson into the air at the very last moment and fairly groped his way out over the treetops. Enemy machine gunners and riflemen poured fire at the escaping plane. As it lifted clear of the trees O'Brien's gunner fired back. The Hudson was damaged.
Forty kilometres along the way, six Zeros jumped the fleeing Hudson as it headed for Kuantan. There was only one slim chance of escape. O'Brien took the Hudson down and held it, on full power, only two metres above the beaches and as close to the fringing coconut palms as he dared. The Hudson's airscrews a metre off the sand, whipped it up like the dust plume behind a car.
But the risk paid off and the gods were with the Hudson's petrified passengers. Nothing could have saved them if even one of the Zeros had been able to get into firing position behind O’Brien, but he had outwitted the Japanese pilots. The overloaded Hudson reached Kuantan.
War Without Glory - pages 47 to 48
This same incident is described on page 218 of Australia in the War of 1939 -45, Air, Royal Australian Air Force 1939-42
Flight Lieutenant O’Brien, in a damaged Hudson with 17 passengers aboard, was fired on by Japanese machine gunners and rifleman as soon as his aircraft cleared the treetops, and his rear gunner returned the fire. He evaded six Zeroes about 30 miles south of Kota Bharu by flying about 10 feet above the beach beside coconut palms.
Some six weeks later, on 24 January 1942, a Japanese convoy was spotted making its way to Endau. It consisted of two cruisers, twelve destroyers, two 12,000 tonne troop transports, and three invasion barges. They landed troops at Endau and captured it quickly. First Hurricanes, then Buffaloes, Vildebeestes and Albacores set about attacking the convoy, although there numbers were low due to many planes being damaged. The final attack wave consisted of half a dozen Hudsons from 62 Squadron, which had flown up from Sumatra to take part.
Flight Lieutenant J. T. O'Brien, who had flown so well at Kota Bahru, lost his navigator/second pilot Flying Officer D. Hughes and radio operator Sergeant E. J. Silk by gunfire. Both were twenty-year old Victorians. O'Brien wrote of the attack in words that disclosed his controlled distress at the deaths of his crewmen and the ordeal that he suffered in the cockpit as the zeros killed them.
War Without Glory – page 77
We were no sooner in sight of the Japanese ships, when some 50 Jap Zeros jumped on us from above. I was flying in the centre of the closely packed formation of nine aircraft and the first Zero attacked from above.
With his first burst he killed my wireless operator [Silk], who was on one of the side guns, and also killed my second pilot [Hughes] who was sitting alongside me. My second pilot was killed by a bullet through the head, which afterwards struck me on the shoulder, knocking me over the controls, and lodging underneath my badges of rank on my shirt. The bullet when it struck me was apparently almost spent.
We were at 7,000 feet when attacked, and the next thing I remembered was diving, almost vertically through clouds. I pulled out of the dive and remaining in the cloud I took stock of what had happened.
I tried to call my rear-gunner on the intercommunication, but it had been shot away during the attack, and I was unable to find out if he was alive. My second pilot's feet were all tangled up amongst the throttle and bomb door levers, and I was unable to control the aircraft and lift him out of the way at the same time. I could not get my bomb doors open for bombing so decided to return to base.
The cloud cover was big lumpy cumulus from 2,000 to 7,000 feet, and was about 7/10ths covered. The Jap fighters were playing a game of hide and seek tactics with the Hudsons. They would cruise around above the cloud waiting for the Hudsons to come out and then shoot them up. After several attempts I made my way from cloud to cloud and eventually got out of the area.”
Australia in the War of 1939 -45, Air, Royal Australian Air Force 1939-42 – page 345
When I interviewed my Mum (Gwen, Jack’s sister) in 2002 for the Cousins’ Reunion video, she recalled this about the incident above.
Mum used to relate Jack’s store about when he was shot through the shoulder and where the plane was hurtling to the ground and he was unconscious and he came to just before he hit the ground and pulled the plane out of the dive, and I thought to myself, oh gosh, Mum’s getting a bit carried away here, you know. Anyway, I was appalled when I read the article in a book we had, that it had happened exactly how Mum had said, and I looked up to heaven and I said, “I’m sorry Mum”.
The Hudsons then moved to P2, one of two airfields on the Musi River near Palembang on Sumatra, Indonesia – the other being P1. On 13 February 1942 a Hudson flew out from P2 and confirmed that the Japanese were on course for the Bangka Strait which separated Bangka Island from Sumatra.
It was a powerful force of two light cruisers and eight destroyers escorting twenty-two troop transports. It was clear that they were aiming to capture Palembang. Later Japanese records show, that unknown to the men at Palembang, there was a second and even larger convoy of ships nearby – four heavy cruisers, one light cruiser, eight more destroyers and a light aircraft carrier. This combined fleet was the largest the Japanese had used in Southeast Asia.
The Hudsons were ordered to load bombs and they took off at dawn on Valentine’s Day 1942. I include this lengthy section here, not because it contains a lot about Jack, but because it shows that these were just ordinary guys doing extraordinary things in the most desperate of circumstances. The story of No. I Squadron's Flight Lieutenant O. N. Diamond towards the end of this section could have happened to any one of these crews, Jack’s included, and as J D Balfe says below, “There is an honoured place in history for the determination and heroism of the Hudson crews at Palembang.”
The attack on the task force was intense. All hell broke loose. Low cloud, darkness and scattered rain at first hid the enemy and made low flying doubly dangerous, apart from all else, until dawn’s early light. Only the enemy's gun flashes indicated where the convoy was. As dawn broke, Hudsons and Blenheims dived through heavy anti-aircraft fire at the best targets offering, each attacking individually, choosing their own targets to divide the protecting Zeros with tactics that had proved their value at Endau.
While some of the transports were moving into the mouth of the Musi to get as far as they could up the river and land troops, 8 Squadron went after them. In approaching to bomb they were themselves intercepted by Zeros about 15 kilometres from the targets. The broken cloud cover saved them and might have saved the transports too. The Hudsons managed to fly through the cloud, avoid the Zeros, hold their attack course, and complete their bomb runs. All crews bombed as best they could, but the cloud obscured the total damage done.
One Hudson and crew was lost. Flight Lieutenant J. K. Douglas DFC, after leading his flight to the targets, dived down-sun at a ship in attack then climbed away for a second run, but as he did his Hudson reared, hit by anti-aircraft fire, stalled, fell out of control, and crashed into the sea. Every member was killed. Douglas, with No. 1 Squadron, was twenty‑five, a bank clerk from Orange, New South Wales.
Flight Lieutenant John O'Brien who flew with distinction for No. 1 Squadron at Kota Bahru and Endau, scored direct hits on a transport, set it afire and left it listing. Three other Hudsons scored hits.
War Without Glory – pages 141 to 145
When every Hurricane from PI was airborne and out of radio range defending the attacking Hudsons and Blenheims, Palembang's observer corps reported about 8 am that a large hostile formation of enemy aircraft was approaching. This was the raid force that attacked the airfields ahead of the paratroop attacks on PI fighter field and the main Palembang oil refinery.
All ground forces under RAAF Group Captain McCauley’s command at P2 were now engaged against the Japanese forces making their way up the Musi River from the coast. P2 could not help PI fend off the attack being made on it. The British anti-aircraft gun crews, RAF airfield defence men and Dutch infantry holding back the paratroop attacks were inflicting and suffering casualties. The anti-aircraft guns had to be withdrawn to Palembang out of ammunition. The RAF 60-man airfield defence team stayed at their posts with the Dutch infantry. The Japanese blocked the road from the airfield to Palembang. A night attack on PI seemed inevitable when this small force was finally withdrawn, food and ammunition supplies desperately short. They trekked through the jungle for a gruelling week to the west coast, then south and eventually re-joined their units in Java.
Only a fierce encounter dislodged the paratroops entrenched at the oil refinery. The enemy approach up the river now threatened the Allied possession of Sumatra, no less, and the battle over Banka Strait was becoming costly for the Allies. Records of the battle are hazy but Group Captain McCauley appeared to have twenty-two Hurricanes and thirty-five Blenheims, and only three Hudsons of his P2 group left in the fight. The Australian squadrons had suffered severely.
Gibbes's Hudson was the only one to return from a flight of five. Two of them were from 1 Squadron, the other three were RAF. Gibbes survived by using cloud cover after making his bomb run hitting a transport. His colleague Flight Lieutenant Lockwood, in the other 1 Squadron Hudson, was last seen going down over the sea with smoke streaming from an engine, two Zeros close behind pouring gunfire into it. The three RAF Hudsons were lost, presumably to Zeros.
There is an honoured place in history for the determination and heroism of the Hudson crews at Palembang, and that of No. I Squadron's Flight Lieutenant O. N. Diamond and his crew illustrates it well. They endured an ordeal that would try the hardiest in battle. Two Navy Zeros got the crew's Hudson in their sights and shot its starboard engine out of action, one landing wheel off, and chunks out of its tail. Diamond was able to stay in the air only at full take-off power on the port engine. He flew up the Musi River to Palembang from the coast at 30 metres, managing to dodge the Zeros' pursuit until he crash landed the Hudson on PI without injury to anyone.
The crew scrambled out only to find Japanese forces pressing their attack on the airfield. There was machine gun and rifle crossfire everywhere and the defenders' AA guns raked the field as artillery. They raced to a Hudson that they saw standing by the runway and which, unknown to them then, happened to be the 8 Squadron aircraft that had landed there at dawn after shearing off its propeller blade tips. Diamond tried everything he knew to get the Hudson into the air, got its engines started, and began a take-off run but 40 knots was the top speed that the aircraft could reach, about half the minimum speed needed for lift-off.
The crew tried every aeroplane on the field but all were damaged. None could be flown but they did not give up. Diamond led his team in a dash across the field into the bordering scrub and rice fields where they crawled over leech infested ground until they outwitted half a dozen Japanese who chased them with hand grenades. They kept going for ten hours, met Allied troops, and made their way with them into Palembang by next day, back to P2 for duty. Diamond, twenty-six, a dry cleaner from Brisbane, had been in all battles since Kota Bahru.
After thirty hours of battle, 225 Group command office in Palembang informed Group Captain McCauley that PI was being abandoned and he should prepare to abandon P2. Secret documents were destroyed, stores, rations and equipment collected for dispersal. About twenty flyable Hudsons - seven of them from 1 Squadron and four from No. 8 - loaded men and equipment and left for Java. McCauley delayed bomb, fuel and ammunition demolition when he received reports there that the defending ground forces were gaining the upper hand over the Japanese. Group decided then on its aircraft recall that was never delivered and the Hudsons flew on.
No. 1 Squadron's ground crews worked magnificently to get any Hudsons still unserviceable into the air. Using a bayonet, and tools from a steam roller, they replaced an aileron on one aircraft and an engine in another. P2 spent all that night getting its Blenheims and Hurricanes off into the Banka battle again at dawn. Fog delayed the take-off, but by dawn three Hudsons, flyable again, were off - one from No. 1 Squadron and two from No. 8. Three Blenheims flew behind them, just above the fog.
Zeros attacked them over Palembang. The Hudsons dived into the fog and escaped them. Three times No. 1 Squadron’s Hudson tried to break out of the fog, but Zeros were waiting for it. It had to turn back in and escape to P2 by flying down 30 metres in the fog. The two 8 Squadron pilots, Flight Lieutenant Ron Widmer DFC who had shot down a Mitsubishi bomber off Kuantan in December, and Flying Officer J. Lower, formerly a manufacturing chemist in Adelaide, saw twenty‑three enemy ships below. They scored near misses and a Blenheim did the same, but the other Blenheims went for troop barges and sank at least five. The squadrons made five more attacks on that day.
Although the Japanese captured Palembang quickly, they did not do so easily nor as cheaply as they won Kota Bahru and Endau. They paid heavily in men among the 10,000 that they landed. As the enemy troop barges moved up the river, the fighters covering them had to fly back to bases to refuel and rearm after the day's first clashes. Their absence on the third morning let the Hurricanes loose among three waves of fully laden barges with horrendous slaughter.
Hudsons and Hurricanes joined in on the way back from convoy attacks. Twenty barges were strafed. Japanese bodies strewed the river like 'a bowl of water in which a box of matches had been emptied'. Three transports were hit, one of them sank and three Zeros met their end. More Zeros were sighted stranded on Banka Island and destroyed. But when the third paratroop drop was made over PI that morning, the main Japanese force was coming up the river. They had the initiative, and the weight of their attack was growing.
War Without Glory – pages 141 to 145
You can read more about the Battle of Palembang here.
The Hudsons moved to Java later in February of 1942, as the Japanese continued to advance on the Island.
There were Hudson pilots and crews-in Java with No. 1 Squadron who had flown in every battle in the last three months from the first at Kota Bahru. Their survival testified as much to the miracle of the fact as it did to their flying capacity and personal strength. They faced another battle as the Java invasion approached, perhaps the last for them in Southeast Asia. Certainly it would be the biggest, with the odds more against them than at any other time before. The war would not end in Java but the battle for it would end only one way.
Flight Lieutenants Peter Gibbes and John O'Brien were among those men.
War Without Glory – pages 152 and 153
As the fall of Java became imminent, the Hudsons that remained serviceable, escaped to Bandung. This is the story of how Jack got back from there to Australia.
Word came to Bandung on 8 March that Java had fallen. The squadron was to destroy all equipment that might be of any use to the Japanese. This included the Hudsons, their remaining stores and spare parts. Petrol was obtained to burn them.
Gibbes found Wing Commander Davis and said to him:
Sir, rather than destroy these aircraft I am prepared to have a go at getting one of them back to Australia. I know what doing it would involve and that neither aircraft is airworthy, but I feel that is the least of our worries at times like this. I could take some wounded perhaps. Instead of me setting fire to my aeroplane will you give me permission to fly it back? My aircraft is A 16-89.
Wing Commander Davis pondered, then agreed.
Gibbes spread the word that he was going. His crew leaped at the idea of going with him, the alternative being captivity or worse. He emphasised the dangers inherent. They did not have adequate maps or navigation equipment, no weather forecast service to help them, nor could they be sure how the Hudson would perform. A piece of one wingtip was missing and there were many holes in the wings and fuselage.
The state of the wing tanks was a gamble as bullets would almost certainly have gone through them. The tanks were self‑sealing but not to be trusted. There were fuel leaks, and instruments had been damaged. No one knew how the compass would behave after all that it had been through. They would be aiming for the westernmost point of Australia 1,200 miles (1,800 kilometres) away, could miss it and go on into the wastes of the Indian Ocean.
Petrol was another problem. The crew could not predict how long fuel tanks would last them, with the leaks and probable bullet holes. The crossing to the Australian coast from Bandung would stretch the Hudson's range over ocean as lonely as any in the world. Beaten-up and holed, the aircraft would not reach normal cruise speeds:
Then someone had an idea. We checked and found that we could reach out to the wing tank filler caps by breaking the nearest side window in the fuselage. We loaded 18-litre cans - the old four‑gallon tins - of petrol into the cabin and took along a length of hose.
That way, we thought, we could siphon petrol out into a tank, perhaps even pour it by holding up the can, and refuel in flight if the leaks turned out to be as bad as we feared.
Tony Jay co-pilot, Sid Manners radio operator and waist gunner, Charlie Mills rear turret gunner, each set about scrounging equipment, needed and they got it - the tins of spare fuel, life rafts as we thought it likely that we might have to ditch in the sea, emergency rations, life jackets, a variety of things.
Tony and I argued a while about the winds that we might encounter and finally settled on a course to fly, one which would bring us to the Australian coast somewhere between Darwin and North West Cape, we hoped.
Gibbes did not have any say in who would be his wounded passengers. That was decided between the medical officer and the C.O., but he was pleased to learn that they had been well chosen, especially Flight Lieutenant John O'Brien. O'Brien had been shot in the shoulder while flying in the Endau battle while his co-pilot had been killed alongside him. O'Brien had flown heroically through the whole campaign and in the evacuation of Kota Bahru.
Flying Officer JT O'Brien - Sembawang Air Base, Singapore
The crew decided on a night take-off from Bandung to get them as far away from the Japanese as possible in darkness. There was a minor phase of the moon to help them. Gibbes spoke of a poignant departure:
The poor fellows we were leaving behind gave us all sorts of messages to those dear to them. Wing Commander Davis asked us to arrange urgently for Catalinas to fly from Australia and pick up the men who would be trapped if his squadron was not flown out. They would be waiting at somewhere secret on Java's south coast.
I remember thinking we must get through on this flight, not just to save ourselves to fight again but to get those Catalinas up to those men who had been through such hell.
Again Gibbes thanked his airline experience to get them through. The month was March, the height of North-Western Australia's cyclone season:
As I opened the Hudson's throttles to full boost in take-off, I said across to Tony Jay 'Keep your fingers crossed'. I saw his hands as I did. His knuckles were clenched white as the flarepath, dim as it was, disappeared behind us and we were still not quite airborne.
A second later we lifted clear. The Hudson rose hesitantly in the warm night air, the load burdening it down and we will never know by how much we cleared the trees in the pitch darkness beyond the end of the strip.
For the first hour in the air the aeroplane was sloppy, unresponsive and tried ceaselessly to go its own way, which was to fall over on one wing, the damaged one, and spiral down. Gibbes had to fly with almost full left aileron wound on to keep the Hudson level. Fortunately there was no turbulence, or he might not have been able to keep control, especially if the air had been rough through the mountains out of Bandung. But as the aeroplane flew on and consumed fuel, its weight came down, control became easier, and speed increased a little. No man aboard slept that night — an escape through no man's land:
We did not have radio contact or navigation aids of any kind. When I contemplate the course that we took I consider we were lucky. It led us far out over the Indian Ocean somewhere east of Christmas Island. There would have been little chance of us being found, had we gone down.
But Australia is a big continent and we did not expect to miss it. We flew through the night and as the hours went by, I watched our only fuel gauge that was working creep down. It showed close to empty as the first streaks of dawn began to lighten the eastern sky. All serviceable tanks would be in the same state but we could not tell.
Airframe damage and the added drag from bullet and shrapnel holes made it impossible for us to calculate our fuel consumption. Our navigation estimate of the Hudson's position was more or less an educated guess. It was time to put our risky in-flight refuelling plan to the test.
The crew took out the windows on either side of the cabin, through which the waist guns were thrust and fired in action. Gibbes reduced engine power and with some wing flap lowered, slowed the Hudson down almost to stall speed, around 90 miles (144 kilometres) an hour. The usual 320 kph slipstream died away enough to let Sergeant Mills reach through the window openings out to the nearer petrol filler caps in either wing.
Taking one side at a time while Sergeant Manners held Mills' ankles, he reached out, took off the cap and guided the hose length into the filler throat to the tank, keeping the other end of the hose in the cabin. They made a makeshift funnel by rolling up a map and poured cans of fuel into the pipe. Some of the petrol sprayed into the atmosphere above the wing surface, some on to the cabin floor, but to the joy and surprise of all, most of it reached the tank. In Gibbes’ words:
The insatiable demands of Messrs Pratt and Whitney, keeping our proud old aircraft aloft, were met amid rejoicing. If we had yet to ditch, we might not have as far to row.
Not long later our spirits surged to the call we all craved to hear - 'land ahead!' How we needed those words! I shall never forget the feeling of immense relief to see red coastline coming up. There it was in the distance, lovely, dry, red desert. Australia, the empty, sunburned country that our Dutch allies had given away 300 years before! Now it was the most wonderful land in the whole world .
Nothing that we flew over looked like an airfield for nearly half an hour, until a tiny, straggling town came up, iron roofs shining in the morning sun. I could see an airfield and a runway, short but good enough for us. We made straight for it, circled to check the strip and wind, and landed. I saw the name, 'Roebourne'.
Wide open, lovely, beautiful Roebourne, queen city of the south! We would not have changed it at that moment for Sydney, Surfers Paradise or anywhere. We were in the North-West of Western Australia.
“Probably” not the sign they actually saw
Within minutes an open-tray, farm type of truck rattled in through the gate, a serious, bronzed, hard-featured man at the wheel in sleeveless denim shirt, faded khaki trousers, high-heeled boots and 'fat cattle' hat, the marks of the outback westerner. He seemed dubious of the arrivals, almost hostile, and looked them over nervously from a few yards away. Probably he had never seen a Hudson before, but he had spotted something about the aeroplane that gave him cause for his suspicion. In the sun and rain of the tropics the blue and white rings of the RAAF roundels on the wings and fuselage had gone and only their red-circle centres remained —the Rising Sun of Japan!
However, they managed to persuade this very cautious, first Australian to see them, that he and they were on the same side. The man was Roebourne's aircraft refuelling agent. He filled the Hudson's usable petrol tanks and topped up its oil. As he gave a parting wave Gibbes thought probably he would go back into Roebourne and say: 'A funny thing happened to me at the airport this morning...’.
Hudson A 16-89's battle-weary, bedraggled but joyous crew headed on south for the next Air Force station at Geraldton, 800 kilometres farther down Western Australia's coast where a flying school trained Empire Air Scheme pupils to pilot multi‑engine aircraft. Pupils, pilots and engineers of the school gazed silently at the Hudson on their tarmac, horrified that in such unairworthy condition it had attempted the flight that it had just completed. The engineers worked many hours on the injured drop-in. They patched the torn wingtip and only at Gibbes’ insistence agreed to the Hudson flying on. When at last Gibbes and his crew reached Melbourne, the rest and recuperative leave that they so well deserved was given them before being posted to further duties.
War Without Glory – pages 158 to 161
By late 1942 action had turned to Papua New Guinea, and the demands for transport for both men and supplies increased significantly.
Another response to the seemingly insatiable demand for transport was the creation of the RAAF Special Transport Flight. It was a heterogeneous collection of military and civil aviators and aircraft, largely from No. 1 Operational Training Unit (OUT). Its list of pilots read like a who's who of Hudson experts, including Bill Pedrina, David Campbell, Ron Cornfoot, Archie Dunne, Peter Gibbes, Jim Marshall, Jack O'Brien and Ron Widmer. It began flying from Ward's on 1 4 December, when it dropped supplies at Soputa, on the track to Sanananda.
The following day Pedrina made four sorties over this area. On the fourth sortie, he and two other pilots took urgently needed ammunition to an ALF unit, even though this required dangerous flying over the Owen Stanleys, and flying at just 200 feet over Soputa. Pedrina's aircraft was on its final run when, in the words of one of his crew, 'the machine shook violently and went into a steep climb', Struck by flak, it crashed, killing Pedrina and two of his crew. It was an inauspicious start, but fortunately there would be only one more fatality in the unit's six weeks of operations. On 17 December the CO, Squadron Leader Hall, landed successfully on an emergency dropping strip cleared from the kunai grass at Dobodura. It was then decided to land supplies on this strip, rather than drop them and continue losing 30 per cent of provisions on impact. Allied wounded were often evacuated on the return trips.
Whispering Death - Page 238
In December 1943 the Allied Combined Chiefs of Staff decided to launch two great simultaneous drives against Japan. One thrust would be across the Central Pacific, the other via New Guinea and the Philippines. MacArthur was ordered to invade Hollandia [now Jayapura], on the north coast of Dutch New Guinea, in April 1944, to be followed by the Philippines in November.
Valuable information on Hollandia came from No. 3 Wireless Unit RAAF, which from Darwin monitored the area's wireless traffic. From their three airfields on this distant target, the Japanese were bound to intercept Allied bombers sent against it. However, General Kenney had long‑range Lightnings capable of flying to Hollandia and staying overhead for an hour before returning to Nadzab in New Guinea. These P-38s escorted 65 Liberators to Hollandia on 30 March 1944, and more again the following day.
Among the Liberator crews on the second raid were Australian airmen learning to fly B-24s in preparation for the creation of RAAF Liberator squadrons. Flying them was not easy, especially above 20,000 feet. For example, manipulating the rudder was physically difficult. This 'flying boxcar' was doubly hard to manoeuvre if damaged, and although the B-24 was far better armed and armoured than the Betty, it was less robust than the B-17. The Australian pilots included 'Mickey' Jaques, a veteran of 13 Squadron’s Hudsons, who had won praise from American onlookers two weeks earlier when, after flak had damaged a landing wheel over Wewak, he brought the immensely heavy aircraft down safely at Nadzab.
Squadron Leader Jack O'Brien, who had flown over the Netherlands East Indies in desperate times, led an entire RAAF flight in the 31 March raid. The RAAF crews had mixed feelings about the raid. Though due to return to Australia to become instructional staff, they were also keen to attack the almost 'virgin' territory that Hollandia represented, in contrast to the devastated targets to which they were usually sent. Just days earlier the Japanese Fourth Air Army had withdrawn from its shattered Wewak base to Hollandia, which had long been untroubled by heavy air attack. This led to careless dispersal among many other Japanese aircraft grounded there because of lack of spares or maintenance. Consequently General Kenney’s raids were pulverising. When the Allies captured Hollandia, they counted 340 aircraft wrecks on its three airstrips.
Whispering Death - pages 363 to 364
These are a few shots of Jack which I only have in low resolution – I’d love to get some high-res versions if anyone has them. Please let me know via the contact details here.
Collated by, and with additional written by Rob Landsberry, last modified 17 June 2023
References:
War Without Glory by JD Balfe, Macmillan, 1984
Whispering Death by Mark Johnson, Allen and Unwin, 2011
Australia in the War of 1939 -45, Air, Royal Australian Air Force 1939-42, Douglas Gillison, Griffin Press, 1962
https://lithub.com/pearl-harbor-was-not-the-worst-thing-to-happen-to-the-u-s-on-december-7-1941/#:~:text=The%20event%20familiarly%20known%20as,Midway%20Island%2C%20and%20Wake%20Island
Two Paths to Victory
Jack O’Brien and Alf Landsberry in WWII
While this website is mainly about the O’Brien Clan centred around Irene and Bill O’Brien, occasionally it takes a quick look at some other interesting or amusing aspect that has some relationship with our main story. Maybe it’s the story of famous relative like Betty Viazim, or maybe one about an interesting sibling of one of our main players, like Roy Casey.
In this case I want to take a quick look at two paths through World War II, those of my Dad (Alf Landsberry) and my uncle (Jack O’Brien).
Jack and Dad came from very different backgrounds. The only two things they had in common were they were both men, and they were almost the same age, with Dad having been born late September 1917, and Jack in March 1918. But apart from those couple of facts, they’d led very different lives.
Jack was one of twelve kids and Dad was an only child.
Jack had grown up in Junee in Western NSW. He was used to a tough and demanding life on the farm. He was self-sufficient and confident, with broad tough hands, weathered from wrangling sheep and ornery farm equipment.
Dad had lived in Sydney all his life, cossetted by a mother who was always checking that he had his singlet on, and never sat in a draft. Dad had a callous on the middle finger of his right hand, because he liked to write. Other than that, these were hands that had HEARD of manual labour, but never actually been tasked with it.
At the core of Jack’s being was a deep faith and a strong Catholic upbringing. Religion hadn’t been instilled in him or forced on him. Rather it was gently demonstrated to him as he grew up, by two loving parents who had also been raised in an atmosphere steeped in faith. Unlike those faux Christians who talk the talk, but don’t walk the walk, Irene and Bill lived Christianity.
Dad was notionally an Anglican, but he hadn’t taken any interest in religion until he met my Mum (Gwen) and realised that he had to at least paddle about in the unfamiliar sea of Christianity if he was to have any hope of winning her over and eventually marrying her – a story for another time.
Suffice to say, that these two men had little in common. So, why do I want to look at their lives during the war? I believe that in times of stress we often see a person’s true character. We see what they’re made of. And Jack’s experience of the war was about as far from my father’s as possible.
Jack joined the Air Force on 16 January 1939, over eight months before the war started.
RAAF recruitment poster
I’m not sure whether he just wanted to fly, or whether he could see that there was a high risk of war, and he wanted to be ready to serve when it all got started. He was just 20 years old, and he was a volunteer before others even realised there was a need to volunteer.
Jack and his RAAF number A476
Even on his best days, I couldn’t really say my Dad was a “volunteering” sort of person, especially when there was even a small chance of danger.
In later life he would often reinforce a few of his core principles with we three kids. “Kids”, he’d say as he took a brief break from listening to the Saturday races on his brown imitation‑vinyl‑fake‑leather-bound National wireless, “you need to know a few key things. First, never volunteer…for anything. Second, never put on a uniform. And lastly, remember this. Landsberrys are runners, not fighters”.
I like to think that the three of us have lived by these powerful maxims ever since. The “no uniform” rule went to the extent that Dad wouldn’t allow any of us to join the Cubs, Scouts or Girl Guides, nor could David and I join cadets at North Sydney Boys’ High. Dad once even frowned across the room at me when I walked in with a branded cap.
So, unlike Uncle Jack’s bold and brave entry into the fray of 1939, my Dad’s was less flamboyant. I like to think of his path to war more along the lines of Spike Milligan’s. For weeks Spike had been ignoring letters from the Government “inviting” him to join the other “volunteers” to take on the savage Hun.
Spike had taken to hiding all over the house and donning various disguises, just in case some military gentleman came knocking. Then one morning, that knock came, and as Spike recalled, “It was a proud day for the Milligan family as I was taken from the house. “I’m too young to go”, I screamed as Military Policeman dragged me from my pram, clutching a dummy”.
Vol 1 of Spike’s war reminiscences
That’s how I see it unfolding for my Dad. I have a vision of him gussied up in one of Nana’s dresses, attempting to pass himself off as a country relative just down for a visit, a Military Policeman on each arm as they loaded him into the waiting transport. Dad didn’t actually “join” the army. Rather he was sort of injected into it via a well-placed officer’s boot up his notably uncooperative arse.
And so, there you have it. War begins and my Dad is in the Army, while Jack is in the RAAF. You can see their respective “military swaggers” in these two photos.
My Nana has just checked Dad’s singlet was in place, and his Dad – a giant of a man – had lifted Dad’s shorts to an eye watering height, where just like the Allies and the Hun, each bollock had taken its own very clear side.
Jack, on the other hand, looks like he’s 100% ready to get amongst it. On the surface he’s cool, calm and collected, but he’s actually a coiled military spring. And unless he has some underclothing lovingly crafted by his Mum from the detritus from the plug hole in the bath back home, then I believe there’s not a singlet to be seen. Just the protective chest matting of a man who’s put the “hir” back into “hirsute”.
Check the nine guys in Jacks photo above. They could easily have had their own TV series. Of course, we’d all have had to wait 10 years or more for the televisions to watch it on.
A still from the 2023 TV Series Master of the Air, streaming soon
Suffice to say that most of us who’ve lived in the pampered soft underbelly of Australian life since WWII would likely not have survived what Jack endured.
He saw many of his fellow airmen die, including his own co‑pilot who was sitting right next to him.
He was shot in the shoulder and lost two crew members, still managing to make it back to base under heavy fire.
He was rendered unconscious, and when he came to had to pull his plane out of a spiralling dive.
He avoided an attack by a group of Zeros by flying at full tilt just ten feet (3 metres) above Malaysian beaches, sand whipping up all around his plane.
He flew planes that were only fit to be used as spare parts. Riddled with bullet holes. Damaged by flack attack. Pieces of wings and fuselage missing.
He limped back from Asia to Australia with a group of wounded airmen in a badly damaged plane, and having no maps or navigation equipment, no weather forecast service to help them, a missing wingtip, holes in the wings and fuselage, leaking fuel tanks, and damaged instruments.
And much more. You can read about Jack’s exploits as a WWII pilot here.
Meanwhile, back in New South Wales, we find my Dad doing his best for the war effort. Actually, Dad spent all his time in the army trying to avoid any “effort” at all, particularly if it involved even the vaguest possibility of seeing any action or putting himself at any risk. Throughout his life, “risk” was the worst four letter word Dad knew. We were never allowed to own a bicycle (death on the road), go in a plane (death in the air), own a dog (rabies), or eat food from a tin with a dent in it (botulism).
A favourite was his advice that when travelling on the train, sit in a middle carriage, safe from crashing into something in front (like an oncoming train, because that was common back in the day), or being crashed into by something from the rear (like a tsunami, for example).
And then sit in the middle of that carriage in case it became separated from the rest of the train, because YOUR CARRIAGE had then became susceptible to the above “front” and “rear” events.
And then sit in an aisle seat, in case something hit the train from the side (such as a meteor or a missile from a foreign power).
Ask my siblings – this is all true. Well, mostly true.
But back to Dad’s war effort, where he put his risk management skills to work. When he would arrive at a new camp - and remember these were all in NSW, as he never left the country - his first and most important duty was not to his country, but to himself. He would throw down his gear and dash off to the Commanding Officer’s office. “Excuse me sir”, he’d say obsequiously, “would I be able to use your typewriter to dash off a quick note to my Mother? She’s quite ill.” Of course, Nana was perfectly fine.
Invariably the CO would agree. And Dad would sit down and type his letter as quickly and noisily as possible. Hearing this, the CO would poke his head out of his office saying, “Bloody hell man, you can type like a damned demon” (I may have watched one too many British war movies). “Damn me if that’s not a skill we could use around here in our office‑based quest to defeat the demon Hun.”
“Really sir? I can also take shorthand at just over 170 words per minute”, volunteered Dad, in what was the only volunteering he would ever do during WWII. And the deal was sealed. Dad was seconded to the safety of the CO’s office. As it turns out, this would be the only type of mission that Dad would ever accomplish during WWII.
Dad hated everything about the army, spending 90% of his time trying to get out on any grounds possible, short of wearing a dress a la Klinger in MASH. The uniform was the physical embodiment of that hatred, hence his advice to we kids. He wasn’t even that keen on us donning our primary school tie, “This is how it all starts. One minute you’re 7 years old putting on a red and white striped tie, the next you’re wearing full army greens, standing up to your arse in mud and dodging bullets”. Not that he'd ever been anywhere near a bullet.
And so Dad travelled from army camp to army camp, typing his way through the war. My Aunty Helen (Jacks’ sister), who’d also joined the war effort, said that she and Dad had fought valiantly in the little known Battle Of Broadway.
Helen during WWII
So, there it is. The story of two paths through the War.
There’s more to my Dad’s military story, both during the war and for the rest of his life after he went back to civilian life. Sure, he could be seen as having gamed the system to his advantage during the war, but those skills stood him in good stead to fight injustice in “systems” all over the place throughout his life. And not just for himself and his immediate family, but for many other friends and members of the wider family.
We all have our skills and abilities. And as Mum would have said, “You know Rob, it wouldn’t do if we were all the same”.
Written by Rob Landsberry, last modified 4 June 2023
References:
Adolph Hitler : My Part in his Downfall, by Spike Milligan, Penguin Books, 1974 reprint
Videos About John
The video below is a snippet taken from the Cousins Reunion DVD that was put together between the two cousins reunions in the early 2000’s, and shown at the second reunion.
Written by Rob Landsberry, last edited 18 April 2024