Orders, Decorations and Medals

Three: Sergeant R. K. Clarke, Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, who was killed in action piloting a Blenheim of No. 114 Squadron on an anti-shipping patrol in August 1941: he had earlier survived the famous low-level daylight raid on the Knapsack power station, Cologne - the first ever “Circus” operation flown by the R.A.F.

1939-45 Star; Air Crew Europe Star; War Medal 1939-45, contained in their original card forwarding box, dated 27 November 1950, and addressed to the recipient’s mother, with related Air Ministry condolence slip in the name of ‘Sergeant R. K. Clarke’ and a wartime portrait photograph, extremely fine and entirely as issued (3) £400-500

Reginald Kenneth Clarke took off from No. 114’s base at West Raynham at 5.20 p.m. on 19 August 1941, piloting Blenheim 27347 RT-U, in company with two other squadron Blenheims, the whole assigned to an anti-shipping patrol. Tragically, all three aircraft were shot down by fighters from 5/ZG76 some 35 kilometres N.W. of Vlieland, only one member of aircrew surviving to be taken P.O.W.

In the previous week, he had participated in the famous low-level daylight strike against Knapsack power station, Cologne, the R.A.F’s first ever “Circus” operation. Six of 114’s Blenheims took part, together with 30 others drawn from other squadrons, the whole led by Clarke’s C.O., Wing Commander J. L. “Nick” Nicol - he won an immediate D.S.O. but was among those lost on the same anti-shipping reconnaissance as Clarke on 19 August. In Bristol Blenheim, by Theo Boiten, a fellow 114 pilot, Flight Lieutenant Charles Patterson, described the final approach to their target, and the hair-raising course they took between the complex’s chimneys:

‘And then I remember on the R./T., Wing Commander Nicol saying: “Turn to starboard.” Which meant, of course, a very, very gentle turn because we were only just above the ground. As I turned slightly to starboard, there, away up on top of a long, long slope about two or three miles away - unmistakable - was this enormous industrial complex with these chimneys. I realized this was Knapsack up on top of the hill there.

We turned to starboard, and I thought, well, we’ve just got to go now. There’ll be a big bang, and that’s all I know. We’ll just have to get on with it now. And we climbed up the hill. As we went up this long slope for the last two or three miles to the target, we had to climb up a bit to avoid the increasing maze of pylons and wires. The electrical grids and everything started long before we got to the target, which made one realize what an enormous place it was. Then the chimneys came unmistakably into view. We got closer and closer until the chimneys were coming right up at us. Wing Commander Nicol swung in between the chimneys. And I followed him. Then I became enveloped in mist and steam from the complex. I was in it now. There was nothing I could do about it now except concentrate on flying the aeroplane properly. We had been told not to release our bombs on the attractive-looking watercoolers but to keep them for the actual power houses at the far end. And so we flew on down between these chimneys. As we did so, I saw a lot of blue flashes from the ground which would be machine-gun fire. But I was past caring about that now. At the far end of the power station I could see the great thing now in front of my eyes and the steam and the smoke and everything. I pressed my tit and let the bombs go. As I did so, I saw Wing Commander Nicol just ahead of me swerve sharply to starboard. I did the same: I realised that he was about to fly into a chimney which he had just missed.

Then out the other side - a lot more blue flashes and sparks and tracer. We dived down to the ground. Wing Commander Nicol was there. He’d survived. I formed up on him. We raced away across the cables again down past the other side of the power station, and started to turn to starboard to fly on the course back to England or the Dutch coast. To my amazement, all of the other five members of the formation emerged safely and formed up with us and we set off for the journey home ... ’

But Nicol and his men still faced the challange of returning over 150 miles of occupied territory, unescorted, no place for Blenheims to be in daylight:

‘Well on across now into Holland, further and further on. Then suddenly it seemed to me we were going to make it. Nothing was going to happen after all. But it’s always when that psychological moment comes that you’re brought down to earth. Suddenly ahead of us just as we were coming up the estuary of the Schelde black dots appeared ahead of us. For a moment my navigator thought they might be Spitfires which had come out to escort us home. And sure enough, the leader, Wing Commander Nicol called out, “Snappers.” I was flying on straight into these Messerschmitts which were circling around about a thousand feet above us. Wing Commander Nicol told us to close in tight. He led us right down on to the water. The water was racing underneath, sparkling in the sun. We couldn’t have been more then ten, fifteen, occasionally twenty feet above it. And I got as tight into him as I could. I knew this was life or death ... with my wing tip practically inside his wing tip, at that height, it took all the flying concentration and skill I possessed to do it. And the others closed in.

Then Wing Commander Nicol handed over, as was the tactical drill, to the leading gunner, Pilot Officer Morton, who was a very experienced second-tour gunner. He then directed the formation because the gunners looking back could all see the fighters coming into the attack. Also, he had to decide when was the right moment to open fire and when was the right moment to take evasive action. Evasive action consisted of turning into the attack, as is well known. As the fighters dived down to attack at the right moment - which was up to his judgement - the leading gunner would say: “Turn to starboard / port,” according to the angle at which the fighters were coming in. It’s the starboard turns I remember. Wing Commander Nicol would begin his gentle turn, and I would have to concentrate on turning with him with my wing tip practically inside his. Then I heard the rattle of machine-gun fire - I realised our guns were firing. I could see every now and then the water between Wing Commander Nicol’s Blenheim and the one of my starboard being ripped with white froth, which, of course, was the cannon shells of these 109s.

Then, on one turn to starboard, out of the corner of my eye out of the starboard perspex window in my cockpit, I caught a glimpse of a 109 right in front of my eyes, peeling off its attack, so close that I saw the pilot in the cockpit - let alone the black crosses and yellow nose of the 109. Even then my reaction was simply one of interest in seeing a 109 so close. Then we straightened up. Of course, I knew, we all knew, that the only safety was to be out to sea, out of range of these 109s. And we would make it. After each attack one just had to crouch down and prepare for the next. And this carried on all the way up the Scheldt estuary; they made several attacks of this same nature. Yet we still seemed to survive them. And I remember thinking, by Jove, those gunners must be doing a wonderful job.

Then, unbelievably, the islands to each side of us suddenly ceased and we were in the open sea. We’d hardly gone any distance out to sea when the leading gunner told us over the R./T. that the fighters had broken off the attack. I suppose they were running out of ammunition. And we still didn’t think it was all over yet. So one didn’t relax. But we carried on out to sea.

The first reaction of realising that I had survived was a sort of numbness ... I suppose it was the greatest moment of elation I’ve ever experienced in all my life. Even with all the operations that were to come, nothing was quite like that ... We’d made it. It was just marvellous, happy relief. Just joy, sheer joy, flying back across the North Sea. And then the cliffs came up: England, we’re back. Then the rather basic but perhaps human realisation that we were returning as national heroes. Because we knew this would cause tremendous headlines. It would be a headline thing. We felt at the time that we’d done something so astounding that it would live for ever and ever as one of the greatest operations there’d ever been ... ’

In all 12 Blenheims failed to return from the Knapsack raid but, as related, Clarke was lost a week later in an anti-shipping sortie to Vlieland. Aged 20 years, he was the son of Mrs. Grace M. Clarke of Erdington, Birmingham. He has no known grave and is commemorated on the Runnymede Memorial.