Orders, Decorations and Medals

An emotive Second World War D.F.M. group of four awarded to Flight Sergeant G. B. R. Gerry, Royal Air Force, who, having been decorated for completing nearly 50 sorties as a Wireless Operator, latterly in the Path Finder Force, was killed in an accident in a Liberator of No. 511 Squadron off Gibraltar in July 1943: fellow passengers included General Sikorski, whose death remains the subject of numerous conspiracy theories - so much so that permission has recently been granted for his remains to be exhumed for forensic examination

Distinguished Flying Medal, G.VI.R. (552537 F./Sgt. G. B. R. Gerry, R.A.F.); 1939-45 Star; Air Crew Europe Star; War Medal 1939-45, the first with slack suspension, cleaned and lacquered, otherwise very fine and better (4) £3500-4000

D.F.M. London Gazette 6 November 1942. The original recommendation states:

‘This N.C.O. has now completed 47 operational sorties as Wireless Operator. Throughout his long operational career his keenness to engage the enemy has been outstanding and the remarkable standard of his morale is beyond praise. Nearly all his sorties have been to very heavily defended targets in Germany and despite the fact that he has frequently returned home in badly damaged aircraft, the relish with which he always anticipates his next operation is an inspiration and a great tonic to his colleagues in the Squadron.

On one recent occasion the aircraft in which he was flying was heavily engaged by searchlights and anti-aircraft gunfire before the bombs were dropped and was damaged in many places. In particular one engine was put out of action, one petrol tank was holed and the control rod to one aileron was severed. Despite the fact the aircraft was well nigh uncontrollable, Flight Sergeant Gerry remained completely unruffled and it was in no small measure due to his coolness and efficiency on his set that the aircraft was able to return safely to base.

Throughout his service in the Squadron this N.C.O’s conduct whether in the air or on the ground, has been exemplary, and in view of his very long operational record I have no hesitation in recommending him for an award.’

George Brotchie Robertson Gerry was born in 1922, the son of Alexander Gerry of Craigiebank, Dundee and commenced his operational career as a Wireless Operator with a bombing strike against Le Havre on 18 September 1940 - presumably in one of No. 83 Squadron’s Hampdens, for the recommendation for his D.F.M. makes no mention of him serving in another unit. And another 20 or so similar sorties were flown by him in the period leading up to February 1941, Bremen, Cologne and Kiel being among the targets.

Returning to the operational scene in January 1942, and this time in Lancasters of No. 83, he operated out of Scampton until the unit’s move to Wyton that August, where it became part of the Path Finder Force. In the interim, he completed a further 20 sorties, including a daylight operation to the Frisians and the “Thousand Bomber Raids” against Cologne and Essen - in addition to a good deal of activity over other heavily defended German targets, from which, as cited above, his aircraft often returned badly damaged. And in August and September 1942, as a member of the Path Finder Force, he completed seven more sorties, his targets including Bremen, Dusseldorf and Frankfurt (twice). Having by now completed 240 hours of operational flying and 47 sorties, he was recommended for the D.F.M. at the end of the latter month.

The Sikorski incident

Returning to an operational footing with No. 511 Squadron in the Middle East sometime in 1943, Gerry was allocated to the crew of Liberator AL-523 for a special mission on Sunday 4 July 1943 - namely to convey General Sikorski, G.O.C. of the Free Polish Forces, together with his daughter, and several senior officers - among them Brigadier J. P. Whiteley, M.P., and Colonel Victor Cazalet, M.P. - from Gibraltar to London. Gerry’s pilot, a Czech, Flight Lieutenant E. M. Prchal - the only man to survive the ensuing accident - stated at the subsequent Court of Inquiry:

‘On 4 July 1943, at approximately 2240 hours, I went aboard the aircraft and was satisfied everything was in order. I did not see where the passengers were seated, but before we started the engines, the Flight Engineer reported to me that all the passengers were properly seated. There were 11 passengers, five of them in the bomb bay and six in the fuselage. This was one more than when we took off from Cairo [the previous day], the extra passenger being seated in the bomb bay. The all-up weight was approximately 52,000 lbs. I was quite satisfied with the disposal of the load. I started my engines and warmed them up, and then proceeded to the end of the runway where I ran them up and did the normal cockpit check. Everything was satisfactory. I received the “green” signal at 2310 hours and commenced to take-off. At about 130 m.p.h. I was airborne. When I was at about 150 feet I eased the control column forward to gather speed. My speed built up to 165 m.p.h. I wanted to climb again so attempted to pull back the control column but I could not do so. The control column was definitely locked. I told my second pilot over the inter-communication to check over the controls quickly. At this time the under-carriage was fully up and the flaps half-down - that is normal take-off position. All this time I was pulling back on the control column but could not move it backwards. I got no reply from the second pilot over the inter-communication and the aircraft was rapidly approaching the water. I then shouted out “crash landing” to the crew and closed the throttles. The aircraft immediately hit the water and I remember no more.’

In Accident, The Death of General Sikorski, David Irving describes events ashore:

‘General Mason-Macfarlane and several of his party had wandered down to the end of the runway, where they could wave to the Liberator as it passed them. Twenty minutes has passed, and still the engines were being run up. The air was now decidedly chilly, and their laughter died away.

A mighty roar of engines at the far end of the runway bellowed out, and they could see the red and green navigation lamps of the aircraft begin to move towards them. Gathering speed, the twenty-five ton aircraft lumbered past them, a tornado of dust tumbling round the watching officers. Everyone on the airfield was watching, for there was always something of a fireworks display about a Liberator’s take-off - bangs and flashes and showers of sparks. Then the aircraft was airborne at last, lifting into the air with still at least 500 yards to go before it reached the runway’s end.

Somewhat irreverently, Mason-Macfarlane thought to himself, “Well, there’s another cargo safely on its way.” He was just about to turn away, when he saw that the dwindling navigation lights of the Liberator had stopped climbing - in fact they had slowly begun to sink. The Governor was not even momentarily alarmed, however. He turned to Air Commodore Simpson - one of what he termed the Rock’s “three wicked Uncles” - and commented: “Anybody can tell that that’s Prchal flying the aircraft.” Simpson agreed: the Czech had perfected his own take-off technique for Liberators. This involved climbing rapidly at first, and then going into a shallow dive to pick up speed before making the final climb to cruising height. Everybody could still hear the engines running perfectly, as they watched the dwindling specks of light. But to their mounting puzzlement they saw them continue to sink, at a gliding angle of about ten degrees, then disappear altogether below the runway’s level, which was about eight feet above the sea. At the same instant the mighty roar of aircraft engines cut out, leaving only a wall of silent darkness. For a moment nobody moved, then Bolland shouted: “Jesus, It’s gone in the drink!”

With a wail, the Polish officers began running along the runway, hoping frantically that the Liberator had landed at its very end, and was even now waiting there with its engines switched off. People were running in all directions. More Polish officers and men came tumbling out of the transit huts bordering the airfield. Headlamps blazing, staff cars overtook them as they ran along the runway, and they climbed on to their running boards. At the end of the runway, there was nothing - only the sea. Several airmen launched the little dinghy that the station commander had provided on a slipway for just such an emergency as this, and they valiantly began pulling out to sea.

Every searchlight on the eastern side of the Rock came on, playing over the airfield and sea, trying to make out the wreckage of the aircraft. The Air/Sea Rescue launches had to be moored in Gibraltar Bay, on the other side of the Rock, as the eastern side was too exposed for such small craft: it would take eight to ten minutes before they could arrive.

Then a gasp went up. One groping searchlight had fastened onto a great black object clinging to the surface of the sea about 700 yards from the runway’s end; one wing was lifting slightly into the air, like a dying albatross. The Governor and Count Lubienski began wading out into the sea after the dinghy, but were soon forced back by the waves. Other searchlights had by now also swung round and fastened onto the wreck, but even as they did so the greater part disappeared from sight. A Polish airmen standing near Major Quayle began sobbing quietly, and kept repeating: “This is the end of Poland. This is the end of Poland.”

General Sikorski’s aircraft had crashed into the sea, and there was nothing they could do but wait until the first high-speed launches arrived.’

Having searched the scene of impact, the launches returned at 4.20 a.m. on 5 July with the sole survivor - the injured Czech pilot - and four bodies, one of the latter quickly being identified as that of General Sikorski, while diving parties recovered Gerry’s corpse and those of several other victims over the coming days - the remains of the 2nd Pilot, Squadron Leader W. S. Herring, and Gerry’s fellow W.O./A.G., Sergeant D. Hunter, were never found, nor indeed those of Sikorski’s daughter and other Polish passengers.

Meanwhile, in an effort to bring closure to unsavoury rumours that were already circulating in the columns of the international press, an official Court of Enquiry was quickly convened on the Rock, a highly sensitive gathering that called upon at least 30 witnesses. In the end, it was concluded the accident had been caused by the jamming of the elevator controls on take-off, but however hard the authorities tried to draw a line under the incident, conspiracy theories continued to abound, some even citing untoward British involvement. To this day, however, the most popular theory places Stalin at the top of the list of potential culprits, Sikorski having incensed the Soviet leader by requesting an investigation into the Katyn massacre of Polish officers - a theory supported by the presence of a Soviet delegation at Gibraltar’s airfield at the time of the accident.

Gerry, who was aged 21 years, is commemorated on the Gibraltar Memorial, his remains having been committed to the deep.