Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria including the collection to Naval Artificers formed by JH Deacon

A superb Second World War pilot’s immediate D.S.O. group of five awarded to Squadron Leader G. G. Davies, Royal Air Force, who completed over 40 operational sorties prior to being blown through the cockpit window of his blazing Lancaster over France on a Path Finder mission in July 1944 and made a P.O.W.

Distinguished Service Order, G.VI.R., reverse of the lower suspension bar dated 1941; 1939-45 Star; Air Crew Europe Star, clasp, France and Germany; Defence and War Medals, with M.I.D. oak leaf, with companion set of five miniature medals, the first chipped in places, generally very fine or better (10) £2800-3200

This lot was sold as part of a special collection, A Fine Collection of Awards to the Men of Bomber Command 1939-45.

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D.S.O. London Gazette 8 August 1941. The immediate award recommendation states:

‘This Officer was Captain of Whitley aircraft Z 6572 detailed to carry out a bombing sortie against Bremen on the night of 14-15 July 1941. At about 0215 hours, when over the target area, the aircraft was held in a concentration of searchlights and was heavily fired on by flak. The flak ceased suddenly while the aircraft was making its run on to the target, and although this indicated the immediate presence of enemy fighters, the Captain continued on his bombing run and warned the Rear-Gunner to keep a very sharp look out for enemy aircraft.

Very shortly afterwards, the Captain saw tracer and cannon shell passing very closely on both sides of the fuselage of his aircraft and felt considerable movement on the control column, indicating that the control surfaces had been hit. At the same time the Rear-Gunner called out to him that he had been hit by bullets from the enemy aircraft. The Gunner was in fact killed in this first attack, and the rear turret rendered useless.

The aircraft then went out of control, the nose going up until it stalled and went into a left hand spin at a height of 10,500 feet. The Captain wound the tail adjusting gear well forward to try to gain control by using the elevator trimming tabs, as the elevator control wires to the control column had been shot away. He found, however, that the stop on the tail adjusting wheel prevented it from being moved forward for more than half a turn, and with great presence of mind the Captain instructed the Navigator to get the axe and hack away the stop. The Navigator did this and by winding the wheel fully forward and by skilful use of rudder and engines, the Captain succeeded in righting the aircraft after having lost 7,000 feet. However, it was only by skilful use of engines and elevator tabs that the Captain was able to maintain the aircraft in level flight, and soon after coming out of the spin the aircraft was again attacked by enemy fighters and later by light flak.

During the whole of this most hazardous experience the Captain showed the utmost determination and coolness and was alone responsible for extricating the aircraft and the remainder of the crew from almost certain destruction. He continued to fly the badly damaged aircraft, still exercising exceptional control, until he reached Driffield, to which airfield he had been diverted owing to fog at Topcliffe. Knowing that his elevator controls were shot away and only a few weeks before having seen an aircraft stall and crash at Topcliffe while trying to land in the same position, this Officer still stuck to his post and gave no thought whatever of abandoning the aircraft. With great skill and care he succeeded in landing at Driffield with no further damage to aircraft or crew than that sustained over enemy territory.

I cannot speak too highly of this most marvellous effort on the part of an Officer who has already done exceptionally good work during a number of previous sorties. His coolness, courage and devotion to duty saved the lives of the remainder of his crew, and brought back to this country a valuable aircraft. I strongly recommend him for the immediate award of the Distinguished Service Order.’

M.I.D. London Gazette 1 January 1942.

Squadron Leader George Geoffrey Davies, D.S.O., was born at Wavetree, Lancashire in March 1920 and was educated at the Liverpool Institute before going to Australia where he found employment as a Clerk at Borthwick & Sons, the meat firm. On the outbreak of hostilities Davies immediately returned to the U.K. and enlisted in the R.A.F., completing his pilot training at Cranwell and being commissioned in October 1940.

Posted to No. 102 (Ceylon) Squadron, a Whitley unit, in January 1941, Davies’ operational career commenced with a sortie to Rotterdam on 10 February, his aircraft’s port engine failing on the return journey and necessitating a forced-landing back at Buckenham in Norwich, an experience which no doubt stood him in good stead following his D.S.O.-winning exploits in July of the same year. In fact he appears to have had quite a bumpy start to his operational career, his Flying Log Book for the period noting a crash landing at Sedgefield after his very next sortie to Cologne, and a ‘through the hedge’ landing following a raid on Lorient in late March. He was, however, acting as 2nd Pilot on these early missions.

April witnessed sorties being flown to Kiel and Emden, and May a brace of outings to Hamburg and Bremen, in addition to a strike on the Scharnhorst andGneisenau at Brest. On one of the Essen runs, on the night of 11-12 May, his Whitley was ‘shot up very badly’ and an early course set for home. Brest was re-visited on 10 June, but the most worrying sortie flown by Davies that month was his 13th, on Friday 13th, when his Whitley was shot up by a night fighter on a raid to Schwerte. But far worse was to follow, as evidenced by his D.S.O.-winning exploits on a trip to Bremen on the night of the 14-15 July - in the previous two weeks he had successfully completed runs to Aachen, Brest, Dortmund, Essen and Osnabruck, and won a commendation for his target photographs.

In the words of Air-Vice Marshal Coningham, who approved the award of his immediate D.S.O., it was ‘one of the best shows of the War’ by a Captain of Aircraft in his Group. And in the words of his Group Captain, Davies displayed ‘almost miraculous airmanship,’ probably no understatement when one considers the damage inflicted on his Whitley included over 40 holes (including the petrol and oil tanks) two tyres shot through, and the elevators clean shot away.

Seemingly unperturbed by this hair-raising episode, Davies went on to complete his next mission, to Cologne, just five days later. Again coned by searchlights, he escaped without damage to aircraft or crew. Then on his very next mission to Frankfurt, on the night of 5-6 August, his Whitley was shot up ‘over Aachen and Antwerp on return.’ One more mission was flown that month, to Bremen, and in September Berlin, Huls, Kassel, Mannheim and Stettin made up 102’s agenda, Davies actually flying the final sortie of his first tour against Kiel on the 7 November. He was mentioned in despatches in the new year.

In March 1942, having been posted to No. 19 Operational Training Unit, Davies sustained serious burns when his Whitley crashed on take-off at Kinloss due to engine failure. Successfully treated by one of Sir Archie McIndoe’s surgeons, he was returned fit for operational flying duties towards the autumn of 1943. And following another spell with an Operational Training Unit, he joined No. 156 Squadron, a Path Finder unit operating with Lancasters, in February 1944. Numerous sorties followed, commencing with trips to Lille and Aachen that April. In the former operation, his Lancaster was in collision with another aircraft over the target, and returned to base on just two engines.

The months of May and June witnessed a busy schedule of operations, Davies and his crew being detailed to attack a mixture of French and German targets, Coubronn, Hasselt, Mardick, Marquise (daylight), Middel Straete, Montdidier, and St. Pol (daylight) among them. Paris and Tours started off the agenda for July, but disaster struck on 14th in an attack on the V.1 site at Revigny-sur-Mer. While acting as Deputy Bombing Master, his Lancaster was set ablaze by an enemy night fighter. In an interview with Oliver Clutton-Brock, author of Massacre Over The Marne (Patrick Stephens, 1994), a copy of which accompanies the Lot, Davies recalled the final moments aboard his blazing aircraft:

‘I suspected that one of the TIs had been hit as the fire had a pronounced red glare. I immediately opened the bomb doors and gave the Bomb Aimer his instructions for jettisoning TIs and bombs. Felt them go and tested on toggle, but the aircraft was still blazing away.

The smoke by this time was absolutely solid, suffocating. Couldn’t see or breathe, turned oxygen right up and clamped mask to face, but was still unable to breathe. I therefore opened the port side window and stuck my head out. I heard the Engineer gasping and told him to do the same at his side. Judging by the draught he did so. I continued corkscrewing by touch as I was still unable to see instruments.

I closed the bomb doors as soon as the load had gone in order to cut the draught. However, the fire was still going strong, and the smoke was filling the cockpit. The aircraft contols then went u/s completely. Tried fore, then aft, finally the rudder. The flames were coming through the floor and I was on fire personally (helmet, hair, face, silk gloves, hands, scarf).

I then ordered the crew “Jump! Jump!” and a few seconds later “Bale out, blokes, and let me know as you go.” I heard the Rear-Gunner say “I’m going Skip!”. I felt the draught from the front as if the escape hatch had been opened. Still holding my head out of the port window (at intervals), I saw (I think) two parachutes open. I heard no more from any other crew member, although my intercom was still working.

I therefore called up the crew but received no answers. I decided it was time to get out, the controls being u/s, and I could see the ground which was pretty close. The aircraft was, as far as I could judge, in a shallow diving turn to port (the throttles having been left open as, due to lack of control, they were the only means of attempting to keep the nose up).

I unplugged after taking a couple of deep breaths out of the window and made for the forward escape hatch, feeling for the Engineer on the way. I could not find him and presumed he had got out. By this time flames were roaring in the cockpit between me and the hatch. I sat back for a final effort and leaned out of the side window for another breather. Next I found myself out of the aircraft, presumably blown through the window.

Rather dazed by smoke, heat and burns (eyes, hands, arms and hair) and bruised, I remember feeling a blow on my left side and leg. Then I remembered to pull the rip-cord and the parachute opened immediately. I hit the ground about 60 seconds later, crashing 50 or 60 feet through trees. The aircraft appeared to hit the ground a few seconds earlier (or may have been TIs burning).’

Only one other crew member, the Bomb Aimer, survived, having baled out as the aircraft began to fall apart. Davies continues:

‘I was unconscious for a period. Discovered I was in a wood of some sort - thick undergrowth and tall trees close together. My face was burned, left eye very bad (thought I was blind). My right eye was half closed with burned eye-lids; left leg suspected broken shin bone; flesh wound in the left thigh; had lost one tooth and had small flesh wound in left wrist. Hair was burnt off to within one and a half inches or so of scalp. Nose and mouth burned. Back badly bruised and altogether shaken and knocked about.

It was then half-light and I calculated it to be about 0330 or 0400 hours. Set watch. It went but stopped later. Hid my chute and Mae West, opened my emergency rations and escape kit and stowed it about my person. Had a swig of brandy. I then transferred all my sock and stocking to my left leg and stuffed the bottom with kapok from my Mae West, and cut up part of the chute canopy for bandages.

I found it not impossible to bear my weight on my left leg so I lopped off a stout branch for a crutch. I had another small swig of brandy and started off to try and find a way out of the wood.

Heading South in the direction of St. Dizier, it took me about 30 minutes to find any sort of track through the trees, and a further two to two and a half hours to get to the edge of the wood (after retracing my steps three or four times).

By this time I could hardly see at all and I had to hold the compass about two inches away from my eye and blink rapidly in order to see at all. At the edge of the wood I could see a road running N.E.-S.W. At approximately 0600 hours I headed South on the road (not being able to make rough going over fields). There was a dyke about three to four feet on the left side of the road. I walked along the left side as continental traffic drives on the right-hand side. So I imagined locals would walk on the left in order to face oncoming traffic. I headed South by West, intending to keep to the road until I sighted some civilization.

I stopped at the bottom of a hill for a rest. A Hun lorry coasting down the hill, which I didn’t hear. It contained one officer and five men who with pistols invited me to enter, which I did after being relieved of my knife and stick. Apparently it was a guard ration lorry. They then turned the lorry round and took me to St. Dizier.

I sat for four hours in an office and then was moved to the Town Hall. There I was questioned and searched. I gave regulation answers. I was given a receipt for articles taken from me during the search.’

A few days later, however, during an American bombing raid that distracted his guard, Davies was whisked away by the Maquis. Placed in a safe house somewhere near the Belgian border, with a view to being moved ‘down the line’ of an escape organization, his freedom was short lived, the Gestapo raiding the hideout and bagging Davies and at least five or six other R.A.F. aircrew. Following an interview with his captors, which appears to have taken a gentler tack than that usually associated with the Gestapo, he was despatched to Stulag Luft I at Barth Vogelsang. Here he was surprised to discover that he had also collected a broken jaw while being thrown clear of his blazing Lancaster. The gallant Davies returned home in a Flying Fortress two weeks after V.E. Day and was released from the R.A.F. in the following year.

In 1949, however, tiring of civilian life, he rejoined the R.A.F. and went on to hold a number of training appointments, served with No. 38 Squadron in Malta and at H.Q. Coastal Command. He retired as a Squadron Leader in 1963 but later worked as a systems manager with special responsibilities for Nimrod and Tornado equipment. Davies died in September 1991.

Sold with a fine array of original artefacts and documentation, including:

(i) The recipient’s Flying Log Books (2), covering the periods June 1940 to October 1953; November 1953 to August 1962; and a Navigator’s Log covering the period June to September 1950.
(ii) Warrant for the D.S.O., dated 8 August 1941, with a copy of the Order’s statutes; and messages of congratulation from Group-level and from Air Marshal Peirse, then C.-in-C. of Bomber Command.
(iii) Certificate for M.I.D., dated 1.1.1942.
(iv) Warrants for the ranks of Pilot Officer, dated 19 October 1940, and Flight Lieutenant, dated 11 October 1949.
(v) Certificate of membership for the Path Finder Force, dated 16 July 1944, and related Badge.
(vi) Membership card for the Caterpillar Club, with related (replacement) Badge, officially engraved, ‘S./Ldr. S.S.(sic) Davies’, and tie.
(vii) Four Air Ministry letters to Davies’ wife for the period July to October 1944, each in turn revealing additional news of his fate after being shot down over France.
(viii) Davies’ P.O.W. papers, with portrait photograph (showing burns to his face) and thumb print, as removed by him when his camp was liberated by the Russians.
(ix) Official ‘Summary of Flying Record’ which includes confirmation of the recipient’s qualification as a Glider Pilot in June 1950.
(x) Assorted photographs, including several wartime images of his damaged Whitley the morning after getting back from Bremen on the night of 14-15 July 1941.
{xi) Assorted wartime newspaper cuttings, the majority relating to the award of the D.S.O., and a copy of his Daily Telegraph obituary.