Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria. To coincide with the OMRS Convention

A rare and impressive Second World War Mosquito pilot’s immediate D.F.M. group of five awarded to Warrant Officer L. C. Doughty, Royal Air Force, who attacked a U-Boat passing through the harbour boom at Lorient at ‘30 or 40 feet’, amidst very intense flak: ‘To pursue the enemy to the very gates of his own harbour with a single aircraft is a most courageous act’

Distinguished Flying Medal, G.VI.R. (935786 F./Sgt. L. C. Doughty, R.A.F.), in its card box of issue; 1939-45 Star; Atlantic Star; Defence and War Medals, M.I.D. oakleaf, in original addressed card box of issue with Air Ministry forwarding slip, extremely fine (5) £1800-2200

D.F.M. London Gazette 25 August 1944. The recommendation for an immediate award states:

‘Flight Sergeant Doughty has done excellent work throughout his present tour of operations. On 23 June 1944, he was Captain of an aircraft detailed to carry out an A./S. sweep before first light. While proceeding to patrol he became separated from the formation in darkness and continued to the anticipated position of the U-Boat alone, flying along the French coast to Lorient.

He reached the entrance to Lorient harbour at first light and encountered intense flak from the shore batteries. At the same time he observed a fully surfaced U-Boat escorted by four surface vessels. Having attempted to contact the other aircraft by R./T. without success he decided to attack alone and approached the enemy force for the second time as it was passing though the harbour boom.

Very intense flak was encountered from the ships and the shore batteries but Flight Sergeant Doughty pressed home his attack with complete disregard for his own safety, scoring numerous cannon strikes on the U-Boat and releasing two depth charges. Unfortunately, owing to the poor light and the heavy opposition, results could not be observed.

In making this attack Flight Sergeant Doughty displayed the highest standard of gallantry and devotion to duty.

The immediate award to this airman of the Distinguished Flying Medal is most strongly recommended.’

Leslie Cook Doughty commenced his operational tour with No. 248 Squadron, then a Beaufighter unit based at Predannack, in August 1943, being posted in from an O.T.U. at R.A.F. Catfoss. Carrying out his first operational sortie on the 21st of the month, he assumed the position of Captain of Aircraft on his fourth outing in late October. In the following month, he paired up with Sergeant R. Grime, who would become his Navigator and Observer when No. 248 converted to Mosquitos, and flew another five sorties, an outing on Christmas Eve leading to a contact with a flotilla of 10 enemy destroyers, all of which responded with heavy and light flak.

In March 1944, following one or two more operational sweeps, the Squadron moved to Portreath and took delivery of Mosquitos, Doughty flying on five more sorties that month, on one of which, on the 16th, as part of a formation of three Mosquitos, he engaged an enemy trawler, bursts of fire being sent through her rigging. And on the 20th another trawler was shot up by Doughty and five other Mosquitos.

About this time, Doughty had a far more hair-raising experience, for while engaged on a navigation exercise off the west coast of Ireland, he came face to face with an Albatross, an incident recorded in Sharp’s and Bowyer’s Mosquito:

‘The giant bird attempted to swoop beneath his port wing as he lowered this to avoid collision. Although the bird collided with the wing leading edge, damaged the spar and No. 3 fuel tank, the Mosquito flew home to roost.’

Doughty completed nine more (Albatross and other incident free) missions in April and May 1944, prior to his D.F.M.-winning exploits on 23 June, an action which he later described in Dark Sky, Deep Water, First Hand Reflections on the Anti-U-Boat War in World War Two, by Norman Franks:

‘No. 19 Group, so we are told at our briefing on the morning of 23 June 1944, had received news by radio via the French Underground movement, of a U-Boat believed to be damaged, and making its way back to its base in Lorient, due to arrive in the early morning. My Observer, Ron Grimes (who sadly died in May 1991) and myself were one of a flight of six Mosquito aircraft, each armed with two depth charges and the usual four cannon and four machine guns, ordered to fly a controlled search for this reported submarine.

The briefing was as follows: We were to make a pre-dawn take-off on our navigation lights and formate on our leader at about 250 feet. When in formation the leader and the rest of us would switch off the navigation lights then switch over to our formation lights. These were small pin-prick lights set into the wings of our aircraft near the tip, which allow one to safely maintain a formation but are themselves not visible from the ground.

We were then to proceed to Lorient harbour, by which time day-break would be underway. Should the sub not be found at Lorient we were to turn seaward and sweep into Biscay to continue the search.

However, in pitch black conditions, with no moon, we successfully formated and all switched off our nav lights. To our horror the leader failed to switch his formation lights on so no one could see where he was. Flight Lieutenant Dobson, the No. 2 in command, then repeatedly called the leader asking him to flash his nav lights and switch on his formation lights, but with no success.

In view of the utter confusion and not wanting to risk a collision with one of our own aircraft, I pulled away and asked Ron to prepare a course for Lorient in case we never met up again. While he was doing this Dobson was constantly calling the flight leader but to no avail. After about ten minutes the R./T. went completely quiet and we had no further contact with the rest of the formation, so I set off under Ron’s guidance for Lorient in the hope of meeting up with the rest of the aircraft there.

Ron and I were now flying at about 50 feet above the waves and about a mile or so from the French coast on our way to the area off Lorient. Surface details very gradually began taking shape and more discernible as dawn slowly broke. I asked Ron for an update on our position and he pointed to a headland in the distance and said when we fly round that we shall be on the approaches to our target area. True enough, as we rounded the headland there was the Ile de Groix to our right and Lorient on our left - and approaching fast. Our next surprise was flying straight over a U-Boat, presumably the very boat we were seeking.

I immediately climbed to 1,200 feet, all the time trying to contact the rest of the flight on the R./T. but all to no avail; we were on our own. We decided to attack, seeing it was only about 400-500 yards from the harbour mouth. I opened the bomb doors, armed the two depth charges as I went into a long shallow dive, and opened up with both cannon and machine guns. At about 50 yards from the sub and about 30 or 40 feet up, I released the depth charges.

We were now subjected to intense flak, both from the harbour and its surrounds, as well as from batteries on the Ile de Groix, and from which we sustained slight damage to three exhaust stub outlets on one of the engines. However, we were soon out of range at about 325 knots, took violent evasive action, and lost no time in heading away and setting course back to base.’

Their victim was the U-155, which, with two men killed and several wounded, limped into Lorient. Such was the damage she sustained that effectively she played no further active part in the War, eventually being surrendered in Denmark in May 1945. Her Captain, Johannes Rudolph, later recounted to Norman Franks how the U-155 had been damaged in an attack by British destroyers off Freetown, and without a schnorkel had to sail on the surface at night to re-charge her batteries. It was in this condition that she met Doughty’s Mosquito just outside Lorient on the 23 June 1944. Rudolf continues:

‘When the plane was at a distance of 300 metres, I gave the order to fire at will, and to the ‘Zentrale’: both engines full speed. At the same time the plane fired from all guns at our conning tower, and dropped its bombs in our wake. We suffered two dead in the conning tower and three badly wounded at the 2cm. guns. Now, fifty years later, I learn that we also damaged the plane.

At the entrance of our submarine pen we were greeted by music. I ordered an ambulance and asked for the music to be stopped. After docking I handed over the boat to our Flotilla Commander, Korvettenkapitan Kuknke in front of the crew lined up on our deck.’

And, as also recounted by Norman Franks, the old adversaries met again over 50 years later, Doughty stating:

‘The postscript to this story came 51 years later. I attended a reunion of the U-Boat crew and met its commander and surviving crew members. A small aeroplane was chartered and my wife, son, myself and two friends plus the pilot, were welcomed and treated like Royalty, not just by the U-Boat commander, Johannes Rudolph and his wife but by the whole crew, and the townspeople of Ottenhaffen, where special events were laid on in our honour.

Apparently, my observer and I had been lucky to escape further damage as the commander told me there were over 100 anti-aircraft guns situated on the harbour mouth alone. He told me that U-155 had been damaged by our attack and that the war in Europe was happily over before it could be repaired satisfactorily in order to put to sea again on a war cruise.’

The excitement of the 23rd was followed by four more sorties at the end of the same month, including successive run-ins against enemy convoys on the 29th and 30th, Doughty getting a near miss on a tanker on the former date.

He was advanced from Flight Sergeant to Warrant Officer in July, in which month he participated in a further eight sorties, including an anti-shipping patrol off the Isle de Groix, Belle Isle, Concarneau and Benodet on the 3rd, in which three enemy vessels were sighted and ‘heavy and accurate flak experienced’ from nearby shore batteries.

Doughty was finally posted away from the operational scene in early August 1944, on the eve of No. 248 joining the famous Banff Wing. He had been on active service for exactly one year, in which time he completed nearly 50 sorties.