An RCAF Station in Newfoundland - Five survivors of an ice-burdened Liberator bomber
which crashed in the Labrador wilds with three engines dead and a fourth in flames, came back to their home station here recently after a
wee-long struggle with temperatures ranging as low as 55 degrees below zero.
The sixth man aboard, Flying Officer David Griffin, RCAF public relations officer, died in the crash and was buried in a flag-draped
casket at Goose Bay cemetery. With his comrades trudging behind on snowshoes, his body was taken to Goose Bay by dog teams of the U.S.
Army Air Force, flown in to aid in the rescue and driven by veterans of Admiral Byrd’s expedition to the South Pole.
The survivors were:
Squadron Leader A.A.T. "Al" Imrie, DFC, veteran U-boat patrol pilot and former backfielder with Calgary Bronks, McMaster
University, and Balmy Beach (2001 Bloor Street Wrest, Toronto).
Flight Lieutenant G.R. "Gar" Harland (formerly of Trehearne, Manitoba and whose wife lives at 113 Villaire Avenue, Riverside,
Ontario) - navigator.
Flying Officer J.D.L. "Doug" Campbell (Cobourg resident, whose wife lives as 55 Marmore Road, Trenton), co-pilot.
Pilot Officer M.J. "Gil" Gilmour (Gravenhurst, Ontario), wireless air gunner, and
WO1 A.C. "Johnny" Johns (R.R.1, Harrow, Ontario), wireless air gunner.
Word they had been found reached Goose Bay four days after they failed to reach the Labrador airport after a flight from Iceland in the
teeth of the most sudden and vicious storm to lash the Atlantic coast this winter. The report of their finding came from two sources
almost simultaneously - one a Labrador trapper who had heard them chopping wood and trekked all day on snowshoes to deliver a letter from
S/L Imrie; the second, a U.S. search aircraft which spotted their smoke signals and a huge "SOS" tramped out with home-made
snowshoes on the surface of a nearby lake. Circling low, the pilot dropped them by parachute large supplies of "K-type"
emergency rations, Arctic clothing, snowshoes, sleeping bags, and cigarettes. "Stuff showered down like manna from Heaven - and
it was just as welcome", said Flying Officer Campbell.
The crew brought back a detailed record of their experiences in the treacherous icing conditions which had trapped them in its deadly grip
over the Straits of Belle Isle and brought them down one hour and 40 minutes later in the trees near a lonely lake 13 miles from safety at
Goose Bay, just six minutes flying time away. Even while the ice was choking off their carburetors and piling several inches deep on the
underside of the wings and engine cowlings, the pilots kept exact tab on the aircraft’s reaction which may cast considerable light on
previous disappearance of other long-range aircraft. Imrie’s logbook and the accurate navigation records of F/L Harland contain careful
records of each development up to a minute of the crash. Other crews of missing Liberators may have noted similar happenings - but they
didn’t live to bring them back.
From their messmates of the famed "Dumbo" squadron of submarine hunters stationed here in Newfoundland, Imrie’s crew received a
warm welcome when they were flown back from Goose Bay. In the mess that night they were piled with questions.
They told how F/L Harland had charted a "spot on" course for Goose which found them, after the crash, within a quarter-mile of
their estimated position at the time they were forced down.
They told how iced up aerials and snow static rendered their radio useless, how the pilots had wrestled to keep the plunging, wallowing
Liberator on course when both starboard motors went dead; how they had peered anxiously through the blizzard’s white pall for high hills
ahead when visibility went down to half-a-mile.
S/L Imrie was faced with the choice of landing on a lake or in the trees. Realizing the treacherous weakness of the thin ice which tops
the spring-fed waters of Labrador lakes, he decided to take his chances of setting down the 27 tons of flying metal in the trees.
F/O Campbell and S/L Imrie looked over two possible spots, warned all aboard to take up their crash positions, and S/L Imrie headed for
the one with the sparsest growth of scrub spruce and balsam.
With a crash of splintering wood and rending metal, the giant aircraft struck. Because the two starboard motors were dead, the pilot came
in with his right wing low. Striking a tree 18 inches in diameter, the Liberator spun completely around. The tail thudded against another
large tree and broke off, hurling out Griffin and Johns.
Unbuckling their safety belts, Imrie and Campbell dived through the holes where their perspex side windows had been. Lunging through snow
up to their armpits, they struggled to reach the fire extinguishers carried on the outside of the aircraft. It wasn’t necessary, however.
The snow had put out the engine flames and S/L Imrie had cut his switch just before landing. They helped to haul F/L Harland through a
gash in the roof after he had taken off his ice-encrusted flying suit. They found P/O Gilmour trapped against his radio installation by
the heavy top gun turret which had broken loose and struck him a heavy blow on the shoulder.
Of Griffin and Johns, there was no sign. Just as they started to attack the twisted turret with an axe, they heard a faint tapping, as of
wood against the metal fuselage.
Outside, beside the broken tail, they found a pair of flying boots upside down in the snow, feebly pressing a balsam branch which, in
turn, had rattled on the fuselage. They pulled at the boots, but nothing gave. Dropping to their knees, all three burrowed like gophers
with their gloved hands to claw away the snow. They rescued "Johnny" Johns. "I couldn’t have lasted another
minute", said Johnny. Then they returned to free "Gil" from the fallen turret. Griffin, however, was beyond help.
They prepared to spend the night beside the plane. The temperature was falling to 41 below zero and Al and Doug each gave
"Johnny" a flying glove to warm his frost-bitten hands. Johns had taken off his mitts to change over fuel when the crash came
and was flung into the snow in his bare hands.
They spread a red-and-white parachute beside the wreck to attract search planes, then built a fire.
Under an up-tilted wing they tramped out a sleeping place and laid a layer of balsam boughs, a half-dozen spare suits of flying clothing,
three layers of silk parachutes, and greatcoats. They covered Gilmour and Johns, the two casualties, and huddled about them. Afraid the
flames might ignite the fuel tanks, still laden with 800 gallons of high-octane gasoline, they let the fire go out the first night. The
temperature fell to 45 degrees and all were too cold and miserable to sleep.
The spent the next day improving their shelter by carpeting it with flight maps and small sheepskin rugs they were bringing as souvenirs
from Iceland.
F/O Campbell chopped wood and salvaged necessities from the aircraft. From metal covers of life raft canisters they made cooking tins, to
melt snow water and to heat food. From twisted metal bomb doors they made a base for the wood fire.
All took turns searching for the "Gibson Girl" portable radio, which would have enabled them to communicate with Goose Bay or
sent out a continuous "SOS" in Morse but it was never found, though they dug in the snow with wood and bits of metal. They
rationed their meager supplies sparingly, for three of the six emergency ration kits had been lost in the wreck. Each man was allotted
three-quarters of a tin of corned beef, three squares of chocolate, and three or four hardtack biscuits daily, this slender ration
permitting a piece of meat about the size of a condensed beef cube for each of two meals.
Saturday night the mercury dropped to 55 below and only "Johnny" was able to sleep. Watch was kept all night to stoke up the
fire and pull covers over anyone who might doze off with an arm or a leg outside.
Sunday [20 February] they tried to make snowshoes from the "catwalk" and cartridge belts but failed. "Johnny’s" idea
of making them, Indian-fashion, from evergreen boughs and parachute cord, was successful and plans were made to make snowshoes for all
later.
They saw aircraft directly overhead Sunday, but it was so cold the Very pistol and marine signals failed to go off until the searchers had
passed out of sight. A brisk wind whisked away smoke signals as soon as they topped the trees. Cold jammed their machine gun after two
shots.
On Monday morning [21 February] they were found by a trapper, Jim Goudie, who heard them chopping wood while touring his trap lines.
Carrying a letter from Imrie setting forth their position and the state of the crew, he set out on snowshoes for Goose Bay. He arrived
there about the same time that an American DC-3 sighted their smoke signals and immense "SOS" on the nearby lake.
Soon Group Captain Hanchett-Taylor and S/L Ross Robertson, medical officer, landed in a ski-equipped Norseman with food, sleeping bags and
six thermos jugs of steaming coffee. The skiis dug into the treacherous, soggy snow, and the rescuers, too, were marooned. But all knew
rescue was just a matter of time. A Piper Cub flown by Americans was mired a day later, though it eventually got off with Gilmour and
Johnson. [sic - Johns].
Imrie, Campbell and Harland were all strong enough to make the journey to Goose Bay on foot and Friday morning [25 February] the little
party set off on snow with U.S. Army dog teams in charge of Captain Ed Goodale of Ispwich, Massachusetts, and Master Sergeant Dick Moulton
of Wonalancet, New Hampshire, both of whom had been with Admiral Byrd at the South Pole. Making camp in mid-afternoon, the party reached
Goose Bay at noon Saturday. |