Baptism of fire over the Vennenberg 

"This is my fourth flight and there have been no major problems so far, although there was the previous flight that had to be aborted then...."

As a teenager, Stanley had discovered early on, in the Middlesex countryside of England, that the night could be both your friend and your enemy. When he used to leave Tottenham at night with his friends to go wildlife spotting, he was always the first to pick up tracks. It seemed his eyes got used to the dark very quickly. As a 21-year-old in wartime - he was happy with his sharp eyes and tracking skills, which ensured he could maintain his attention and rely on his reflexes should a German night hunter come into his line of fire. 

"We all used to go to Spurs at the weekends, we once swore we would never become Arsenal supporters; what a twist of fate that I am now a 'gunner'."

Behind his back, the rest of the crew was busy navigating, tuning and adjusting: for the second time, they were heading for the war industries in Essen. He himself remained focused peering into the dark, especially towards the plane diagonally below him: that's where the blind spot was hidden, and the Luftwaffe knew that too. Older colleagues had warned how unexpectedly the night fighters could appear and how you should automatically press the machine gun fire buttons! 

"Last night I meticulously cleaned the glass dome, but there are still bug splatters in my field of vision. I know where they are, but still: isn't that dot getting closer and closer?"

They had been flying at high altitude for some time and the cold was getting to Stanley's bones. His thoughts wandered for a moment to Rex, the engineer at the front of the plane, checking the gauges. They got on well together; they had agreed to think of each other for a moment every flight. At the army base, Stanley had a picture of the two of them pinned above his bunk. It gave him the idea that Rex was looking over his shoulder and supporting him - even when he felt lonely and trapped in the tail of the Lancaster. 

"The clock shows 15.15, where will we be - have we crossed the German border yet?"

In a split-second he realised his fate...

Text Hugo van den Ende 
Research Stefan Hendriks