I came to the story of Alec Cranswick quite by accident. As I’ve mentioned before on ABR, I was reading Chris Ward’s 6 Group Bomber Command and came upon reference to Cranswick, the number of ops he’d flown and his dog, Kluva. At the time I was heavily involved in an excellent, but now defunct, Commonwealth forces-focussed internet forum so I asked the question there. Numerous responses ensued, it became apparent a book had been written in the ‘60s and, although he didn’t make his identity immediately known, author Michael Cumming posted about the ongoing history of the book. In short, it had been reprinted twice, become a well-regarded classic, updated with new information and was about to be released as an e-book.
I could not justify the exorbitant prices being asked for the first edition nor could I, try as I might, get hold of the more affordable self-published 2005 (??) edition. In the meantime I had been chatting with the author and became fascinated with, and a keen supporter of, his mission to keep the Cranswick story alive for future generations. The e-book was his latest effort and was certainly a cheaper way of producing a new book. Resigned to having to read an electronic copy, I bought and downloaded the e-book to the iPad and got stuck in. This is where the journey really began as I was drawn into a remarkable world of dedication and phenomenal determination.
Coming out the other end, my head swam with the sheer feat of flying 107 bombing operations. I found I recalled small details easily because the writing was honest and straight-forward yet managed to breathe life into things from deep within Cranswick’s soul. However, the e-book was too clinical a medium. There was passion and warmth here that needed to be in print in the most beautiful format there is – the hardback. The end result is the 50th anniversary edition – released in May 2012. There are few aircrew-related hardbacks that surpass this beautifully-produced book.
Alec Cranswick was born in 1919 in Oxford but this is not when we first meet him. Instead the reader’s introduction to this gentle but determined man is at the controls of a Lancaster as he waits, somewhat impatiently, for the green Very light that will send him and his crew on their way for the night’s op – this time to the Villeneuve-St.-Georges marshalling yards near Paris. He is on his second tour with No. 35 Squadron of the Path Finder Force. This opening chapter is the perfect study of an experienced Pathfinder crew and paints a picture of professionalism, efficiency and effectiveness. For all that, though, for all the experience, for all the punctuality almost to the second over the target, this was to be their last operation as a crew and, for six of them, their last night alive. They were a remarkable crew but, really, their loss was anything but. Like so many before them, and so many after, they fell victim to a night fighter. Experience could only count for so much. Luck always played a large part. This crew had the experience covered – both gunners had flown more than 30 ops, the bomb aimer had earned the DFC and Cranswick, DSO DFC, the quiet journeyman who just wanted to get on with the job, was flying his 107th operation. His luck, for so long a companion in the cockpit, abandoned him that night.
Cranswick grew up a happy child with a surprising grasp of the world around him from early on. The inclusion of a poem, written at the age of six, is proof of this and is of a quality you will never find here (!). Aviation was prevalent as Alec’s father, a WW1 veteran, realised his dream in the early 1920s and joined the RAF. This, sadly, did not end happily as he was killed in a mid-air collision in 1928. It was, of course, a turning point for the young Cranswick. He was now the man of the house but he also knuckled down at school to ensure he and his mother and sister had a future. This, combined with the equally determined saving of his mother, allowed him to eventually attend St. Edward’s in Oxford. The school has a close association with the RAF and, when Alec graduated to become an Old Boy, he joined a group that included Douglas Bader, Guy Gibson, Adrian Warburton and other remarkable men.
Cranswick, somewhat enamoured by the Mounties of Canada, joined the Metropolitan Police in 1937 but found the work depressing. It was clear war was coming and he saw this an opportunity to finally realise his dream of flying for a living. When war finally came, and Bomber Command was making its first leaflet raids and attacks on strictly military installations, Cranswick was building hours on the Tiger Moth as a newly-minted RAF recruit. With barely 50 hours in his logbook he opted for multi-engine training as he saw the bomber as the most effective way to take the fight to the enemy.
Wellingtons were the ‘big’ bomber of the RAF at the time and Cranswick was fortunate, after training on them, to be posted to No. 214 Squadron in Suffolk as a second pilot. This was mid-1940 and before the four-engined heavies flown by one pilot with assistance from a flight engineer. Our man was expected to fly operations with a more experienced pilot until deemed fit to lead a crew, and a new second pilot, himself. At the age of 20, after just eight ops, Cranswick was given this opportunity after proving himself a competent pilot and, most importantly, incredibly reliable and cool under pressure. Twenty years old, 300 hours in his logbook and flying over Occupied Europe in the dark.
His tour with 214 was by no means an easy one. Cranswick’s determination to find and hit the target was often tempered by hitting an alternate but more than once he pressed on and on to get the job done. It was his duty. He was certain that what he did would help shorten the war even in the dark days of late 1940. RAF Bomber Command was by no means the ruthlessly efficient machine it was to become in the near future. Small forces of bombers were sent out and, affected by the defences, performance, weather and experience, many crews often found themselves bombing alone over what they thought to be the target. Everything was, for want of a better word, rudimentary. Everything, that is, except for the men in the bombers. They pressed on and crews like Cranswick’s survived flak damage, forced-landings on decoy airfields, icing and even accidentally switching on the landing lights while over the target!
Cranswick dreaded the thought of being taken off ops at the end of his tour and, as an indication of his leadership, his crew did not want to be broken up. Volunteering for a posting to the Mediterranean seemed the thing to do. After some false starts, and a long flight to Malta, the crew joined No. 148 Squadron and flew on ops attacking mainly enemy airfields and shipping with particular success against Italian warships. Cranswick found Malta’s history fascinating and immersed himself in the culture and was inspired to write a poetic tribute to the island’s stoic population. What he saw in their courage and determination to keep on was a reflection of himself.
A move to North Africa proper saw a number of ops in support of the land campaign before Cranswick was unable to escape the inevitable and was posted for a rest. Happily, he was to keep flying by ferrying aircraft along the Takoradi route. Starting on Africa’s Gold Coast, the aircraft, having been delivered by ship and assembled, would be delivered to operational units on the other side of the continent. Shortly after arriving at the coast, however, Cranswick was struck down by malaria. Several bouts of this debilitating disease, and then scarlet fever, would not see him active, flying or otherwise, for more than a fortnight at a time and this went on for almost six months. If anything, it was an enforced rest but the effects of the malaria in particular would continue to plague him.
Cranswick gratefully returned to ops with his old 148 Squadron in October 1941 and passed his half-century in terms of bombing sorties flown. He was to experience another enforced rest when he was posted home. He returned to a Bomber Command that was very different to when he had left. Technology, navigational aids and greater co-ordination were making their presence felt. This only served to increase Cranswick’s desire to return to operations. He was not, however, in good health. Until he was fully fit he was, despite his protestations, charged with instructing on the Liberator and also delivering motivational speeches to factory workers. He missed flying on operations though. Although he had had some close calls and seen things that still haunted him, ops seemed to be the solution to, and cause of, his problem. It was not that he needed a ‘fix’. He felt he had not done his job and there was much, much more work to be done.
Finally, he was posted to a Halifax conversion unit, where he met his rear gunner and navigator (men who would be with him almost to the end), and then to No. 419 Squadron RCAF as the all-Canadian No. 6 Group formed. Cranswick’s experience and illness had changed him. The determination was still there, of course, but he was now more reserved preferring the quietness of his room and classical music instead of the general melee that was the mess or local pub. It was a measure of his strength of character, and his leadership in the air, that his desire to keep to himself was not questioned or criticised by his crew and peers. His was an existence of contemplation and intense focus on the job at hand. He was not without a sense of humour or compassion, however, as evidenced by his German Shepherd puppy, Kluva, who, in early January 1943, had his own logbook and a good dose of flying experience. Kluva was soon to become well-known with another squadron when Cranswick, having volunteered himself and his crew, joined No. 35 Squadron and the Path Finder Force.
To be continued … my eyes are falling out of my head but I HAD to post this on the 70th anniversary of Cranswick’s death.
