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| Original wartime caption: The Victoria Cross has been posthumously awarded to Acting Flight Sergeant ARTHUR LOUIS AARON, DFM, of the Royal Air Force. Flight Sergeant Aaron was captain of a Stirling on a bombing mission on Turin on 12th August 1943 when his aircraft was attacked by an enemy fighter. Although he was seriously wounded he summoned his failing strength to bring the crippled bomber back to an Allied airfield. He died nine hours later. SEE AIR MINISTRY AWARDS LIST NO. 695. (Imperial War Museum CH 11470; Aaron is dressed in typical European civilian clothes as this photo was used on escape documents carried by him) |
by Chaz Bowyer
If a single quality could be chosen to epitomize the crews of Bomber Command during the fateful years 1939-45, then that quality can be generally summed in the word ‘youth.’ As with all matters related to the human race there were superb exceptions, but the great majority of the men who carried the RAF’s offensive into the black skies over Germany, Italy and occupied Europe were merely in their late ‘teens or only just of a lawful age of maturity. Classified in legal jargon as ‘infants,’ such ‘boys’ bore a man’s responsibility each time they took off on operations and the swiftly maturing process of facing death in a variety of horrible forms made men out of boys almost overnight.
This was particularly true of the bomber captains. Often of junior rank and, in so many cases, younger in years than the devoted crews they led into battle, such ‘skippers’ were constantly beset by the need to make decisions on which the lives of their crews depended. And on occasion it meant a choice between losing their own lives or preserving those of their crews. Almost without known exception they chose to save their faithful crews if at all possible. It was just such a cruel decision made by a 21-year-old bomber captain high in the night skies of Italy in the summer of 1943 that cost him his own life, but his crew came home alive. He was Arthur Louis Aaron.
Born in Leeds on 5 March 1922, his early education was aimed towards a career in arch-tecture but even as a boy he was fascinated by two things, mountains and flying … a tragically prophetic combination of interests. Like so many hundreds of other youngsters of his day, Aaron’s first ecstatic taste of the pure joy of flying came with a “five-bob flip” with Alan Cobham’s traveling ‘circus’ in the 1930s. His absorption with mountains may have been inherited from his mother who came originally from Switzerland but settled in Britain before the 1914-18 war, and he found expression for this in many rock-climbing expeditions during his spare time. On the outbreak of war in 1939 Aaron joined the Air Training Corps unit of Leeds University and the following year volunteered for air crew duties with the RAF. Completing his pilot training at 1 BFTS, Terrell, Texas, on 15 September 1941, he came back to Britain for operational conversion to heavy bombers and was eventually posted to 218 Squadron at Downham Market, flying Short Stirlings.
Commencing his operational flying with a “soft” trip, a mining sortie to the Bay of Biscay, Aaron soon began flying over the German homeland, bombing Duisberg, Bochum, Wuppertal, Dusseldorf, Krefeld and a dozen other major targets. The first real indication of his inner de-termination to complete any given task was the sortie on which his Stirling was partially crippled by predicted flak. Despite serious damage to the bomber, he carried out his bombing run and brought the Stirling back. His efforts were recognized by the award of a Distinguished Flying Medal.
In the afternoon of 12 August 1943, Aaron and his crew were briefed for their first operation to Italy. It was to be their 21st operational sortie and the target was Turin. Taking off from Downham Market into the lowering sun of a warm summer evening, Aaron lifted the nose of Stirling EF452 O-Oboe and, like some winged dinosaur, the huge bomber labored upwards, struggling to gain precious height. Crossing the French coast near Caen at some 10,000 feet, Aaron continued his steady climb in the brilliant moonlight now beginning to flood the night sky and, on reaching a comfortable 14,000 feet, he leveled the bomber out and headed south. Well used to the machine’s lack of a safe ceiling, he was not particularly worried … the sheer beauty of the approaching Alps bathed in moonlight capturing his attention. Pointing to Mont Blanc on the port side, he remarked “Boy, would I like to climb that.” His attention was brought back almost immediately to the job in hand as the target Turin loomed in front and below.
Busying himself for the bombing run-up, he ordered the bomb doors opened. The rest of the crew moved into their respective battle stations with the facility of a well-trained and experienced team. Allan Larden, the second pilot, slithered down into the nose bomb-aimer’s position while Mitchem, the flight engineer, automatically climbed into Larden’s vacated seat, his fingers waiting to operate the bomb release switches. The voice of Richmond from the mid-upper gun turret crackled over the intercom, saying “Watch that bloke up front, Art.” Aaron leaned to his right and saw on the starboard side another Stirling of the main stream slightly below and wallowing rather too close for comfort. “Okay, Ritch,” he acknowledged. Hardly were the words out than Richmond’s voice cam back, yelling “He’s firing at us.” Below their starboard wingtip at a mere 250 yards range the other Stirling’s rear gunner opened fire and steadily raked Aaron’s machine from starboard to port wing and back again. The time was 1:20 a.m.
The unknown gunner’s aim was deadly accurate. In the nose of O-Oboe, Larden was startled to see half a dozen fingerholes punched in the fuselage just two feet from his face; while behind him in the fuselage the navigator, Bill Brennan, collapsed in a cascade of maps, pencils and instruments as a bullet went clean through his heart. Larden was then stung into action by the horror-filled voice of Mitchem shouting, “My God, fellows, look at Art. Oh, poor Art. Give me a hand Allan.” Swinging up into the cockpit, Larden could see his skipper hunched over to his left and covered in blood from a gaping wound in the face, his right arm dangling useless and limp. The main instrument panel was a shambles of broken, blood-flecked glass as was the pilot’s side of the windscreen. The engine throttle levers were damaged and in the co-pilot’s seat Mitchem was fighting for control of the fully-laden bomber as it fell away to port in a 250-mile-per-hour dive. Finally regaining some control at just under 4,000 feet, Mitchem then slid out of his seat, and Larden, with the ease of practiced habit, took his place and started climbing to just over 7,000 feet at which height, rather than overheat the engines, he leveled out and concentrated on guiding the stricken machine through the menacing mountains.
Meanwhile, Mitchem had gathered the rest of the crew together and began to move the wounded skipper to amidships where he could receive first aid attention. Astonishingly, Aaron was still conscious and, in spite of having half of his face shot away, bullets in his chest and a right forearm attached by merely a few tendons, insisted on knowing Larden’s intentions for getting the machine back to safety. Unable to speak, he scratched a message with his left hand on the back of the dead navigator’s log, telling Larden to head for England. Larden gave him an OK sign and only then would Aaron consent to be moved and given two morphia injections. In fact the second pilot had little alternative for the time being but to keep heading south, ringed in by the mountains and having to constantly fight for control of a machine reduced to a near-wreck by gunfire damage.
The automatic pilot was inoperable, cables for trimming tabs were dangling, broken, from the roof, hydraulic lines ruptured thus rendering the rear turret useless and slopping oil in the mid-section. Added to all these, the starboard inner engine was threatening to overheat and they still had a full bomb load aboard. Ordering the crew to prepare dinghies and check parachutes, Larden then took stock of the situation. Bailing out would mean almost certain death among the snow-covered peaks. Coaxing the Stirling over the lower mountains towards Austria at first, Larden decided to head towards the nearest British-occupied land, Sicily. At his wireless set, Sergeant Guy continued to transmit to base but the response was practically inaudible. It meant that they were virtually alone in the sky, without a position fix, an accurate course to fly and little idea where they were precisely.
Finally they escaped from the mountains and crossed the Italian coast at La Spezia, where the bomb load of high explosive and incendiaries were promptly jettisoned into the harbor area. Still uncertain of their position, Guy sent a plain language signal to Bone airfield on the North African coast, an emergency call which immediately paid off when they received a reply advising them not to attempt landing at Sicily but to cross the Mediterranean to Bone. Everything now depended on fuel and Mitchem calculated that they might just make it if nothing untoward occurred en route.
Telling the rear gunner McCabe to sit by the engineer’s panel and watch the fuel gauges, Mitchem and Larden occupied the two plots seats while Richmond did his best to ease the pain and suffering of his skipper, Aaron. The latter, though desperately weak from loss of blood and shock, rallied sufficiently to scratch a message asking how they intended navigating. Guy reassured him that they were bound for Bone airfield and had a map bearing to get them there. Aaron lay back, exhausted even from this brief effort to ensure his crew were safe.
Droning on across the Mediterranean, Larden, under Mitchem’s expert guidance, alternated engine power, carefully extracting the last drop of precious petrol from each tank. Finally he spotted two searchlights forming an inverted ‘V’ on the horizon which were soon joined by a third light to form a marker tripod of light. It was Bone airfield. Homing over the beams, Larden put the Stirling into a clumsy right-hand circuit of the airfield and commenced preparations for landing. It was then that he was told by Bone’s controller that the main runway was blocked by a crashed Wellington bomber. Deciding on a wheels-up landing to the left of the runway, Larden continued his landing approach. The abrupt maneuvering of the machine brought Aaron to consciousness again and, on being told by Guy that they were going to land, the mortally wounded skipper started trying to crawl forward to take command of the landing. As Larden has since remarked, “Who could deny such an indomitable spirit?”
The two gunners helped Aaron into the left-hand seat while Mitchem stood behind his skipper, one arm holding him in his seat. Aaron had only his left arm to operate controls and could only shake his head to communicate with his co-pilot. Unaware of the Wellington wreckage on the main runway, Aaron instinctively lined the Stirling for a normal landing approach and could not comprehend Larden’s shouted warning. It was sheer experienced instinct which made Aaron recognize a “wrong” let-down and he nodded towards the throttles for Larden to advance them. Automatically obeying his captain Larden opened up the throttles for a second circuit. On his next approach Aaron again nodded for the throttles to be opened … an instinctive reaction to a situation whereby he knew the aircraft and crew were endangered. Once more Larden obeyed the unspoken order and the Stirling swayed away from the runway into a third circuit. By then Mitchem, with his precise knowledge of the desperately-low fuel state, told Larden that they must land this time … there was no fuel for any more attempts. The bomber settled into its approach and at only 500 feet Aaron again nodded to Larden to open up … the feel of the aircraft was not right for a normal landing. Larden shouted that there was no fuel, they must go down, but Aaron was determined and repeated his mute order. In desperation Larden leaned across and pushed his skipper hard back from the control column. Aaron collapsed, his eyes glaring at his co-pilot in an unforgettable reproach.
With the machine at stalling point and the left wing beginning to drop, Larden pushed the column hard forward and held tight as the desert sand rushed up towards them; then heaved back sharply. The Stirling tobogganed in for a belly-landing, scooping earth and sand in a monstrous tidal wave but came to rest without any further damage to crew or machine. They were down. The time was 6:00 a.m. on Friday the 13th.
Aaron was quickly removed and driven to the base hospital where an immediate operation was carried out to remove the bullets in his right chest cavity. The rest of the crew were checked over by the medical officer, Larden having two bullets removed from his right buttock and Mitchem having an ankle strapped up where two bullets had scraped the bone. Apart from the dead navigator, the others were unharmed. It was only after this that the crew learned of their deadly ‘lodger,’ a 500-pound high explosive bomb which had failed to release over La Spezia, and Larden was presented with the safety buckle of his Sutton parachute harness. Two bullets had made direct hits on it, jamming the mechanism into the ‘released’ position. Had he taken to his chute he would have fallen straight out of the harness.
All through the black Friday the survivors prayed silently for their skipper and indeed at first he appeared to be rallying well. But by early evening they learned that he had finally succumbed to his appalling injuries at approximately 3:00 p.m. He was buried with full military honors in Bone cemetery. On 3 November 1943, the London Gazette published the official citation for the award of a Victoria Cross to Arthur Louis Aaron and its narrative attributed the attack on the Stirling to “an enemy nightfighter.” Allan Larden was awarded a Conspicuous Gallantry Medal, while Mitchem and Guy received Distinguished Flying Medals for their part in this epic of courage. In a personal letter to Aaron’s parents the AOC-in-C, Bomber Command, “Bert” Harris, wrote in part, “In my opinion never even in the annals of the RAF, has the VC been awarded for skill, determination and courage in the face of the enemy of a higher order than that displayed by your son on his last flight.” On 25 February 1944, Aaron’s parents attended an investiture at Buckingham Palace where they received their gal-lant son’s awards and a little later, the father was present at a mass parade of Air Training Corps cadets at Wellington Barracks where the Commandant of the ATC, Air Marshal Sir Leslie Gossage, read out the VC citation in honor of their most distinguished ex-cadet. Two years later, in August 1946, the parents’ house was burgled and the medals stolen, but after a police appeal, Aaron’s awards were returned through the post anonymously. In December 1953, Benjamin Aaron, the VC’s father, presented the awards to the Leeds City Museum for permanent public display; they may be seen there today.
Perhaps the astounding courage and selfless sacrifice of Arthur Aaron might be best summed by the simple tribute paid to him by Sergeant Thomas McCabe, the rear gunner of the fated Stirling, who said, “It was the greatest thing I have ever known. His whole thought was for the ship and for his crew.”
Acknowledgment
The author is deeply indebted for information from Dr. F. E. Aaron and the personal account of Allan Larden, CGM, made available by Squadron Leader Ralph Barker, RAF (Retired).
VC Action
Aaron, 21 years old, was flying Stirling serial number EF452 on his 20th sortie. Nearing the target, his bomber was struck by machine gun fire. The bomber's Canadian navigator (Cornelius A. Brennan) was killed, and other members of the crew were wounded.
The official citation for his VC reads:
Air Ministry, 5th November, 1943.
The King has been graciously pleased to confer the Victoria Cross on the undermentioned airman in recognition of most conspicuous bravery:—
1458181 Acting Flight Sergeant Arthur Louis Aaron, D.F.M.Tooltip Distinguished Flying Medal, Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, No. 218 Squadron (deceased).
On the night of 12 August 1943, Flight Sergeant Aaron was captain and pilot of a Stirling aircraft detailed to attack Turin. When approaching to attack, the bomber received devastating bursts of fire from an enemy fighter. Three engines were hit, the windscreen shattered, the front and rear turrets put out of action and the elevator control damaged, causing the aircraft to become unstable and difficult to control. The navigator was killed and other members of the crew were wounded.
A bullet struck Flight Sergeant Aaron in the face, breaking his jaw and tearing away part of his face. He was also wounded in the lung and his right arm was rendered useless. As he fell forward over the control column, the aircraft dived several thousand feet. Control was regained by the flight engineer at 3,000 feet. Unable to speak, Flight Sergeant Aaron urged the bomb aimer by signs to take over the controls. Course was then set southwards in an endeavour to fly the crippled bomber, with one engine out of action, to Sicily or North Africa.
Flight Sergeant Aaron was assisted to the rear of the aircraft and treated with morphia. After resting for some time he rallied and, mindful of his responsibility as captain of aircraft, insisted on returning to the pilot's cockpit, where he was lifted into his seat and had his feet placed on the rudder bar. Twice he made determined attempts to take control and hold the aircraft to its course but his weakness was evident and with difficulty he was persuaded to desist. Though in great pain and suffering from exhaustion, he continued to help by writing directions with his left hand.
Five hours after leaving the target the petrol began to run low, but soon afterwards the flare path at Bone airfield was sighted. Flight Sergeant Aaron summoned his failing strength to direct the bomb aimer in the hazardous task of landing the damaged aircraft in the darkness with undercarriage retracted. Four attempts were made under his direction; at the fifth Flight Sergeant Aaron was so near to collapsing that he had to be restrained by the crew and the landing was completed by the bomb aimer.
Nine hours after landing, Flight Sergeant Aaron died from exhaustion. Had he been content, when grievously wounded, to lie still and conserve his failing strength, he would probably have recovered, but he saw it as his duty to exert himself to the utmost, if necessary with his last breath, to ensure that his aircraft and crew did not fall into enemy hands. In appalling conditions he showed the greatest qualities of courage, determination and leadership and, though wounded and dying, he set an example of devotion to duty which has seldom been equalled and never surpassed.
The gunfire that hit Aaron's aircraft was thought to have been from an enemy night fighter, but may have been friendly fire from another Stirling. Because of that the initial plan was to award him the George Cross, but prime minister Winston Churchill changed it to the Victoria Cross, because he did not want the enemy to know the RAF had shot down one of its own aircraft.
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| Portrait of Arthur L. Aaron, RAF, awarded the Victoria Cross: Italy, 13 August 1943. (Imperial War Museum CH 11680) |
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| Aaron in flying gear. |
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| Aaron’s No. 218 Squadron RAF Short Stirling was registered EF452 and coded HA-O. (Andy Hay/www.flyingart.co.uk) |