Captain Ted Swales won the Victoria Cross for his heroism controlling a raid on Pforzheim on 23 February, 1945. Using first hand-testimony, Sean Feast recounts his story.
South African Edwin ‘Ted’ Swales was one of the more remarkable 582 Squadron characters in the context of a remarkable body of men.
From his earliest school days at Durban High School, Ted was more interested in his sport than academic life, especially rugby, but he eventually matriculated and embarked on a career in banking, joining a branch of his local Barclays. With the outbreak of war, he served first in the army, seeing active service in Kenya (which was under threat from the Italian army), Abyssinia and Egypt, taking part in the Crusader offensive, the Gazala battles, and El Alamein.
A desire to get into the air prompted him to join the South African Air Force (SAAF) and after training and being awarded his wings he arrived in the UK in the Autumn of 1943. After further operational training he was – unusually - posted directly to a Pathfinder squadron, 582 Squadron at Little Staughton.
(Ted Swales and his crew and ground crew, February 1945. Ted is at the very top. Standing on the far right is his exceptional navigator, Dudley Archer, whose unique collection of flying logs and maps is held by the RAF Pathfinders Archive. The 23 February 1945 log and map are missing, clearly having gone down with the aircraft.)
Ted’s first trip was on July 12, 1944 to Thiverny, and two more followed to Mont Cordon and Cagny in quick succession. He nearly came to grief on his way back from Kiel at the end of July when, short on fuel, he diverted to the Handley Page factory in Radlett, Hertfordshire, and attempted an emergency landing. Unfortunately, he misjudged his approach, and Swales and his flight engineer were both injured in the crash that resulted.
The South African’s operations then followed a similar pattern to his contemporaries: short trips to France, long hauls to Germany; attacks on troop concentrations and oil installations. On a daylight to Duisberg he suffered more than most. Flak forced his flight engineer to feather both port engines, and with his starboard outer also misfiring it was touch and go whether he would make it back in one piece. Severed hydraulic lines meant no flaps or brakes on landing, and in the end he was forced to bring the Lancaster to earth with his undercarriage retracted on the outskirts of Brussels. All of the crew got out safely, and were picked up by an Anson and flown back to Little Staughton. The aircraft, PB485 ‘J’ Johnnie was wrecked.
Promoted captain, by December 23 1944, the date of the daylight to Cologne/Gremberg, he had flown 33 trips. It was over Cologne that he won the first of his immediate awards for gallantry – a Distinguished Flying Cross – for fending off the attentions of five enemy aircraft. His two gunners – Flight Sergeants Bryn Leach and Jack Smith – were similarly rewarded with the DFM. The awards were gazetted, ironically, on February 23, 1945, the day they were briefed for Pforzheim, Ted’s 42nd and final trip.
The crew that night had one or two changes from Swales’ regular team. In the rear turret was Pilot Officer Al Bourne. His account of the raid – recorded in Master Bombers (Grub Street 2008) – is a testimony to the bravery of all of the men who flew that day, and especially the bravery of their skipper:
“On February 23, 1945 we were briefed to be master of ceremonies on Pforzheim. The raid was to last for 20 minutes, with a deputy MC to orbit us in case the MC got the chop.
“On arriving at Pforzheim and orbiting the target for the second time, I noticed some movement low on our starboard side. It overtook us at high speed so couldn’t be a Lanc. I made a mental note to watch the starboard side. Several minutes passed while I continually rotated the turret, then when the skipper started to broadcast to main force I was cut off from the aircraft intercom.
“At that moment, an enemy aircraft dropped rapidly astern of us and seemed to rise slightly at approximately 20 degrees low on our starboard quarter at a range of less than 400 yards. ‘Fighter starboard – Go!’ I called on the intercom then realised there was no response to my call for a corkscrew to starboard because the pilot could not hear me whilst he was transmitting. Immediately I began flashing my starboard ‘fighter call light’ to warn Ted visually of our plight. At no more than 200 yards I opened fire with all four guns, at the same time I felt the aircraft shudder and go into a starboard corkscrew as the fighter opened up with his cannon. As we levelled with the Me (Messerschmitt 410) still close on our tail, cannon shells straddled each side of my turret scoring hits on both rudders and inner engines. As the rudder surfaces disintegrated, they looked for all the world like washing on a line on a windy day.
“With both inboard engines hit, I realised that our hydraulic power for the turrets and guns was gone. In all this time I had heard nothing on the intercom but the sound of my own breathing. Soon the Me410 grew enormous from my position as either he soared above us or we began to lose height, every detail of our attacker was clearly visible.
“Realising that my guns were still pointing upwards and to port, I determined to have one last crack at him and stuck my thumb into the opening under the rear seat of the upper Browning to trip the firing mechanism. After a few rounds, the gun stopped firing and sparks seemed to fly off the underside of the enemy telling me I was hitting, but to what effect I didn’t know.
“At this time Bryn Leach, my gunner partner, let out a shout and only then did I realise that as our attacker rose into view from the stern, he had also opened fire to good effect.”
Swales checked on the welfare of the crew and made one last broadcast to Main Force and handing over to his Deputy. Despite severe damage to the Lancaster, and two engines dead, Ted decided to head for home rather than neutral Switzerland and internment:
“The next hour was a nightmare,” Al continues, “as ‘M’ Mike slithered violently from side to side and rapidly lost much needed height, the skipper fighting the controls to stay in the air. By this time, with the blind flying panel useless, we were down to less than 2,000 feet and the navigator’s estimate put us over the German border and into France.
“Now, with feet braced against the bulkhead and arms embracing the control column, Ted gave the order, ‘Prepare to abandon aircraft’. As the crew in the nose prepared to exit via the forward hatch I left my turret still wearing my helmet and joined Bryn and Bert (the wireless op) ready to leave by the main door. Then the urgent call came over the intercom ‘Jump! Jump! I can’t hold her any longer’. I signalled to Bert who moved quickly and plunged out, I followed seconds later and Bryn gave a sign that he was OK.
“I remembered that ‘M’ Mike had been in an almost uncontrollable orbit when we abandoned it and seconds later there came a tremendous explosion and a flash as the aircraft struck the ground somewhere below. By the light from the burning plane, I landed in the mud of a ploughed field, sinking in over my boot tops. Minutes later, by the use of our aircraft whistles, the crew gathered, without Ted, at the fiercely burning remains of our aircraft.”
Ted Swales was dead, still strapped into the cockpit. Within 24 hours the extent of Ted Swales’ bravery was known. The commanding officer of 582 Squadron, Wing Commander Stafford Coulson, sat down to compose the ‘particulars of meritorious service’ for which the recommendation of a Victoria Cross – Britain’s highest award for gallantry – was being made. It read: ‘His only thought was for the safety of his crew. This latter was only ensured by his complete disregard for his own safety and his acceptance of certain death for himself.”
(Edwin Swales' headstone at Leopoldsburg War Cemetery, Belgium)
Johnnie Clough, Ted’s friend and later flight commander, told the author that Ted would question others on the squadron almost incessantly, and not just about the job or the war but also about history, science and farming. Groomed as a future master bomber, he would make a point of seeking out the most experienced crews for their advice, and not just the pilots but also the flight engineers, navigators and gunners, such was his desire to learn everything about the role. On one occasion he was obliged to return early when his canopy blew off shortly after take-off, only to receive a severe reprimand from his CO for failing to press-on. He told his friend Johnnie in confidence that he would never turn back again. Johnnie always wondered whether this was the reason he tried to get home.