from:Sefton Street, Heywood, Lancashire.
My dad, Arnold Rothwell, joined up in 1939. He married my mum on a Sunday, and went to start his training 2 days later. He wasn't to return home for 4 years. During his training, he joined a group of musicians on the base as he was a euphonium player. Whilst there, he was offered the chance to join the first R.A.F. band, but after being dissuaded by his friends, he declined the offer - a decision he regretted all his life.
He trained as a wireless operator and was attached to 38 Squadron and sent overseas to North Africa.
He often told of the time when he was part of the crew of a Wellington Bomber, flying along the Juliana Mole in Benghazi towards the quay with the object of bombing it. He had been put in the front gunner position and as the plane had to come in low to avoid detection, he was aware of the sea only a matter of feet below. Panicking at the thought of ditching in the water he shouted to the Pilot "Up, Up," at which the rear gunner, on seeing the water rising towards him, shouted "Down, Down".
Dad was reported missing in April 1941 after volunteering for a mission that would have made up his quota of ops thus allowing him some leave. The base they left from was LG09 at Bir Koraiy. They set off at 22.30hrs to attack shipping in Benghazi Harbour. On return they descended below the cloud to determine their position and the starboard engine cut out and caught fire. The aircraft crashed near Mersa Matruh. Out of a crew of 6, 3 died and 3 were injured, dad being one of the lucky ones to survive.
After 2 or 3 days lying injured in the desert, they were rescued by some American soldiers who had gone out a couple of days earlier to lay some pipes, and on their return noticed a crashed plane that wasn't there when they set out.
After being treated for his injuries, he was sent home and stayed in hospital in Wales for almost 2 years, most of this time in plaster from his neck, down his body and covering both legs. His right leg was left stiff and 4 inches shorter, and was to leave him disabled and in pain for the rest of his life.
Dad managed to revisit Benghazi and the Juliana Mole in 2004 when we joined a Veterans Return cruise, so my brother and I were finally able to see for ourselves and understand the story more. It must have been truly terrifying to fly towards that quay whilst being shot at by anti aircraft guns.
My dad died in 2007 at the ripe old age of 91. He had started to write his life story, but unfortunately wasn't able to write down the details of his crash, he always found it too horrific to talk or think about. It is however, an insight to the life of a young airman, his thoughts and fears as he prepared to set off on operations that he wasn't sure of returning from, and how thoughts of his young wife kept him strong.
