At the outbreak of World War II in September 1939, Rex Kimlin was a 16 year old school kid living a quiet life in suburban Brisbane, Queensland, Australia. By August 1944 he was a wireless operator air gunner in a Lancaster bomber over western Europe. This is the story of his enlistment and induction into the formidable war machine that was RAF Bomber Command. In his own words Rex tells how his life moved on from the leafy streets of Wynnum North, through experiences of violent death in training to the ultimate ordeal over heavily defended targets in Germany's Ruhr Valley.
Rex's never before published memoir of thirty-five missions in "Lancs" makes compelling reading. His matter-of-fact descriptions of apocalyptic scenes are chilling. For example:
"Attacking the target at night was like flying into an inferno. Fires blazing on the ground, searchlights all around and what looked like an impenetrable wall of flak, in yellowy red bursts, and heavy smoke from previous flak explosions. Tracers lazily drifting up towards you, and then zipping by at high speed, and now and then a plane or two going down in flames, or exploding in mid-air, either by a direct hit on their bombs in the belly, or by collision or bombs dropped from above through the stream, by chicken aircraft flying higher than they were supposed to, to avoid the flak, to the detriment and danger of all aircraft doing the right thing. It was a mad hectic 10 to 15 minutes, from the time you started the straight and level bombing run, until you were able to turn away and clear the target area."
In a happy miracle of fate Rex returned unharmed to tell his story, a testament to the courage of the 125,000 air crew of Bomber Command - ordinary men catapulted into extraordinary situations. It is also a memorial to the 55,000 who did not return.
Rex's never before published memoir of thirty-five missions in "Lancs" makes compelling reading. His matter-of-fact descriptions of apocalyptic scenes are chilling. For example:
"Attacking the target at night was like flying into an inferno. Fires blazing on the ground, searchlights all around and what looked like an impenetrable wall of flak, in yellowy red bursts, and heavy smoke from previous flak explosions. Tracers lazily drifting up towards you, and then zipping by at high speed, and now and then a plane or two going down in flames, or exploding in mid-air, either by a direct hit on their bombs in the belly, or by collision or bombs dropped from above through the stream, by chicken aircraft flying higher than they were supposed to, to avoid the flak, to the detriment and danger of all aircraft doing the right thing. It was a mad hectic 10 to 15 minutes, from the time you started the straight and level bombing run, until you were able to turn away and clear the target area."
In a happy miracle of fate Rex returned unharmed to tell his story, a testament to the courage of the 125,000 air crew of Bomber Command - ordinary men catapulted into extraordinary situations. It is also a memorial to the 55,000 who did not return.
