Spoke 5: Retracing my great-grandfather's final flight on two wheels
Featuring 10,000km Arriba's fifth guest writer, James Forsey
Part of Guest Writers Season 1
Post 5/6
For most of my conscious life, time spent on two wheels has closely competed with time spent on two feet. Pre-school opened the door to trike racing with Tom, a cycle companion I ride with regularly to this day. At secondary school things started to get more serious, with all free time dominated by mountain biking. My friends and I constantly dreamed up plans of where we’d ride next and what trails we’d build. At the time, this to me was, the most instinctively fun way to pass time, I never found much joy in the traditional school sports. But, as I grew up and discovered road cycling in my post-uni life, I realised the boundaries for exploration were now much further from home and that all this time spent on two wheels had been essential training.
Fast forward 8 years of road cycling adventures, including; the Alps, countless routes across the Home Counties, Wales, Yorkshire Dales and a few punchy one day races, and you get to today, 2023. This year I embarked on the cycle adventure to define my cycling career so far. I planned a solo cycle from the U.K. to Northern Jutland, Denmark. What started as a desire to spend a spare week of annual leave thrashing my body across Europe changed into a trip with much deeper connection to my own history and the history of Europe.
My grandfather, like many, lost his father in WWII. His father Max was a flight engineer for the RAF who volunteered to fly (as a 31 year old and a production manager in a factory during the war years, he was excluded from conscription). However, he wanted to get involved on the front lines and fly in Lancaster Bombers against Germany. These were larger planes focused on ground assaults, with a range of several 1,000km they were one of the few planes that could get into the heartland of Germany. The Spitfire/Hurricane get the lion share of the glory, but they were utilised only in defensive assaults, keeping the incoming Luftwaffe planes at bay as they breached UK shores. The importance of our offensive attacks in victory and the sacrifice of ‘Bomber Command’ is often overlooked in WWII.
There was typically a crew of 7 in Lancaster Bombers. My great-grandfather’s role as flight engineer was to monitor aircraft systems, identify and fix problems, and keep the plane flying against enemy assaults. As well as destabilising the German military factories, Bomber Command also played a key role in keeping the flame of resistance alive across Europe. On their return flights, they would drop supplies and information for the oppressed Europeans, informing them that the war was not lost yet, contrary to the message being reported to them.
His last mission was as “5 Group” in below map, on 21-22 May 1944, with the aim of breaking the back of the German war machine by targeting Kiel Bay, just north of Hamburg. At this point the U.K. was the last remaining allied European state not under Nazi control. On that fateful night, their plane was intercepted by a German fighter and had to make evasive manoeuvres back north toward Denmark.
My grandfather (his son) and his mother found out that his last mission had not been successful, but the circumstances remained unknown. Anxious to understand what had happened to Max my great-grandmother Muriel began writing to the RAF. Lots of letters were sent back and forth and 2 years of waiting until eventually information is given in this letter:
They knew now that my great-grandfather had been shot down and crashed over a small village in rural Denmark, Vesterlund. The plane landed in a farm and was witnessed falling through the sky in two halves. The locals who were not allowed out of their houses after the crash under SS suppression, witnessed Nazi officers removing the bodies and clearing up the crash site before leaving. The bodies, removed of signs of identification, were then taken to a mass grave in western Denmark. A horrific end for a man nearly the same age as me now (31), but at least there was closure.
In the process of corresponding back and forth with the RAF my great-grandmothers letters got all the way to the top of the roost, to the now retired Commander in Chief of RAF Fighter Command Air Chief Marshal Lord Dowding. What was perhaps more extraordinary was that from this correspondence my great-grandmother became close with ‘Head of RAF Fighter Command’ Dowding, and they married in 1951! Quite a defining moment for my grandfather as his mum became ‘Lady Dowding’ and I can only imagine life became considerably more high-society. Together they both went on to have extraordinary lives, which would genuinely necessitate another entry in its self, so for now back to cycling….
More info on their lives via the links for those interested:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muriel_Dowding,_Baroness_Dowding
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hugh_Dowding
Knowing the location of the crash site, I decided now was my time to make a pilgrimage. Charting my route, I decided I could get the Ferry from Harwich, UK to Holland, then try to link up a few of the Euro Velo routes across Holland, Germany and Denmark and if I had favourable wind (and legs), 1,100km later I would be there. Simple, I just needed to average over 160km a day for 7 days straight…! A few evenings of squinting at Komoot and charting my GPXs, a few hundred quid on gear (+ some favours cashed in, thanks Murray) and I had my kit and my route!
On day 1 I pedalled off the ferry into country 1 of 3, Holland, 3 days were spent here, and true to every stereotype it’s a cyclists heaven. Proper investment in infrastructure supported by a society where the audi-driving-monkey-brain-w**nkers seem to have either been deported or confined to a life on 2 wheels or less, which makes for idyllic pedalling. By day 3 I was getting into the beautiful daily rhythm of bike packing which for me looked something like the this:
Wake up after 9 hours of undisturbed deep sleep and muscle replenishment.
Pack down camp and stuff face with some calories whilst looking at the days route.
Plot a spot about 50km in for second breakfast.
Put the foot to pedal and drink in the beautiful countryside for a couple hours.
Second breakfast, lots of coffee with a side of pastry. Plan lunch stop.
Back in the saddle for 50km, more countryside, a few exchanges with fellow travellers.
Eat lunch and look ahead for a nice tea break 30km further.
Pedal again – this part was usually the hardest.
Tea break (or second lunch… Linner?? Just doesn’t sound right). Find a camp spot about 30km away, or if I’ve had a good day and its early, 60km away.
Pedal to camp grabbing dinner supplies and first breakfast for tomorrow on route.
Set up camp. Journal my reflections of the day.
Smile.
Sleep.
Return to Step 1.
Country 2 of 3 started off rocky, Germany welcomed me warmly with sideways rain and a laughably abrupt end to the cycle infrastructure (literally disappearing on the border line). I didn’t have a good feeling about this, and for the first 20km I was looking lustfully over my shoulder at Holland. However, I judged too soon, the Germans turned out to be the friendliest and most generous of the trip. All eager to hear my story, and help me along whether it was the car mechanic who refused my money and gave my chain a healthy dose of greasing when it seized up, or the man who gave me electrical tape when my bar tape unravelled in the rain. Hamburg was also a real highlight with its strong road cycling scene, I had the opportunity to take the better looking half of this adventure, my Canyon, to meet some of its kind in the only Canyon shop in the world.
Country 3 of 3, I started to get the sense that I was going to make it, Denmark felt like a long way from home, and I had done this on two legs, awesome. Beautiful rolling hills as well as some fantastic food and beer were on the agenda. On the penultimate night of my trip I treated myself to an Airbnb in Kolding (where my return train departed from) and decided to strip the bike back down to its raw and aerodynamic form to do my final 100km to Vesterlund in style with no bags attached.
I had coordinates to aim for the crash site and I’d agreed with Verner, my local contact, for a 2pm meet. A beautifully sunny day for my final day of cycling. I close in on the location, down a small track and I see a sign with RAF, looking promising. I cycle over a field and toward a cluster of trees, there is an opening, I see a group of three figures and one of them shouts “Hello, James?”, “Yes!”, I’ve made it!
We chat and remark on how strange this all is, and they show me to the memorial, a set of stones with the aircrews names and an inscription “Here allied pilots fell for the future of England and Denmark”. I think at this point I began to realise the emotion of the moment and where I was standing, what my trip had meant to me and what a sacrifice that generation made for us. I felt very connected to my history and proud of a young man who lost his life and a son who lost his father for our futures.
After spending some time there we went back to Nils’ house (his family created and maintained the memorial for 5 generations, and his grandparents lived there when the plane crashed!). Some impeccable Danish pastries, jokes and coffee were shared, and I was finished. If only Max could see this encounter, his great-grandson cycling across a now peaceful Europe to meet strangers who are all connected by his sacrifice.
Now for the journey home.
Further reading if interested: https://www.iwm.org.uk/history/raf-bomber-command-during-the-second-world-war#:~:text=RAF%20Bomber%20Command%20was%20created,weapon%20of%20immense%20destructive%20power
A call for writers
If you’d like to guest write on 10,000km Arriba, you’d be most welcome.
You can write about any bike based experience, whether a short or long trip, a chronic cycling addiction, or simply a moment on two wheels that you deeply cherish.
Let me know in the comments.
The 10,000km Arriba story so far
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7
Odometer: 58 Tours. 291 hours. 4,875km. 49,160 climbing
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Beautiful story. Well-written. Loved it.
Hi James, Thank you for sharing your extraordinary journey in memory of your great grandfather. My dad was an RAF bomber pilot; he flew Vulcans. Interesting we lived at RAF Scampton when I was a little girl - the home of Bomber Command. Ps I am personally a pacifist!