That cup of coffee – it saved our lives!

The Marauder was the butt of uncomplimentary nicknames when it first entered service in 1941. The ‘Flying Prostitute’ (no visible means of support!) came about because of its fat fuselage and disproportionately small wings, giving it an exceptionally high wing-loading.

The ‘Widow Maker’ or ‘Flying Coffin’ reflected its unhappy introduction – numerous accidents resulting from its wing loading and critical handling characteristics (a landing speed of 114kt for example). But Marauders saw service in most theatres of WW2, and although it had a bad start, over 5000 were eventually produced.

Needing a fast, long range medium bomber, the RAF evaluated the Marauder in 1942, and considered it suitable for Western Desert operations.

So it came about that after 12 months of flying combat sorties in Blenheims, I was given the job of converting new squadron recruits to the B-26 and introducing them to their operational role.

The entry in my log book on May 10 1943: “Marauder B-26 – pilot-in-command, self – to Abu Sieur to view fatal crash”, was to mark the beginning of the most dramatic and intense period of my RAAF service – but one in which the enemy played no part! Earlier that day, I had sent a newly converted Marauder crew on a fighter liaison exercise to a nearby aerodrome at Abu Sieur. But only a few minutes after they took off, I received an urgent signal that the aircraft had crashed on Abu Sieur aerodrome where the fighters were based, killing all five members of the crew. The squadron’s increasing Marauder losses were already a concern – in not one instance had any of them sent a distress or combat signal beforehand. So I flew over to Abu Sieur myself to look at the wreckage. Little did I know it, but that crash was to provide the answer to our squadron’s problem.

As I examined what was left of the Marauder, together with the investigating team, one of the engineers made a dramatic discovery. Pointing out a portion of the fin with the top rudder hinge and part of the rudder still attached, he indicated small circular black marks surrounding some of the rivet heads. “There’s the cause,” he declared. “Metal fatigue!” “What’s metal fatigue?” I asked.

Picking up a piece of dural and bending it back and forth, he demonstrated how it could be made to break along the line of the bend. The fin of the Marauder had failed in this way along a line of rivets, the top section tearing off and taking part of the rudder with it. Total loss of control would have followed immediately.

The entry in my log book on May 10 1943: “Marauder B-26 – pilotin- command, self – to Abu Sieur to view fatal crash”, was to mark the beginning of the most dramatic and intense period of my RAAF service – but one in which the enemy played no part!.

Inspection of all the squadron’s Marauders revealed similar ominous black friction marks on the fins of a number of the aircraft. Because the squadron operated at sea level to keep below radar coverage, there would have been no time after the fin failed for the radio operator to send any distress signal.

Another 11 years were to elapse before the De Havilland Comet story set the whole aviation world talking about metal fatigue and airframe failures. But here its fatal effects were being demonstrated in 1943! Following that accident, it was my privilege to work closely with a nearby maintenance unit on a ‘fix’ for the problem. The engineers had diagnosed the fatigue failure, but the boffins needed more precise data on the nature and the extent of the vibration that caused it.

They proposed an inflight film of the fin area, and a cine-camera was set up in the upper turret of a Marauder that had been intensively inspected.

And inspected again – and yet again! A very apprehensive and reluctant pilot took the aircraft into the air, using the ‘red hot’ rudder pedals most gingerly throughout the flight and generally handling that aeroplane with a loving care of the kind that no Marauder has received ever since! The film clearly showed high frequency vibration at the tip of the fin while the aircraft was in flight. Rectification work began and the ‘fix’ was finally achieved by internally strengthening the fin and re-skinning it with heavier gauge metal.

On June 23 1943, I took the modified Marauder on its initial test flight. The fix was proved and the squadron was back in business! But what does the title of this little story have to do with all this? Six weeks before, I had used the Marauder that crashed at Abu Sieur for a period of night dual instruction with two officers who were new to the squadron. Satisfied with their progress at about 2145 hours, I asked them whether they wished to continue flying or to terminate the exercise –- doing so would enable us to get back to the mess in time for supper before it closed in 15 minutes.

Another circuit would involve about 20 minutes flying. Their vote was for coffee.

The following morning, only 15 minutes after the newly converted crew took off for their fighter liaison exercise, the fin of that Marauder failed! For the three of us, that cup of coffee was a life saver!.