Jack Dye, a brave young bomb aimer from Regina, Saskatchewan, saved everyone on his Halifax bomber but lost his own life.

Nancy Cuelenaere of Edmonton, Alberta, sent me this story about her brave young uncle Jack Dye. It was first published in the book From Hull, Hell & Halifax: An Illustrated History of No. 4 Group 1937-1948, by Chris Blanchett.

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Jack Dye Followed His Star

Jack Dye was born in Regina on July 16, 1924. His parents were Clarence and Gladys Dye, and his sister, Betty was four years younger.

Jack joined the Royal Canadian Air Force on his 18th birthday in 1942, received his commission in July 1943 and went overseas. He flew with RAF 77 Squadron in Elvington, Yorkshire.

This snapshot shows Jack with his mother, taken just before he went overseas.

On June 3, 1944 (just three days before D-Day), 105 Halifaxes were sent to attack the marshalling yards at Trappes, southwest of Paris, and another sixty-three aircraft to raid coastal gun batteries in the Pas de Calais.

The attack was part of the D-Day deception plan. The raid on Trappes was carried out in clear moonlit conditions, and was to prove costly.

The German night fighters were able to take full advantage of the clear conditions and they ravaged the Halifaxes. Fifteen were shot down. No. 158 Squadron lost five crews, 76 and 640 lost three each.

Flying Officer Doug Morison from Calgary, Alberta, was pilot of a Halifax Mk111 from 77 Squadron. Doug Morison had reasons to recall the events of that night.

“Quite suddenly, as we approached the target area, but while still some distance ahead and below, it became increasingly bright as flares and marker flares exploded into action.

“As we closed in on the target and began our bombing run, we could see aircraft above and below and on both sides of us. The cloud, smoke, flares and markers below us, and the aircraft all around us, presented a most impressive sight.

“A few verbal course commands over the intercom from our bomb-aimer, Flying Officer Jack Dye, and we heard the familiar: ‘Bombs Away!’ We cleared the target and then made a turn to starboard to head for home.

“Suddenly the urgent voice of the rear-gunner, Scotty MacRitchie, shattered the steady drone of the engines: ‘Corkscrew port!’ I responded immediately as tracer laced overhead. We continued evasive action until Scotty gave instructions to level out.

“About two minutes later, there was a blinding flash and an explosion. Smoke, dust and pieces of aircraft flew in all directions. We began to corkscrew to port,  but soon realized it was too late for this fighter pass.

“A quick check revealed the port inner engine to be on fire, and a large, gaping hole in the side of the fuselage above the navigator’s table. Our flight engineer, Sandy Moodie, announced that he was shutting down the port inner and activating the fire extinguisher button. The fire was soon out.

“I then initiated a crew check and all replied “okay” except bomb-aimer Jack Dye, who had been hit. Jack was still lying in the bomb-aiming position, so navigator Tommy Melvin assisted him to the rest position aft of the wireless operator’s table.

“A short examination of Jack’s injuries disclosed multiple shrapnel wounds to his legs and back from the cannon shell that had exploded over the top of him. Tommy stopped the bleeding and made Jack as comfortable as he could before returning to his navigator’s position.

“In the meantime, I had adjusted course according to the magnetic compass since the gyro-compass was acting up. A further check of the aircraft revealed that all the flight instruments had been knocked out, and all our charts as well as the navigator’s bag had been sucked out of the hole in the fuselage.

“By this time we had left the brightly-lit target area behind us, and were feeling more comfortable with the darkness all around us as we continued on our northerly heading.

“After a period of time, perhaps thirty or forty minutes, the wounded bomb-aimer asked if we would move him up to the second pilot’s station, which he normally occupied during takeoffs and landings.

“He was moved into the seat beside me just as we emerged from under cloud cover. Above us we could see the stars shining clearly overhead. Jack asked what course we were on, and I replied that we were flying due north by the magnetic compass.

“His quick reply was: ‘We are not flying north, we are going due east! Look, the North Star is directly off our port wing!’ Sure enough, we were heading straight for the heavily-defended Ruhr Valley!

“A rapid calculation by Tommy Melvin based on an estimate of present course, time and speed, indicated that we would need to alter course 120 degrees to port to reach England. This eventually turned out to be very accurate, considering that he had no charts or instruments to work with.

“Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, we crossed the coastline and before long we saw the welcome shores of England. We knew we would need identification to enter England but our list of ‘colours of the day’ had been lost with the navigator’s bag.

“We fired off several white signal flares as we crossed the coast, hoping our fighters would identify our Halifax as friendly. We broke radio silence to request an emergency landing, and received landing clearance. At least one fighter could be seen following us. The lights came on below us and we began a descent without any flight instruments to guide us.

“As we circled around trying to judge our height, the runway lights came on. This helped, and we lined up for a landing, not knowing our airspeed or height, and flying on only three engines. Our first approach failed, as we came in a bit too high and fast.

“The next approach we got down okay, just stopping as we reached the end of the runway. We later learned that we had landed at West Malling aerodrome, a fighter field with short runways.

“An ambulance rushed up to where we stopped to assist the injured. Jack Dye insisted on walking unaided to the ambulance.

“He turned, saluted, and was then whisked away. We never saw him again.

“He died two hours later — a gallant man who had saved our lives.”

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(Update: After the above story was published on my website, a reader put Jack’s niece Nancy in touch with Doug Morison, his pilot on that fateful night. They arranged to meet, and here is Nancy’s description of their encounter.)

The Remarkable Doug Morison

By Nancy Cuelenaere

In one of those wonderful coincidences that occur in life, local historian Anne Gafiuk of Calgary read the story about my uncle, and got in touch with Elinor Florence to say that she knew my uncle’s pilot Mr. Morison, and that he was living in Calgary, Alberta!

Exactly one week later, my husband Michael and I drove three hundred kilometres from Edmonton to Calgary to meet him for the first time.

This photo shows Doug Morison in his own home.

We spent over three hours with Mr. Morison, listening to his recollections about the war. For example, he described being ‘coned’ during bombing runs, captured by searchlights beaming from the ground below.

(Readers, here’s a Star Weekly cover that shows the searchlights scanning the darkness. After a searchlight operator found a bomber and homed in on it, the others would follow so that the bomber was captured in a “cone” of light, allowing the anti-aircraft gunners to shoot it down.)

When the bombers weren’t threatened by flak from the ground, they were still in danger of attack by German fighter planes. The crew was constantly on the lookout for fighters coming from below, above and behind.

The pilot heard his rear gunner call out “Fighter, hard to port!” This told him to take evasive action toward the opponent’s approach, to lower the angle of attack, making it more difficult for the attacker to bring guns to bear. There were other many close calls during Mr. Morison’s thirty-nine operations, or bombing raids.

We also spent time talking about my Uncle Jack. Even though I never met my uncle, his picture was on my grandparents’ wall (it now sits on our wall) and he was very much a presence in my life. I would wonder about this young man, my Mom’s only sibling who went off to war, never to return.

Jack would come to life in the letters that Jack sent from overseas. They disclosed a young man full of spirit and humour who clearly loved his Mom and Dad, adored his younger sister Betty, my Mom, and was sweet on his girlfriend Sybil.

To speak to the man who piloted my uncle’s plane and was one of the last to see him alive, was a humbling and very emotional experience for me.

Here’s a photo of Nancy with Mr. Morison and his log book.

So, what did I learn about my uncle?

I learned more about the bomb aimer’s role. The bomb aimer received specialized training that allowed him to do his own job over the target, but also provided back-up to other positions in the crew, including pilot duties. Also, the bomb aimer was trained in the use of stars for navigation.

Mr. Morison said: “Jack was all about the stars.” This knowledge of the stars allowed my uncle to provide the critical navigation information to the crew on the night of his death.

I also learned that my uncle would sing as the crew headed out on its missions. Mr. Morison explained that his crew, unlike many crews, never complained about what was being asked of them, but would follow through to the best of their abilities. “On our way to the target, we would sing, just the usual wartime songs. It was pretty helpful to relax before we got to the target area. The men seemed to enjoy it.”

Jack was the only crew member who Mr. Morison lost during his tour, and he said that attending Jack’s interment ceremony was very difficult for him.

I was able to give Mr. Morison a copy of the letter that he sent to my grandparents after Jack’s death. Here is the first page of the six-page letter, showing his beautiful handwriting, followed by the complete transcript.

F/O J. D. Morison

JB 4771

R.C.A.F. Overseas

England

June 13, 1944

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dye:

I would like to extend my sincere and deepest sympathy over the recent loss of your son. It is with great difficulty and mixed feeling that I write this note, for in the eight short months that I had known Jack, I had come to regard him akin to a brother. We were always together around the camp, in the mess, or sometimes in the evenings when we would go for a show at one of the neighboring villages. I did not see very much of him on our leaves for I used to spend mine with my relatives, and he used to usually spend his with Tommy (The Navigator). We did have some happy times together, though, especially since I bought a car. I cannot tell you how sorry I am that this had to happen, it has certainly meant a great loss to all, ours, though deeply felt, being only very minor compared to yours.

Although badly wounded, your son, in the spirit of true heroism, put up a grand show, not once making the slightest mention of his injuries and even trying to do his job. We got down as soon as possible but he passed away under the anaesthetic. I can assure you that everything humanly possible was done for him and that he received the best of medical attention, but to no avail.

The crew and I attended the Funeral Service on Thursday, June the 8th, at 11:30 hours, which took place in Brookwood Regional Cemetery, near London. A Canadian Padre, who was with the R.C.A.F. in Regina for some time, conducted the Service. A firing-party and bugler were of course also in attendance. It was a lovely day and amid the rich abundance of trees and heavily scented flowers, one could have no more lovely resting place. Full service honours were given. Pictures were taken and these will be forwarded to you direct by the Padre, along with the grave identification, which I will give you to be sure you receive it. The location is Plot 49, Row F, Grave 6, Brookwood Cemetery. Should you ever want this location and you haven’t the above address, the Superintendent of the Cemetery can give it to you.

It is not the customary thing for the whole crew to attend such an occasion, but in this case, they all wanted so to be there, that I managed to get them the time off and they all paid their own expenses, a small thing perhaps, but something which shows how much we all thought of Jack.

All the kit has been taken care of and should reach you in due course. I saw to it that all valuables (watch, lighter, pen, etc.) were listed and handed over to the proper authorities. There was a small amount of money owing Jack (about $40.00 I believe). This is being collected and the equivalent will be sent to you by Mrs. Melvin, our navigator’s wife.

In closing, I would like to say that if there is anything I can do, or if there is something you would like to know, about which I have forgotten to tell you, please don’t hesitate to ask me. I will be only too pleased to help. Any snaps which I can collect I will send on to you.

I wish once more to add my deep sympathy, and hope that you will be able to find some consolation, and later pride, in the fact that your son gave his life for his country and for all that for which it stands.

In memory of a brave man,

Yours sincerely,

Doug Morison

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After the war, Doug Morison graduated from the University of British Columbia as a mechanical engineer in 1948, married the love of his life, and had three children. Now widowed, he continues to work to this day, having two businesses. One of his businesses does work for NASA, so he has watched several space shuttle launches.

According to Nancy, “Mr. Morison is a man who radiates integrity and grace under pressure, inside and outside of war. It was an honour to meet this man who truly epitomizes The Greatest Generation.”

Doug Morison passed away on January 17, 2019. Rest in Peace, Doug Morison.