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Jim Northrup Over Dusseldorf

Jim Northrup completed his preliminary training at No. 4 Initial Training School (ITS) in Edmonton, where he was chosen to train as a pilot. He completed Elementary Flying Training School (EFTS) at Boundary Bay, British Columbia, then returned to Alberta to complete his training at No. 3 Service Flying Training School (SFTS) in Calgary. 

Trained as a bomber pilot, he was posted to England as a member of No. 415 Squadron, 6 Group on October 28, 1943. He eventually became a squadron leader and won the Distinguished Flying Cross.

The following excerpt describes the events of December 1944, when an ailing Northrup convinces his control officer that he can still fly and pilots a bombing run to Dusseldorf, Germany. 

I went through a session of heaves and then got the green light from my good friend Woodbine Willie Goodwin. I gave him a rude gesture from my side window, opened the throttle and took off. I broke through the cloud at 2,100 feet into brilliant sunshine. My starboard wing was about five degrees low, so I levelled her out. We were on our way to bomb the airport at Dusseldorf, Germany where the enemy had been beating the hell out of Patton’s tanks and he was yelling for help.

We crossed the Rhine River well to the north of Dusseldorf and came around in a big swing to bomb. We were at 23,000 feet. My bomb aimer lined us up on the main, east-to-west runway and we placed our two, 1,000 pound bombs right up the centre runway, totally destroying it. The 88mm flack was very heavy, and while it was bursting very close, I did not think I was being bracketed. 

Visibility was very good and I could see another Halifax aircarft at my altitude, about 600 feet to my port side. Suddenly, I saw six of her crew bail out. While the aircraft continued to fly straight and level, I thought the pilot must have been killed. About three or so minutes later the seventh parachute opened. The aircraft carried on straight and level. I kept watching, but then I was bracketed by 88 mm flack and had to take evasive action. This calls for precisely timed flying—you have to watch where the flack is bursting in this cat-and-mouse game with the battiers below. If you guess wrong, there is no second chance. Consequently, by the time I had passed beyond the guns, I could no longer identify the other Halifax. Upon return, we landed at a small base in southern England.

Northrup returned to his station, unsure why the crew in the other Halifax bailed out. Fifty years later, after appearing in Spencer Dunmore and William Carter’s book, Reap the Whirlwind, Northrup received a phone call. It was the older brother of one of the men who had jumped from the Halifax.

It was related to me that this crew was on its first trip. For them to run into such heavy flack was damned, bad luck. They had been hit by a burst of flack, but the aircraft had not sustained critical damage. However, one of the crew had had two fingers sliced off and panic had set in. They thought the aircraft was doomed, so they hit the silk. If you are not the one doing the bleeding, it is easy to be critical of this crew. Even for a pilot of my experience it was formidable flack. To an inexperienced crew it must have appeared impossible to fly through. Six were taken prisoner and one was shot by the Germans.

It was an eventful day, and my crew and I were presented with an Aiming Point Trophy for our hit on the runway at Dusseldorf.