SIR WINSTON CHURCHILL said: “Courage is rightly regarded as the foremost of the virtues, for upon it all the others depend.”
The truth of those words is highlighted by the heroics of RAF Flight Lieutenant John Cruickshank, who has died at the age 105.
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It was 81 years ago that he performed an extraordinary act of sustained bravery, as he defied the agony of multiple severe injuries to bring home his badly damaged plane after a lethal encounter with a U-boat off the coast of Norway.
For this deed he was awarded the Victoria Cross.
He was one of four Coastal Command airmen to receive this award, but his case was unique.
The other three had died in action and were honoured posthumously.
He had survived but it was a mighty close-run thing.
It was appropriate that this Scotsman of rock-hard resilience should hail from Aberdeen, long known as “the Granite City”.
He had left school in 1938 to become an apprentice in banking.
But the drumbeat of war was echoing across Europe so he volunteered for the Territorial Army, enlisting in the Royal Artillery.
Called up for service with this regiment in 1939, he transferred to the RAF two years later then went through initial flight instruction in Canada and the US.
Back in Britain, having won his wings as a pilot, he continued his training until March 1943 when he was assigned to 210 Squadron in Coastal Command, based at Sullom Voe in the Shetland Islands.
Man of modesty
His squadron’s main duty was to protect Allied ships from U-boats and they were equipped with the rugged and reliable American-built twin-engine Catalina flying boat.
It was on July 17, 1944, soon after D-Day, that the incident occurred which lifted John Cruickshank into the record book, but almost killed him.
He was piloting an anti- submarine patrol off Norway when his radio operator John Appleton picked up a blip on the Catalina’s equipment.
John began to home in on the target, whose status as a U-boat was confirmed by fire from its 37 mm gun.
Appleton wrote in his memoir: “The skipper manoeuvred into a perfect attacking position astern of the submarine, just out of range of the enemy gunfire. He gave a blast on the klaxon and started the attack run-in from about two miles.”
As the plane got closer, flak from the U-boat intensified and was reinforced as its two pairs of 20mm cannon opened up.
The skipper manoeuvred into a perfect attacking position astern of the submarine, just out of range of the enemy gunfire. He gave a blast on the klaxon and started the attack run-in from about two miles
John Appleton
John flew on and appeared to have released the depth charges at the right moment.
But the bombs had hung up, so he then took the plane out of range of the U-boat, while his crew rearmed their own guns and checked the bomb-release mechanism.
“Everyone ready! Here we go again,” said John over the intercom.
Of the second attack, Appleton recalled: “This time all the flak was bursting much closer to us and I was surprised at how thick it could be.
“We seemed to be flying into a wall of black explosions.”
But again, John descended upon the target without hesitation.
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This time the depth charges hit their target with deadly accuracy. Seconds later, the U-boat began to sink. None of the 52 men on board had a chance of survival.
But by now John’s plane, caught by more enemy fire, was in serious trouble.
Flames and smoke began to fill the aircraft. The radar was wrecked and the nose canopy shattered.
One crewman was dead and four others were badly wounded, including John, who had been hit in his chest and legs and was bleeding heavily.
But all was not lost. With the use of extinguishers, some of the uninjured crewmen put out the fire.
As the co-pilot took over the controls, John was carried to the back of the plane.
Throughout, he set an example of determination, fortitude and devotion to duty in keeping with the highest traditions of the service
Citation from Victoria Cross ceremony
Lapsing in and out of consciousness, he was in tremendous pain but refused any morphine from the emergency safety kit because he wanted to keep alert so he could help bring the Catalina boat plane home to Sullom Voe.
With almost superhuman fortitude, he returned to the cockpit to oversee the final descent just as dawn was breaking.
After landing successfully on the water, he ran the shattered plane on to the beach.
He had to be given an emergency blood transfusion before being taken to Lerwick Hospital, where he was found to have suffered 72 wounds.
Yet, by September, he was fit enough to receive the Victoria Cross from King George VI in Edinburgh, the first time Holyrood House had been used for an investiture since the reign of Queen Victoria.
His citation read: “Throughout, he set an example of determination, fortitude and devotion to duty in keeping with the highest traditions of the service.”
From a generation that never sought the spotlight
Barney Crockett
But he was a man of profound modesty who hated talking about his exploits.
Even at his investiture, he crept out of a side door afterwards to avoid the attention of the press and public.
In the same vein, when he had regained consciousness in the stricken Catalina, the first thing he said was: “How are my crew?”
Though he had recuperated imp-ressively in hospital, the legacy of his injuries was too severe to allow him to return to flying duties, so for the rest of the war he held a staff job at Coastal Command HQ.
Later, on demobilisation at the end of the war, he resumed his career in banking, eventually working in international finance before he retired in 1977.
Happily married, he lost his beloved wife Marion in 1985.
In his final years, in sheltered accommodation, he disliked any fuss, whether about his VC or his birthdays.
Barney Crockett, the former Lord Provost of his native Aberdeen, once said John was “from a generation that never sought the spotlight”.
But it was also the generation that saved the world from tyranny.
