Gilles Lamontagne se raconte…

J’ai trouvé ce témoignage sur le site des Anciens Combattants.

Il est en langue anglaise.

Gilles Lamontagne se raconte.

Gilles Lamontagne

Rabbit Caught in a Trap

There was a third attack. Then the plane caught fire. I wasn’t afraid. I said: Okay, I have to get my crew out, because I realized right away that I wouldn’t be able to return. The plane was hardly maneuverable. The ailerons were working but the stick was barely working. So I jumped. And the parachute opened, thankfully, because we were not, we were not very high because the plane had been steadily losing altitude. I came down in a field. Then I buried my Mae West. It’s what we were supposed to do. I don’t know why, but….and I hid in a barn. So I’m in my barn, and there are rabbits and carrots. I ate a carrot. I remember I ate one carrot. I was hungry. There were rabbits. Then it started to get light and I said to myself, Okay, what do I do? I am in Holland: they’re not all pro-Allies, or pro-German. It’s pretty divided we knew that much. Then a little kid came in, I’d say 3-4 years old. He came to feed his rabbits. Then he sees me. He’s afraid, he runs for his house, to go find his father. I presumed he went to find his father because his father then came back with a old hunting rifle and he didn’t speak English or French. Very difficult to understand. I said: Listen, you see…Ya, ya, ya, ya…and he comes back a few minutes later with bread and cheese and a few things to eat. “Thank you, thank you.“ There was nothing else I could say. He motioned me to stay there so I said to myself: I hope he’s on the right side. Half an hour later, I heard noises near the house. The barn was 200 feet, 300 feet from the house. It was the Gestapo: raus, raus, schnell, schnell, I don’t know…it meant get up, get out! (laughter) That’s how I was taken prisoner.

 
Rabbit Caught in a Trap (Part 2)

I spent a couple of day in prison in Amsterdam before they sent us to a camp at Dulag Luft, which was the camp close to Frankfurt, where they questioned us, where they tried to force things out of us, where they tried to find out where we came from and everything, and what was….it was….there was no brutality. Just each of us in a little room, 4×8 with a bed, no mattress. And so it was there that…. What’s going to happen to me? What are they going to do with me, you know. At one point, they call you, you go before the commander who, in a very authoritarian manner, asks you where you come from, what you did. “Rank, name and number, nothing more.” Then you return to your cell at the end of the day. They pass soup through the hole, a hole in the bottom of the door, like they have in prisons. We were happy to have the soup, but it was salty. So, then you get thirsty.They call you again. I still remember the guy who I was then sent to see. It wasn’t the same office, another office. He wore a frock coat with the collar and everything. Lord, what a ceremony, you know? I’m from the Red Cross. I didn’t believe a word, and I was right not to. It was just….It was just to try and make us talk. I spent two days there, three days, I think. The third day, the commander called me, that is, they came to collect me and brought me before the commander again. Okay, then it was good…. He says: “You’re from 425 squadrom, from Dishforth.” I didn’t say a word. He knew everything. He’d got all the information possible.So then, they shipped us off to a camp, a real concentration camp, a Stalag Luft, for real, you know. But there was a very demoralizing element, which was that from Amsterdam to . . it’s a long journey to Dulag Luft, and we were on the train. We were about 6-8 prisoners with guards and each time the train stopped, they forced us out on the platform and they said to the people: Luft gangsters. So it was lucky they were there, because there were those who would have done us a bad turn had they not been there. We were never tortured or….But what is worse is not knowing what is going to happen. You know, you don’t know have any idea what’s going to happen to you. You know, there you are between….And on top of that, everything is racing through your mind, everything you’ve been told about Germany, the Nazis, and everything else. So there you are, whether you want it or not, you’re stuck in it. So then we arrived in the prisoners’ camp. I went to Stalag Luft 3, which is the camp where they dug the tunnels. I never participated in that because there was a certain mistrust of francophones who arrived in the concentration camps. Mistrust not because we were francophones but because the Germans planted spies in the camp to find out what was going on and everything, and among them, there were supposedly French prisoners who worked in Germany. And I remember the first 15 days I spent at Stalag Luft 3 were very cold. Not many people spoke to me and I even though I said: Listen, 19825, I come from 425, air force, we were forced down returning from Essen. People believed me more or less, until the moment when about ten days later, another batch of prisoners arrived. ” Hello! How are you? ” We knew each other. We didn’t all come from the same squadron, but from the same group. So, then it was clear. ” Yes, it’s true, you can believe him.” But I spent 27 months there. Twenty-seven months in prison camps. Four different prison camps.

 
Living in Captivity

In the prisoners’ camps, there were Red Cross packages. There was New Zealand, Australia, Germany, England and Canada. Canada – the Red Cross packages from Canada were just about the best as far as food goes. But the American packages had cigarettes. Cigarettes were our currency, be it for bribing the guards or for getting things from the outside – it was our money. So the packages were…it depended on which ones…whether we would be able to negotiate or not. And that helped to pass the time, you know. So there I was in the prisoner camp…you know, it’s not…there is nothing to do, you don’t know what’s going to become of you. The guards change. Sometimes it was the Wehrmacht, the army; other times it was the Luftwaffe. When it was the Luftwaffe, the German air force, we relaxed a little because there was a degree of affinity between us. You know, we were all flyers together. But when it was the Gestapo, we took one for the team, so to speak. Never torture, never any…nothing. But you know, they’d make us stand in pouring rain, soaked to the bone, standing in the rain for I don’t know how long. You know, it was things like that. And the food, well, I weighed 105 when I got out. And we could hardly eat any more. We were no longer able to eat. Apart from that, it’s a question of keeping the mind occupied, eh. Twenty-seven months is a long time to do nothing. So, I decided at a certain point, I said to myself: Okay, Frenchy. Everyone is friends in this camp now. I’m rounding up a dozen of my prisoner buddies. So I said: “Do you want to learn French?” “Sure.” “Why not?” So I set up a class and I taught French. Every morning, we met around 10 o’clock, after roll call and then we bantered in French, and then we joked around, then we bantered, you know. And so I also kept myself busy learning – although I’ve lost it all now – learning German, a little, the rudiments of German. So you take care of your mind, eh because without it, there are those, there are those who really took a bad turn, eh, not knowing, worrying, stressing. I had…let’s say that it all depends on a person’s disposition. I have a personality which…If there is a problem, I try to solve it. If I can’t solve it, then I can’t. After that, I take things from day to day. Which means today I am a prisoner; tomorrow, we’ll see. You know, there’s no point in obsessing over what’s going to happen tomorrow. So, why bother? But there were some who worried about it anyway. Apart from that, there was the question of family too. I was single, others were married, they had children. That’s a little more to worry about than if you’re single. You know… But there again, in the prison camps, there was solidarity, there was a loyalty to one another which was exceptional. If one person was in trouble or what have you, we went to help him and, you know, there was support from hour to hour, minute to minute.

The Flight Crew

The rear gunner and the navigator were sent home as war wounded, and the three, the two others, we met up again, we saw each other, reunited at the prison camp. We spent the rest of the time in camp together. At that point, we formed what we called “combines“. There were three in our “combine“. That meant that we pooled everything we had; we shared what we had without reservation. It was extraordinary. When….We didn’t always have what we needed to eat, but you could leave a slice a bread – even though we were all hungry – and, if it was not your slice of bread, no one touched it. It was respect for each other’s integrity. I never witnessed a theft or any other act of meanness from the point of view…. No, we were equals, and everybody had a share, and you didn’t take more than your share. And what you did get, you shared with the others. It was somewhat exceptional.

Mission Log

The first operations were mine laying. We went, we flew across the Channel, and we were going to lay mines the length of (inaudible), (inaudible), near the Friesian isles. We were going to lay mines, mines there. So that was the operation. It didn’t count, this wasn’t considerd an operation. You could put in your log book, but on your 30 operations that were practically obligatory before going on leave again, it didn’t count. But I would say it was as dangerous as flying over Essen – as I did afterward – and other places, because you had to fly at 250 feet. Because if you drop your mine from higher than that, it might explode. So you had to descend slowly, flying low over the water and then dropping your mines at a very precise location. Your navigator showed you the exact place to drop. Your navigator who . . .not the navigator, the wireless operator, . . . was watching from the upper window, said “Skipper, there’s a balloon.” The Germans had platforms from which they launched balloons with wires. And the Wellingtons were equipped with wire cutters. Along the wings, you had these little incisors where, as soon as something hit it, it was cut. But I never tried it. And I’m just as glad I didn’t. I’m not sure that it would have cut fast enough to avoid damaging the wing or something like that. So we started off like that. Later, we went to…I flew over Essen, I flew over the Orient, Saint Nazaire, Duisberg, and other islands.

Dangerous Mission

Let’s say that we leave from Dishforth to bomb Thuringe, eh. If you look on the map, it’s quite far. And the Wellingtons are not long range aircraft. We also had to fly over France, which was occupied, so we had to hedgehop to avoid their detecting us too much. And there was a lesser chance of being brought down, too. So we had to fly over treetops, which we did. And then descend to bomb Thuringe. But it was so far that we had to carry much more fuel than we did normally. So we had auxiliary tanks. And that reduced the number of bombs we carried. It was really a propoganda raid, you know, — if you can come to London, then we can go to Thuringe. Coming back, it was the same thing. And there was also the question of weather. There was wind, airstreams, and we had enough fuel to get to England, to a place they call Land’s End, just at the extreme tip of England. And I remember being afraid because I saw my fuel gauges dropping and then I said: Okay, we still have time. We were over water because we came over the west of France. So we just managed to set down at an airport at the tip of England: I think it was the last airport before hitting the water. And I still remember asking myself: Do we have enough fuel to taxi the length of the runway? We were really just on fumes.

Ce texte fort intéressant complète très bien ces pages qui se retrouvent dans le document du 45e anniversaire du 425 Alouette.

Je transcrirai le tout la prochaine fois pour en faciliter la lecture.

Pour me contacter, écrivez un commentaire ou utilisez le formulaire suivant.

Publicités

« À l’heure du midi, le thermomètre atteignait 130 ° et même 140 ° F… »

J’ai utilisé un logiciel de reconnaissance optique de caractères pour retranscrire l’histoire de Gabriel Taschereau, permettant ainsi un accès aux informations par les différents moteurs de recherche.

«À l’heure du midi, le thermomètre atteignait 130 ° et même 140 ° F… »
Group Captain Gabriel Taschereau, D.F.C., C.D., A.D.C.

Tous les équipages furent dotés de nouveaux appareils, des Wellington Mk X, spécialement adaptés pour affronter le climat tropical. Après avoir accompli un effort de guerre remarquable pendant son séjour à Dishforth, dans le Yorkshire, l’escadrille 425 fut mutée en Afrique du Nord au printemps de 1943, pour lui permettre d’écrire le deuxième chapitre de sa brillante épopée.

À quelques exceptions près, les aviateurs qui comptaient déjà plus de vingt missions de bombardement à leur crédit furent affectés à d’autres escadrilles canadiennes demeurant en Angleterre. Ceux qui insistèrent pour suivre leur escadrille en Afrique furent informés qu’il leur faudrait compléter au moins vingt autres raids avant d’être rapatriés. Ce fut le cas de plusieurs.
Quelques temps avant le grand départ, les deux adjoints du commandant, les squadron leaders Georges Roy et Logan Savard, furent promus au grade de wing commander et nommés chacun à la tète d’une nouvelle escadrille. Tous les équipages furent dotés de nouveaux appareils, des Wellington Mk X, spécialement adaptés pour affronter le climat tropical du lieu de leur nouvelle affectation en Tunisie, un endroit désertique situé à une trentaine de milles au sud-ouest du Kairouan, entre deux villages arabes nommés Pavillier et Ben-Zina.

425 45e 018 Wellington X

Le trajet s’effectua en plusieurs étapes: Dishforth, Portreath, Gibraltar, Fez (Maroc), Telergma (Algérie), et enfin la nouvelle base baptisée Pavillier-Zina. Dès ce moment, l’escadrille 425 devenait partie composante de l’escadre 331 du groupe 205 de la North-West African Strategical Air Force.

Cette arrivée en terre étrangère ne s’effectua pas sans susciter quelques désagréments: aucune végétation, aucun bâtiment; donc, pas d’ombre pour se protéger des rayons d’un soleil de plomb; du sable et de la poussière; des mouches, des scorpions, des tarentules et des moustiques. Ces derniers insectes étant porteurs de malaria, il nous fallait avaler un comprimé de quinine par jour, à titre préventif. De plus, l’eau étant denrée rare, elle nous était distribuée parcimonieusement, d’autant plus qu’il fallait aller la chercher en camion-citerne dans un puits situé à une dizaine de kilomètres du camp. Et un beau jour, les préposés à ce service revinrent bredouilles, en mentionnant que le puits était tari, et qu’on avait découvert au fond le cadavre d’une vieille mule.

Fini le luxe relatif du mess de Dishforth, arec ses chambres propres et son mess agréable les installations à Kairouan étaient plutôt rudimentaires.

425 45e 018 toilettes

Malgré tout, le moral des troupes se maintenait au beau fixe. L’enthousiasme régnait à tous les niveaux. Sous le commandement du wing commander Joe St-Pierre, et de ses nouveaux adjoints, les squadron leaders Claude Hébert et Baxter Richter, les opérations aériennes contre l’ennemi reprirent de plus belle, mais dans des conditions radicalement différentes de celles que nous avions connues à Dishforth. Les chasseurs allemands étaient toujours à l’affût, mais se faisaient moins nombreux ; la D.C.A. et les faisceaux de projecteurs moins menaçants. Et nous n’avions plus à affronter cet ennemi redoutable qu’était le givrage. Par contre, nos moteurs avaient souvent tendance à chauffer, ce qui n’avait rien de très rassurant.

Côté confort, ce n’était ni le Ritz, ni le Savoy. Fini le luxe relatif du mess de Dishforth, avec ses chambres proprettes et sa salle à manger bien garnie; absentes, les gentilles et dévouées «batwomen », ces anges de la W.A.A.F. ; devenues chimériques les tournées de « pubcrawling» à Ripon Boroughbridge, Harrogate et York.

Si le soir et la nuit nous apportaient une diversion sous la forme de missions de bombardement, le jour, par ailleurs, nous semblait interminable. Le seul endroit où nous pouvions relaxer quelque peu était à l’ombre des ailes de nos appareils, car dans nos tentes la chaleur était tout simplement étouffante. À l’heure du midi, le thermomètre atteignait 130° et même 140° Fahrenheit, ce qui nous permettait de faire cuire aisément un œuf occasionnel sur une tôle exposée au soleil. Un autre sujet de réjouissance: le menu. Au petit déjeuner, nous avions droit à du «corned beef» ; au lunch, encore du « corned beef»; et le soir, pour faire changement toujours du « corned beef».

C’est ainsi que pour pallier à cette carence du régime alimentaire, certains équipages, au cours de leur N.F.T., (envolée quotidienne d’essai) s’arrangeaient pour simuler une panne de moteur à proximité d’une base de la U.S. Air Force, et ce, à l’heure du lunch. Nous étions alors conviés par nos confrères américains à partager leur festin: repas de quatre services, avec bière, thé, café, limonade fraîche, crème glacée, etc., etc. Ainsi, bien repus et nos moteurs reposés, nous redécollions pour regagner notre base, remplis de cet optimisme euphorique propre à nos vingt ans.

Nos objectifs militaires variaient avec l’avance des forces de l’infanterie. Avant le débarquement du 9 juillet, nous attaquions de nuit les aérodromes de Catane, Messine et Gerbini, les places fortifiées comme Sciacca et Enna, ainsi que les berges du détroit de Messine. Plus tard, après l’invasion proprement dite, nos cibles remontaient graduelle-ment le long de la botte italienne. C’est ainsi qu’à tour de rôle Reggio, Naples, Capodichino, Salerne, Scaletta, Avellino, Montecorvino, Aversa, Formia, Grazziani, Cerveteri et combien d’autres localités, ports de mer ou cours de triage, connurent les assauts répétés des Wellington de l’escadrille 425.

Les succès obtenus par les équipages aériens étaient en grande partie le résultat de l’étroite collaboration qui existait entre les « pigeons » et les « pingouins ». Tous ces valeureux mécaniciens, armuriers, électriciens. chauffeurs, techniciens de toute sorte, dirigés de main de maître par le flight lieutenant Hilaire Roberge. n’ont jamais ménagé ni leur temps ni leurs efforts pour assurer un entretien impeccable des avions qui leur avaient été confiés.

Les services administratifs, sous l’habile direction du flight lieutenant Edmond Danis, furent également toujours irréprochables. En dépit de notre isolement, et des difficultés de communication, notre sympathique adjudant a constamment réussi à manœuvrer pour assurer un fonctionnement bien rodé des rouages de l’escadrille.

Du côté spirituel, c’est notre dévoué padre, le père Maurice Laplante, qui s’occupait avec beaucoup de succès d’assurer la protection divine sur ses ouailles basanées. Il célébrait la messe quotidienne à l’abri d’une « marquise», et bénissait régulière-ment les avions en partance pour leur destin.

Concernant la santé physique de nos troupes, nous n’avons que des éloges à l’endroit de notre service médical. Ce service était régi par le docteur Hector Payette, le « petit doc», qui, malgré sa petite taille, a toujours su se montrer à la hauteur de la situation. C’est lui qui a réussi à nous guérir de la dysenterie qui nous a tous affectés au début, en nous gavant d’huile de ricin par l’intermédiaire d’un entonnoir placé dans la bouche de ses patients. C’est également lui qui veillait à l’administration des comprimés de quinine et d’atabrine contre la malaria, et des «mottons» de sel pour combattre la déperdition d’eau par la sueur. Et combien de cas d’insolation a-t-il été appelé à traiter! Sans compter les soins aux blessés, comme ce fut le cas pour le sergent Léon Roberge, un sans-filiste qui est revenu d’un raid avec un éclat d’obus dans la cuisse et des balles de mitrailleuse dans les mollets, suite à une rencontre inopinée avec un Junkers 88.

Après un séjour de six mois sous le ciel brûlant du sud de la Tunisie, l’escadrille rentrait en Angleterre. Mais avant de pouvoir jouir de vacances bien méritées, il fallut nous soumettre à une cure d’épouillage dans un hôpital de West Kirby, afin de nous débarrasser des puces des sables (sand fleas) rapportées d’Afrique, et qui avaient élu domicile entre le derme et l’épiderme de chacun de nous.

La plupart des « navigants » furent dirigés par la suite vers les O.T.U. (écoles d’entraînement opérationnel) pour y servir en qualité d’instructeurs, et faire ainsi bénéficier de leur expérience et de leurs connaissances les équipages frais émoulus du Canada. Ces nouveaux équipages, une fois leur stage en O.T.U. terminé, allèrent rejoindre les services sédentaires déjà installés dans leur nouvelle base de Tholthorpe, pour y entreprendre la troisième phase de l’histoire épique de la 425e escadrille du Corps d’aviation royal canadien.

425 45e 020 Gabriel Taschereau

Ce texte de Gabriel Taschereau prend un tout nouvel éclairage quand on regarde les photos de la collection de Roly Leblanc, partagées par son fils en novembre 2011.

Pour me contacter, écrivez un commentaire ou utilisez le formulaire suivant.

Sergeant Balyx

Richard Koval’s Website has a picture of  Sergeant Balyx.

BBalyx

F/Sgt B. Balyx of 425 Squadron was the lone survivor, when Halifax III MZ-482 coded KW-G,  collided with a Mosquito from 515 Squadron and crashed in Belgium on March 18, 1945. Photo graciously supplied by Sgt. Balyx’s son John.

John Balyx shared his father’s photo with Richard Koval.

What happened when a Mosquito from 515 Squadron collided with KW-G a Halifax with 425 Alouette Squadron on March 18, 1945?

The Mosquito looked similar to this one.

This is a Mosquito with 23 Squadron RAF.

ash-radar

515 Squadron just like 23 Squadron were part of what people called Bandits of the Air. Their mission were to protect RAF bombers by flying over German airbases.

This group picture of 23 Squadron was taken just after the war.

1945

I know a lot about 515 Squadron since it shared the same airbase as 23 Squadron, the Mosquito squadron Eugène Gagnon, my unknown hero from Bromptonville, Quebec, seen here under the nose of a Mosquito.Eugene Gagnon

We are at Little Snoring either in June or early July 1945.

eugene-gagnon

 

Eugène came back to his hometown in Quebec in July 1945 and became just another unknown veteran.

We are now at Little Snoring in January 2014.

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I could make you believe that I am flying my private plane and that I am about to land at Little Snoring. No one would know the subterfuge because I never tell lies on this blog.

These pictures are from Peter Smith whose father, Tommy Smith, was a Mosquito pilot with 23 Squadron.

His father was shot down on January 16, 1945. (Click on the link on the left to learn more…)

Tommy Smith was too reckless going in for a second pass on the German aerodrome.

Tommy Smith Mosquito

Le sergent Balyx

Le site de Richard Koval possède une photo du sergent Balyx.

BBalyx

F/Sgt B. Balyx of 425 Squadron was the lone survivor, when Halifax III MZ-482 coded KW-G,  collided with a Mosquito from 515 Squadron and crashed in Belgium on March 18, 1945. Photo graciously supplied by Sgt. Balyx’s son John.

C’est son fils John Balyx qui avait partagé cette photo de son père avec Richard Koval.

Qu’en est-il de cet accident où un Mosquito de l’escadrille 515 est entré en collision le 18 mars 1945 avec un Halifax de l’escadrille 425 Alouette?

Ce Mosquito était sans doute semblable à celui-ci.

C’est un Mosquito de l’escadrille 23 de la RAF.

ash-radar

L’escadrille 515 tout comme l’escadrille 23 de la RAF faisait partie de celles que l’on baptisait les Bandits de la nuit. Elles avaient comme mission de protéger les bombardiers de la RAF en survolant les aérodromes allemands.

Voici une photo de l’escadrille 23 prise à la fin de la guerre.

1945

J’en sais beaucoup sur l’escadrille 515, car elle partageait la même base que celle de l’escadrille 23, l’escadrille d’Eugène Gagnon, mon héros méconnu de Bromptonville, que l’on voit sous le nez d’un Mosquito lors de cette prise de photo de l’escadrille 23 après la fin de la guerre.Eugene Gagnon

Nous sommes à Little Snoring soit en juin ou au début juillet 1945.

eugene-gagnon

 

Eugène reviendra au Québec en juillet 1945 pour ensuite sombrer dans l’oubli.

Nous sommes maintenant à Little Snoring en janvier 2014.

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Je pourrais vous faire croire que je suis à bord de mon avion privé et que je me prépare à atterrir à Little Snoring. Personne ne se douterait du subterfuge, car je n’ai pas l’habitude de vous conter des blagues sur ce blogue.

Ces photos me viennent de Peter Smith dont le père, Tommy Smith, était pilote de Mosquito dans l’escadrille 23.

Son père a été abattu le 16 janvier 1945. (Cliquez sur le lien à gauche pour en savoir plus…)

Tommy Smith avait été trop téméraire en revenant attaquer de nouveau cet aérodrome allemand.

Tommy Smith Mosquito

L’équipage de Temple

Templecrew425

Un seul membre d’équipage a survécu à la collision entre un Mosquito et le bombardier Halifax.

Il était le grand-père de Paul Carey.

Paul avait laissé un commentaire l’autre fois à propos de son grand-père qui avait survécu. Il m’a écrit un message personnel à propos de son grand-père.

Richard Koval avait cette information sur son site.

P/O A. Temple RCAF and crew, flying Halifax III MZ-482 coded KW-G, collided with a  Mosquito from 515 Squadron and crashed in Belgium March 18, 1945. The only survivors were  F/Sgt B. Balyx and Eddie Edwards. Edwards didn’t fly that day, probably replaced by  F/O G. Le Jambe RCAF, who was also killed.

Back L to R:
P/O A. Temple RCAF,
F/O Rick Irwin RCAF,
P/O J. Wilson RCAF,

P/O L. (Streak) Hinch RCAF.

Front L to R:
Eddie Edwards RCAF,
F/Sgt A. (Slim) Banks RCAF,
and  F/Sgt B. Balyx RCAF.

Qu’en est-il de l’équipage du Mosquito?

J’ai fait une petite recherche.

Temple’s crew

Templecrew425

One crew member survived the collision between a Mosquito and the Halifax.

He was Paul Carey’s grandfather.

Paul left a comment last time about his grandfather who came out alive. He wrote me a personal message.

Richard Koval had these information on his Website.

P/O A. Temple RCAF and crew, flying Halifax III MZ-482 coded KW-G, collided with a  Mosquito from 515 Squadron and crashed in Belgium March 18, 1945. The only survivors were  F/Sgt B. Balyx and Eddie Edwards. Edwards didn’t fly that day, probably replaced by  F/O G. Le Jambe RCAF, who was also killed.

Back L to R:
P/O A. Temple RCAF,
F/O Rick Irwin RCAF,
P/O J. Wilson RCAF,

P/O L. (Streak) Hinch RCAF.

Front L to R:
Eddie Edwards RCAF,
F/Sgt A. (Slim) Banks RCAF,
and  F/Sgt B. Balyx RCAF.

What about the crew of the Mosquito?

I did a little research on that.