Hero of the Month - August 2024
Published in Britain at War - August 2024
Warrant Officer Norman Cyril Jackson VC
Of all the incredible stories associated with the award of the Victoria Cross, it is hard to find any that surpass the extraordinary circumstances that led to Warrant Officer Norman Jackson’s decoration 80 years ago.
Jackson was awarded Britain and the Commonwealth’s most prestigious award for gallantry for an act of extraordinary heroism in the skies above Germany after his aircraft had been hit and burst into flames. It is all the more remarkable that Jackson survived to tell the tale and, eventually, to receive his decoration from the King.
Norman Cyril Jackson was born in Ealing, west London, on April 8 1919 and the identity of his real parents is not known. Within days, he had been adopted by the Gunter family who, around the same time adopted another boy called Geoffrey Oliver Hartley.
Jackson, who was a bright and lively boy, attended Archdeacon Cambridge Primary School in Twickenham and, later, Twickenham Grammar School, where he developed an interest in engineering. After completing his education, he became a fitter and turner.
However, on October 20 1939, just weeks after the outbreak of the Second World War, he joined the RAF Volunteer Reserve and made himself available to serve. Initially, he worked as a fitter in Freetown, Sierra Leone, where he was attached to 95 Squadron, whose pilots flew Sunderland Flying Boats.
In January 1941 he had the opportunity to join an air crew by training as a flight engineer on bombers. Both fighter pilots and bomber crews knew that the life expectancy for such roles was short which is why Jackson later said of his decision to become an airman, “I don’t know why because I wanted to live!”
In September 1942, Jackson returned to England and spent six months at 27 Operational Training Unit. In July 1943, and by then in the rank of sergeant, he joined 106 Squadron at Syerston, near Newark, Nottinghamshire, and completed around a dozen sorties before the squadron moved to Metheringham, Lincolnshire, in November.
By April 24 1944, Jackson had completed his scheduled tour of 30 operations, mostly over heavily-defended German targets. However, before taking some time off, he volunteered for one more sortie “for luck” on the night of April 26/7.
Earlier that very day, he had been told that his wife had just given birth to their child, a son, and the crew decided to celebrate the news on their return from the mission. However, things that night did not go according to plan.
The target for the Lancaster crew was Schweinfurt in north-west Bavaria, some 50 miles north-west of Nuremberg, and the centre of the German ball-bearing industry.
In the dead of night, the bombs from Jackson’s Lancaster were dropped successfully and the aircraft was climbing out of the target area when it was suddenly attacked by a night fighter at nearly 20,000 feet.
The captain took evading action at once, but the enemy Focke-Wulf 190 secured several hits. A fire started near a petrol tank on the upper surface of the Lancaster’s starboard wing.
Sergeant Jackson had been thrown to the floor during the engagement and he was also wounded by shell splinters in his right leg and shoulder.
Recovering his composure, he told his fellow crew that he could deal with the fire on the wing and obtained his captain’s permission to try to put out the flames. Pushing a small fire extinguisher into the top of his life-jacket and clipping on his parachute pack, Jackson jettisoned the escape hatch above the pilot’s head. He then started to climb out of the cockpit in order to crawl along the top of the fuselage to the burning wing.
Before he could leave the fuselage, and with the Lancaster travelling at around 200mph, his parachute pack opened and the whole canopy and rigging lines spilled into the cockpit. Undeterred, Jackson continued the task that he had set himself. The pilot, bomb aimer and navigator gathered the parachute together and held on to the rigging lines, paying them out as the airman crawled into the unknown.
Eventually, however, as he edged his way towards the fire, Jackson slipped and, falling from the fuselage to the starboard wing, grasped on to the leading edge of the wing. He succeeded in clinging on but lost the extinguisher, which was blown away.
By this time, the fire had spread rapidly and fierce flames were licking towards the ailing airman. Soon his face, hands and clothing were severely burnt and then, to add to his woes, the enemy fighter came back and strafed the Lancaster a second time. Unable to retain his hold any longer, Jackson was swept through the flames and over the trailing edge of the wing, dragging his parachute behind.
When last seen by one of his six fellow crew, his parachute was only partly inflated and was burning in a number of places. Realising the aircraft could not be controlled, the captain gave the order to abandon the Lancaster.
Four of the remaining members of the crew parachuted to safety. However, the captain and rear gunner were never accounted for and appear to have died when their aircraft crashed into the ground.
Meanwhile Jackson, wounded and with his parachute ablaze, had been unable to control his descent and landed heavily. He suffered a broken ankle, his right eye was closed through burns and his hands were burnt so badly as to render them useless. By the time he hit the ground, only a third of his blazing parachute was intact.
Jackson had landed in German territory and he soon realised that he was too badly hurt to try to hide or escape. At daybreak, he crawled to the nearest village, where the male occupant of the first cottage he came to spat at him and verbally abused him. However, the man’s two daughters were more sympathetic to Jackson’s plight and dressed his wounds.
Once the German authorities were alerted to his presence, he was taken as a Prisoner of War and transported to Dulag Luft, a prison camp that acted as a collection and interrogation centre for newly-captured Allied aircrew.
Due to his severe injuries, Jackson spent his first ten months in hospital before being imprisoned with other POWs. During his captivity, he made two escape attempts, the second, close to the end of the war in Europe, was successful. He met up with troops from General Patton’s Third Army near Munich.
After the war, he was reunited with his wife Alma, whom he had married in London on Boxing Day 1942. They eventually had seven children, four sons and three daughters.
As the full story of Jackson’s courage emerged, he was recommended for the VC. His decoration was announced in The London Gazette on October 26 1945. The final words of his lengthy citation read: “By his ready willingness to face these dangers he set an example of self-sacrifice which will ever be remembered.”
Jackson returned to Britain on VE Day and later received his VC at Buckingham Palace from George VI on November 13 1945.
Furthermore, Jackson’s brother, Geoffrey Hartley, who as already stated was also adopted, was awarded the George Medal for bravery in 1951 while serving as a lieutenant with the police in Malaya. In a reference to the decorations for both her adopted sons, Mrs Gunter said, “We adopted two of the finest sons any parents could wish for.”
Jackson, who retired in the rank of warrant officer with a disability pension, was always modest about his wartime role, once saying of his VC action: “I was the most experienced member of the crew, and they all looked to me to do something.”
He carried his wartime injuries with him for the rest of his life: his hands were particularly badly scarred. Jackson worked as a travelling salesman for Haig whisky after the war. Perhaps because of being adopted himself, he was a passionate family man and, despite his injuries and with the help of a friend, built a house for his family.
During his life, Jackson was periodically haunted by nightmares of his brush with death. Today, I suspect it would be described as a mental health illness and it would not be surprising if he suffered from what we now call PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).
Jackson, who enjoyed a happy retirement, died at Hampton Hill, Middlesex, on March 26 1994, aged 74. His name is listed on the RAF Memorial at St Clement Danes Church, London.
It was because of brave men like Norman Jackson that, more than a decade ago, I pledged £1 million towards a £6.7 million fund to build a permanent Bomber Command Memorial in London’s Green Park.
Bomber Command consisted of some 125,000 volunteers from Britain, the Commonwealth and Allied countries who had to endure some of the most terrifying combat conditions of the Second World War as they took the war to Germany.
The average age of the aircrew was just 22 and the youngest were only 18. Three out of every five airmen became casualties and the more detailed statistics tell their own story: 55,573 men were killed, 8,403 were wounded and 9,838 were captured and held as POWs.
The losses of Bomber Command were greater than those of any other service – accounting for 10 per cent of all British fatalities. Yet, perversely, its members have been the only Second World War servicemen not to have been publicly honoured by their country – until the Bomber Command Memorial was unveiled by Queen Elizabeth II in 2012.
A few years ago too, I visited Twickenham Cemetery in south-west London to pay my respects to Jackson at his graveside. In a quiet corner of the cemetery, there is a black marble tombstone inscribed: “Cherished memories of a dearly loved husband, father and grandfather.”
While I was there, I saw that the plot is also the final resting place of not just Jackson’s wife but also their son Brian who, as related earlier, was born on the very day that Jackson embarked on his fateful last bombing mission. Brian Jackson had died aged 72.
At the cemetery, I met one of Norman Jackson’s surviving children, David Jackson, a semi-retired businessman. He spoke affectionately of his father, telling me: “Dad was a wonderful man with a great sense of humour. He was humble and rarely discussed his VC action but there is no doubt that the bravery he showed was simply incredible.”
I am the proud custodian of the Jackson medal group having purchased it at auction 20 years ago. As a medal collector, I am sometimes asked which is my “favourite” VC . It’s a question I decline to answer because it is as unfair as asking a parent to identify publicly their “favourite” child, when each of their offspring is equally loved. However, I am prepared to say that I know of no single VC action that I admire more than Jackson’s.