Of course I remember it. It was February 17, and I'd just spotted the German coast. There was no warning, nothing on the intercom, no evasive action, nothing. Just the hammer of cannon fire, the thud of shells slamming into the aircraft, and the roar of the fire as we burst into flames. We were spinning and tumbling toward the sea. I hauled myself out of my turret, pulled my parachute on, and dragged myself out of the hatch. I don't remember if I saw anyone in the 'plane. I wasn't looking — there wasn't anything anyone could do for anyone else by then. And it was too dark to see another parachute once I was out. I drifted toward the shore and landed on the beach, right into the arms some coast defence artillerymen. If you haven't found the other crewmen in a prison camp, I can only guess they either went down with the aircraft or parachuted into the sea.
Flight-Sergeant Peter Hawthorne
Bomb Aimer, Phaesyla
June 21, 1945