Staff-Sergeant Leslie James Frater
Unit : No.5 Flight, "D" Squadron, No.1 Wing, The Glider Pilot Regiment
Army No. : 518814
Leslie (Les) Frater was born in London in 1920, and enlisted into The Gloucestershire Regiment on the 3rd April 1940. He volunteered for Airborne Forces and had been as a trained glider pilot by 1944. During the Normandy landings, he took part in Operation Mallard, the Second Lift on the evening of the 6th June 1944. With Sergeant Tom Pearce as his second pilot, he took-off from RAF Keevil in a Horsa glider carrying a platoon of the 2nd Battalion The Ox and Bucks Light Infantry. The following is his account:
At last we were on our way! The armada of tugs and gliders had rendezvoused somewhere over Gloucester and had then headed towards the South Coast. As we passed over Bognor we could see the tiny figures in the streets below waving us on. The blue and green sea stretched far out before us; the white breakers making furrows in the glossy surface. I checked in my mind the last-minute briefing we had received on the runway just before take-off and recalled those other more detailed briefings to which Tom and I had listened for some days before the actual take-off. I marvelled at the stroke of good fortune we'd had in actually making the operation. When the original crews were picked Tom and I were terribly disappointed to find ourselves as first reserve crew. We had trained so long for this day and it was a bitter blow to us that we were not to be used. Before D-day, however, one of the original crews dropped out and we were in!
As Tom took over the controls I gazed around the vast expanse of blue sky, picking out the other tugs and gliders and wondered what their occupants were feeling. Our own "load" of 29 men were occupied in their own particular way, some deep in thought, others joking with their companions, some enjoying a "forbidden" smoke. My mind returned to our stroke of good luck. Over the past few months we'd had some rather "dicey" moments. There was the night exercise when our tug had developed "navigational trouble" and we had found ourselves late in arriving at our rendezvous, and meeting the stream of tugs and gliders coming back on the return leg. Our tug had taken violent "evasive action" and we had been pulled - so it seemed - all over the Midlands sky! I turned in my seat to take the mug of tea handed to my by a corporal of the Ox. and Bucks. Light Infantry. He was obviously ensuring that I was kept fully awake until he and his companions were safely on terra firma! I returned to my sombre thoughts: a few days before the night exercise I had taken off on an intended trip to Netheravon, only to see the tow-rope snap when I was about a hundred feet above the ground. A hasty landing was made in a cabbage field across the main road just a few yards short of some very solid-looking hangars! Apart from the incidents I have mentioned Tom and I had experienced one or two nasty moments, when trying to act like an ace-pilot I had had to make very quick re-appraisals of my abilities and some even quicker operation of the controls to avoid taking us to Kingdom-come! Musing on these things I silently prayed that if our luck was to run out - let it not be on this memorable day!
As we approached the French Coast we could see the vast force of ships pouring shells and rockets into the defences of the Germans. Smoke rose into the sky as the missiles landed, and through the haze a British plane dived down in flames. The scene was both exciting and terrifying, magnificent and yet appalling. However, I had no more time to gaze on this vivid drama as we were almost over the coast. As I took over the controls from Tom I searched for the church tower and the other landmarks which marked our turning and landing points. Suddenly, there it was - as clear as it had been shown in the briefing film. I called up the tug and thanked him for the ride "O.K. matchbox", the Canadian voice drawled, "The best of luck". My right hand reached out and pulled the tow-rope release; there was a check in the speed and we were alone over the fields of France. I put down half-flap and turned slowly to port, a full one hundred and eighty degrees and there was our landing field stretched our before us. I increased to full flap and put the nose down. Everything seemed to be going extremely well, then suddenly a warning shout from Tom - "Les - kite coming in from....."; too late to do anything but pull back hard on the stick as the other glider soared up under and across me. There was a terrible tearing, crashing sound and I saw the other cabin hang for a split second under me and then fall away. The speed dropped alarmingly as we hovered with the nose up and I quickly brought up the flaps and pushed hard on the stick to try to get up some speed. It was obvious that my undercarriage must have gone in the crash and I realised that it would have to be a "belly-landing" if we were fortunate enough to reach the ground in one piece. There was no sound from the men inside, but the roaring of the air increased as the needle moved faster and faster. It was no use letting up - I would have no brakes, and my safest bet was to hit the ground as soon as possible and pray that the good hard French soil would halt us before we hit the trees at the far end of the field. Ninety, ninety five; the screaming of the air past the fuselage. One hundred - a hundred and ten - full flap on - up with the nose - and we were tearing through the high French corn, the red earth pouring through the broken floor - nothing but the long straight parting of the corn, and then, suddenly, the open patch before the trees - a hard kick on the right rudder - (would it work?) and we slewed round in a great half-circle - the soil spinning high in the air. As we stopped - almost touching the trees there was a tearing sound, and a very tired port wing fell to the ground. When we had extricated ourselves from the remains we found that one of our thermos flasks was miraculously unbroken and as we sat sipping the hot tea we examined ourselves. A few scratches on Tom - a few on me. Our luck had not deserted us this day!
At Arnhem, Les Frater and Tom Pearce flew a Horsa with the Second Lift on Monday 18th September 1944, and having participated in the fighting at Oosterbeek were amongst those who crossed the Rhine when the Division withdrew on the 25/26th September. Frater was later posted to India, and was discharged to the Z/T Reserves on the 15th July 1946.
My thanks to Bob Hilton for this account.