A Second War '1941' D.F.C. group of five attributed to Flight Lieutenant F. C. A. Lanning,...

A Second War ‘1941’ D.F.C. group of five attributed to Flight Lieutenant F. C. A. Lanning, 141 Squadron, Royal Air Force - a Defiant’s air gunner who flew operationally during the Battle of Britain, and shared two enemy aircraft shot down with his pilot whilst flying in a night fighter capacity, 6/7 May 1941

Distinguished Flying Cross, G.VI.R., reverse officially dated ‘1941’, and additionally engraved ‘P/O F. C. A. Lanning 141 Squadron’; 1939-45 Star, 1 copy clasp, Battle of Britain; Air Crew Europe Star; Defence and War Medals 1939-45, very fine (5) £1,000-£1,400

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D.F.C. London Gazette 6 June 1941 (jointly listed with Flying Officer R. L. F. Day):

‘In May, 1941, Flying Officer Day and Pilot Officer Lanning were the pilot and air gunner respectively of an aircraft engaged in night fighting operations. Observing an enemy aircraft at about 1,000 feet below him, Flying Officer Day skilfully closed in to attack and enabled Pilot Officer Lanning to shoot down the raider. The same night, on further patrol, these officers destroyed another enemy aircraft. Flying Officer Day and Pilot Officer Lanning have carried out many night operational flights and both have displayed great courage and devotion to duty.’

Francis Charles Anthony Lanning was born in Sydenham, London in February 1907. His father was from Luxembourg and his mother from Switzerland. The family name was Lorang, until F. C. A. Lorang changed it to ‘Lanning’ in the 1930’s. He was educated at St. Paul's School in London, and subsequently studied languages in Switzerland before returning to marry at Hendon in 1929.

Lanning’s name change may have been due to the extensive publicity given to the trial of his namesake Francis Lorang (1878-1970) of Luxembourg. The latter perpetrated what was at the time a massive fraud in England regarding shares in the Blue Bird Petroleum Company. He was extradited from a nightclub in Paris, and after a lengthy trial sentenced to seven years penal servitude.

Lanning was commissioned in the Royal Air Force as a direct-entry Air Gunner in May 1940. He was posted for operational service with 141 Squadron (Defiants) at Turnhouse the following month. Lanning was badly injured, along with his pilot Pilot Officer A. N. Constantine, in a runway landing collision in Defiant L6990, 8 July 1940. Their aircraft collided with Defiant L6998 crewed by Pilot Officer R. E. Orchard and Pilot Officer W. F. P. Webber. Both Lanning and Constantine were admitted to Gogarburn Emergency Hospital, Edinburgh.

Lanning was released from hospital on 14 August 1940, and rejoined 141 Squadron later that month during the Battle of Britain. He was subsequently crewed up with Flying Officer R. L. F. Day as his pilot. During the night of 6/7 May 1941 Lanning was flying with Day when they shot down a He111. On a later patrol the same night they shot down a Ju. 88, which made a forced-landing on Holy Island, Northumberland. The aircraft was burned by the crew, who were all taken prisoner. Lanning later recounted details of the above, which appeared in the Daily Sketch, 8 July 1964:

‘My pilot and I were circling at about 11,000 ft over Newcastle hoping to spot one of the many German bombers flying in from Stavanger across the North Sea.

It was June [sic], 1941, and I was the air gunner in a Defiant two-seater night fighter. A dullish red glow to the North-West told us what was happening in Glasgow... all the more reason for trying to penetrate the darkness that enveloped the in-coming raiders.

It was nearly midnight and very cold. Radar was still undeveloped, and it was just a case of using our eyes to the best of our ability. Suddenly we saw him 1,000 ft below. In a flash we dived down to come up almost underneath the fat, bat-like Heinkel which, unperturbed, continued to plod on its sinister way.

Now Bingo, my pilot, pushed back his cockpit hood so that he could see more clearly while he flew beneath the bomber. We were rising and falling with the machine above, and trying to keep the intervening distance at a steady range of 100 ft to help me fire accurately.

At the same time I pointed the four guns of my power-operated turret up at a near angle of 90 degrees. I nearly broke my neck bending down and trying to get my eye right underneath the electrically lit gunsight, which now lovingly criss-crossed the fat belly of the intruder.

I pressed the firing button for about six seconds, which meant that our unwelcome visitor was being hit by about 250 bullets. It was no surprise when his fuselage started to glow.

The shock of the attack must have caused the German pilot to dive sharply because he only just missed us as he plunged, flaming right past us with bright bits coming off and whizzing past.

We were so preoccupied in following him down in case he should need finishing off that an exclamation of alarm and a very tight turn by Bingo made me realise we had just missed running into what looked like a lot of frog spawn suspended in space - the Newcastle balloon barrage!

But now it was obvious that the Henikel was doomed and so we returned to Acklington aerodrome. We made our reports and learned, to our joy, that the bomber had finally crashed in Morpeth.

As the raid was still in progress, and there was no time to lose, we were soon up again, refuelled and rearmed. About 2am we spotted a Junkers 88 about half a mile ahead and perfectly silhouetted against a bank of cloud. It looked like a black fly crawling steadily along a whiter-than-white tablecloth.

This time our tactics had to be different. We were at the same height of about 10,000 ft nad it meant slowly overhauling the bomber and firing as sparingly as possible for there was only enough ammunition for ten seconds’ shooting. Slowly we crept up on the Junkers, heading out to sea for home, and at 400 yards I tried him out with an exploratory two-second broadside.

I was not the least surprised, but rather annoyed, when a menacing stream of tracer hose-piped back in our direction and passed much too close for my liking. Again I gave a two second burst, but now there was a clatter and and a bang inside my turret and I feared the worst.

I was just going to tell Bingo over the intercom that we’d been hit when I realised what had really happened. The vibration from my guns had toppled the gunsight on to the floor, leaving me with just a bare mounting for drawing a chancy aim on the now weaving and intermittently firing enemy.

Losing one’s gunsight in aerial combat at night was, I might say, worse than losing one’s right hand.

“Right,” said Bingo, “we’ll just have to get as close as we can and then fire pointblank.”

Soon a running fight develoed along the bleak Northumberland coast, and we managed to creep up to within 100 yards of the raider without being hit. As in the previous encounter, Bingo threw back his perspex hood to enable him to see better - and then disaster struck!

At the very moment the hood slipped back I was wiggling the guns about, before taking optimistic aim for what must have been the last, as I hoped, successful burst. This prevented me from bringing the turret and guns to bear on the enemy. For what seemed hours we sweated, cursed and wrenched and struggled to free the guns and when we did - the bird had flown.

Crestfallen and disappointed, we returned to base. Two bombers in one night would have been quite an achievement in those early days of 1941, and we had thrown away the chance.

On the ground we turned in our reports to the Intelligence Officer and then crept to bed, not to sleep but to dwell on what might have be...