COMIN’ IN ON A WING AND A PRAYER by RY COODER. Story by Jim Roberts.

Aitope, New Guinea, World War II

Dad left this world 15 years ago. We shared a love of music and telling stories; some tall, others not so tall. Dad liked some of my music because it reminded him of days past.

We first visited Ry Cooder’s version of ‘Coming in on a Wing and a Prayer’ some years ago while having a few of his good scotches in the kitchen in Byron Bay. I’d put the music on to muffle some of our chuckles and bluer tales. It was music that Dad could relate to, its style and lyrics.

‘Coming in on a Wing and a Prayer’ started playing and as he listened, I could see him remembering.

Coming in on a wing and a prayer
Coming in on a wing and a prayer
Though there’s one motor gone
We can still carry on
Coming in on a wing and a prayer

Flight Sergeant David Roberts was part of a tight four-man crew flying in a Beaufort twin engined strike aircraft,  constructed at Fisherman’s Bend near Melbourne, where Dad had worked. In fact, he said that he’d seen it built there.

My father’s squadron’s last deployment was to a little airstrip at Aitape on the north New Guinea coast, a former enemy help strip with a few enemy troops still in the bush occasionally having a potshot at Australian and American servicemen. But mainly trying to survive being left in the surrounding jungle.

His job as a Wireless/Air gunner, a WOPAG, was to man the radios and also a turret with two machine guns used for defence and to “annoy the buggers on the ground”.

There were two WOPAGs and they took turns to man the guns and radio.

Quite often to keep the tension low heading out, Dad would tune into US Forces radio and give the crew some “cool relaxing jazz” to listen to before the realities of war kicked in.

He spoke of their adventures, and misadventures; showing off to some nurses in Sydney by flying under the Harbour bridge, a forced landing after getting caught in a dust storm in Queensland and the misuse of the toilet aboard their plane.

He left the kitchen and came back with a well-worn book, his RAAF logbook.

“Ah here it is,” he pointed. “A/C holed by enemy AA, port motor U/S, port U/C failed to lower. “

What happened, I asked and a typical reply followed.

“Oh, we woke up some general and his mates and spoiled their breakfast. They got a bit shitty about that and had a go at us. Blew a few cylinders of one the motors.”

As it happened Dad’s pilot did indeed wake the general and his mates by dropping a couple of bombs nearby. Instead of being happy to muck up their vegie patch the pilot, Alan, decided to go around a few more times and disturb the kitchen staff and their buildings.

All hell broke loose and the aircraft copped some rounds in the fuselage near Dad’s feet and the engine which gave up the ghost halfway home. With one motor shot up and the port wheel refusing to cooperate the crew were in for an interesting arrival back home.

How we sing as we limp through the air
Look below, there’s our field over there
With our full crew aboard
And our trust in the Lord
We’re coming in on a wing and a prayer

The pilot gave the rest of the crew the option of baling out safely near the base. “Stuff him,” Dad said, “too many snipers in the bush and the rivers are full of crocs.”

Apart from their faith in the lord, the crew’s faith in Alan’s ability to get them home new no bounds. He was an exceptional pilot.

The aircraft landed on one wheel making horrible grinding and scraping noises, spun around a couple of times, and came to a halt leaking fuel everywhere. And four young men doing an Olympic sprint before it blew up. It didn’t and was later repaired.

More ops followed this one, more annoyed enemy bullets made holes in the thin aluminium of their plane and eventually the war ended. The crew, pilot Alan Tutt, navigator Lloyd Preese, WOPAGs Fred Lewis and baby-faced David Roberts came home and had further adventures of a more civilised kind.

At ANZAC reunions and marches I’ve heard my late father referred to as a hero.

I’m not much for the Aussie hero moniker, neither was Dad. He was just a young boy/man on the adventure of a lifetime along with thousands of others. Some are still young.

But his appreciation of the way music can soothe the savage breast makes me realise that these attributes can be passed from generation to generation.

Coming in on a wing and a prayer….a whole lot of prayers I’d say.

WOPAG Fred Lewis, pilot Alan Tutt, navigator LLoyd Preese and WOPAG David Roberts, Dad.

Stereo Story #883

Jim Roberts is planning to present this story in Stereo Stories style at an open mic session in Melbourne soon.

More stories by Jim Roberts