Henry was born in Melbourne, Australia in 1912. He spent his childhood years at
Geelong College. After school in 1929 he returned to Avoca Forest to assist his father
with the Avoca Forest Merino stud, which was started in 1923. In 1941 he joined the
RAAF as a pilot. He began his training in Australia at Victor Harbour and then at
Western Junction, Benalla, Uranquinty. He was awarded a D.F.C. (Distinguished
Flying Cross) and mentioned in despatches ( m.i.d.). He returned to Avoca Forest
and in April 1948 acquired the property at Glenthompson which he called "Wiltshire",
because of the shape and terrain, resembled Salisbury Plain and the county of
Wiltshire, England from where he had flown operations during the war. On the
property he ran Merino sheep and Poll Hereford Cattle and some cereal crops for
forty years. He was captain of the Glenthompson Fire Brigade for 16 years and
treasurer of the Glenthompson branch of the Liberal party for 11 years. Henry`s
three daughters, Judith, Sandra and Cynthia carried on farming at Wiltshire,
Glenthompson, Victoria for 10 years after their fathers death in 1988, and now his
daughter Judy and her husband Peter and their son James continue to operate
Wiltshire as a family farming business. A paragraph from the book "Air Power over
Europe 1944-1945" reads: Eisenhower personally watched the operation from
observation posts west of the Rhine and admired the courage of transport pilots
flying relatively slow aircraft steadily along their allotted routes in spite of heavy flak
barrages. Surprisingly only 7 tugs and 10 gliders were shot down, but 32 transports
and nearly 300 gliders were damaged in some degree. Flight Lieutenant Vanrenen of
No.196 Squadron was one who arrived after German gunners had recovered from
the initial surprise. His aircraft was badly hit over the landind zone, two of his four
engines failed, and he, his navigator and wireless operator were all wounded.
Undaunted, Vanrenen struggled back across the Rhine where he made a masterly
forced landing in friendly territory, and refused any assistance himself until his
wounded comrades had received medical treatment.
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The following is a letter from the July 2005 Newsletter from The Stirling Aircraft
Society
An Unforgettable Person
Henry Vanrenen was dark complexioned and compelling:-handsome.His six foot
frame was topped by black wavy hair. A handlebar moustache adorned his upper lip.
Dressed in the uniform of a Flight Lieutenant of the Royal Australian Air Force, the
girls found him irresistible. Henry was the Captain and Pilot of our four
engined Stirling Bomber. We disliked him intensely. We being Tam - the Navigator,
Chalky - Wireless Op, Blondie - Bomb Aimer, Sherlock - engineer, and Jonah
(myself) - Tail End Charlie. Flight Lieutenant Henry Vanrenen was cooly aloof and
although Australian, portrayed the typical image of upper crust English. He was not
invited to join our frequent excursions to the local pub and appeared to be either
unaware or totally unconcerned about our feelings toward him. We were one of thirty
crews comprising 196 Squadron attached to Bomber Command and it was with
mixed feelings that we learned that the entire unit was being transferred to 38
Group. Although we had no idea what our new assignment involved, it somehow
sounded safer than dropping bombs on Berlin. We were dead wrong. They took our
battle-scarred bombers, ripped the front and mid-upper gun turrets out, adding a
towing bar at the rear and classified it as a modified Mark IV Stirling. One of our new
duties was to supply guns and ammunition to the underground movements in France
and Norway. In addition, we would be towing Horsa Gliders laden with fully equipped
airborne troops for the massive air invasion now being planned. Months of intensive
training followed. No longer were we to fly comforted by the thought that there were
hundreds,perhaps, thousands, of our planes in the sky with us. We learned with
foreboding that each aircraft would operate singly and at treetop level to avoid
German radar. Pinpoint navigation was to be of extreme importance as we would now
have to rendezvous deep in enemy territory designated on our map by a single dot.,-
no town nearby, no junction of two rivers - just a dot on a map. To our further dismay,
it was deemed essential to assist visual navigation, that we operate only in periods of
the full moon. Under these conditions our lumbering Stirling with a top speed of 170
knots would be a prime target for Jerry`s night fighters not to mention the deadly
anti-aircraft batteries.It was during the exhaustive and subsequent operations that our
feelings for our rather arrogant captain grudgingly began to change. He was always
totally in command, a quality we eventually recognised as essential for our survival.
In many a tight situation his terse orders quelled the panic that rose involuntarily from
deep within us. His skill at the controls of our cumbersome old Stirling earned
profound respect and eventually blossomed into open admiration. We had the best
Damn pilot in the entire squadron. In March 1945 the allies were poised for a major
assault across the Rhine. 196 Squadron was to be a part of a massive airlift to drop
airborne troops 20 miles behind the German lines. It meant towing a Horsa Glider low
level, laden with fully equipped assault troops at 140 knots - in broad daylight. It
sounded suicidal; however, allied command was counting on complete air superiority.
Our concern was that with a low level daylight operation we would be like sitting
ducks for the deadly German flak guns. Our fear was not unfounded. At 0700 hours,
March 24th 1945, we clumsily dragged the glider into the air and stooged along with
countless other aircraft across the English Channel. The French coast passed
underneath without mishap. We droned on towards Germany. The four Hercules
engines, which were bucking a strong head wind, could barely maintain 130 knots.
The black puffs of smoke from the anti-aircraft guns left no doubt we were over
enemy territory. Shrapnel rattled on the Stirlings metallic frame. Unable to take
evasive action, the glider dancing awkwardly at the end of a 300-foot cable, we
painfully limped toward the pre-determined dropping zone. "Thanks for the lift" came
the glider pilots words and we shot back a quick "Good Luck" as he cut himself free.
We dropped the cable and swung round to escape from the couldron of intense flak.
The aircraft shuddered. We had received two direct hits. The first shell disintegrated
the entire nose of the aircraft. The second exploded behind the pilot smashing the
controls to the two starboard engines and severely injuring the Wireless Op. Our
pilot, painfully wounded in both legs calmly ordered us in to crash positions. With
only two engines and 400 feet seperating us from the ground, he fought for control
and seconds later we hit with a bone crushing thud, skidding along the newly
ploughed field. Dragging the wounded we scrambled out exerting every effort to put
a few hundred feet between us and the crippled bomber. The explosion we expected
never came. The fuel tanks remained intact and our capable Pilot had switched off all
ignitions before impact. Fortunately we had crashed about one-half mile inside our
own lines and within minutes a party of British soldiers drove up. The wounded were
whisked of to a Field Hospital. The remaining three of us were driven to Brussels and
flown back to England. The war in Europe ended shortly thereafter and i never saw
Flight Lieutenant Vanrenen again. It is with warm grateful affection that i recall this
cool aloof Australian who saved our lives. Although he recently passed away, Henry
will always remain unforgettable.
John Leonard Jones 2005
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Footnote : I find it very sad that crews such as my dads lost all contact with each
other after all that they went through together.
My thanks go to Henry`s daughter Judy for all the info. He was a great pilot.
