Building a bomber plane in just a day
In the midst of World War II, workers at a Welsh aircraft factory gave up their weekend off
to build a Wellington bomber from scratch in just 24 hours. Why? To set a new world record.
With the country under attack and the war effort in full swing, worrying about world records
might have seemed like a strange thing to do. But after months of nightly bombing raids by
the Luftwaffe, the Ministry of War was keen to show the world - friend and foe - that Britain
could dish it out as well as take it.
And so, in collaboration with the RAF, the ministry issued a challenge to one of the factories
churning out planes for Bomber Command - to build an operational Wellington bomber in
record-breaking time, faster than the existing record of 48 hours set in California.
"It might seem odd, but the whole point of wartime aircraft production is speed," says historian
James Holland. "It's sticking two fingers up at Nazi Germany and at the rest of the world. Our
image of Germany is that they were all Teutonic efficiency and we were a bit amateurish, but it
was the opposite. "If you're breaking records in the middle of a war, it shows confidence, and it
gives the workers involved a boost."
It was wartime propaganda, to bolster spirits at home and put the wind up the enemy. Such a
stunt demonstrated the efficiency of Britain's factories and the unbowed spirit of its people. And
it was a muscular demonstration of Winston Churchill's one policy - to defeat Germany, whatever
the cost. In September 1940, he wrote "the bombers alone will provide the means for victory". At
his order, vast resources poured into Bomber Command.
Although the exact date of the stunt is lost, National Archives records suggest it was staged in early
summer 1943 - about the time British bombers flattened Hamburg in attacks that dwarfed the Blitz -
and filmed for a Ministry of Information newsreel. "Everybody had someone in the forces, so it was
worth fighting for to see them home again," recalls Eileen Lindfield, who took part in the stunt at
Broughton factory in north Wales.
At its peak the factory, run by Vickers Armstrong for the Ministry of Aircraft Production, was churning
out 28 Wellington bombers a week. Today, it makes the giant wings of the Airbus A380. That the
Americans held the existing record was also significant. Britain was keen to impress its ally, but to
beat their time would be one in the eye for coming late to the fight against Hitler. The narrator chosen
for the newsreel was an officer in the Royal Canadian Air Force - a deliberate choice of North American
accent.
The easily assembled Wellington was perfect for the stunt. Its aluminium frame slotted together like
Meccano, with a skin of varnished Irish linen. It was a mainstay of RAF Bomber Command and Coastal
Command during WWII, used to protect retreating troops at Dunkirk and involved in bombing Berlin on
25 August 1940 - the raid which so enraged Hitler, he ordered the Blitz.
And so, one Saturday morning in 1943, Broughton's workers gave up their weekend to assemble Wellington
bomber LN514 from scratch and against the clock. Many were women, or men too young, too old or too infirm
to join the armed forces. Of the 6,000 people working 12-hour shifts on Broughton's wartime production lines,
more than half were women, drafted in to fill places vacated by men sent to the front lines.
At work on a Wellington at Broughton Some had been dressmakers. Others nurses, maids, photographic technicians.
They stitched its linen carapace, drove the roof cranes that shifted wings and tail fins into position, and installed its
electrics. "Women were absolutely vital - first of all to the war effort as a whole, and to aircraft production," says
historian Sir Max Hastings, author of the book Bomber Command. "They were very good at what they did. Britain
mobilised women more efficiently than any other wartime nation, except perhaps the Russians."
Betty Weaver was conscripted from the local co-operative store. "I didn't know one end of a screwdriver from another
but I got there. I do now. For the first three weeks I didn't sleep, then it all slotted into place." She, too, worked on
Wellington LN514 that weekend. The aim was to complete it in 30 hours, with a pilot on hand to take it up Sunday
afternoon.
Throughout the day, workers swarmed to slot together its body, to assemble the engine, to tightly sew its fabric shell -
eight stitches to the inch, or the wind could get it and rip the seams open. By 8.23pm, soon after the night shift arrived,
it was time to fit the propellers to the wings. The plane was coming together so fast, workers began laying bets on
whether they'd beat their target.
Two hours later, the landing wheels were installed, each one four and a half feet high and weighing 300lbs.
By 3.20am, the plane left the production line, and began a round of inspections and engine tests. At 6.15am - 21 hours
and 15 minutes since work started - the engines fired up for final tests, and finishing touches were made to the stitching.
And at 8.50am, 10 minutes short of the 24-hour mark, it was ready for take-off. Work had progressed so fast the pilot had
to be awoken from his slumber for its maiden flight. "I hope to God they haven't missed anything," he muttered.
"The record? Yes, they broke it, those workers," remarked the newsreel's narrator. "They said they'd build a bomber in
their spare time in 30 hours. Its wheels lifted from the ground in exactly 24 hours and 48 minutes." That evening, Wellington
LN514 was flown to its operational base, ready for duty. And Broughton's workers set to work making another, and another, and another...
