19 AUGUST–6 SEPTEMBER
There was no greater conditioning factor in the air fighting of 1940 than the weather. Not only did it control the effectiveness of the bombers, but poor weather gave the commanders-in-chief on both sides pause for reflection and reconsideration, and to modify their order of battle. The relatively poor weather over the five days after 18 August allowed Goering time not only to tell his fighter pilots just what he thought of them, which was almost unprintable, but to replace some of the Kommodoren, those more cautious and elderly officers – in his judgment – with bright and daring fighter pilots, the ‘young Turks’, like Adolf Galland, who had proved their aggressive qualities.
They should personally lead their formations into battle and thus set ‘a shining example’.… The young men soon proved themselves worthy of the responsibility suddenly thrust upon them. Their example became contagious, and the great competition began as to which Geschwader would become the top scorer. Major Moelders took over JG51 from Major General Osterkamp, Major Galland JG26 from Colonel Handrick. ...1
Goering also ordered most of Sperrle’s Me 109 Geschwader to relocate themselves in the Pas de Calais, under Kesselring’s command. There they would be best placed to escort the bombers in their attacks on the airfields of south-east England.
The poor weather of these mid-August days led Goering and the German High Command to go beyond offensive plans. The fact that after heavy fighting for over a month the RAF was still capable of putting several hundred fighters into the air, when it had once been predicted that fourteen days was long enough to bring about Fighter Command’s destruction, forced the High Command to think defensively, too, distasteful though this was. At conferences which Goering held with his commanders at Karinhall on 15 and 19 August, important changes were decreed.
First, it was finally confirmed that the Ju 87 Stuka was to be withdrawn from first-line operations, at least for the present, except for two Staffeln which were to be held in readiness for any opportunity that might suddenly arise (an important convoy perhaps) for the sort of pinpoint bombing that only Stukas could carry out effectively – if local air supremacy could be achieved as a condition. They would, of course, remain in the vanguard in any invasion.
Second, no more than one commissioned officer was to be included in a bomber’s crew. Over the past days no fewer than 136 officers, up to the rank of Geschwaderkommodore, had been killed and seriously wounded or were missing.
Third, in order to reduce the losses of Me 110s – seventy-nine in the last week and many more damaged – they were in future to be used only beyond Me 109 range, or else to be escorted by 109s – a sore humiliation for the proud ‘zerstoerer’ crews and tactical lunacy: an escort for an escort indeed!
Fourth, and perhaps most surprising of all, attacks on the British radar stations were, after earlier optimism, judged to have been predominantly unsuccessful on account of the difficult nature of the target and were not to be repeated, save in exceptional circumstances.
On a more positive note, the German attacks were to be concentrated on a smaller range of targets. The destruction of the British fighter force was to take precedence over everything else, with the destruction of the British aircraft industry as the next most important aim.
In the RAF Narrative of the Battle, the authors take advantage of this break in the fighting to summarise and reappraise Fighter Command’s record to date and expectations for the future, rather as the commanders at Bentley Priory and down to squadron level paused for a breath of fresh air and thought.
Referring to the superiority in numbers of the enemy,
the situation in which the country found itself on the eve of the battle, and throughout its course, was one that required much stronger air defences than were actually available…. On virtually every occasion that the Germans operated in force they grossly outnumbered the defending squadrons. There were not sufficient forces available for a reserve of fighters, a masse de manoeuvre, to be kept back and used only when the direction and strength of the enemy’s attack were known. Instead the concentrated formations of German bombers and fighters were being met by squadrons containing no more than twelve, and frequently fewer aircraft. It was rarely, therefore, that the Germans failed to reach their targets, provided that the state of the weather was fair. Nor is the relative strength of the opposing forces employed in one operation an adequate gauge of the odds involved. For whereas as many as seventy or eighty British fighters might engage enemy formations totalling anything from one hundred to three hundred aircraft, the individual fighter squadrons, since they normally came into action independently of each other, were engaging up to ten times their number of the enemy.2
There appeared no hope at all of remedying this disparity. The Luftwaffe had reserves to draw upon, both of men and machines; the RAF was finding it harder and harder to replace losses of both. On 9 August there had been 289 Spitfires and Hurricanes ready for issue from the Aircraft Storage Units; on 16 August 235; on 23 August 161. There was still a reasonable margin in hand, but it was daily narrowing, and would narrow more swiftly if the aircraft factories were effectively attacked and/or the loss rate increased. (In the event both happened.)
On 8 August Fighter Command was 160 pilots short of establishment, even before taking into account that three or four pilots in every squadron were so inexperienced as to be non-operational. By 17 August, therefore, and even before the heavy fighting of the following day, the effective strength of Fighter Command was between 900 and 1,000 pilots compared to an establishment of between 1,300 and 1,400.
To counter this continuing dangerous situation, risks had to be taken. After authority had been given by the Air Staff, the course at OTU was ordered to be further intensified and shortened, and thirty-three volunteers were obtained from army co-operation squadrons. One of these, who rose to command 266 Squadron a few weeks later, in 1988 recalled that ‘training on, and subsequent flying of slow, low-ceiling, World War I-type biplanes was a poor preparation for what the Battle really called for. Hundreds of hours of Army Co-operation so-called operational flying on the North-West Frontier [India] was of little help. It was quite a jolt … to come from Wapitis to Spitfires – 221/2 hours crammed into a fortnight [later seven days] at OTU.’*
Between 13 and 22 August six front-line fighter squadrons which had endured the worst casualties – forty-four killed and twenty wounded, amounting to a loss of fifty per cent over ten days – were moved to quieter areas for rest and refit, to be replaced by an equal number from the north and the Midlands. The squadrons relieved were 64 at Kenley, 74 and 266 at Hornchurch, 111 at Croydon (but only to Martlesham Heath in north 11 Group), 145 at Westhampnett and 601 at Tangmere. Nos 145 and 74 moved north on 13 and 14 August respectively, the remainder during the quieter spell on 19 and 22 August.
During this period, the disparity of activity between Fighter Command’s four sectors, and the reason for the fearful casualties in 11 Group compared with 12 and 13 Groups, and, less so, with 10 Group, are all too plain.
Summarising the state of the Battle during the weather-induced break of 19 to 23 August, the Narrative concluded that no ‘positive victory for either side’ could be claimed so far.
We can say, however, that the Luftwaffe had suffered more severely than Fighter Command, and that it had not obtained a sufficient return in targets damaged or destroyed to compensate for its losses. On the other hand it had so far used barely one-third of its available strength in the west. Fighter Command, for its part, had lost pilots it could ill-afford; and the grim prospect of the fighter force slowly wasting away through lack of pilots was already apparent after little more than one week’s intensive fighting.3
Sir Keith Park and his staff used this brief lull to reappraise squadron tactics, improve airfield defence, speed up airfield repairs and seek every means, beyond keeping his fighters on the ground, to cut any unnecessary losses. Recently many of these had been over the sea, and controllers had been instructed on 18 August not to pursue reconnaissance enemy aircraft out to sea, and to engage major formations ‘over land or within gliding distance of the coast’. Controllers were also instructed always to despatch a minimum number of squadrons to engage enemy fighters. ‘Our main object is to engage enemy bombers.’
The days between 19 and 23 August were by no means bereft of all activity by the Luftwaffe, and only a few weeks earlier would have been regarded as highly eventful. For example, on 19 August a massed formation of 100 Me 109s swept along the south-east coast in an attempt to provoke a fighter reaction, and were quite rightly ignored, while later in the day Ju 88s attacked the Southampton area and Pembroke docks. A single aircraft from this group succeeded in setting fire to the oil storage depot at Llanreath. The fire burnt for a week, destroying two-thirds of the tanks and attracting further bomber attention by night and day.
One of the new Polish squadrons, 302 up in Yorkshire, which had been made operational only two days earlier, had its first taste of blood, when their British CO, Bill Satchell, led five of their Hurricanes on to a Ju 88 which was on its way to bomb the airfield at Thornaby. It was in the sea within seconds.
During this period there were also numerous airfield attacks, mainly in the south-east (Manston, of course, several times) and south-west, most of them by single aircraft flying low, and a good deal of damage was done, although none of it affecting the operating efficiency of 10 or 11 Groups.
No. 616 Squadron, which had been so intensely engaged in the north-eastern attack on 15 August, had been sent down to Kenley four days later, just too late for the ‘blitz’ of the 18th. After two relatively quiet days, these Spitfires were scrambled on the evening of the 22nd to deal with a number of ‘free chase’ 109s. The squadron bounced one lot of ‘snappers’ near Dover as it was heading for home, but was in turn bounced by another group. ‘Cocky’ Dundas was the worst hit: ‘White smoke filled the cockpit and I couldn’t see the sky or the Channel coast 12,000 feet below. Centrifugal force pressed me against the side of the cockpit and I knew I was spinning. I felt panic and terror and I thought “Christ, this is the end!” “Get out, you bloody fool; open the hood and get out.” I tugged the handle with both hands where the hood locked into the top of the windscreen. It moved back an inch, then jammed again.’
His Spitfire remained in a spin, and for several thousand feet every effort to open the hood wide enough to get out failed. ‘I pulled with all my might and at last it opened.’ But there was more trouble in getting out, and ‘Cocky’ was very close to the ground when he at last broke free. ‘Thank God my parachute opened immediately. I saw the Spitfire hit and explode in a field below. A flock of sheep scattered outwards from the cloud of dust and smoke and flame.’ He had splinters in his left leg and had dislocated his shoulder, but was otherwise all right.
One feature of the Battle, the night bombing of cities, which had begun on a small and haphazard scale in June, now showed evidence of increasing, a significant precursor of things to come. In Goering’s long Karinhall résumé, or exhortation, of 19 August the Reichsmarschall said:
The cloudy conditions likely to prevail over England in the next few days must be exploited for [aircraft factories] attacks. We must succeed in seriously disrupting the material supplies of the enemy Air Force by the destruction of the relatively small number of aircraft engine and aluminium plants. These attacks on the enemy aircraft industry are of particular importance, and should also be carried out by night…. It would appear desirable for the purpose of night operations to allocate to units particular areas which they will come to know better during each successive raid. Within this area a list of target priorities should be drawn up, so that each sortie will produce some valuable result…. There can no longer be any restriction on the choice of targets. To myself I reserve only the right to order attacks on London and Liverpool.4
In the event, the ordeal of Liverpool, Britain’s most important port with the virtual closing off of London, began at this time, many weeks before the ‘night blitz’ proper. Twelve He 111s were over the city on the night of 19/20 August, and many more over the Midlands. Over 200 night bombers raided the country on the night of 23/24 August, and 100 the following night. Several times Goering’s orders were carried out. Some sixteen tons of bombs on the aircraft works at Filton on the night of 22/23 August seriously affected production, and on the big night of 23/24 August the pinpoint target of the Dunlop Fort rubber works near Birmingham was first illuminated by the pathfinders and then damaged by the bombers from Kampfgruppe 100.
There was very little the defences could do to oppose these night attacks at a time when almost all the guns were still without radar. As for the night fighters, the Blenheims, which were no faster than the bombers, had only the most primitive form of AI (radar air interception). One of the first Blenheim AI successes was that of Flying Officer Geoffrey Ashfield on the night of 22/23 July, shooting a Dornier into the Channel south of Brighton with a ten-second burst from his four .303s. In all about six German bombers were to be shot down at night by Blenheims in the course of the Battle, guided to their target by AI. But, as Dr E. G. Bowen, in charge of AI development, was once heard to remark, ‘If a Blenheim was going to catch a German bomber, that bomber had to be dawdling.’
For the Hurricane it was a case of the old proverbial needle in the haystack. One Blenheim CO was so frustrated that he acquired a Hurricane and made over forty night sorties. He only twice spotted an enemy aircraft and immediately lost it.
The experience of a leading aircraftman shortly before the Battle typified the last-minute, makeshift arrangements made to deal with the night-bomber threat. Benjamin Bent found himself at Martlesham Heath ‘being instructed in the use of Mk4 AI. I was promoted to sergeant, which I thought was a step in the right direction, but since AI was so very secret, there was no way I was entitled to a flying badge.... Without further ado, we started flying at night in the bomb well of the Blenheim with our AI, kneeling in front of the set for a couple of hours and freezing the while, sometimes being vectored on to “trade” but without success. So I think it true to say that apart from blood and icicles my real contribution to the Battle was nil.’
However, as with all Blenheim squadrons, it was a different story when re-equipped later with the much faster Beaufighter with new AI. Even the famed John ‘Cat’s Eyes’ Cunningham had no success until he got his hands on a Beaufighter, which, in association with GCI (Ground Control Interception) stations, became a formidable night-fighting weapon the next spring.
Another night-fighter pilot, Ivor Cosby, who had a particularly busy summer switching from Army Co-op to Spitfires, and then to Blenheims, found the night-fighter role far more hazardous and taxing. At Gravesend ‘we had only twelve Glim Lamps for a flare path and operated from a grass airfield surrounded by balloon barrages at Dartford, Rochester and Thameshaven, just across the Thames. No air-traffic control and no R/T link with the station. Indeed, we had no R/T contact with the fighter controllers below 3,000 feet and had to find our own way home at the end of a sortie – pretty grim in the dark, usually in cloud and poor visibility below with all the smoke etc. drifting down the Thames from London.’
Sergeant Sidney Holloway arrived at 25 Squadron (Blenheims) with just four night-flying hours in his log book, none of them on Blenheims. But he loved ‘that kite, maybe because it was my first operational aircraft. I considered it strong, manoeuvrable, forgiving, with good pilot visibility, but slow for the job. It was also very draughty and cold with no heating. The AI was not reliable and was such a drain on the batteries that frequently power was lost after about ninety minutes so crews had to find their own way home. This was not too difficult at Martlesham Heath – fly east to the coast, turn left or right as appropriate, follow it to the River Deben, turn inland, take the left fork of the river, find the Glim Lamp flare path, and you were home.’ Easy!
During the period 19–23 August, three German bombers were claimed shot down at night by the anti-aircraft guns, but no confirmation was obtained, while out of 160 night-fighter sorties (almost all Blenheims), there was only one engagement and in this the crew could make no definite claim.
The period 24 August to 6 September was to mark the worst agony of 11 Group’s airfields. Day after day the bombs rained down on Manston, Kenley, Biggin Hill and the other airfields of Essex, Kent, Surrey and Sussex. It may have been hard on the personnel at Eastchurch but it was a relief for Fighter Command that this Coastal Command station seemed to have an inexplicable appeal for the Luftwaffe. Time and again the Dorniers and Heinkels came back to this long-suffering airfield, used only in emergencies by fighters. Perhaps Kesselring’s bomber crews mistook it for Gravesend, or considered it a useful, and highly vulnerable, secondary target.
Manston remained top of the league for frequency of attacks, however, both by bombers and strafing fighters. It has even been alleged by the novelist, Len Deighton, that the morale of the servicing crews broke, that ‘the terrified men would not budge’ from the shelters. Air Commodore James Leathart, and one of his flight commanders at the time, Air Vice-Marshal Alan Deere, have both stoutly denied this and expressed resentment at the slur on these brave men. ‘I’m even supposed to have only just prevented another officer from threatening to shoot the first man who refused to come out,’ commented Leathart. ‘At the time I first read this I put it down to sensational exaggeration, like the rest of his book [Fighter], which does little to detract from the author’s prowess as a writer of fiction.’
The Luftwaffe was also now prepared to attack more northerly airfield targets. This policy was presaged on the first clear dawn for days on 24 August and an 8 a.m. raid on the port of Great Yarmouth. A few minutes later, the old familiar build-up of massive forces over the Pas de Calais signalled the end of the five-day lull. Besides Manston, North Weald and Hornchurch became targets later in the day, stretching 11 Group’s resources to the utmost. Park sent an urgent appeal for help to Leigh-Mallory, and 19 Squadron’s cannon-armed Spitfires provided successful support. The three squadrons at Duxford attempted to form a ‘big wing’ but the Kampfgeschwader were already on their way home, leaving behind a trail of fires around the Thames Estuary, some caused by hastily jettisoned bombs which, themselves, were proof of the ferocity of the fighting.
Once again, Sperrle launched his own Luftflotte 3 raids as the last of Kesselring’s bombers made their final approach back to their bases.
About 1545 hours, the first signs of an impending raid other than in the south-east were received. A force of fifty-plus was located just north of Cherbourg, and two others of twelve aircraft or more were somewhat to the south-west. The main force came straight across the Channel and at 1610 hours was about thirty-five miles south-east of St Catherine’s Point.5
But Ventnor CH was still not working to full efficiency, the receivers requiring full calibration, and after 4.15 p.m. the accuracy of the plots seriously deteriorated.
What had previously been a single large formation supported by two or three smaller forces was reported as no less than seven medium-sized forces. It is clear, however, that there was in fact only one bombing formation, and that such other forces as were present were flanking and escorting formations of fighters…. The only British squadron to sight any bombers was No. 609 Squadron which, in its rueful words, ‘found themselves 5,000 feet below a large formation of bombers and fighters, right in the middle of our own AA fire and down sun’.6
Overwhelmed by numbers and in a hopeless situation, the Spitfire pilots fought for their lives. Andy Mamedoff came nearest to losing his, but managed to put down in a field. The outcome for the city of Portsmouth was less fortunate. Over 200 250 kg bombs rained down on the buildings and streets and naval installations, causing the greatest number of casualties so far in the Battle, over 100 killed and nearly 300 seriously injured, including naval officers and ratings.
Even before darkness fell on 24 August the first night-raider plots showed up off the Cherbourg Peninsula and the Yorkshire and Lincoln-shire coast, heralding an almost non-stop continuation of the day raids. This night activity was no more intense than on recent nights, but the citizens of London, who had so far escaped the Luftwaffe’s attention in darkness, could be forgiven for believing that all-out warfare on the Wellsian scale had at last come to their homes. For the first time since the Gotha bombing raids of 1918, bombs fell on the City. Fires were started and burnt for long, as did an oil tank blaze at Portsmouth, and many more fires in the Midlands and the west signalled across the country that the blitzkrieg over Britain had already begun.
This first day of renewed day fighting also tragically signalled the imminent end of the Defiant as a day fighter and its transfer to night duties. In spite of the virtual annihilation of 141 Squadron (Defiants), similarly equipped 264 Squadron was now thrown into the Battle. On this, and the succeeding three days, 264 lost a dozen of this awkward machine, fourteen pilots and gunners killed including the CO, and more wounded.
One of the few survivors, Pilot Officer Desmond Hughes (now Air Vice-Marshal Hughes CB, CBE, DSO, DFC and Bar, AFC) recalled the compounded folly of 264 being despatched to the forward airfield of Manston. ‘Our vulnerability was well illustrated by the occasion when B Flight commander had difficulty in starting his engine. It took him a couple of minutes to get it going and, as he took off, he saw his faithful Nos 1 and 2 waiting for him on the circuit. He flew in front of them and waggled his wings – only to be shot down because they were 109s!
‘He managed to do a belly-landing back on the airfield but all the way down he was in severe trouble because the 109s’ fire had hit his store of signal cartridges which resulted in various coloured flares buzzing round the turret and cockpit like nobody’s business.’
It was not only that this turret fighter was a sitting duck for the 109 now that its characteristics were fully known to the enemy, but, even if the engine started promptly, it was slow to scramble in an emergency owing to the difficult entry for the gunner. On 29 August the remnants of a brave squadron were returned to Kirton-in-Lindsey.
It says much for the Defiant squadrons that pride in the aircraft and esprit de corps never seem to have faltered, in part perhaps because of the team spirit of the crews; and when it could position itself beneath the belly of a bomber, those four .303s were lethal.
On 25 August the absence of any serious activity before mid-afternoon, in spite of the good weather, deluded some controllers into the belief that it was the lull rather than the bombing that was being renewed. Brand was not a party to this hopeful interpretation and was not surprised when substantial plots were reported by Ventnor CH. In the subsequent heavy fighting over Portland and Weymouth George Darley’s Spitfires of 609, Cedric Williams’s Hurricanes of 17 and Wing Commander John Dewar’s Hurricanes of 87 were most engaged. Of these squadrons, 17 suffered worst, Williams being shot down and killed by the pilot of a Me no and one of the flight commanders being forced to bale out. Although, as usual, heavily outnumbered, these 10 Group squadrons succeeded in blunting the Luftflotte 3 attacks. One of 17 Squadron’s most determined and successful pilots, Flying Officer Count Manfred Beckett Czernin, had a field day with the Me 110S of I/ZG2, being credited with destroying three within less than a minute by a neat combination of head-on and rear attacks. Inevitably, though, a few of the bombers got through and damaged hangars at Warmwell, and, by a lucky hit, cut all communication with the outside world. It was reported by several pilots that the proud 110 Staffeln were reduced to appealing for assistance from the high-flying 109s (themselves at the limit of their range) by firing red Very lights. In all the Luftwaffe lost twenty aircraft, but the relatively high figure of sixteen RAF fighters marked a new and menacing trend which was to continue.* Thus:
| Luftwaffe | RAF | |
| losses | losses | |
| 26 August | 41 | 31 |
| 27 August | 9 | 1 |
| 28 August | 30 | 20 |
| 29 August | 17 | 9 |
| 30 August | 36 | 26 |
| 31 August | 41 | 39 |
| 1 September | 14 | 15 |
| 2 September | 35 | 31 |
| 3 September | 16 | 16 |
| 4 September | 25 | 17 |
| 5 September | 23 | 20 |
| 6 September | 35 | 23 |
These more depressing figures for Fighter Command were largely attributable to the great increase in the numbers of 109s in Kesselring’s Luftflotte 2. For his part, Sperrle, after a massive start with daylight raiding, from 24 August was drawn more and more into night raids on the Midlands and the north. Since most of his 109s were being transferred to Kesselring in preparation for the invasion, his main task was becoming night bombing. This was another harbinger of future events.
Operations the following day, Monday 26 August, were marked by a Dornier raid on the important sector station of Debden, the deepest penetration by daylight on an airfield so far in the Battle. Only half-a-dozen bombers broke through the defending screen of Hurricanes, Spitfires and Defiants, but that was sufficient to do significant damage. Among the defenders was 310 Squadron from Duxford in 12 Group, up on its first operation, the Czechs being led by Squadron Leader George Blackwood. He had the greatest difficulty in restraining his ultra-aggressive and independent-minded young pilots, who were always trying to go off south on their own in search of prey. In a mêlée with Dorniers and their escort, the Czechs claimed three victims, three of their Hurricanes being shot down, including the CO’s, but without pilot loss. No.1 Canadian Squadron, also recently made operational, roared into the battle with equal zeal but without sufficient awareness of the dangers of well-co-ordinated, bomber, rear-return fire, and they, too, lost three of their Hurricanes, including the CO’s, with one of the pilots killed.
But the worst sufferers on this heavy day were the pilots of 616 Squadron (Spitfires) from Kenley, belatedly scrambled and bounced by a swarm of Me 109s, which shot down no fewer than seven of their number, killing two and wounding four more.
In the afternoon, Sperrle laid on his usual tea-time party with a raid by some fifty Heinkels, escorted by twice that number of Messerschmitts, against Portsmouth. Nos 10 and 11 Group controllers managed to scramble eight squadrons, and while most of these failed to make contact (visibility in the south was indifferent all day), the three that succeeded were sufficient to break up the bomber formations and save the great naval base and city from serious damage.
Sperrle’s failure seems to have confirmed the German High Command’s doubts of the value of these daylight Luftflotte 3 efforts to knock out both naval and RAF bases in mid-southern England, and this was the last for several weeks.
The dawn of 27 August revealed drizzle and low cloud, and Park hoped for a respite after the three days of all-out fighting. His wish was granted, and Dowding took advantage of the day by relieving three of his most exhausted squadrons. But this time it was only a one-day lull, and Wednesday the 28th proved to be a suitably busy day for Churchill’s visit to the south-east. Almost all the combat the Prime Minister witnessed from the ground was fighter-to-fighter, which was what Dowding was doing his best to avoid. However, both Spitfire and Hurricane squadrons (but not, alas, 264 [Defiants], on their last operational day) acquitted themselves well. Peter Townsend’s 85 Squadron (Hurricanes) especially were very successful, the CO claiming one 109 and his pilots five more without loss.
The shooting of baled-out pilots as they fell was not something Churchill raised on his visits to squadrons, but it was a matter, like everything else connected with the Battle, which had received his attention, and he had expressed his revulsion and opposition. It was a highly emotional subject, especially among the pilots concerned. Some German pilots certainly took advantage of the utter vulnerability of an airman swinging slowly down. Denis David, for example, saw Johnnie Cock being shot at by a 109 pilot on the afternoon the Australian went into the sea: ‘His parachute cords went ping! ping! ping! – beginning to separate him from his’ chute canopy as the bullets flew around him. I managed to get behind that murderous Hun and shot him down. I circled Johnnie till he hit the water, because I wasn’t going to let another Hun shoot him down.’
Later, 87 Squadron lost their CO, Johnnie Dewar, after he parachuted out. When his body was found it was riddled with bullet wounds. Two days after Churchill’s visit, a Kenley pilot was seen to be killed by two 109 pilots as he came down under his silk. On this occasion, ironically, the German pilots collided, and both crashed fatally.
‘Wilkie’ Wilkinson, CO of 266 Squadron, whose death on 18 August so affected ‘Chips’ Channon, in fact escaped from his Spitfire after the collision with a 109. He was seen to bale out apparently unhurt but, like Johnnie Dewar, his body ‘was found as full of holes as a sieve’, according to Dennis Armitage. ‘Our “Wilkie” was much loved and the thought that he was shot-up while dangling helplessly from a parachute filled us with a vindictive hate which had not been there before.’
Goodness knows, this anger and revulsion against killing the defenceless is understandable. But it has to be said that the lines of ethical distinction are very fine when considering the acceptability between shooting a pilot who on landing will be made a prisoner anyway, and shooting a pilot who will very likely return to fight again. From the early days of this Battle, as we have seen, Fighter Command pilots were officially encouraged to shoot down, or shoot on the water, German rescue seaplanes which, in all probability, had just plucked from the water a pilot who had survived by baling out.
British and Commonwealth pilots refrained from shooting at parachuting pilots, which would have brought the wrath of their flight and squadron commanders about their head if seen to do so. The ferocity and hatred of the Poles and Czechs could not be held back when opportunity occurred, however, as it did on 31 August. ‘The Poles of 303 Squadron could not be restrained from queuing up to fire bursts at Oblt von Perthes as he descended by parachute.’7
Much as this was officially deplored, other pilots understood the violence of the Poles and Czechs, who were loved and admired. ‘Thank God they’re on our side!’ The CO of 238 Squadron (today Air Commodore H. A. Fenton CBE, DSO, DFC) writes: ‘The Poles and Czechs (of blessed memory) were vital as it turned out.... It was amazing how quickly we became real friends. I flew with a Pole on one side and a Czech on the other and was delighted to be so well looked after.’
The last two days of August stretched Fighter Command, and 11 Group especially, to the limit. Kesselring had staked his military reputation on breaking the back of the defence before September, and he used every permutation in his tactical arsenal. To attack the airfields of south-east England and wear down the British fighter force, he sent over vast formations of Me 109s on provocative sweeps and, when Park refused to rise to the bait, he sent them again with a small force of fast Ju 88s. He varied the timing between mass raids in an effort to catch the British fighters rearming and refuelling. He sent over massive formations of around 200 bombers, and then split them up into groups of twenty or thirty to attack airfields from Duxford to Oxford and the usual targets south of London.
At one time on 30 August forty-eight Observer Corps posts reported raids overhead, the fighting was everywhere and unsurpassed in its fury. Eleven Hurricanes of 85 Squadron put to rout a massive bomber formation with a single head-on attack followed by individual combats. Geoffrey Allard, a red-headed sergeant from Yorkshire who had earlier been credited with shooting down ten Luftwaffe planes in seven days over France before it fell, was especially adept at the head-on attack technique pioneered by 111 Squadron, and was now adding to his score at a great rate – six in three days.
Dennis Armitage of 266 Squadron became a very experienced head-on exponent: ‘It has several advantages if you can get into the right position. You avoid the concentration of fire from the bombers’ rear gunners, they have no guns firing forward, in twin-engined aircraft the pilot and crew are more vulnerable from the front, and perhaps above all it makes it very difficult for the escorting fighters to carry out their protective role. The disadvantage is that there is so little time. The relative closing speed would be something approaching 600 mph and this is very nearly 300 yards per second. The optimum range of our guns was about 300 yards so if you could get your sights on at 600 yards you could press the button for one second and this left you one second to break away… but the effect on the enemy formation was devastating.’
Donald Stones of 79 Squadron recalled a head-on attack on 30 August which dramatically demonstrated to them all just how fine the timing had to be. Teddy Morris, a South African who had been carefully briefed on this form of warfare, was among those who bored into a huge formation of He 111s. He did not evade in time and bounced off the nose of a 111. The impact destroyed it, and his Hurricane.
‘He found himself still strapped in his seat, surrounded by debris from both aircraft, and pulled his ripcord. He suffered only a broken leg, and loss of confidence in our advice. When we saw him in sick quarters he complained, “I thought you told me they would break formation if we pressed home a good frontal attack.”
‘“No, Teddy,” we said. “They don’t if the pilot is dead. You are supposed to allow for that.”
‘“How the hell are you to know if he’s dead or not?”
‘“The way you did,” seemed to be the only answer.’
From time to time deliberate ramming of the enemy was reported. No doubt some of these incidents were accidental or involuntary, perhaps with the fighter pilot already dead. But there can be little doubt that several pilots made the supreme sacrifice, whether or not they judged that they were about to die anyway. When the great Victor Beamish was leading 249 Squadron in a combat with a large number of 110s, Pilot Officer Percy Burton was badly hit and was trailing smoke and flame. Charles Palliser DFC, of 43 and 249 Squadrons, recalled: ‘I saw his contortions, then I saw him straighten and fly straight into the German aircraft; both crashed and Percy was killed. I was close enough to see his aircraft letters, as other pilots must have been and who also confirmed this incident, which in itself caused me to realise my young life and its future, if any, had jumped into another dimension.’
One of the best reasons for adopting head-on tactics against bomber formations was the increasing adoption of heavy armour-plate by the Luftwaffe, especially as protection for the crew and the engines. This was installed on the assumption of attacks from the rear, above or below. There was, in any case, no means of protection against frontal assault.
Dowding had disapproved of the head-on attack, though he knew it was increasingly resorted to. But on 25 August he urged its use whenever there was an opportunity as a means of counteracting the armour-plate which was being fitted to German fighters as well as to bombers. Nor is there much doubt that this was a type of attack that the German bomber crews most feared.
By this time – the end of August – all Hurricanes and Spitfires had been fitted with a slab of armour behind the pilot’s head and shoulders, which saved many lives. It was often hastily fitted, overnight in some cases, to the dismay of other ground crews besides William Eslick and his friends in 19 Squadron.
Another modification to RAF fighters which had also been adopted by all squadrons was the rear-view mirror, with the benefit of hindsight an extraordinary omission in the original design. A regular, Sergeant Pilot George Johns (now a retired group captain DSO, DFC, AFC), recalled going to the nearest local garage and cleaning out the stock of car mirrors, which they fitted themselves to their Hurricanes. ‘I don’t think we were ever reimbursed.’ On 19 Squadron pilots had ‘rear-view mirrors made up in the chippy [carpenter’s] shop, great blocks of streamlined wood housing a mirror bolted to each side of the fuselage forward of the cockpit. These were later removed with the belated arrival of the official top-of-the-windscreen version.’
On 30 August, the same day that Donald Stones (something of a veteran by now) carried out a head-on attack, Iain Hutchinson of 222 Squadron at Hornchurch encountered the enemy for the first time: ‘The sky was blue from horizon to horizon and our squadron was climbing to our allocated altitude. Suddenly from the east, I became aware of masses of dots which resolved themselves into aircraft as the enemy formations approached. Our fighters were converging on them and, in an instant, the orderly enemy lines wavered as the first of our aircraft attacked. A great whirlpool of planes developed, spiralling downwards. Within seconds there were several plumes of smoke as stricken aircraft plunged earthwards leaving some tiny gossamer mushrooms seemingly suspended in the air as pilots took to their parachutes.
‘Then our squadron, now in battle formation of line astern, swept in to engage the enemy…. I clearly remember the hammer blows as my aircraft was hit by cannon shell and the dense grey smoke that immediately poured from the engine cowling before me.
‘I decided to try to land my Spitfire and, as I swept over the hedge of a field being ploughed, I caught a quick glimpse of the ploughman, some fifty yards to my left, reining in his horses, his face turned towards me in incredulity. Then the aircraft impacted in a flurry of earth and my face struck the reflector sight. I sat for a moment, feeling dazed, in the quiet that descended.’
Hutchinson could, perhaps, consider himself lucky. All too many pilots on their first op. experienced only the stab of a fatal bullet or the searing heat of fire – and oblivion.
In mid-August, to the outrage of the new young commanders, orders had been issued to all Luftflotte 2 Me 109 Geschwader to escort the bomber formations more closely. Park countered this move by instructing his controllers to despatch Spitfire and Hurricane squadrons against the bombers, which had previously been the more or less exclusive preserve of the slower Hurricanes. But as soon as sufficient numbers of 109s from Sperrle had been established in the Pas de Calais and the escort level could be doubled, high screens of fighters were reinstated at 20,000+ feet in addition to the close escort.
Park at once instructed controllers to revert to the old policy. But with 109s close to the bomber formations as well as above, ready to pounce, the division of responsibility became less tidy, Hurricanes often finding themselves engaged with the close escort 109s and Spitfires breaking through first to the bombers.
The dilemma of RAF squadron commanders, and the reason for the heavy casualties from 109s is made sharply clear:
For most of the phase [24 August–6 September] the defending squadrons were flying and fighting singly. Only too often the units of combat were a British squadron of twelve aircraft at most and a German formation of twenty to forty bombers and up to 100 fighters. Some British squadron commanders attempted to contain the enemy escort with one flight, and with the other attack the bombers; but time after time there were sufficient German fighters to engage both British flights.8
An additional anxiety that ever increasingly weighed down upon Dowding during these desperate days was the maintenance of the delicate organisation and communications that kept alive the whole structure of RAF fighter defence. The restoration of operational landlines and the repair or rebuilding of ops rooms and damaged radar stations were made possible by the priceless gift of time offered by the earlier five-day lull. The loss of hangars could be endured. The emergency erection of tents or commandeering of local houses solved accommodation problems caused by wrecked domestic blocks, and in this summer weather food could be cooked and eaten out of doors if need be. As had been shown time and again, even the most pockmarked landing grounds could be made usable again in a short time, especially since the formation of mobile repair squads.
During this intense late August–early September period, the battle on the ground was against the damage caused to the body corporate of Fighter Command. When ops rooms were destroyed, as at Kenley and Biggin Hill, existing emergency rooms were rushed into service. These, however, could not accommodate a full staff or provide all the landlines necessary for the control of the full quota of their squadrons. Improvisation was the order of the day, while at the same time the rushed construction of fully equipped alternative ops rooms within five miles of the sector station was put in hand.
Those who carried out this repair work were among the unsung heroes of the Battle, like the ground staff, anti-aircraft gunners, ARP workers and members of the Observer Corps. Operational landlines were the responsibility of the GPO (War Group) and these were among the hardest worked people on the ground, often working right through nights, doggedly tackling the repair to vital lines which they had reconnected perhaps only twenty-four hours earlier. Equally busy were the station signals men and members of the Royal Corps of Signals who dealt with internal station lines.
Sir Keith Park in mid-September made no bones about the extremity of the situation between 28 August and 5 September:
Contrary to general belief and official reports, the enemy’s bombing attacks by day did extensive damage to five of our forward aerodromes and also to six of our seven sector stations.* There was a critical period when the damage to sector stations and our ground organisation was having a serious effect on the fighting efficiency of the squadrons, who could not be given the same good technical and administrative service as previously…. The absence of many essential telephone lines, the use of scratch equipment in emergency operations rooms, and the general dislocation of ground organisation, was seriously felt for about a week in the handling of squadrons by day to meet the enemy’s massed attacks, which were continued without the former occasional break of a day.9
Very little intelligence was percolating through to the RAF from France and the Low Countries about German morale. The undercover network on the continent had not yet been established, wireless intercepts and the Enigma traffic shed no light, and only the interrogation of prisoners provided any sort of clue to the effect that the high rate of casualties and failure to break Fighter Command was having on German aircrew. Air Ministry interrogation officers believed that they saw some signs of nervous strain and low morale among the prisoners passing through their hands during this period. They also discovered that virtually all bomber crew and fighter pilots had been trained in peacetime and had an average service of four years in the case of bomber pilots and three years in that of fighter pilots. This alone did not suggest that the Luftwaffe was experiencing the same replacement difficulties as Fighter Command, whether or not their morale was falling.
The Luftwaffe War Diaries confirm the conclusions of these interrogation officers. Hans von Hahn of I/JG3 stated: ‘There were only a few of us who had not yet had to ditch in the Channel with a shot up aircraft or stationary airscrew.’ And Hellmuth Osterman of III/JG54 recalled: ‘Utter exhaustion from the English operations had set in. For the first time one heard pilots talk of the prospects of a posting to a quieter sector.’10
In the German High Command hierarchy this attitude did not prevail, and any pilot uttering such defeatist remarks would have had short shrift. ‘The British fighter arm has been severely hit,’ pronounced Major Freiherr von Falkenstein, ever optimistic, on 1 September. ‘If, during September, we seize every opportunity of favourable weather to keep up the pressure, one can assume that the enemy’s fighter defence will be so weakened that our air assault on his production centres and harbour installations can be greatly stepped up.11
On that same day, Dowding was obliged to face the fact that on 31 August his Command had lost thirty-nine aircraft, the highest so far – and, as it turned out, the highest figure for the Battle.
The last day of August and the first days of September were again marked by exceptionally heavy blows to certain squadrons, which had already suffered severe losses, and to a wide spread of airfields.
No. 111 Squadron, which had been in the thick of the fighting for so long, moved at last to Drem in Scotland. John Thompson’s pilots had suffered appalling casualties, and the survivors and the ground crew were utterly exhausted. Aircraftman Charles Cooper, the armourer who had narrowly escaped death on 15 August when Croydon was bombed, described two incidents which bear this out: ‘On one of our busy days at Croydon we were watching the return of our Hurricanes, and ready to rearm quickly, when we noticed one aircraft landed and taxied a short distance only to stop some way off with the engine still turning over. Thinking the pilot had been wounded, we dashed over to the aircraft, only to find the pilot, Johnny Walker DFC, a Canadian, was leaning forward with his body held by the Sutton harness, head on his chest and asleep with exhaustion.’
More tragically, Cooper recalled the arrival on the squadron straight from OTU of two eager young pilots in a car with their baggage: ‘They immediately went up with the rest of the squadron since we were so short of pilots, but only one returned, badly injured. I do not even remember their names. Their car stood outside the airport building still with their baggage in it.’
No. 257 Squadron (Hurricanes), which, until now, had not enjoyed the highest morale, lost a pilot on Saturday 31 August and another on 3 September, with two wounded. ‘We were a very demoralised squadron until Bob Stanford Tuck arrived. He vitalised us and we soon went to the top,’ Jack Ryder, an instrument repairer, recalled. No. 72 Squadron lost three Hurricanes in one engagement on this same day, the very day they arrived at Biggin Hill.
Erpro 210 raised its ugly head again on this last day of the month, coming in low and unannounced on the south-east radar stations as before. The fighter-bombers made a great deal of noise and did some damage, but all the stations were back on the air again by the end of the day.
After a single bombing the previous day, the mutilated remains of Biggin Hill were twice attacked, for the second time late in the afternoon by the ever-active Erpro crews, which in all lost eight Me 110s on this day, 31 August. No. 72 Squadron, possessions not yet unpacked, had to move out to Croydon. ‘I’ll never forget the courage of home-wrecked Londoners as they cheered our maintenance convoy from one station to another,’ recalled Flight Lieutenant Ted Graham. No. 56 Squadron, lacking a CO and most of their aircraft, were moved from North Weald to Boscombe Down.
Two notable figures suffered lucky escapes at the cost of their aircraft on this last day of August: Peter Townsend was shot down by 109s north of North Weald, took to the silk and landed with a piece of shell in his left foot; and Alan Deere had an extraordinary escape while taking off from Hornchurch. Deere later wrote: ‘I was not quite airborne when a bomb burst on the airfield, ahead of me and to my left. “Good, I’ve made it,” I thought. To this day I am not clear exactly what happened next; all I can remember is that a tremendous blast of air, carrying showers of earth, struck me in the face and the next moment thinking vaguely that I was upside down. What I do remember is the impact with the ground and a terrifying period of ploughing along the airfield upside down.’12
With the help of a fellow pilot who raced to help prise Deere out of the wreck, which was likely to go up in flames any second, the New Zealander got clear. Bandaged, patched and plastered, he was in stern combat again the following day. On 3 September 54 Squadron was at last relieved and sent north.
Biggin Hill celebrated the first day of the new month by suffering three more severe bombing attacks. After the last of these, two WAAFs, Sergeant Helen Turner and Corporal Elspeth Henderson, were found in the debris of their telephone switchboard building, from which, in order to keep the lines open, they had refused to move. They were relatively unhurt; both later received the Military Medal. The officer in charge of these girls at the station, Assistant Section Officer Felicity Hanbury, who later rose to be Director of the WAAF, also received commendation for her courageous conduct and fine example.
While the WAAFs were dusting themselves down and the weary rescue and first-aid squads were searching for more victims at Biggin Hill, a mere fifteen miles away in the heart of Mayfair, Archibald Sinclair, the Secretary of State for Air, and Dr Hugh Dalton, the Minister for Economic Warfare, were taking luncheon at the Mirabelle in Curzon Street. Dalton confided to his diary:
It goes very well and we are very co-operatively conspiratorial. It seems that the idea of bringing Lloyd George into the War Cabinet has faded out a bit. Sinclair says that the excuse was that Lloyd George was a man of the Left so he would do something to balance Beaverbrook. I said that was all rubbish.13
In these first days of September there were renewed attacks on aircraft factories. The first to suffer again, on 2 September, was the Short Brothers plant at Rochester, where the drawing office was among the buildings destroyed. The old motor racing circuit of Brooklands, where Vickers had a factory producing Wellington bombers, was another target.
The 3rd of September was a quieter day, though not for the Czechs, who had a fierce encounter with I/ZG2’s Me 110s. For the cost of one Hurricane (pilot safe) they shot down four of these big fighters above North Weald, all the crews being killed.
On the following day, the Short Brothers works and Brooklands were the object of more vigorous attacks. At Brooklands a heavy price was paid by both sides. A strong force of 110s was intercepted close to the target by nine Hurricanes of 253 Squadron, which shot down six in a few seconds (all confirmed by wreckage) and damaged another. A few survivors got through, either mistook the Vickers works for the Hawker factory (producing large numbers of Hurricanes some distance away and protected by balloons), were wrongly briefed, or did not care for the balloons, and put six 500 kg bombs into Vickers’ machine shops. It was the worst single incident so far in the Battle, with over 700 casualties, eighty-six of whom were killed instantly. Fifteen 110s were destroyed and more damaged on the afternoon of this day.
‘Eglantine Cottage? Go down the lane past the Messerschmitt, bear left and keep on past the two Dorniers, then turn sharp right and it’s just past the first Junkers.’ Punch, 4 September 1940.
On 5 September the morning started with two major attacks which crossed the coast at Dungeness almost simultaneously at 9.45 a.m. One of them, consisting of thirty Do 17s, escorted by seventy fighters, was intercepted by 501 Squadron, who were forced to deal with the Me 109s and failed to break through to the bombers and lost one of their number – but not the pilot, who baled out safely.
The second raid, of equal strength, was first dealt with by the Spitfires of 41 Squadron, which had the advantage of an altitude of 27,000 feet and completely surprised the 109 pilots of II/JG3. No. 234 Squadron, patrolling almost as high, then joined in when the fighting was over Maidstone. Oberleutnant von Werra, the adjutant of II/JG3, who was flying with his CO, Hauptmann Erich von Selle, later described how they were bounced by three Spitfires. Von Selle jerked his stick forward just in time, but von Werra’s machine received a long burst from the Australian, Flight Lieutenant Paterson Hughes.*
Von Werra crash-landed on the east side of Winchet Hill, Curtisden Green, south of Maidstone, and was made prisoner by the excited ‘hatless, collarless, shirt-sleeved and unarmed cook’14 of a nearby searchlight battery. Von Werra was eventually taken to a prisoner-of-war camp in Canada, escaped to the USA and made his way home via Mexico, Panama, Peru, Brazil and Spain.
Also on 5 September, a small raid did succeed in penetrating the defences of the Hawker factory at Brooklands, but little damage was caused and production was unaffected. Meanwhile on this day, and the next, Fighter Command remained at full stretch, dealing with the usual massive bombing raids on airfields and (a significant new target) the oil storage tanks at Thameshaven.
No one at Bentley Priory, at Group or sector, or at the dispersals where in the late evening pilots put away their parachutes, ‘Mae West’ flotation jackets and helmets, could have predicted that the next day would bring about such relief and such a radical change in the nature of the Battle.
* Group Captain D. G. H. Spencer CBE. The Wapiti biplane dated back to 1927 and had a maximum speed of 140 mph.
* For the subsequent reversal of this trend, see p. 365 ff.
* Only Northolt escaped. The forward airfields were Lympne, Hawkinge, Manston, Rochford and Martlesham.
* Hughes had already accumulated a large score and was awarded the DFC. He scored against another 109 later the same day. He was shot down and killed by a 109 pilot two days later.
