A MISCELLANY OF PERSONAL EXPERIENCES
Aircrews’ ranks are shown as they were in the Battle.
Honours and decorations are shown as they are today.
Flying Officer Paul Pitcher, I (Canadian) Squadron
In the first Wing take-off at Northolt the three squadrons stationed there – 303 Polish, 1 RAF and 1 Canadian, were lined up for take-off at their respective dispersal areas in three different parts of the field. Due to a confusion in take-off orders, all three squadrons opened throttle simultaneously and headed towards the centre of the field where the thirty-six aircraft met!
By some miracle, no aircraft collided with another or with the ground, although the turbulence from slipstreams was unbelievable. The station commander, who was witness to the scene, had to be helped into the officers’ mess for alcoholic resuscitation.
I seem to recall that part of the confusion arose from the fact that two No. 1 Squadrons were involved. In any event, all Canadian squadrons overseas were renumbered thereafter and given ‘400’ numbers, 1 becoming 401.
My sister Tig and I joined the WAAF before war was declared and we did not take it too seriously. Even when war was declared and we marched off to Tangmere, it was still a glorious game, and this illusion continued into the early summer of 1940.
That summer of 1940 found us round-eyed and very earnest indeed in the ops room manning the R/T sets. This was really exciting and we felt a part of things at last, transmitting directions to the fighter pilots and logging their messages.
Then one day the Stukas came howling down at us out of the sun and, after the first stunned disbelief, we tumbled into the shelters whilst they beat and hammered us into the ground. We ascended to chaos.
The squadrons thundered off the ground tirelessly. Off they pelted, day after day, those glorious, radiant boys. We were with them in sound and spirit. We heard their shouts of ‘Tally Ho!’ There was one boy who always burst into song as soon as he caught sight of the enemy and swung into the attack. We only heard these private war cries when they forgot to switch off their transmitters in the heat of battle, an awful yet uplifting experience. But that feeling of lead in the stomach when they failed to return was all too familiar…. There were so many. I remember when Caesar Hull was killed – we all admired him. The gay and gallant American Billy Fiske; the two Wood-Scawens, inseparable brothers, devout Catholics, charmers both – and all of them so young and so well endowed, and such a wicked, wicked waste. I mourned them then, now and for ever.
Pilot Officer Harold Bird-Wilson CBE, DSO, DFC and Bar, AFC and Bar, 17 Squadron
The ground crew, RAF and WAAF, were just marvellous. All maintained our Hurricanes in a most professional manner. Dawn awakening in our beds at dispersal. The telephone rings to pass the States of Readiness to Sector ops at Debden – just across the aerodrome. If brought to readiness, then a quick change out of pyjamas into uniform and flying boots. Some pilots were known to scramble in their pyjamas. Not a recommended mode of dress for altitude or baling out!
Then the silence until the telephone rang again. ‘Telephoneitis’ became a norm, very worrying and to some ‘twitching’ on the nerves. The solid boredom and the rush of excitement. The scramble, the clear and steady voice of the controller giving us directions and height, the number of enemy aircraft, ever-growing, sometimes into hundreds. And we were only twelve Hurricanes. We hoped and prayed that other squadrons had also been scrambled, but we never saw them. We just went ploughing in, picked our target and fought. Shots of adrenalin and dryness of mouth. The natural worry of life and death.
Soon, back to the aerodrome and the safe landing and the ground crew and armourers smiling a welcome, particularly when the guns had been fired…. The debriefing excitements, the casualties, the sorrow at the loss of a friend. Back on to Readiness. The wheel goes round and round, until dusk and stand-down…. There was no time for tears and only sorrow and off into the next scramble.
LAC William Eslick, engine fitter, 19 Squadron
All through the Battle two brand new Spitfires stood collecting dust in the hangar. They were not even allotted squadron markings and nothing could be touched. These were the Command Reserve aircraft, Dowding’s last gamble. No matter how desperate a spare skin-fitting became, to rob a Command Reserve aircraft was asking to be shot.
Flight Sergeant George Unwin DSO, DFM and Bar, 19 Squadron
Flying Officer Jimmy Coward was shot down when Debden was attacked. One foot was shot away by a cannon shell. During the descent by parachute Jimmy removed his R/T leads from his helmet and made a tourniquet for his leg. He survived and I last saw him as an air commodore air attaché in one of the Scandinavian countries.
W. Martin, anti-aircraft gunner, 43rd Regiment, Royal Artillery, Croydon aerodrome
We were fortunate to mess with the airmen, and would often be eating when the loud speakers would order ‘Treble One come to Readiness’ and, sometimes, ‘Scramble’.
When the order ‘Scramble’ came over, the airmen belonging to that squadron did just that – they scrambled, leaving everything just where it was and running to the doors.
I remember marvelling at the alacrity and discipline of the Brylcreem Boys to a voice on the Tannoy.
Our orders to ‘Stand To’ came over with an almost apologetic air, it seemed to me, and our response was suitably slow and deliberate. Gathering up knife, fork, spoon and mug, perhaps a little hurriedly, we would walk to the exits, putting our gas masks to the ‘Alert’ position, and climbing up the stairways to our respective ‘Gun-pits’. These were brick, square enclosures around a single gun mounted on a single strut. Here we would check the mechanism and load on a full drum – and wait wondering.
Time after time this happened, and the ‘Stand Down’ would be received with mixed feelings. We were never informed about what was going on. The aircraft would return and we would hear only rumours.
Sergeant Edmund Walsh, air-gunner, 264 Squadron
When we were stationed at Gatwick, Flight Lieutenant Tuck shot down a Me 110 at the side of the airfield. It crashed only yards from where we were walking to our billet, and we had to dive for cover. Minutes later Tuck landed and taxied to the wreck and started to chop a piece off the tail for a memento. He had landed and got to the wreck before the station services could arrive!
Someone once said to me that an air-gunner would only have a total of seven minutes action before being killed. In consequence between July and October 1940 I knew that today may be my last, and I was in a very private world, but desperately proud and keen to do what I had been trained to do. Anyone who has experienced the firm throaty pull of a Merlin engine can imagine how a Defiant air-gunner felt with those blue exhaust flames snaking back past the turret and four air-cooled Brownings just waiting to protect your pilot, who was really at the mercy of how good you were when it came to it.
Pilot Officer Peter Down, 56 Squadron
We were very young and crisis, gloom and doom never clouded our thoughts. We were also able to enjoy our private and social lives. When Victor Beamish became CO North Weald he stipulated that the squadrons should fly nine aircraft strong only. This meant each pilot had every fourth day free from duty. Blitz or no blitz, London entertainment and night life continued apace, and after a quick thirty-minute dash in our cars we were in central London with our girlfriends and enjoying life at our favourite haunts and night-clubs. The local hostel-ries at Epping and Harlow were very generous and accommodating, I seem to recall, and licensing hours usually discreetly stretched.
Returning to the mess at any hour of the night or early morning, there was to be found the ever smiling LACW (Leading Aircraftwoman) Carmichael to serve bacon and eggs and hot black coffee. An absolute gem, never to be forgotten. Nor ‘Andy’ the bar steward (‘Gentlemen of 56 Squadron only drink the best, sir’), Innes Westmacott was duly handed a glass of Bostock & Kimptons 1922 port. We had every encouragement to remain sane.
Pilot Officer John Greenwood, 253 Squadron
I was on my own in my Hurricane at 28,000 feet, full throttle and doing about 80 mph, just waffling along. Suddenly four 109s flew over me, about thirty yards away. How they didn’t see me I really don’t know. Anyway, I pulled my nose up and fired. At that height the recoil was too much for the old Hurricane, and I stalled and went into a spin. I never knew whether I hit them.
Sergeant Pilot Sidney Holloway OBE, 25 Squadron
One day late in July a Swordfish landed at Martlesham, complete with torpedo. A highly excited Fleet Air Arm pilot jumped out, certain that he’d seen the German invasion fleet. ‘They’re coming, they’re coming! There are hordes of them and my bloody tin fish is stuck!’
D. Boots, armourer, 253 Squadron
It has been stated by [a well-known author] that the ground crews were cowardly. I never saw any evidence of this and only enjoyed the supreme comradeship and coolness of those around me. One occasion stands out, when a German bomber laid a stick of bombs across the airfield. A piece of metal had pierced the starboard wing of one of our fighters and set the ammo. exploding, about 1,200 rounds. One of the armourers dashed out to unload the guns while it was flashing around him and the Attack Alarm was still imminent.
The corporal of armourers was the calmest man I ever met. He looked as though his features were chiselled out like the figures at Mt Rush-more in America. Nothing perturbed him.
J. T. Ryder, instrument repairer, 257 Squadron
At one time we were a very demoralised squadron until Wing Commander Tuck came, and then things changed. He vitalised the squadron, and we soon went to the top. It was not long before we built up a good score.
But alas many pilots were killed and this as ground crew we felt deeply. The bond on a squadron is very deep, and it was like having a brother killed when one of the pilots bought it.
Who can ever forget Wing Commander Tuck, ‘Cowboy’ Blachford or CO Maffett, whose aircraft P3175 is in the Battle of Britain museum? I serviced this aircraft on ‘B’ flight. It was very nostalgic to see and touch this Hurricane after so many years.
Pilot Officer W. D. David CBE, DFC, AFC
The standard officer’s Van Heusen collar shrank in contact with sea water and was, therefore, very dangerous if you went in the drink. Several pilots were throttled and drowned. The silk scarf was the answer.
The ten days of fighting in France was hell, a real killer. The Battle of Britain was a picnic compared.
I used to pass on the lessons we learned in France. ‘Get in close!’ was probably the most important. ‘You must get right in close to kill.’ Another was, ‘Make sure your cockpit is ready. Check everything, especially the hood runners.’
I wasn’t happy with just the reflector gunsight. In certain light it was awkward. So I had a ring-and-bead fitted as well.
Flight Lieutenant Dennis Armitage DFC, 266 Squadron
It was less than a month from that early morning on which we departed from Wittering that we got our orders to go back North and reform. I think it was about time. We were now reduced to only five serviceable pilots and our ground staff were ready for a rest, too. After almost a month of almost continuous sunshine, the day of our departure dawned overcast and drizzling, with a solid cloud base at about 3,000 feet.
It seemed unlikely that there would be much doing on such a day but we had to remain at fifteen minutes notice to take off until the new squadron arrived to relieve us at midday. It was just after 11 a.m. when we were told to scramble. The five of us piled into our Spitfires and took off. We were then told to orbit the aerodrome below cloud: there were about 200 enemy aircraft approaching above the cloud but we were not to engage them unless it appeared they were actually going to attack Hornchurch.
For some ten or fifteen long minutes we circled around in the rain, and then the order came. We were to climb through the cloud and try to split up the enemy bombers before they reached the aerodrome. I signalled the lads to close up and nosed my way up into the clouds with two Spitfires in tight formation on either side….
Flying Officer Jeffrey Quill OBE, AFC, 65 Squadron
Generally speaking, ex-Battle of Britain pilots often become a bit partisan on the relative merits of the Hurricane and the Spitfire. The Spitfire achieved, in the eyes of the public, a distinct aura of romance because of its great beauty of line and the ease of recognition in the air, and partly on account of its Schneider ancestry. After many years of reflection I take the view that it took both of them to win the Battle of Britain and neither would have achieved it on its own. The Hurricane achieved the greater damage to the enemy (as has often been pointed out), but without the Spitfire squadrons to fight the 109s their casualties might well have led to the losing of the battle.
As a man intimately involved with the Spitfire from its early stage in our own flight trials, the above is the most objective view I can take. I would not like to have been a Hurricane pilot in 1940 and greatly respect the courage and achievements of those who were.
Sergeant Pilot Robert Beardsley DFC, 41 Squadron
On 30 September, having intercepted Do 17s and Me 109 escorts returning to the Pas de Calais over west Kent, I had attacked a 17 from beam and astern. I left it at 2,000 feet when it was smoking to attack a 109 which was returning to base alone. I followed this aircraft and expended my remaining ammunition, seeing it in an inverted dive smoking badly at 1,000 feet.
By this time I was well out to sea and alarmed to find that I was now the hunted – by six 109s in line astern behind me, queuing up for a chance to shoot.
At this stage I was out of ammunition and extremely frightened. I turned for ‘home’ coastline and headed for the Hythe area, hoping to find a cloud or two on the way. The Messerschmitts decided to accompany me and took turns in having a go, with me evading violently and praying as I had never done before.
One by one they departed as their fuel ran low and I was left with the leader, a most persistent fellow, who finally hit me with cannon and machine-gun fire. This attack jammed the throttle in the wide-open position, where it had been, I assure you, for some time!
Finally, as I identified the rising land towards Hawkinge, I was hit in the engine and glycol tank, fumes from which filled the cockpit. Side-slipping, I spotted Hawkinge, made it over the boundary, blew the wheels down and dropped the aircraft on to the grass. I was flaming and smoking and was hotly anxious to get out. The station fire-engine was tearing alongside as I stepped out and left the Spitfire to roll on whilst they sprayed it with foam – having ignored one of the principal rules of air combat: Don’t follow the enemy back home.
Nurse Ann Standen, Queen Victoria Hospital (Burns Unit)
It would be wrong to say we weren’t horrified. Inwardly, you’d say, ‘Oh my God, what will they do with them?’ You didn’t recoil in horror but you wondered what could be done. Faces were just horrible – even the man I would later marry…. By the time he called a halt to the treatment and said enough was enough, he had new eyelids, a new nose, new lips. They couldn’t do much for his hands because they were too badly burned. It was amazing what they did do. He had sixty operations.
Relatives of the patients would come to the hospital to see the men. Some took it well. Some didn’t. It was a shock.
Corporal Claire Legge, WAAF plotter
Behind the controller’s dais in the ops room there were four cabins which were monitoring the four radio channels. For reasons I’ve never understood, these were jobs they gave to girls. They monitored those channels and recorded what was said by the pilots in the air. The doors of these cabins were open most of the time. That’s how the controller sitting in front of them found out how the battle was going. Once he’d got the men on to the enemy with his directions, it was up to them. What they heard often distressed the girls very badly. They knew the pilots and they heard them screaming and going down.
Paul Smith, field artillery surveyor with the West Sussex Yeomanry
Within days we had the maps prepared for the New Romney area with range and bearings to all the possible targets should there be an enemy invasion. The guns were laid to fire 100 yards out to sea during darkness. There was to be no retreat so that the guns had to be targeted in all directions. This entailed my drawing panoramic sketches from all local church towers and possible vantage-points. I did this job because it was discovered that I had been to art school. No one knew why I always had to have an armed guard during these sessions. We thought it was perhaps to pacify angry vicars, to protect me from the Local Defence Volunteers or just to see I did not call off my war and go back home to my Somerset farm.
Now every day would see enemy planes flying inland or skirting the coast. We had a Lewis gun near New Romney Church and our lad would open up to add to the general noise. He was, we knew, a rather impatient character who, after a few weeks, claimed to have shot the hands off the church clock as he said they moved too slowly.
Pilot Officer George Nelson-Edwards DFC, 79 Squadron
On 5 September 1940, after taking off in the middle of a bombing raid, my throttle lever jammed at full boost, it just wouldn’t budge. There was nothing for it but to turn back and attempt a landing by blipping the switches. On touch-down I cut the engine, at the same time trying to avoid the bomb craters as the aircraft rolled on. At last I stopped and jumped out, dashing towards an air-raid shelter. Then a corporal popped up from nowhere. Realising that the Hurricane could be written off by a direct hit, he jumped into a nearby 15-cwt truck, pulling me in with him, and then drove on to the field at full speed. There was a tow-bar at the back and with my help he hitched it to the tail-wheel and towed the Hurricane clear, heading for the squadron dispersal. Having parked it safely, he drove away.
Sergeant Pilot George Johns DSO, DFC, AFC, 229 Squadron
My log book tells me that on twenty-two occasions I dispersed my aircraft. Usually the squadron would rearm and refuel at Northolt and land at last-light on a small grass airfield, called Heathrow, used by Faireys for experimental flying and testing. There was no fuel, ammunition, communications nor lighting. Pilots in turn were dispersed to farm houses, the lucky ones to local pubs, where we were fed and packed off to bed with a thermos of coffee and collected about 3 a.m. for a first-light take-off.
Pilot Officer Geoffrey Page DSO, DFC and Bar, 56 Squadron
On returning to the officers’ mess at North Weald one evening, I was told by the duty orderly that my mother had phoned and wanted me to call her back as soon as possible. Getting through was not easy in those days, but eventually I made contact with her. ‘I’m very worried about you, darling,’ she informed me. As I had probably had several thousand rounds of enemy bullets fired at me during the day, I too had been a trifle worried about myself. She continued, ‘I don’t think your batman is drying your socks out properly, and you might catch a nasty cold.’
Pilot Officer George Welford, 607 Squadron
After being shot down, I was in Ashford Hospital, Kent. Another inmate was Squadron Leader John Badger DFC of 43 Squadron. He had landed on an upturned branch of a tree after baling out. His pelvis was split apart and there was nothing that could be done, but, during the whole time until he died, he laughed and joked with the nurses and visitors as though his life expectancy was for ever.
Pilot Officer W. L. B. Walker, 616 Squadron
On 1 July 1940 I took off with another trainee pilot and an operational pilot to practise a ‘battle climb’. I was flying a Mark 1 Spitfire which had a hand pump for raising the undercarriage and was noticeably slower than the other two planes. We were flying in formation at 20,000 feet when suddenly a message from the ops room advised us that a ‘bandit’ was in the area. Almost immediately we spotted a Do 215 in the distance. Our leader and the other pilot opened throttle and set off in pursuit, but my plane being slower left me well behind. I had never previously fired the guns of a Spitfire, but I turned the switch on the control column to ‘fire’.
When I reached the Dornier the other two planes were not to be seen and I closed within range and pressed the button. My first reaction was that there seemed to be very little vibration but the air was alive with tracer bullets, which was reassuring. After only seconds the Dornier caught fire and plunged earthwards.
With a feeling of considerable excitement, I returned to the airfield to be greeted with some envy by the rest of the squadron who had yet to see a German plane. Very soon I was describing the momentous event to the intelligence officer when the flight sergeant came into the office and said, ‘Excuse me, sir, did you know that your guns were not loaded?’
The tracer bullets were not mine but the Dornier’s, and when I arrived the other two had already done enough to start a delayed fire in the enemy….
A. W. Dixon, New Zealander with 5th Field Regiment at Maidstone
What was saddening in those days was the fact that the civilians in the area used to think that only RAF planes were being shot down because the recovery wagons were going by with only RAF planes on them. They didn’t realise it was our materials that were needed, while the German planes were just left where they were shot down.
J. R. Hearn, flight mechanic (engines), Coastal Army Co-operation Unit
I recall going to collect a Hurricane pilot who had force-landed in a small field just outside Sittingbourne. When we eventually found him he was sitting in the middle of the field in a huge armchair that the local villagers had carried out to him; at his feet were two crates of Brown Ale, by courtesy of a nearby inn. He was blond, broad shouldered, well built and had the neck of a young bull. He looked like a king on his throne, the monarch of all he surveyed, and I’m not so sure that he wasn’t!! Plates of sandwiches put at his feet were enjoyed by us all!! The size of the field raised doubts as to a safe take-off distance, but he would not consider for a moment dismantling the undamaged aircraft. He asked us to refuel just enough to enable him to reach North Weald. Eventually with the tail of the Hurricane touching the hedge on the downwind side of the field and the chocks firmly in place, the throttles were opened to almost full revs, and on the pilot’s signal the chocks were whipped away and a perfect aircraft-carrier take-off was achieved. A ‘piece of cake’ as we said at the time!! A flick roll over the top of us and he faded into memory!
For myself the days in the RAF were perhaps the highlight of a working life spanning fifty-one years. During the darkest days my admiration and respect for aircrew never wavered, their courage proving, and acting, as a true spur and incentive to all ground crews. A bond of friendship and mutual respect was formed, something I have never experienced in any other walk of life. I feel proud and privileged to have served with the men that I did.
Sergeant Pilot Frederick Perkin, 600 Squadron
We were given only about twelve days flying at OTU, the turnover of pupils being suddenly very rapid, and the first time I fired my guns was at the enemy. At Manston we were repeatedly dive-bombed and strafed by 109s which seemed to be almost on standing patrol overhead. What a Blenheim squadron was doing there I cannot think. One Blenheim was once serviceable for an hour or two, so it was hardly surprising that the airfield was then evacuated and 600 Squadron moved to Hornchurch. Here we arrived in time for the first of two consecutive Saturday afternoon raids, when having parked my Blenheim in a shelter bay, a stick of bombs from nine Ju 88s fell across the field, destroying my aircraft and one landing about ten yards away from me.
Squadron Leader Henry Hogan CB, DFC, CO 501 Squadron
I was posted to 501 to command when the squadron was in France. I went to Southampton only to find that the last boat had sailed. The Air Ministry could not arrange an air passage. I eventually met the returning remnants at Croydon, seven in all and not one Hurricane serviceable, so I sent the pilots on forty-eight hours leave. I was asked how long it would take to be ready and I said three weeks. Instead, we were given one week, and the new Hurricanes began to arrive at once, now with Rotol variable-pitch props.
Meanwhile, as John Thompson was there with 111 Squadron, I did one or two ops with him, escorting Fleet Air Arm Swordfish with 250 pound bombs for the German gun emplacements above Calais. Then we were sent to Middle Wallop, where there were already two squadrons. We used Warmwell as a forward base. It wasn’t really ready and the troops lived under canvas while we dropped in at dawn and left at dusk.
We were a very international squadron with two Czechs, four or five Poles, a Belgian, as well as two or three Fleet Air Arm. On 26 July we moved to Gravesend.
I think I was the only CO to serve throughout with the same squadron, and 501 was the only squadron to serve throughout the Battle without a break. It was quite a load for a CO. We had fifteen killed and many more injured who didn’t come back to us, and all that led to a lot of residual responsibilities – letters to next-of-kin, funerals and burials, disposal of belongings, etc. As usual, COs were beset by form-filling, and there were sector meetings, Group meetings and so on. As I was also station commander at Gravesend, this was an added responsibility. I had to meet visitors and next-of-kin as well as deal with supply problems, damage to the station as well as our aircraft. Then there was the constant pilot supply problem. Some replacement pilots were straight from OTU, and these we just got into the air as soon as possible to give them some experience, but we were too tired to give them any dogfighting practice. They were very green, let’s face it, youngsters who were completely bewildered and lost in action. Some of them had fired their guns into the sea at OTU. Others had never fired them.
On top of all that there was leading the squadron, which I did whenever I could, and got shot down four times, baled out once and force-landed three times, always with wheels down, once into a large field which was fully obstructed with poles and wires.
But my everlasting impression of the Battle was that the organisation for replacing aircraft and the supply of equipment was marvellous, as indeed was the spirit displayed by the pilots and ground crews. ‘Chiefy’, Flight Sergeant White, did wonders and his troops were absolutely marvellous.
Almost none of 501’s Hurricanes reached their service, they got clobbered so often and so badly. But the delivery of replacements was amazing. Incidentally, we all had cine-cameras but they never worked – vibration, I think.
Among the fifteen killed on 501 I think I missed most my two original flight commanders, George Stoney and Philip ‘PAN’ Cox, both absolutely first rate; both would certainly have gone on to command their own squadrons.
Arthur G. Ethridge, cook and butcher, Eastchurch
One thing for sure I can tell you is that when I left Eastchurch there was hardly a foot of ground that had not been hit by a bomb and filled in. I would just like to mention one other thing. We received most of our food supplies via a light railway, that ran from Sheerness to Leysdown. It also brought in new airmen and took out those who were leaving on postings, etc. We called it ‘Puffing Billy’. The railway was single gauge, so it ran down, then back again, and during the whole time I was there that train always ran on time, raid or no raid, and to see the driver carrying on as if nothing was happening cheered us up no end. That man deserved a medal, if anyone did.
After my stint at Eastchurch, I was posted to Upper Heyford, Bomber Command, where I remustered to aircrew, then proceeded in a way to give Jerry some of the stick he had given me in the past.
Stephen Brown, flight mechanic, 152 Squadron
We lost three good pilots, all Cranwell boys, Shepley, Jones, Wild-blood, very early in the action off Portland and Weymouth. Then Beaumont and Border, all really good fellows. I often think of them. Marrs was the ace, ‘Boy’ Marrs, only nineteen when he was killed over Brest in 1941, just a kid. When the kites landed after being in action we used to know because the gun patches had been blown away. Then it was a mad dash to get them ready again, fuel and oil checked, oxygen bottle changed, R/T batteries charged, ammo. tanks changed and a thorough check over – everyone helped each other. If a tyre had to be changed we didn’t use jacks, ten men under the main plane would lift the kite until the rigger changed the wheel.
F. P. O’Connor, flight mechanic (engines), 601 Squadron
One incident which always sticks in my mind is that one morning in a lull between the flaps, a Hurricane landed and taxied up to the watch office.
The pilot switched off the engine and got down from the cockpit, and while walking to the watch office took off the flying helmet and patted up her hair – a young ‘flapper’ – couldn’t have been more than nineteen – delivering a Hurricane to replace one of our losses. I couldn’t believe it.
At times I didn’t know whether to be sick, or cry – the pressure was really a bit too much – to change a Hurricane radiator in a blacked-out hangar with just a couple of miserable inspection lamps, oil and glycol running up your sleeve, not being able to see properly – I sometimes have a nightmare about it now….
Now the pilots, you could see that they had enough of it at times, as some started to stutter, and others got a twitch; it didn’t matter if you were a damn good pilot, it was pure luck if you came through it all.
Eric Hymer, flight mechanic, 72 Squadron
Biggin Hill became for a while untenable. We moved to Croydon. We lost a lot of aircrew. For a time the senior officer was a boyish-looking pilot officer. His name I have forgotten, but he flew an extremely dirty aircraft which he appropriately called ‘Black Bess’ or ‘Black Beauty’. He would not let us wash the Spitfire down lest we wash away his luck.
I don’t think there was a great deal of intimacy between the pilots of 72 and the ground crews, or it may be at the time these young men were not around long enough for their names and faces to be printed indelibly on the mind. One did have an affection, though, or something of that sort, and most of us were affected by a hidden grieving.
One face and name I do remember. He was Tom Gray, a York lad only a year or so older than I. His home was near to mine and I had, in better times, seen him around. He came to us as a replacement pilot and I recognised him but do not know whether he recognised me. I saw his aircraft off on his first op. I remember saying something like, ‘Good luck Sgt Tom,’ and I seemed to know he was not coming back. Oddly enough I would have given my eye teeth to have been in his shoes at that time. Tom, I thought, was too gentle a chap for this kind of thing.
We moved back to Biggin Hill – 72’s biggest day was still to come. It was a privilege to have served with the squadron even in so humble a manner. I was posted to a course before the last shots were fired. I regret not being there at the end.
(Mrs) Chris Poole, cook, Warmwell
It was lunchtime. Our squadron (234) was coming in after a fight and were going to refuel when two Jerries came in behind them and all hell was let loose, machine-gun firing, bombing, you name it we had it. I happened to be a waitress at the time in the mess serving those who came in. I had the plates in my hand – the next I knew I was in a corner of what was left of the mess standing up still, but on top of me was a young pilot, Harry Newman, only twenty-one, that was shot to pieces; me I was not touched…. After the bombing our toilets were two bins with a board across them and sacking around it. Two of us were on the toilets when our spotter planes saw us and, well, were our faces red, you can imagine. Well, you see, there was no roof on the top, and jokes were great for our morale.
T. E. Soar, 504 Squadron, Hendon
The cookhouse did something the Germans could not do. They put us out of action for twenty-four hours with some suspect minced beef stew. Oh how the dispersal hut rang with groans and moans of the departed ones and stank for days in the hot summer sunshine.
During an air-raid in Bristol a naked form burst through the hessian sacking of the shower tent and raced madly towards us exhorting us to jump into the slit trenches. As if to emphasise his commands, he leapt in and emerged covered from head to toe in thick red mud. But it wasn’t as red as our CO’s face when he faced us later.
Donald Samson, flight mechanic (engines), 615 Squadron
One intense recollection is of the day one of our Auxiliary Air Force pilots was awarded the DFC (announced over the Tannoy). This lad was in the cockpit of ‘my’ aircraft and about two nods away from being fast asleep at the controls – he was on readiness. This was 12 August. He was killed on the 14th! One wonders how many more died due to utter exhaustion.
I feel I should also mention that services on flights by both the NAAFI staff via vans, and the provision of food despite the raids – particularly on 18 August – by the ‘cookhouse’ staff were excellent and often unremarked upon – the ‘Sally Army’ were also gems.
Sergeant Pilot Robert Plenderleith DFC, 73 Squadron
Having come to after baling out of a burning Hurricane, I landed in an orchard occupied by an Army anti-aircraft unit and, lying helpless on the ground with burns and leg injuries, was surrounded by an extremely friendly bunch of Squaddies. Then from outside the group came a frightening bellow – ‘Stand back, men!’ And there, on looking up from my somewhat infra-dig position on the ground, was the biggest regimental sergeant major I had ever seen.
‘Well now, young man,’ he said, thrusting towards me a flask in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. ‘For shock you should have some hot sweet tea or a good slug of whisky.’
However, before being allowed any option on the choice of pick-up, he hastily shoved the flask back in his hip pocket with the resolute injunction, ‘No, you’d better have the tea!’
H. V. Cossons, ground defence, Royal East Kent Regiment, Hawkinge airfield
On probably 22 August we were on guard duties when some terribly loud explosions and brilliant flashes rent the darkness. We thought of invasion and became, once again, extremely tense. Our sergeant, a veteran of the Great War, said, ‘Don’t worry lads – it’s our big guns shelling the French coast.’ The result was that each terrific crash and flash caused us to cheer at the top of our voices and yell, ‘Let’ em have it! Hit’em for six!’
After a long spell all went quiet and the night passed by. The morning’s papers carried the headlines, ‘Kent Coast Shelled from France!’
A. E. Jones, armourer, 609 Squadron
609 Squadron took over the defence of Portsmouth, operating from Middle Wallop and refuelling and rearming at Warmwell….
During the Portsmouth raids many pilots used to tell the ground crew how things were going, and a pilot I spoke to told me how he dived on a bomber but realised he was going to miss. So he looped and came straight down on the enemy aircraft with just enough time for a quick touch on the firing button and pulling away. He said, ‘I must have killed the pilot because the aircraft dropped down to earth. I don’t think I have used much ammo.’
I took one ammunition tank from the aircraft and counted the rounds left. Out of 350 rounds there were 342 left. What a pilot!
D. G. Williams, flight mechanic (airframes), 25 Squadron, North Weald
Our station commander was Group Captain Victor Beamish, one of three brothers who all held senior posts in the RAF. He was one of the finest men I have ever met. After an attack on the airfield he always came and had a chat with the ground crews, and visited us in our makeshift cookhouse at mealtimes. He was firm and he didn’t allow standards to drop. I remember once he called a snap parade and told everyone how scruffy they looked. He then arranged a clothing parade with a warning to the Stores staff not to refuse any item of clothing which was handed in for exchange. As a rule it was very difficult to exchange clothing unless it was in shreds.
J. Wynn, flight mechanic (engines), 501 Squadron, Kenley
Douggie and I arrived at Whyteleaf after travelling from Gravesend around the last week of September 1940….
Our first night at Kenley is not easily forgotten. We turned in for the night and I fell into a deep sleep. I thought that I was having a nightmare until I realised that I was waking to the sounds of heavy explosions. The lads were donning greatcoats and gumboots and dashing out of the billet. Being newly arrived ‘Sprogs’, Doug and I were somewhat confused by it all, so we did likewise. On reaching the entrance we were amazed to find that the camp was illuminated as though by giant searchlights and we felt the concussion from bombs and anti-aircraft guns. It was then that I realised that the Luftwaffe was paying us a visit and had straddled the barrack area with incendiaries. Light anti-aircraft guns were firing at parachute flares that had been released by the attacking aircraft and I remember thinking how the tracer ammunition which appeared to be floating so gracefully in an arc through the night sky could be so destructive. From a pile by the billet wall the lads were taking sandbags and dropping them on the incendiaries which were then quickly extinguished. Taking our cue from them we both joined in and dealt with quite a few….
Returning to the billet I found that my hands were shaking and it wasn’t till my mate Douggie said in his broad Scots accent, ‘Yon bugger Hitler must have known that we had just arrived,’ that things returned to normal.
N. Robinson, AA gunner, Royal Marines
I was one of a team of men manning a 2 pound Pompom gun on top of the Admiralty flat roof. We used the gun during all air raids, I do not think we ever hit anything…. Sometimes our duty went on for as long as sixteen hours at a time…. There was relief off duty at the Beaver Club where the Canadians, whose club it was, made us welcome. The music and singing in the crypt at St Martin-in-the-Fields was a delight.
We all fought together, worked together, and a lot of people died together. I was a Northerner, nineteen years old in a place I had only read about, and I will always remember the people of London at that time with affection.
Edith Kup, plotter, Debden
I was never called by my surname by anyone, except the WAAF officers, from the CO down. One was treated as a lady, saluted, had doors opened for one, etc., in the manners of the time….
Then the CO sent for the MT girls – we were to be plotters, no one knew what they did…. So, into the ops room and its mysteries. Surrounded by earthworks, like a Roman fort, but the roof level with the top of the banks, and unprotected except by thick reinforced concrete, it was a big room with a table in the centre, tilted towards a balcony. The table was covered by a gridded map with phone points round it, four along the top and bottom. The controller, ‘ops B’ and various others were on the balcony, and we sat down round the table just anywhere, put on our headsets and were initiated into plotting. A clock with coloured five-minute sized triangles on it, and arrows to match on the table and blocks of wood with a place for raid number, height, and number of aircraft. Quite simple really….
I only remember one girl having hysterics – we were all shocked, for we had been brought up not to show our feelings and keep control. Another girl, who just sat through our first attack struck dumb (I glanced along the faces), went on leave to Ireland and never came back. Calmness reigned amongst the frenzied activity, the controller gave the squadrons vectors to the enemy – we heard shouts of ‘Tally Ho!’ over the R/T and a running commentary followed, grim and tense. We always managed to hear it all, even though we were busy being told to all the time – anxious eyes on the clock with fuel states in mind, and desperate moments as one heard ‘Blue two going down in flames’ and whether or not he had managed to bale out, not always possible to see. Then ‘Who’s Blue two?’, for we didn’t know which pilot in a flight flew what in a sortie, it changed every time. Then anxious waits for the squadrons to pancake, only to be refuelled and rearmed, and up again as quickly as possible. The pilots got so tired that it was not unknown for them to fall asleep over the controls on landing, or stagger off to the dispersal hut or deck chair and flat out….
It must be said the ground crews were fantastic, working round the clock throughout the battle to keep the aircraft in the air and looking after their pilots like fathers….
The history books have it that the Battle ended on 31 October but not to us; certainly the aerodromes were not being attacked so regularly, but the boys were always in the air.
Contrary to present-day beliefs, and in spite of the grimness of the situation, everyone was lighthearted, and there was endless laughter. It was never going to happen to you, and if it did there was staunch support, as I found when Denis was killed. The fighter boys were a breed apart, sadly lost, in those days, for ever; and I and all who knew them were very privileged.