Then came the War! and sixteen weeks of no flying at all. I was sent to C——, where I wore out a considerable amount of shoe (boot) leather on the roads there, marching about like a bloody soldier and not as a sergeant-pilot; but in the evenings we made up for it with some very “wet” parties.
Well, to cut a long story short, there followed my E.F.T.S. course, where I finished off my Tiger Moth flying, my I.T.S. and F.T.S. courses, where I passed out with my Wings and a good flying report, and also a commission – goodness only knows why, but still there it was. On to my dream at O.T.U., where I learned to fly a Spitfire.
August 31st, 1940. After a very hectic week-end in London, I returned in a semi-fogged condition to the O.T.U. Station, and was informed I was to report to a squadron.
Nothing very much happened during the month which followed. I learned how to use my guns properly and fly in good formation.
September 29th, 1940. My birthday. I was informed at dispersal hut that I was to pack my things and after lunch leave to join “Clickerty-Click” Squadron. Little did I know that I should be leaving a place that I thought quite good fun, to join a bunch of lads that had got the right ideas about fighting, and enjoying the lighter side of life at the same time.
September 30th, 1940. I arrived at “G” aerodrome at about 10 o’clock in the morning and met everybody. I was rather impressed, because they were the only squadron to be stationed there.
The C.O. at once asked me what I was going to have to drink.
It was at this point that I got my nickname of “Durex” – a tough bull-necked fellow called “Bogle” christened me. Afterwards, we became great friends. He was an excellent pilot, and would come back to the aerodrome on many occasions with his machine riddled with bullets and nearly falling to pieces.
By this time I was fully operational, and very keen to get up and have a crack at these ME. 109’s with which they had been having fun. I should, first, mention the fellows who were in the squadron at the time – these will be all nicknames, of course. In the same flight as myself, namely “A,” there was Bogle, Butch, as well as several others, Apple and the flight-commander, Ken.
I talked quite a lot with these chaps about their methods of attack, and learned all about the more practical methods that were being used by the squadron.
October 1st. Was allowed to go up and “have a crack,” but to my dismay we did not see a thing. The weather was perfect, and we flew at about 30,000 feet most of the time.
October 2nd. As far as I can remember we took off in the morning at about 11 o’clock and climbed north to gain height. They informed us from the ground that there were quite a lot of Huns about. As we went up, I clearly remember setting my sights and turning my gun-button to “Fire.”
We had gained height and were flying south towards the coast when I saw above us some pairs of what I thought were ME. 109’s. I was flying “tail-end Charlie” at the time, and was surprised to see the squadron go into line astern as if going to the attack, and turn to starboard and downwards. I then did a very silly thing, as I learned afterwards. I left the squadron and climbed towards the nearest 109.
As I did so, I kept a keen look-out on all sides for any others that might take a pot at me. They were painted a brown colour on top and all white underneath – I noticed this as I closed in on them. As I reached about 32,000 feet, I got into range on one chap who was flying across my nose and above me. My sights were not working, but I allowed as far as I could for deflection and opened fire. My shots were a bit wide at first, but using my tracer carefully, I could bring the shots to bear on him. After two or three bursts, he suddenly half-rolled to the left and dived. I was, of course, below him, so I throttled back and did the same. As I did so, I was amazed to see that instead of continuing to dive he levelled out, presenting himself as an excellent target: I could see my incendiary bullets hitting all round the cockpit. It gave me a great thrill at the time. Then, suddenly, things began to happen to the Jerry. I couldn’t make them out at first, but when the hood flew open and I saw the pilot leave the plane with a stream of white trailing behind, I knew that I had got my first Hun – was I thrilled, or was I? I can remember shouting at the top of my voice and feeling very pleased with myself. Then, and not until then, I began to think of looking around for the rest of the chaps, and also to see if there were any other Huns about. The sky was clear, so I dived down to where I hoped I should find the wreckage of my Hun. I came through the cloud at about 2,000 feet and saw a column of smoke rising from a hillside, so I went over and investigated.
Yes, it was the wreckage of some machine or other: I hoped it was mine. Anyway, I then flew home very content and full of what I was going to tell my young brother and the folks at home.
When I got back to the mess, Bogle, who had been on leave and therefore wasn’t flying, asked me how I had got on. I wasn’t quite sure how to begin actually. I didn’t want to “shoot a hell of a line” on my first week (although that should worry me: I’m about the biggest line-shooter in the squadron now). So I said to him, “Have any of the others come back yet?” “No,” he said. “Did you see anything?” I replied, “Yes, as a matter of fact, we saw about 8 or 9 109’s.” Full of enthusiasm, he said, “Did you have a crack at ’em?” I replied again, “Yes, I did.” “Any luck?” “Well, the pilot baled-out, so I suppose it was O.K.” He laughed and slapped me on the back, and there followed drinks all round. Bogle at that period had got about five to his credit, so I looked upon him as a bit of an ace.
When the C.O. and the rest returned, he was surprised when they all told him I had got one, because they hadn’t seen any at all.
For the rest of that day we did some more patrols, but did not have any further engagements.
October 4th, 1940. It was a cloudy day and we did not carry out any large formation patrols.
By this time, I had got pretty well settled down with the boys. We used to sleep out of camp in the next village, and travelled backwards and forwards by lorry. Being the only squadron there, we were on readiness nearly every morning, which meant getting up at about 5.30 and sleeping in the mess until breakfast-time.
It was whilst we were there that quite a few cups and glasses were broken by Bogle and myself. We used to wait until one of us was unprepared and then chuck a plate across the room, at the same time shouting “Catch” at the top of our voices. The other would spin round usually too late, and to the amusement of the assembled company, the cup or what-have-you would crash to the ground. Very childish – but it gave us a good laugh. That is an interesting point, really. I noticed that with all the periods of waiting about, and long hours sometimes with nothing to do, nerves got a bit strained, and for sheer mental and physical relief one had to shout or break something – and, believe you me, it was a grand relief too. Another form of amusement was to go to the pictures in a large body and at appropriate points in the show shout something out, usually verging on the low.
We had in the mess at that time a large radiogram with quite a few records, most of them belonging to Bogle. This used to be playing nearly all day; the C.O.’s favourite was Dorothy Lamour singing “These Foolish Things.” Most chaps had their favourite tunes with hot “dames” or “broads” singing them.
The “tannoy” there was controlled from the mess, so we used to stick the mike in front of the speaker and I’m sure they could hear it down in the town.
Another amusing occupation that we performed at periods of rest and when we felt “brassed off” was the games of poker that we used to get up.
We used to stake money on anything; horses and cards were our favourites with the occasional Dog Derbys as well.
After lunch on this particular day, there was a call for two aircraft to “scramble” Maidstone 15,000 feet. So Bogle and I dashed to our machines. “F” was mine at the time. The cloud went up in layers to 15,000 feet, where it was perfectly clear. We proceeded for the next hour