At about 06.00, we were ordered off, the whole squadron, and we were up for about an hour. We didn’t see anything though, and we were very glad to get down and have some breakfast.
Well, as it happened, we didn’t get very far with this bunfight before we were ordered off again. I had just finished my porridge when the order came through. It is rather fun to see a scramble, as it is called. Plates and knives go down with a bang; every one reaches the door at the same moment, and you filter through as best you can. “Mae West’s” are grabbed and one tears towards one’s aircraft shouting, “Start up ‘J’,” or whatever machine you’re flying. This patrol was also uneventful – we did not see any Huns.
Well, at about 10.00 hours, I sat down to my bacon and eggs, thinking to myself, “Well, that’s that for a bit. I guess I can enjoy my spot of eats,” but, oh no! After I had finished my second course the phone rang and up we had to go again. I tried to force some hot tea down, but the C.O. wouldn’t let me, so you can see how quickly we used to get out to our aeroplanes. Actually from the time we left the table to the time all the 12 aircraft left the ground wasn’t more than three to four minutes.
On this trip we were stooging around for about an hour and a half, but although there were plenty of Jerry’s about, we didn’t see any.
Down we came again, and this time got a lounge in the chairs in the mess. At about 11 o’clock cocoa was brought round and we all had a tuck-in. At about 11.30 we were ordered off again.
This time up we went to 30 thou’ and stooged about a bit up there. After we had been up for about 30 minutes, I spotted lots of pairs of what looked like ME. 109’s flying harmlessly above us.
After a time the squadron seemed to be going down. I tried to call them up and tell them about these chaps above us, but no – I think my R/T must have failed, and up I went on my own. I had been flying above the squadron, as usual.
As I climbed up after a pair that were going north, I suddenly spotted a yellow nose on my immediate starboard, so that I was to him a full deflection target. I thought to myself, “Oh, I don’t think he’ll get me,” so I pulled into a steeper climbing turn just in case – but it was too late!
The next thing that happened was the horrid thump as the bullets and cannon shells hit my aircraft. At the same moment, I felt a terrific bang on my side and right arm, coupled with that acrid stench of cordite which always seems to follow when one is hit. I half rolled to the right and dived for the ground, going down in ever-decreasing circles. I then straightened out and took stock of my surroundings and damage. I checked my wheels and flap – this time I had no wheel pressure, but the flaps were O.K. My engine temperatures were also all right. Oil temp. about 75 to 80, pressure 90 lbs., but looking out to my starboard I could see that a cannon shell had caught my aileron very nicely and it was in shreds, with lumps of canvas streaming off it.
I tested my control – everything seemed O.K. The last time my machine had been holed with bullets from stern to stem. There were shots into the metal prop. too, and several control wires had been cut. This time my control column was well over to the right and the machine was flying straight and level. I tested the lateral control fairly accurately because I thought, “I’ll save as much of this machine as I can, because I can land it on its belly, and the engine will be O.K. anyway.”
My side began to hurt like hell at that time. I thought that I was really hurt this time and began to think to myself, “This bloody war isn’t quite so funny as I thought it was.” I spotted an aerodrome which is just out of Maidstone, and made for that. Why I didn’t get home I don’t know, but my only thought at that time was to “plonk” it down at the nearest aerodrome I could find.
So, preparing for a landing 20,000 feet below, I started to glide down. As I reached about 2,000 feet I began to get worried about my aileron. It wasn’t till I had got all that way and realised that if anything had happened near the ground it would have been the end – or, as we say, “I should have had it.”
Everything went off to plan. I didn’t bother to circle the aerodrome, but tried my wheels – nothing happened, so I then put my flaps down and tightened my straps ready for the shock as the machine hit the ground.
As I went over the hedge, I caught a glimpse of upturned faces – they were watching me coming in without wheels. I did a normal landing and braced myself for the bump; the machine slid about twenty yards and then came to a standstill – there was rather an unpleasant smell as the engine, now fairly hot, burned the oil around the cylinder block. I sat there for a moment, and then, switching everything off and checking all my switches, climbed out.
My side began to ache like hell about this time, and my arm ached so that I couldn’t hold anything with it.
As the ambulance came on the scene I checked that my parachute and helmet were being looked after properly, but the M.O. hurried me into the ambulance and said, “That’s O.K., don’t worry – we’ll send them on to your unit,” which, incidentally, they did, much to my gratitude, as I found out when I returned to base.
I was taken down to the sick quarters, where they tended my wounds. As I went there in the ambulance, I tried to think how badly I had been hurt. When I got there they took my shirt off and all that had happened was that I had got about four pieces of cannon shell in my side. Very small and doing very little damage. Why I felt so bad was because they had penetrated the muscles and bruised me and made my side ache more than if I had actually been hit really well.
Well, I felt a bit of an idiot, and was carted off to a very nice country house that had been turned into a hospital.
I was in hospital for about a week and had quite a pleasant but well-needed rest. When I got back, the C.O. said he was very pleased to see me back again and that I should have a few days off, and as we were stationed near my home, I could have four days, if I wished. I took ’em, and had quite a nice time. Mind you, I was able to “shoot a pretty good line,” it being the second time I was shot down.
October 16th, 1940. Returned to the squadron after my leave and discovered the facts that I have just narrated. For the days following we didn’t have any luck at all. At this time I was very eager to have another scrap and see how I felt. Having been shot down twice fairly close on one another, I began to wonder how the next packet would arrive.
October 17th, 1940. New C.O. took over.
October 25th, 1940. My tense feeling was very much relieved when on this day we sighted two formations of 109’s.
It was a cloudy day, low down, but above 5,000 feet it was as clear as a bell. We climbed up to 30,000 feet and sighted a small formation of ME.s about 2,000 feet below us and coming in from the coast. We went into line astern and attacked. I followed my leader down and then thought I saw an ME. ahead of me, but on reaching 15,000 feet I realised it was only a Spitfire.
I was very annoyed at losing all that well-needed height without seeing anything and immediately looked around for some of the boys. I could only find one, so I joined up with him and signalled him to commence to climb when I spotted some smoke trails above us; these I thought or hoped were our boys and climbed towards them, taking care to approach from the rear in case they were hostile.
At about 28,000 feet I could recognise them as Spitfires, and continued to join up with them. Meanwhile the other chap, a sergeant, “bogged off” some place – I didn’t see him again that trip.
As I joined up, I couldn’t see any vacant places, so I called up the C.O. and said I would like to take up position as “weaver.”
We were then turning north, and I reckoned that it wouldn’t be long before they would tell us to land again, and was beginning to get rather disheartened when they told us there were some “Snappers” in our immediate vicinity.
Suddenly we saw them; they were steering in groups of four, line-astern, their yellow noses shining in the sun.
Every one seemed to split up and attack something. I found myself above and looked around well, left