The Life of a fighter pilot. Battle of Britain 1940


The Life of a fighter pilot. Battle of Britain 1940.

4 am. Woken with a hand on my shoulder. 
Tea Sir! 4 o clock.
Tea is hot, strong and scolds as I try and get ready.
 Quick dry shave, quick wash- no warm water yet. Quickly dressing into uniform, Irvin jacket,  I pick up gloves, stuff feet into boots, I finish slurping my tea as I walk to get breakfast.

"Morning Adams, says Parky, my Flight Leader. "Another Beautiful day!" he says heavy with irony. 
For now I get toast, jam, more tea- The second breakfast usually follows the first early mission when we get egg and bacon, toast and coffee, for those lucky to return. Sometimes you can bag an unclaimed egg! 
I quickly glance up and read the orders, the notes, check what time we are due out to Dispersal-"What time Jonesey?"... Oh! It is now! 

Off we troop to the waiting lorry, pile in and drive around the perimetre track the quarter mile. Shriek of brakes binding on. Shouts, humorous jokes to the driver-off we jump and walk through the dew glistened, sun bleached grass to the wooden dispersal hut.

 I go over to my Spit, check everything is set, that the helmet sits on the sight, the straps set ready for a quick strap in, parachute on wingtip, I wipe the dew off before placing it there. Damp parachutes do not open.

 I walk back to the musty smelling wood dispersal hut with its dead flies, the smelly Cocker spaniel dog-friend to all, it`s assortment of chairs, fold up camp beds and look over at Jonesy, he is reading yesterdays papers, looking at Jane in a state of undress, yet again.

 I fall down into a deck chair, put a newspaper over my face lie back  into the warmth of my fleece lined Irvin jacket with its collar up and am soon asleep again.
WHAT? Sounds of running, furniture scraping, chair falling, some rude words aimed at me being lazy! I am up and running to my Spitfire. 

There she is: "G" is parked further away than my section leader, flight leader and squadron leader`s Spits so I have to run at double speed to catch up, a quick swing of the parachute off the wingtip hits me in the back of the legs, groundcrew help pass straps, click, click, click all in. 

Up onto wing with its resonate metallic clang sound. "Careful Sir! I slipped on the dew." Righto, thanks errr. I dont know his name yet.

 Into the cockpit, helmet on top of gunsight, put it on. push the radio and microphone connection in, oxygen tube plugged in, adjust chin strap, over the shoulder appear my seat straps held by the groundcrew, new bloke this one as Smithy is on a charge-I am told. Out on a date and back late!

Right, to business-fast as others are starting up. Flaps checked UP. Both Fuel Cock levers to ON, Throttle a half inch open. Mixture Control to RICH. Rotol Airscrew Lever to Fully FORWARD. Radiator Shutter-OPEN. Three strokes of Primer today.  Call groundcrew. Clear Prop. Switch ON ignition and pull priming handle. Press the Starter button and give one stoke of Primer at the same time. 

Keep pressed as engine fires, Screw down priming pump, Call Chocks away. Check instruments, temperatures, revs, Mag drop. Okay!  Off  we go  taxying quickly- falling in behind my Section leader who follows the three in front led by the Flt Leader, then the Squadron Leader`s section and A Flight way down the field. Taxying fast, swinging rudder to see each side of the long 8 foot nose, gentle on breaks, sensitive fore and aft the Spit! 

Reach end of field, check temps, turn into wind, there they go, 1, 2, 3 then 4, 5, 6, then B flight`s turn, 7, 8, 9, now my Section leader opens up and I am with him with Jonesy on the other side behind. Make this look good. Bouncing, throttle more fed in, off we go, unsticking, climbing, pumping the undercarriage up, jamming elbow into cockpit side to stop porpoising with stick in sympathy. Airfield grows smaller in my mirror.

Climbing, hanging on the prop, desperately trying to get height so that we might be above the escort fighters, usually arriving above the bombers but with 109s coming down upon us. We climb in a spral over base-airfield protection. Leader acknowledges coure change and height, we reach 22000 feet and see the Stukas coming in below us at 16000. Glints above, ignore them, down we go: I see the Spitfires in front gradually turning over on their back and falling rapidly down behind the Stukas  I am near the back.

 I am aware that only Jones is between me and the escort fighters now coming down but yet unseen in the sun. His eyes are glued to me and the ones in front, staying in formation line astern, so I look over my shoulder into the bright sky every 5 seconds.

Spitfire is hit in front of me by the rear gunner of a Stuka out to one side, flame spreading from his engine, he falls away smoking. I fire on him a brief burst as I flash past. I turn, just in time to see a flash behind me where Jones should be and am aware of something coming fast from above and behind me, I jam full left stick and left ridder and fall away in a quick spiral downward  then rising into a climbing, spiralling turn, looking for a target-trying not to be a target.

There! I see a 109 has overshot and is going away down in front, I latch onto him. I look behind, Clear, clear in the mirror also. I close slowly I fire when his wings are just inside the sight reflector range indicated and close, firing a two second burst. Something clangs off my wing, something came off him. He suddenly emits smoke and falls away. I turn rapidly to clear my tail and lose sight of him below against the fields. Ah Well, a Damaged, or is it a Probable?

I look around, No one else in sight. I stooge around, climbing in a spiral looking for a mate but see no one so after looking at the coast for stragglers, seeing none, I return to the airfield.

 Right. Call up and advise returning.  I turn onto the correct compass course, hard to see down there in the darkness of the cockpit after my eyes adjust to the bright glare of the sun. I settle back in my seat, reflecting upon where that Messerschmitt ended up. Letting down slowly. I look around as something casts a shadow in my mirr...........
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Flight Lieutenant Parks- The B Flight Leader to some groundcrew. Sorry. Sgt Adams and Sgt Jones bought it. You might as well see Chiefy for getting ready two of the newly arrived Spits, they need the guns harmonising at the butts. 

A simple story, I wrote to reflect upon what happened often in the Battle of Britain. Killed by the one you did not see.

Copyright Paul Davies aviation historian 

Paul Davies

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