Scramble: A Narrative History of the Battle of Britain

by Norman Gelb

  There were other things that came over the radio, too. There was a young Canadian pilot who obviously had been hit. He came on and said, ‘Three-two.’ That was his call sign. ‘Give my love to mother.’ He never came back.

  *

  Sergeant Iain Hutchinson

  They needed everyone they could find in the air on 15 September. My squadron had taken off, but I didn’t have a plane. My aircraft was unserviceable, I think, or maybe it was that I had been shot down the previous day and didn’t have a replacement. I don’t remember exactly. But I stole a plane from 41 Squadron, which was also at Hornchurch, and went up with them. We did an attack on some bombers and then got split up. I was flying with another Spitfire — a friend of mine in 41 Squadron — watching the sky on my side. The next time I looked around, my friend was gone and there was a Messerschmitt 109 in his place. I’m not sure what happened next, but I was shot down. It’s not recorded in the official records, because, not being in 41 Squadron, my name couldn’t appear in its list of casualties.

  *

  Exchange between Biggin Hill Controller Squadron Leader Bill Frankland and 32 Squadron CO Squadron Leader John Worrall

  Frankland: ‘Twenty-four bombers, with twenty plus more behind them.’

  Worrall: ‘Got it.’

  Frankland: ‘Twenty plus more bombers and twenty fighters behind and above.’

  Worrall: ‘All right.’

  Frankland: ‘Now thirty more bombers and a further hundred plus fighters following.’

  Worrall: ‘Stop. No more information please. You’re frightening me terribly.’

  *

  Winston Churchill

  11 Group Ops Room, 15 September

  A subdued hum arose from the floor where the busy plotters pushed their discs to and fro in accordance with the swiftly changing situation. Air Vice Marshal Park gave general directions for the disposition of his fighter force which were translated into detailed orders to each Fighter Station by a youngish officer in the centre of the Dress Circle ... The air marshal himself walked up and down behind, watching with vigilant eye every move in the game, supervising his junior executive hand, and only occasionally intervening with some decisive order, usually to reinforce a threatened area ...

  I became conscious of the anxiety of the commander, who now stood still behind his subordinate’s chair. Hitherto I had watched in silence. I now asked, ‘What other reserves have we?’ ‘There are none,’ said Air Vice Marshal Park.

  There were no reserves, but Park meticulously deployed his squadrons to take on the attackers. They swooped on them as they crossed the English coast. They met them as they flew over Kent. They converged on them as they approached and reached London. They shot many of them down or sent many others limping back to their bases with dead and wounded aboard. They broke up their formations and drove them from their intended targets. They took off, intercepted, returned to base to refuel and re-arm and take off to intercept again. Leigh-Mallory’s Big Wing, still operating contrary to Dowding’s tactical prescriptions, struck at the raiders as well and made an important contribution to the day’s achievements.

  *

  Pilot Officer Boggle Bodie

  The morning of 15 September dawned — blue, cloudless sky, fine flying weather.

  It was Sunday — what of it? Hundreds of bombers and fighters swarmed over the Channel.

  Our turn didn’t come until about half-past eleven, when we were ordered to patrol at 20,000 feet; off we went.

  I was in my usual position as ‘weaver’, flying alone 1,000 feet above the rest of the squadron, watching for attack from the rear, or out of the sun. Soon we spotted a formation of Dorniers, and the squadron attacked. I followed, keeping a keen lookout behind, and wasn’t surprised to see a dozen or more 109s diving down on us.

  By now, the foremost people in the squadron were in amongst the Dorniers, so I told ’em about the 109s and engaged the nearest, but before I could get him in my sights, I was fairly in the soup; they were all round me. They didn’t do their job and protect the bombers, but all went for me because I was on my own. I saw the squadron disappearing, dealing most effectively with the fleeing Dorniers, and realised that I was in no position to stay and play with a dozen 109s. Several were on my tail, so I beat it straight down flat out. I levelled out at 12,000 feet; that had shaken ’em off. I was all alone. I called up the squadron on the radio, told ’em I was no longer with them, and beetled off to see what I could find patrolling a few miles south of London.

  I saw a blob coming up from the south, and investigated. Boy! Oh, boy! Twenty fat Dorniers, flying wing-tip to wing-tip, ack-ack all round. I was well ahead and above them, so shoved the old throttle open, and dived at them head on.

  I picked the chappie who appeared to be leading the bunch, settled him in my sights, and let him have it.

  There isn’t much time to muck about in a head-on attack. I gave a short burst, then slid underneath his big black belly with only feet to spare, and flashed through the rest of the formation. I hadn’t meant to cut it so close, and instinctively ducked as I saw wings, engines, cockpits and black crosses go streaking past my hood.

  I had reached about 450 mph in my dive, and heaved back on the stick. I blacked out completely as I went up and over in an enormous loop. My sight returned as I lost speed and the centrifugal force lessened. I was on my back, so rolled over. The speed of dive and pull-out had carried me up ahead of them for another attack.

  I saw that my first burst had taken effect, the leader had dropped away and to one side, and was turning back. The rest of the formation were wobbling about, and didn’t seem to know quite what to do.

  As I dived down again, two Hurricanes turned up and joined in the party. The Huns didn’t wait for more, but scattered and fled pell-mell, jettisoning their bombs on open country.

  I had helped turn twenty bombers away from London! I yelled and whistled with joy, then pounced on the one I had crippled in my first attack. The Hurricanes were ‘seeing off’ the others OK, so I left them to it.

  He appeared to be having difficulty with one engine. I fixed that by stopping it altogether for him. He looked a bit lopsided then, so I stopped the other one too, and he started a long, steep glide down.

  I saw the rear gunner bale out, so went up very close and had a look at the aeroplane. It was pretty well riddled. Eight machine-guns certainly make a mess!

  I had a look at the pilot. He sat bolt upright in his seat, and was either dead or wounded, for he didn’t even turn his head to look at me, or watch out for a place to land, but stared straight ahead.

  Suddenly, a pair of legs appeared, dangling from the underneath hatch. The other gunner was baling out. He got out as far as his waist, then the legs kicked. They became still for a moment, then wriggled again, they writhed, thrashed and squirmed. Good God, he’s stuck! Poor devil, he couldn’t get in or out, and his legs, all I could see of them, flailed about wildly as he tried to release himself.

  It was my fault. I suddenly felt guilty and almost physically sick, until I thought of all the people down below, wives, young mothers, kiddies, huddled in their shelters, waiting for the all clear.

  The legs still wriggled and thrashed, 2,000 feet above the cool green fields, trapped in a doomed aircraft, gliding down, a dead pilot at the controls. First one boot came off, then the other. He had no socks on, his feet were quite bare: it was very pathetic.

  He’d better hurry, or it’d be too late.

  He hadn’t got out before they were down to 1,000 feet. He’d be cut in half when they hit the ground, like cheese on a grater. In spite of all he stood for, he didn’t deserve a death like that. I got my sights squarely on where his body would be, and pressed the button. The legs were still. The machine went on. The pilot was dead. He made no attempt to flatten out and land, but went smack into a field, and the aeroplane exploded. I saw pieces sail past me as I flew low overhead. I didn’t feel particularly jubilant.

  *

  Pilot
Officer Bobby Oxspring

  The German bombers were taking quite a beating from us on that day. Every squadron in 11 Group had intercepted and, at that moment, I saw Douglas Bader’s wing of five squadrons — three of Hurricanes, two of Spitfires — coming in from Duxford in 12 Group. That was the day Goring had said to his fighters the RAF was down to its last fifty Spitfires. But they’d run up against twenty-three squadrons for a start, when they were on their way in, and then, when they got over London, with the Messerschmitt 109s running out of fuel, in comes Douglas Bader with sixty more fighters, and got stuck in.

  *

  Pilot Officer Peter Brown

  They were told we had practically no aircraft left, but there we were — in strength. In no way could they claim air superiority when the bombers they sent over met the weight of fighters we were throwing at them. Our wing probably was extravagant in its shot-down claims that day, but the psychological impact of our being there must have hit the Germans very hard. They couldn’t have been very anxious to come back the next day.

  By nightfall on 15 September, the British reported, astoundingly, that 185 German planes had been shot out of the skies, plus more than forty probables, for a loss of only twenty-six British fighters, from which thirteen pilots had been saved. It was a huge exaggeration. It was later learned that only sixty German planes had been shot down. That was still a substantial kill, to which had to be added the many which had wobbled back to base badly damaged. Even more important, the Germans failed in their attempt that day to inflict on Britain the most severe bombardment and destruction that, until then, had ever been visited on any country. It was now undeniable that British air defences remained formidable, that Fighter Command was nowhere near obliteration. By nightfall, the Germans had, in effect, lost the Battle of Britain.

  They didn’t know this yet. Nor did the British. The fighting and bombing went on. Though less frequently and in smaller formations, German bombers did continue to come over in daylight and did much damage. But heavier, more persistent and more destructive were the terror attacks on London and other cities after dark, when the bombers didn’t have to tangle with British fighters, which were still unequipped for night fighting.

  *

  Nurse Frances Faviell

  After a heavy raid with many casualties ... there was a task for which we were sometimes detailed ... and to which our commandant disliked having to send us. This was to help piece the bodies together in preparation for burial. The bodies — or rather the pieces — were in temporary mortuaries ... It was pretty grim, although it was all made as businesslike and rapid as possible. We had somehow to form a body for burial so that the relatives, without seeing it, could imagine that their loved one was more or less intact for that purpose. But it was a very difficult task — there were so many pieces missing and, as one of the mortuary attendants said, ‘Proper jigsaw puzzle, ain’t it, Miss?’ The stench was the worst thing about it — that, and having to realize that these frightful pieces of flesh had once been living, breathing people. We went out to smoke a cigarette when we simply could not go on — and some busybody saw Sheila smoking and reported her smoking when in uniform and on duty.

  *

  Kathleen Taylor

  I joined the Women’s Voluntary Service in London. My sister did, too. We went around to check up on who lived in which houses and who were likely to be there. In that way, if anything did happen, the air-raid wardens would know who exactly they were looking for. After one raid, the wardens were there a few minutes later asking after the people in two houses which were flattened by bombs. It just so happened that they were all in a shop on the corner at the time. They were safe. Just a trick of fate.

  *

  Les Linggard

  At the beginning, the local council gave out Anderson Shelters for people to put in their gardens. They were made of very stiff corrugated iron sections. A hole was dug to a depth of two-foot-six in your garden and six feet by four-feet-six wide. The earth they dug out of the ground they put over the top.

  The terrible part was there was an earth floor to the shelter and we had a half-dozen people crowded into it. After a full night of bombing, if it started early, which it often did, and went on till 4.00 a.m. or later, when you came out the walls were running with damp. People were worried they’d be eaten up with rheumatism. I can still vividly picture that bloody shelter in the garden. They must have saved a lot of lives, though if there was a direct hit it wouldn’t have made any difference.

  There were ack-ack guns just down the road from where we were. The first round each night made us jump. Even before the bombing started, fire guard parties were organized for the streets and fire watching was organised in the factories. I was fire watching in the factor)7 where I worked and I was fire guard party leader for my road. That was mostly to deal with incendiaries. You were given stirrup pumps to put in strategic places in the road and you were trained — and you trained others — how to put the stirrup pump in the bucket and somebody pumped and somebody kept filling the bucket up. And you were trained how to keep a fire from spreading, and in the use of an ordinary fire brigade trailer pump. They trained you to go into a smoke-filled room, crawling in on the floor, wriggling on your belly because that was where the air was, in case you had to rescue someone.

  *

  Daily Mail, 21 September

  London’s smallest Tube line, between Aldwych and Holborn, may shortly be converted into the city’s largest air-raid shelter, capable of holding thousands of people. This was announced last night as Tube stations were packed with multitudes seeking safety from the raids.

  *

  Flying Officer Barrie Heath

  We left a lot of vapour trails in the skies. The skies were crisscrossed with them. I wanted to write something rude over the top of London, something to build up the morale of the people down below. But I never got around to it.

  *

  Peter Fleming

  London Zoo had its fair share of bombs, but casualties to the animals were remarkably light. The possibility of escapes was not overlooked. Within a few hours of the declaration of war, all poisonous snakes, spiders and scorpions had been destroyed in accordance with a decision taken several months earlier. When the bombing started, the lions, tigers, polar bears and full-grown apes were shut up every night in their sleeping dens. It was considered unlikely that the same stick of bombs would make breaches both in these well-built chambers and in the iron bars of their outer cages; but against this contingency, the Zoo’s Air Raid Precautions staff maintained a small reserve of trained riflemen.

  *

  Sergeant Iain Hutchinson

  When we went in to London from the airfield, we’d see houses on fire and others that had been destroyed. I must confess that I was more terrified being in London during a bombing raid than I ever was when flying. The worst time in London was during a raid when I had to catch the tube to go somewhere. You heard the bombs coming down. You didn’t know where they were going to hit. They all sounded remarkably near. You sheltered yourself as best you could and just waited till the noise stopped. It was a very frightening experience. The thing about fighting was that you were on equal terms with the other guy, so that was OK. But if you were under the bombs, you could only sit and wait. I was very relieved to get back to Hornchurch. But even there, I was more terrified on the ground when I landed to refuel and re-arm during a battle than ever I was in the air. I used to pretend I was looking at the guns of my plane to see if they were loaded, when in reality I was sheltering under the wings till I could take off again.

  *

  Edith Siels

  I was living at Danehill, beyond ‘The Coach and Horses’. A lot of the German planes didn’t drop their bombs on London. They dropped them near us on their way back. We understood they weren’t allowed to take their bombs back with them, so they dropped them anywhere. In the wood behind where we lived, you often heard the explosion of a bomb going off. One afternoon, just after dinner, we heard
a terrific bang. Up in the village, a bomb was dropped close to the cemetery. A lot of coffins were blown up. Their handles were found down the road.

  *

  Aircraftswoman Second Class Edith Heap

  A Ju 88 landed on the aerodrome one night. We were walking down to our billet and we thought it was a Blenheim. We used to get all sorts of people landing with us at night. The next morning, we found it had been a German plane. It had got lost. The pilot had landed, left his engine running, and gone to the watchtower. He then obviously realized he was in the wrong place and ran back to his plane. All the guard — a South African — had was a Very pistol. He fired it, ineffectually of course. The German was able to take off again. The guard was so upset at letting him get away, he later shot himself.

  *

  United States Ambassador Joseph Kennedy to the Secretary of State,

  Washington

  London, 27 September

  FOR THE PRESIDENT AND THE SECRETARY

  The night raids are continuing to do, I think, substantial damage and the day raids of the last three days have dealt most serious blows to Bristol, Southampton and Liverpool. Production is definitely falling, regardless of what reports you may be getting, and with transportation smashed up the way it is, the present production output will continue to fall ...

  My own feeling is that they [the British] are in a bad way. Bombers have got through in the daytime on the last three days and on four occasions today substantial numbers of German planes have flown over London and have done some daylight bombing ...