A Spitfire Pilot's Story: Pat Hughes: Battle of Britain Top Gun

by Dennis Newton

  Typically, nine Hurricanes from 43 Squadron had been scrambled at 4.35 p.m. and the controller had urgently given them new directions. They found twenty-five Dornier Do 17s escorted by large numbers of fighters crossing the coast near Folkestone. Coming into view at the same time were two other similar sized groups of bombers and fighters.

  The Hurricanes tackled the front formation, climbing until they were 1,500 feet above it. Leaving one section to try and keep the fighters off, the other two sections dived on the Dorniers. They swept around in a coordinated attack from astern, firing for all they were worth, and then broke away to make individual attacks. Time and again they darted in until most were out of ammunition but at the same time three of their number fell to the escorting Messerschmitt 109s.

  Over the Thames Estuary, 73 Squadron encountered twenty-five bombers escorted by thirty Messerschmitt 110s. The three Hurricanes of Blue Section had the job of blocking the fighters but they had little chance to gain enough height, so they attacked the bombers instead. Each plane fired a short burst from about 350 yards without any obvious effect and then zoomed up into the sun. As they climbed, a Staffel of Me 110s in a defensive circle loomed into view. After a series of diving attacks on this formation the Hurricane pilots claimed two Messerschmitts destroyed and one damaged.

  Below was a scene of devastation. A huge cylinder of black smoke from burning warehouses near the docks was billowing steadily up into the clouds. The streets were full of the noise of racing fire engines and the shouts of running men. The docks and warehouses were ablaze as London’s East End was hammered. 20 per cent of the bombs carried by the He 111s and Ju 88s were incendiaries and 30 per cent were delayed-action bombs.

  The sinking sun glinted on the wings of the bombers as they turned, followed by flak. Smaller planes were darting in and out of the enemy formations but the sound of fighting overhead was drowned out by the noise in the streets. The German air fleet was being scattered but there were so many planes that it was impossible to stop.

  Like so many others, the squadrons coming all the way from Middle Wallop were directed away from their usual patrol lines to try and intercept the raiders. The Spitfires of 609 Squadron caught a formation of enemy bombers as it turned south-west of London. John Curchin manoeuvred his Green Section to engage a group of Dornier Do 17s from the beam, but at the last instant the Germans turned so that a coordinated assault became impossible. Curchin instructed his men to break up and make individual attacks while he went after the leading Dornier. He turned in, closing fast, and fired a four-second burst before diving underneath and swinging around for a second attack from the other side. Again he fired for four seconds. The leading Dornier seemed undamaged but suddenly the second bomber in the formation broke away and fell in a dive. As Curchin turned off, he spotted a single Messerschmitt 109 ahead and below. He followed it through the thick smoke billowing over the Thames and finally caught up over the Estuary. He fired for three seconds. The 109 was hit and Curchin closed to fifty yards as he fired for the last time. Pieces of the German fighter were torn away before it crashed into the water.

  South-east of Folkestone, 234 Squadron ran into an estimated sixty German aircraft consisting of Dornier Do 17s and escorting Messerschmitt 109s. Initially instructed to patrol over the airfields at Kenley and Biggin Hill at ‘Angels 10’, Spike O’Brien took his twelve Spitfires up to twice that height until they were above hoards of bandits all heading south on their way home. They were harried as they went by angry, stinging Hurricanes and Spitfires.

  Pat Hughes was leading Blue Section in Spitfire X4009 as usual. O’Brien told Pat to go after the bombers while his flight covered the 109s. Ordering his wingmen to follow suit, Pat plunged after the bombers. He was well ahead of the others as he closed in on a straggling Dornier.

  Blue 2 followed the Australian down and saw him make a quarter attack on the German machine. Large pieces flew off the enemy plane, then a wing crumpled and it went down spinning. An instant later, Blue 2 saw a Spitfire spinning down with about a third of its wing broken off … a collision?

  Above at the same time, O’Brien and his Red Section were attacked by yellow-nosed Me 109s. In the ensuing dogfight, Red 2 just managed to evade an aggressive Messerschmitt with a white spinner, but 234 Squadron’s commanding officer of only just over three weeks, Squadron Leader ‘Spike’ O’Brien DFC, was shot down and killed near Biggin Hill.

  The British fighters, their ammunition exhausted and fuel tanks almost empty, landed back at their airfields in ones and twos. Weary pilots climbed out of their cockpits in grim silence, carrying in their minds the unforgettable spectacle of the seemingly impregnable bulk of the German formations and of the terrible firestorm in London. They had hit back as hard as they could.

  For 234 Squadron, ‘Budge’ Harker had destroyed two Me 109s and damaged another; Bob Doe destroyed a Heinkel 111; ‘Zig’ Klein probably destroyed an Me 109; and Pat Hughes may have accounted for a Do 17, but he was not back yet. In fact, three Spitfires were not back. As well as Pat and Spike O’Brien, Blue 2, Keith Lawrence, was missing. The New Zealander had, in fact, landed at Croydon and would not return to Middle Wallop until the next day when he added to the tally by declaring he had destroyed an Me 109 and damaged a Do 17.

  In the capital, flames spread furiously along the waterfront, rows of houses were obliterated and granaries and warehouses collapsed, falling into the river or crashing down into the streets. Every firefighting appliance for miles around was sent to the area. A huge pall of smoke prematurely darkened the sky but as night fell the glow was hellish.

  London’s agony was far from over. The first of 318 German bombers were approaching, guided to the target by the huge fires. It was the start of a series of violent attacks destined to go on for fifty-seven consecutive nights — the Blitz was beginning.

  Against the incoming stream of German planes, the British night defences were almost powerless, having to rely almost solely upon the 264 anti-aircraft guns ringing the city. There were only two squadrons of Blenheim night fighters available and one of these, No. 600 Squadron based at Hornchurch, was unable to take off through the thick smoke swirling across the airfield.

  All night the Germans cruised over London, a target impossible to miss, dropping 330 tons of high explosive and 440 incendiary canisters to stoke the inferno below. By morning, 306 civilians were dead and 1, 337 badly injured.

  *

  It was late in the afternoon a few miles from Andover when Kay Hughes stopped and phoned the Mess at Middle Wallop. She asked for Pat. Instead, Flying Officer E. C. ‘Bish’ Owens, the fatherly squadron adjutant, came to the phone. ‘Come right over,’ he said, ‘I’ll meet you at the gate.’

  For a second she wondered, why? Then, instinctively she knew. She clutched the gold charm bracelet Pat had given her. She knew he was dead.

  True to his word, Bish and some of Pat’s boys met her at the gate. They told her that Pat was missing – there was some hope but the chances were not good.2 Then they took her to the White Hart. ‘I’ve got your double,’ the landlord said greeting her with a wide smile. That was before he realised something was wrong.

  The boys took him to one side and told him.

  At 8.07 p.m., Lieutenant General Alan Brooke issued the code word ‘Cromwell’, Alert No. 1, to his Eastern and Southern Commands.3 The signal was received in some places with panic. A number of Home Guard and army units ordered the ringing of church bells, the universal signal that an invasion was taking place already.

  The ‘Cromwell’ alert came into Headquarters, Australian Striking Force, at Amesbury Abbey at 9.30 p.m. and all units were placed at one hour’s notice to move. The 18th Infantry Brigade was handicapped by its incidence of leave, with almost 50 per cent of its personnel absent. Many of the men of the 10th Battalion who were due back from leave were unable to get away from London because of the bombing.

  War correspondent Kenneth Slessor, who was stationed at the abbey, was awakened at 11 p.m. with t
he news that the Germans had landed on the south coast and that everyone had been ordered to stand by for an immediate move. Although this was unconfirmed, he noted that everyone appeared to accept it as correct. General Wynter, who was absent when the signal arrived, was now back in his office. The abbey had become a hive of activity and all available troops paraded in full battle dress. One guard muttered to Slessor, ‘I’ll be glad when the bastards come.’

  With the passing of time the bustle gradually diminished as they waited tensely for orders. By midnight the men were allowed to return to their tents and sleep but were told to be ready to move at one hour’s notice. The signal would be two or three blasts of a whistle. Some listened to the midnight news on the radio and learned that London had been under heavy attack and fires in the East End were still out of control.

  Overnight for the first time, RAF Bomber Command’s main effort was concentrated on the enemy invasion barges being assembled in the Channel coastal ports.

  *

  In her single room at the White Hart, Kay Hughes had confirmation during the night that Pat had been killed. He had bailed out, she was told, but a German fighter had followed him down, riddling him with bullets. It must have been over in seconds.

  She asked about Flying Officer Butch, but the dog was missing too. He had run out of the Mess and disappeared.

  Kay cried into the night and consumed double brandies. She wept uncontrollably until there were no tears left.4

  17

  WHAT REALLY HAPPENED?

  Over the years, many accounts, sometimes conflicting, have been written about Pat Hughes’ fate. They assert: he was shot down by Me 109s; he rammed the Dornier; the Dornier crashed into him; the Dornier blew up; wreckage from the Dornier struck his Spitfire; he didn’t bail out; he did bail out; he was shot up in his parachute; his parachute didn’t open; and even that he was a victim of friendly fire.

  It must be remembered when looking into such issues that what happened took place in a short, intense space of time – just a matter of seconds – more than three-quarters of a century ago. In the hope of reaching a valid decision on what actually transpired, eyewitness accounts (bearing in mind that the senses can deceive) and substantiating physical evidence have to be considered.

  In the Form 450 sheets of 234 Squadron’s Operations Record Book it says that:

  S/Ldr O’Brien and F/Lt Hughes were both shot down and killed in the engagement – It was reported that F/Lt. Hughes had destroyed 1 Do.17 before being sent down himself.1

  The combat report of Blue 2, Keith Lawrence, inferred rather than stated that the Australian had collided with the Do 17:

  As Blue 2 I followed Blue 1 into an attack on the Do 17s. Blue 1 was well ahead of me and I saw him go down to make a quarter attack on a straggling Do.17 below the rest of the formation. I saw large pieces fly off the E/A then a wing crumpled and the E/A went down spinning. Immediately after I saw a Spitfire which I assumed to be Blue 1 spinning down with about 1/3 wing broken.2

  In 1980, as part of an article to commemorate the fortieth anniversary of the Battle of Britain, Kay Hughes was interviewed for Woman magazine by journalist Joan Reeder. It was published in the November 15 issue. By then Kay was Mrs D. Wray, aged sixty-four, living just outside Hull. At one point in the article Kay related that when Bish Owens and the boys had taken her to the White Hart they told her, ‘Pat had bailed out, but a German fighter followed him down, riddling him with bullets. It must have been over in seconds.’3

  In 1990, at the time of the fiftieth anniversary of the Battle of Britain, I wrote an article about Pat Hughes that was published in the September 1990 issue of FlyPast magazine. In response to it, Desmond Hall of Sundridge, Sevenoaks, Kent, wrote to me via Ken Ellis, the editor of the magazine at that time. He wrote:

  Since I was a boy of ten in 1940 I have been interested in the Battle of Britain and in the action in which Hughes lost his life in particular. This action took place over the area of our village and the description in your article coincides with eyewitness accounts from that time of people from the village. Accounts from other publications do not. The following may be of interest to you.

  Our family home was and still is situated in this village, alongside the A25 opposite a then electricity generating plant which was itself alongside a water pumping station.

  On September the 7th 1940 my mother and I were visiting my grandmother at the other end of the village. Around 5 p.m. the air raid warning sounded and we took cover under the stairs. Consequently I did not see any of the ensuing action, just heard the fighting, the machinegun fire, culminating in the awe inspiring scream of falling aircraft at full power, followed by a thunderous roar as they hit the ground. After the ‘all clear’ it was realized that one of the planes crashed near to our home and we cut short the visit and hurried home to see if all was well.

  In answer to our excited but fearful questions, my father who in company with neighbours had been watching the fighting said (and I quote as best as memory serves me), ‘We thought we were finished. A German plane has been rammed by a Spitfire. The Gerry was spinning down straight for us but a wing came off and it veered away. It’s crashed behind the waterworks. The Spitfire pilot jumped out but his parachute did not open. They think he was a Pole.’

  That was the scene as described by my father.

  We boys of course visited the crash sites both the German and British. The piece that fell off the Dornier 17 came to earth in Chipstead and turned out to be the port rudder and fin. It was stored in a builder’s yard there and we boys, peeping through the cracks in the door, were thrilled to see it, its swastika seeming to our minds to be almost luminous.

  Years later I asked the builder what had become of it, and to my pleasure he took me to his home and gave it to me much damaged (by his two sons, he said). In turn I gave the fin to the author and historian, Dennis Knight, who I believe still has it.

  The Spitfire crashed at Bessel Green beside Dry Hill Lane and the pilot who was P. C. Hughes fell to his death in the garden of a bungalow alongside the A25 at Sundridge.

  The resident of the ‘bungalow’ referred to by Desmond Hall was William Norman, as John Day of No. 8, Main Road, Sundridge, recorded in October 2006:

  I think one of my clearest memories of the Battle of Britain took place on a Saturday in September 1940.

  A Spitfire fighter and a Dornier German bomber collided in mid-air to the east of Sundridge Village. I did not see the actual collision of the two aircraft but I remember the following events.

  Mr William Norman, an elderly neighbour who lived at No. 16 Main Road called at our address, No. 8 Main Road. Mr Norman who was in a distressed state asked my father if he would go back with him to see the body of a young man laying on the lawn of his back garden.

  Later we learned the body of the brave young man was in fact the Australian pilot of the RAF crashed Spitfire.

  The mission that day for the crew of Dorner Do 17Z (2596), F1-BA, of Stab KG 76 was to photograph the bombing of London docks. The crew was Leutnant Gottfried Schneider, Oberfeldwebel Karl Schneider, Feldwebel Erich Rosche and Unteroffizier Walter Rupprecht. On the return flight, the Dornier was attacked repeatedly by RAF fighters. Among these may have been the Spitfire of Pilot Officer Ellis Aries of 602 Squadron who claimed a Do 17 destroyed, and a Hurricane flown by Flying Officer George Peters of 79 Squadron.4

  The Dornier’s final encounter was with Pat Hughes. From this it went out of control and at 6 p.m. crashed down into a stream at Sundridge near Sevenoaks, east of Bessels Green where Pat’s Spitfire came down. One of the tail fins was found some distance away. The wireless operator, Erich Rosche, managed to bail out and was captured but the others perished. At his capture, Rosche was relieved of his flying helmet and oxygen mask, items which became the highly prized souvenirs of a Sevenoaks resident, or residents.5

  Desmond Hall expanded his account when writing a letter to a Herr Bauman, who was a relative of Erich Rosche, the only survivor of the Dorn
ier crew:

  To those of us who were then 10 years old or thereabouts, the summer days of 1940 were filled with exciting hours spent watching the great air combats which came to be known as the Battle of Britain. I do not remember fear at first or my friends being afraid, the village was never the target and we in our young innocence felt immune and secure in the knowledge that our airmen would always win (such innocence). The fighting almost always took place at great height, the machines just glinting pinheads and weaving vapour trails, sometimes near the end of the battle there would be the odd smoke trail, may be a parachute floating distantly, and aircraft returning to Biggin Hill aerodrome 6 or 7 miles distant. To we boys it seemed a battle between machines with little thought of the men crewing them, when we thought of it at all. Germans in our imagination were a sort of automen (propaganda, I suppose).

  The seventh of September changed all that.

  It had been a quiet morning and afternoon, I remember my Grandfather saying, ‘They are not coming today.’ Around 4.30 p.m., the warning sirens sounded for the first time that day, people thought, ‘It won’t be much’, and carried on with afternoon tea, at approximately 5 p.m. a distant hum of aircraft engines grew louder and nearer, the planes lower, there were bursts of machine gun fire which grew more intense that we had ever heard before, spent bullets and cartridges falling like hail. Then according to my father and other witnesses two aircraft, a Spitfire and a Dornier 17, appeared to collide. As they began to fall two men took to parachutes, one of which failed to operate, and the wearer, the Spitfire pilot, died among the flowers in the garden of a bungalow alongside the main road (A25) his aircraft fell in a meadow close by. The other parachutist was Hauptman Roche [sic] from the Dornier 17, he was taken prisoner in another village, I believe.

  The Dornier came through the sky with an awesome wail of racing engines which I can still call to mind even now, the aircraft narrowly missing the water pumping station, came to rest in a stream (the infant River Darenth) alongside a birch plantation. For what seemed a long time after the crash but must have only been minutes there was silence, then people began to run to the scene, rescue vehicles arrived but there were alas no survivors. An armed guard was mounted to keep people away until the ambulance men removed the German airmen to a place of rest.