For Five Shillings a Day: Personal Histories of World War II. Dr. Campbell-Begg Richard

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СКАЧАТЬ behind the bullet-proof windscreen. She was armed with eight Browning 303 machine-guns with 2,660 rounds of ammunition, which could all be fired off in three or four short bursts of 4 seconds each. The pilot’s face-mask was plugged into oxygen and RT connections. After bonding and earthing was carried out by a radio expert, the RT was as good as the ordinary telephone. The cine camera-gun recorded the action when the guns were fired.

      In early August the Squadron had the honour of escorting the Prime Minister on a tour of the East Coast Defences. Next day the Squadron left Northolt for its forward base at Tangmere; three sections were scrambled with a big contact over St Catherine’s Point. This was an attempt by the Jerries to put one radar station, our radar station, out of action. The raiders were driven off with losses to both sides; we lost our Flight Commander and two other pilots. The great German “Eagle” attack was due to start on 10 August, but was delayed by bad weather. This was aimed at destroying coastal fighter airfields and radar stations.

      A few days later the Squadron returned to Tangmere, but before landing we were vectored to the Portsmouth area to repel a raid by 500 enemy aircraft. Our new Squadron Commander, Squadron Leader Harkness, led us straight in to drive off the big formations of Heinkel 111s, Dornier 17 Flying Pencils and a fighter cover of Messerschmitt 109s and 110s. The Squadron shot down several aircraft and we lost one pilot; another pilot lost a finger which had to be amputated.

      We left Northolt for our new sector at Debden where the Station Commander, Wing Commander Fullergood, welcomed the Squadron and explained the characteristics of Sector F. After settling in at Debden the Squadron moved to its forward base at Martlesham Heath near Ipswich. Yellow section was scrambled early at 0622 hours on the southbound convoy escort patrol off the East Coast. It dawned a bright sunny day as usual that summer, and it wasn’t long before we saw a Dornier Flying Pencil sneaking in for an attack. Cockram yelled over the RT, “Bandit tallyho!” and roared into the attack, and we struggled to keep up with him and had the satisfaction to see the Dornier limping away after the attack, quite out of control with its undercarriage obviously damaged. As we tailed the plume of smoke we resisted the temptation to chase him out to sea and stayed with the convoy.

      In the late afternoon the Squadron was scrambled and we intercepted a raid of German bombers and fighter escort proceeding up the Thames Estuary in box formation, also accompanied by top cover fighters several thousand feet above the main formation. It was an awesome feeling to realise that there was nothing between this large formation and the City of London except our little squadron. However, we stalked them steadily for a minute or two, keeping well ahead, until the time came and we just had to attack. As we closed in to attack, the bombers started to move into the sun and split up into smaller formations, jettisoning their bombs all over Kent and Sussex. At that moment the top cover came screaming down out of the sun, hotly pursued by Spitfires. All hell let loose in a series of dogfights all over the sky. A formation of Stukas decided to make a break for it, having shed their load; I helped them on their way with the occasional squirt from my guns as they gradually came into range. I must have caused some damage as one dropped out of formation. I closed in for a good stern attack. Smoke started to stream as he dived down steeply, dropping a few bits as he went. I turned back towards the main scrap but by that time the day was done, the battle over and the sun dipping in the sky.

      The next day the Squadron received orders to fly to the forward aerodrome at Martlesham Heath and to stay there for several days using 17 Squadron’s ground staff. We carried out convoy patrols. Blue section intercepted an unidentified aircraft; after a few warning shots the aircraft, a friendly Blenheim, gave the correct identification signal for the day. More convoy patrols next day, and Green section flushed out a Dornier 17 which was stalking the convoy. He put up a spirited defence with his rear guns and did some damage to our lads. He disappeared into cloud trailing some smoke. On their next convoy patrol Green section had better luck and destroyed a Dornier 215.

      Another day of intensive flying followed and we had the Squadron at readiness all day from dawn till dusk with continuous precautionary patrols and convoy duties. This state of affairs was to last until 26 August when Debden was bombed, killing three airmen of 257 Squadron and damaging hangars badly and many other buildings, including the Sergeants’ Mess.

      The whole Squadron was scrambled at 0830 hours at the end of the month on 31 August. In the Clacton area at 18,000 feet a formation of 50 Messerschmitt 110s was attacked and they went into defensive circles, each plane covering the next one’s tail. I attacked one ring from the reverse direction in which they were turning, which must have put the fear of God up them, and me too. One of them dropped out of the formation, smoking from both engines, and made for the coast. I pursued him out to sea, past the Dengie Flats, filling him with some final bursts, and roared back to Martlesham in a power dive of 450 miles an hour plus. In these late stages of the battle there had been little contact with the rest of the Squadron. One of our pilots was killed and another one shot down in flames. At that stage the Jerries gave Debden another drubbing, but this time there weren’t any casualties.

      After two days of patrols, the Squadron was scrambled from Martlesham with orders to orbit Chelmsford. On that day my aircraft had been taken into the workshop for maintenance. I had an earlier mark Hurricane with fabric-covered wings and non-self-sealing tanks, and when the scramble came over the field telephone she wouldn’t start. The whole Squadron took off and there I was still on the ground with a dead prop, but I was determined and 5 minutes later we had her going and I took off to join the Squadron. I’d only just closed with the formation when there was a terrific concussion with coloured lights flashing all around me. In a moment the fuel tanks and the cockpit became an inferno, but I knew I had to get out quick and I reached up to open my hood but it had jammed tight. I struggled and, putting my feet up on the instrument panel, chopped it open with an air axe and ripped off my safety harness and helmet and jumped. I should say that my father’s war effort was the production of this air axe and the ARP axe, and they were insulated to withstand a high voltage. One of them saved my life on that occasion.

      I pulled the ripcord without delay and felt the satisfying jerk as the canopy opened. Everything went quiet, save for a gentle flutter from the parachute. The Squadron droned away into the distance. It took me about half an hour to come down. As I floated closer, I could hear cars, people shouting, “There he goes.” I came down in a Brigadier Brazier Craig’s garden in Stock near Chelmsford, narrowly missing a glasshouse of grapevines by bumping into a tree trunk on the way down. There I sat on the ground with sheets of skin hanging and flapping around me and all my sleeves and trouser legs burned off, just my rank stripes hanging limply from my wrists.

      My plane had crashed into a railway embankment near Margaretting and was burning fiercely and ammunition was exploding. Onlookers held up my parachute to shield me from the bright sun – I couldn’t find a comfortable position to be in. Under my instructions they managed to remove my parachute harness and my Mae West lifejacket with the Croix de Guerre painted on it.

      I was told an ambulance was on its way. I said, well, I couldn’t get under the anaesthetic quick enough. I must have had morphine. When the ambulance came they arrived in such a hurry that they knocked the gatepost down. By that time I was in the Brigadier’s living room on the sofa, offered brandy and all I wanted was water. I remembered no more until I woke up in a hospital bed after a cleaning-up operation. I was covered from head to foot with a dye called Kelly’s Blue. My arms were soaked for hours at a time in a saline solution to soften up the bandages. My wife, she spent almost all her time by my side, but I was pretty low and miserable.

      After some weeks Archie McIndoe called in to see me and asked if I’d like a transfer to Queen Victoria Cottage Hospital. I placed myself in his hands and I was transferred and admitted to the Kindersley Ward under the care of Sister Hall. After a day or two I was moved out on to the balcony and joined by other charred pilots, Richard Hillary, Tony Tollemache, Geoff Page, Ian McPhail, Geoff Noble, Roy Lane and Smith Barry. We soon took over the ward, which had been geriatric.

      Archie fitted me out with new nose and eyebrows, СКАЧАТЬ