Battle of Britain

by James Holland

  My word, thought Archie, he means us. He swallowed hard.

  Churchill rumbled on. No one said a word now. The room was silent but for the tinny growl of the prime minister’s voice. ‘We shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air,’ he promised, ‘we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.’

  When it was over, Reynolds leaned over and switched the radio off, but still no one spoke for a moment. It was strange, Archie thought – they all knew they had been taking part in something important over Dunkirk, and yet they had been operating on their own for much of the time – one squadron, a handful of planes and pilots. Churchill’s speech underlined the enormity of what had been achieved and what now faced them. Ten days’ fighting had been hard enough, but what lay around the corner? He breathed out heavily. Don’t think about it, he told himself.

  On cue, Pip said, ‘Well, one thing’s pretty certain: the Huns aren’t coming tonight. Look, chaps, who knows where we’ll be in a week’s time, but let’s not worry about that now. Tonight we’re all here, we’re all alive. And I, for one, intend to enjoy myself.’

  Yes, thought Archie, amen to that.

  13

  Ring the Changes

  For more than two weeks, they waited. The squadron was expected to be at various stages of readiness from dawn until dusk – either immediate, which meant being airborne within three minutes, or at fifteen minutes availability, or at thirty. This meant no release day and no leave. New pilots arrived, including the squadron’s first sergeant pilots. The old auxiliary squadron was slowly but surely shedding its skin.

  Initial relief at having survived the baptism of fire quickly gave way to sullenness among the originals and even a degree of listlessness.

  ‘You know what the trouble is, don’t you?’ Reynolds said to Archie and Ted one day. ‘We’ve not got enough to do. Too much time to brood.’

  They were at half-an-hour readiness, and the two men were ambling around the perimeter, looking at the aircraft for no other reason than for something to do.

  ‘We’ve all been together a long time,’ Reynolds went on. ‘Many of these fellows have been friends since childhood. It’s a big blow and with all this sitting around at dispersal all day, every day, it’s damn tricky to put it out of one’s mind.’

  Archie liked Reynolds. He was the oldest member of the squadron, in his early forties, with a kindly face, a trim moustache and hair that was greying at the sides. As ground staff, his age was not the hindrance it had been to Fitz. Everyone called him ‘Uncle’.

  ‘You were in the last war, weren’t you, Uncle?’

  ‘Yes. Flying too.’

  ‘A few losses, then, I suppose.’

  Reynolds smiled. ‘Too many. It was always the new chaps, though. We used to reckon that if a new fellow could survive three weeks, he had a pretty good chance of keeping going for a bit. Most were knocked down on their first few trips. It was like lambs to the slaughter, frankly.’

  ‘Weren’t they given enough training, then?’ asked Ted.

  ‘No, but it wasn’t just that. It’s the same with you fellows. You might know how to fly a plane, but not how to fly it in combat, and to learn that – and quickly – you need to be able to fly without thinking. I bet when you get in your Spit now and you want to make a one hundred and eighty degree turn, you don’t think, Pull back on the stick a bit, then use the ailerons. You just do it, like riding a bicycle or driving a car.’

  ‘You’re right, Uncle. I don’t,’ said Archie. ‘When I get in, I feel as though I’m strapping myself to the Spit. It’s almost as though we become one, if that makes sense.’

  ‘Perfectly. But these chaps would turn up, straight from flying school – much the same sort of age as you two fellows – and they were still thinking about the dials and controls and how to do this and that. When you’re in combat, you need to be thinking about shooting down the enemy and making sure you don’t get shot down yourself. You need to concentrate on that one hundred per cent. That’s why you two have been lucky. You’d flown before the war started – Ted a fair amount, I know – then had a month or so getting some hours under your belt on Spits, and now you’ve had proper combat experience. It’s chaps like you that the new fellows will be looking to. You’re the veterans now.’

  ‘We’re only nineteen, Uncle,’ Ted laughed.

  ‘But a lot older in combat terms. Share your experience, won’t you? It’s terribly important.’

  Archie nodded thoughtfully, then said, ‘Uncle, how did you deal with the deaths in the last war?’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid I got terribly upset to begin with, but it’s like most things: one gets used to it. Hardened, I suppose. I used to pretend they hadn’t died at all. I used to tell myself they’d simply gone away. A bit like when one moved school and suddenly all those chaps one had been great friends with and had seen every day weren’t around any more. You were sorry you didn’t see them, but I don’t remember feeling particularly sad about it. One made new pals and got on with it.’ He paused and felt for his cigarettes. ‘That’s the trouble at the moment. You’re all struggling to get on with things because very little is happening.’

  ‘I know. The mood has changed,’ said Ted. ‘629 Squadron used to be such a jolly bunch of lads. The atmosphere has changed completely. Even Mike’s stopped cracking jokes.’

  ‘On the other hand,’ said Reynolds, ‘this respite is a godsend. Hitler’s obviously decided to finish off France first. It’s given us a great chance to replenish the stocks. We’ve got three more pilots due this afternoon.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Ted. ‘But I want to get flying again. I’m fed up with this endless hanging around. I’m fed up with this fighter station.’

  Reynolds chuckled. ‘Enjoy it while you can. It won’t go on like this.’

  Later, after they were stood down for the night, Archie and Ted took the Norton and rode to the Tyler house in Pimlico. Ted had managed to ring earlier and for once the family were all there, even the group captain. Tess too, much to Archie’s relief. She seemed genuinely pleased to see him, kissing him on the cheek and leading him by the hand straight into the dining room. That flush of excitement he had felt when he had first danced with her at the Bag o’ Nails now swept over him once more. He had, of course, played down his feelings for her with Ted, but there had been, as he had hoped, more letters since the scarf. He had treasured each one, and, in truth, during the long days of inactivity over the past fortnight, thinking about Tess, reading her letters and writing his own in return, had helped take his mind off the boredom they had endured at Northolt.

  Ted, he knew, had also been writing to Polly and had even seen her once during an evening in town after they had been stood down for the day, but his friend did not talk about her much, just as Archie rarely mentioned Tess. It was funny, Archie had reflected, how they were such close friends, had shared so much together, and yet there was an implicit understanding between them that girls would not be discussed – not much, at any rate.

  ‘Did you hear Churchill’s speech?’ Ted’s mother asked as they sat down to dinner.

  ‘No, ’fraid not,’ said Ted. ‘We were at dispersal and the wireless has broken. Heard the last one, though, a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘Was it good, Mrs Tyler?’ asked Archie as the maid brought in the soup.

  ‘Oh, it was marvellous,’ she said. ‘I must say, I used not to think a great deal of Mr Churchill. He took sides with King Edward over that awful abdication business and he always looks, I don’t know, a bit unreliable, somehow, but I will admit he’s a wonderful orator and does seem to be rallying the nation, rather.’

  ‘Rallying the Empire, darling,’ said her husband. ‘These speeches are being broadcast all around the free world. They’re rallying cries to our imperial allies as much as to us her
e in the British Isles. And I’ll admit it: he certainly knows how to inspire.’

  ‘He said the Battle of France is over and that the Battle of Britain is about to begin,’ said Tess. ‘That means you boys.’ She looked down at her soup, her expression one of sadness.

  ‘Well, it certainly hasn’t begun yet,’ said Ted. ‘I wish it would. Archie and I are sitting by that damned dispersal hut all day bored rigid.’

  ‘Ted! Language!’ said his mother.

  ‘Sorry, Mama. But, really, it’s such a waste of time. We’re expected to be at readiness all the time, when we’d be far better off flying and practising.’

  ‘Your impatience,’ said his father. ‘Really, Ted. I worry when I hear you talk like that.’

  He glanced up at the wall, and Archie followed his gaze to the portrait hanging there. It was of Group Captain Tyler as a young captain in the last war, fresh-faced, flying helmet on his head and wearing a long, leather flying coat.

  ‘I’m not being impatient in the air, Pops, I just don’t want to be sitting about doing nothing.’

  ‘Aren’t you getting any practice?’

  ‘Some, but not very much. It’s difficult when the entire squadron is expected to be at readiness all the time.’

  ‘It’s because our numbers are still down, sir,’ said Archie. ‘Normally, we could have one flight on, one flight off, but there aren’t enough of us yet. New pilots are arriving, but until we’re back to full strength …’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘And we still don’t have a new CO,’ said Ted. ‘Pip’s been a good caretaker, but –’

  ‘You need someone to steer the ship.’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  Group Captain Tyler dabbed his mouth with his napkin. ‘I don’t think I’m betraying any state secrets in telling you this,’ he said, ‘but your new CO is on his way to you.’

  ‘About time,’ said Ted. ‘Who is he?’

  His father smiled. ‘A New Zealander.’

  ‘What? Commanding an auxiliary squadron?’

  ‘You’re not auxiliaries any more. Those times are long gone, Ted. You’re a permanent squadron in Fighter Command. He’s called MacIntyre. And he’s good. He’ll soon whip you all back into shape.’ He chuckled.

  ‘And what about Jerry?’ asked Ted. ‘Where’s the Luftwaffe?’

  ‘Finishing off France and frantically building airfields in the Pas de Calais,’ he replied, then added, ‘and don’t ask me any more than that because I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Then why aren’t we going over there now and shooting them up?’ asked Ted.

  ‘We have Bomber Command for that. Your task is to defend this island, not go and get into mischief across the Channel.’

  Archie glanced at Ted, who was rubbing his chin thoughtfully. And then he felt something touch his leg and could not help smiling. Sitting opposite him was Tess. Underneath the tablecloth, she was gently knocking his leg with hers.

  Squadron Leader Stephen MacIntyre arrived at Northolt the following day, drawing up in a small maroon Austin Ruby and being ushered into the main building. The pilots all watched anxiously, but he did not reappear until later that afternoon, when he walked over to dispersal in his flying gear. Stocky, with dark brown eyes, a wide nose and wearing an expression of ill-disguised impatience, he pointed at one of the new boys and said, ‘You. We’re going up on a half-hour flight. You first, then you,’ he added, turning to another of the arrivals from the day before. ‘Be ready to take off as soon as I get back with this one.’

  The first, Peter Benson, a young man straight from Operational Training Unit, went into the dispersal hut to collect his flying helmet and parachute. By the time he re-emerged, the new CO was already halfway to one of the waiting Spitfires.

  ‘What d’you make of that?’ said Mike as they watched the CO start up and begin taxiing.

  ‘Bit of a stickler by the look of it,’ said Tony Simmonds.

  Half an hour later, Benson landed again and trudged towards the dispersal hut as the new CO took off again with the next new boy, Joss Flinders.

  ‘Well?’ said Pip as Benson reached them.

  Benson shook his head. ‘I think he shot me down at least three times.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘We climbed to eight thousand feet and he told me to follow him,’ said Benson. ‘He kept diving and turning and in no time I’d lost him completely. Then out of the blue I heard, “Rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat,” in my ear and looked round and he was right on my tail. He did it three times and each time he said, “You’re dead, Red Two.”’

  Pip and the others sniggered. Benson looked distraught.

  Half an hour later, Flinders also came trudging back, just as despondent, while above, the new CO beat up the airfield, flying low over dispersal – so low that everyone ducked.

  ‘Christ,’ said Ted to Archie. ‘This bloke means business.’

  ‘You’re telling me,’ agreed Archie.

  The CO now landed and told A Flight to get ready to fly in ten minutes.

  ‘But aren’t we supposed to be here at readiness, sir?’ asked Pip.

  ‘We can’t be more ready than being in the air, can we?’ snapped MacIntyre.

  As they hurried to their Spitfires, Ted said to Archie in a conspiratorial tone, ‘He’s trying to catch us out. Over my dead body. We mustn’t let him.’

  ‘All right. So what do we do?’

  ‘Play him at his own game. He’s not going to make asses out of us, Arch.’

  They took off, Archie flying at Yellow Two behind Pip, and climbed up to ten thousand feet, London and the Chilterns stretching away beneath them. It was a bright afternoon, but with plenty of towering cumulus. As they climbed, the squadron kept near perfect formation, staying in their tight vics of three, with the CO and Red Section leading, Yellow Section off their port side, and, trailing off the starboard side, Blue and then Green Sections.

  ‘This is Red One,’ said the CO, ‘I want you all to stick on my tail, all right?’

  Archie glanced across at Ted, who waved and then pointed skywards.

  ‘No, Ted,’ said Archie to himself, and shook his head. Ted was nodding and signalling upwards once more.

  They levelled off and flew towards a giant bank of cumulus. ‘What’s the CO up to?’ mumbled Archie.

  Moments later, they flew straight into the thick, white cloud, and Archie felt his Spitfire buck with the turbulence. He could still see Ted, but ahead, Red Section were already disappearing. Then suddenly he saw them dive away to port, but at the same time Ted pulled back on the stick and climbed. Archie knew he had a fraction of a second to decide what to do: follow the new CO, or stick with Ted – which would undoubtedly result in a roasting for both of them.

  ‘Damn you, Ted!’ he said out loud, then pulled back on the stick and felt the Spitfire lurch higher into the sky. He glanced across again at his friend, saw him wave and then a moment later they burst through the cloud and into the clear. Climbing still, they circled, looking down below, with the sun behind them.

  ‘There he is!’ said Archie out loud. Two thousand feet below, he could see the CO, ahead of the rest of the squadron now, rolling off the top of a climb and plunging back into the cloud. When he reappeared, he was a thousand feet higher and had lost the others, who, a moment later, emerged through the cloud still at around ten thousand feet.

  Archie grinned and looked across at Ted, who was now frantically signalling to him, repeatedly holding up his hand.

  What does that mean? thought Archie. Wait? He craned his neck and saw the CO just below, turning, ready to dive on the others with the sun behind him. Evidently, he had not seen the two rogue Spitfires circling in the glare above him.

  Another glance at Ted, who was now pointing furiously downwards, the signal plain enough this time. As MacIntyre began his dive, Ted flipped over and followed, a puff of smoke coming from his engine as the carburettor momentarily flooded. Pushing forward the stick, Archie dived too.

&nb
sp; Two thousand feet below them, the rest of the squadron were flying in a wide circle, still roughly in formation, although Pip, at Yellow One, was out on something of a limb. Archie wondered when the CO would say something, but it was not until MacIntyre was about two hundred yards from the rear of the formation that he said, ‘Rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat,’ over the R/T.

  Not us, thought Archie, grinning to himself, then looked across at Ted. They were both no more than two hundred yards behind the CO’s plane.

  He prayed Ted would keep quiet. The temptation to call out, to say, ‘You’re dead, Red One,’ was overwhelming – but would be disastrous. They simply could not humiliate the new CO like that, not in front of the others. In any case, in climbing away on their own, they had blatantly disobeyed orders. ‘No!’ he mouthed and shook his head. ‘Don’t say it, Ted!’

  MacIntyre flew over the formation and took his position back as Red One. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘let’s head home.’

  Nothing from Ted, and Archie breathed a sigh of relief and slipped behind Pip’s port wing. He wondered whether Pip had noticed their absence.

  After they had all landed, Pip said to Archie and Ted, ‘Where did you two get to?’

  ‘Nowhere.’ Ted grinned. ‘We stuck to you like glue, Pip. Didn’t we, Archie?’

  ‘Absolutely. Like glue. May have fallen back a little bit at one point in the cloud, but not for long.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Pip. ‘Well, I hope the CO didn’t spot you.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ said Ted. ‘I don’t think he did.’

  Then, on cue, both of them said, ‘Rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat,’ and began laughing.

  ‘Don’t you start,’ muttered Mike.

  At dispersal, MacIntyre eyed them both suspiciously, then strode back towards the main building.

  ‘Do you think he knows?’ whispered Ted.

  Archie shrugged. ‘He didn’t say anything, did he?’

  Ted grinned. ‘Maybe we got away with it, then. Honour satisfied all round, I’d say.’