Battle of Britain

by James Holland

  ‘We got the chop,’ Archie said suddenly.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tess looked aghast.

  ‘We’ve been posted to a new squadron – at Biggin Hill.’

  ‘That’s a sector station south of London – in Kent,’ said Tess.

  ‘I know. 629 Squadron have been posted to Middle Wallop.’

  Tess put a hand to her mouth. ‘What on earth happened?’

  Archie told her – about the arrival of Mac, of the trick he and Ted had played on his first day, and then the trip to France and the shooting up of the German airfields.

  ‘I should have talked him out of it,’ he said. ‘I did try, but – well …’

  ‘He wouldn’t listen,’ said Tess. ‘That’s Ted all over. He doesn’t listen. Or rather, he only listens to one person – himself.’

  ‘I thought I couldn’t let him go over there on his own,’ said Archie. ‘Actually, I think he would have been fine. After all, one Spitfire is a smaller target than two. He says I went because deep down I wanted to.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘No, I didn’t, but I will admit it was quite a thrill.’

  ‘But reckless and stupid.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If Pops ever finds out, he’ll be absolutely livid,’ said Tess.

  ‘I suspect he will find out,’ said Archie. ‘The intelligence bods picked up a German signal about it. They lost quite a lot of aircraft. Anyway, I was just so furious with him this morning and we had a huge row. I said I didn’t want to see him until we’re due to report at Biggin tomorrow and that he could make his own way into town.’

  Tess laughed. ‘Oh, dear. Well, it sounds to me as though he deserved everything you said. I do love my brother very much, but I know he can be awfully pig-headed at times.’

  ‘I don’t know why he was so eager to beat up those Jerry airfields, though. He’s got three confirmed kills already and everyone in the squadron knows he’s the best pilot. He doesn’t need to prove anything.’

  Tess looked thoughtful. ‘I think partly it’s just who he is, but it’s also because of Pops.’

  ‘He was a very successful ace in the last war, I know.’

  ‘And we both knew that when we were little and growing up. Not from Pops – he would talk about flying, but not about fighting in the war. It was from other people – people in the RAF we would meet. They were always saying, “Your daddy is a very brave man, you know,” or, “Your daddy’s a very important flying ace,” or suchlike. I suppose Ted wants to live up to that. And now here we are in another war and you and Ted are the next generation of fighter pilots.’

  Archie sat in thoughtful silence for a moment. ‘I should make up with him. Tomorrow, when we get to Biggin. He’s been a very good friend. The best friend I ever had.’

  ‘But maddening at times too.’

  Archie grinned. ‘I could have brained him this morning.’

  She took his hand again. ‘And he’s been very sweet about us. Not at all jealous and possessive.’

  Us, thought Archie. She said us. Emboldened, he took his other hand and placed it on top of hers, and she made no motion at all to move it.

  Later, after dinner, they walked hand in hand back down Piccadilly and across Green Park. There was a large moon and the sky was so clear that, despite the blackout, they could see quite clearly.

  ‘Before the war, you could never see the stars in London,’ Tess said.

  ‘Why not?’ said Archie.

  ‘I suppose there were too many lights on. But now, look. I think I prefer it this way.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘What a time to be alive. Will you write to me still? From Biggin?’

  ‘Of course.’ He stopped as they reached the Mall. Buckingham Palace, huge and still, stood dark against the sky. Tess turned to look at him. Archie’s heart began thumping again, his mind wracked by teenage uncertainty and nerves that had been stifled by his responsibilities in the war. All of a sudden being behind the controls of a Spitfire seemed like a less daunting place to be.

  But Tess gave him a shy smile that was so lovely it felt silly to be nervous. And so, bold as brass, he leaned down and kissed her. Standing there, on the edge of the park, with the palace behind him and the stars overhead, and not a soul but the two of them anywhere to be seen, Archie understood what a wonderful, magical thing life could be.

  17

  337 Squadron

  Wednesday 26 June. Although Archie had walked Tess home the night before, he had purposely not gone in, and so it was not until the following day, at RAF Biggin Hill, that he saw Ted once more. It was an overcast day with the threat of rain, and Archie was relieved to reach Biggin before the inevitable downpour came.

  He was met at the main gates, then directed to the Mess, a handsome brick building tucked away from the main airfield behind a row of horse chestnuts. There he was met by the squadron adjutant, Flight Lieutenant Wheeler, a small, trim man in his thirties, noticeably younger than Reynolds, but still too old to be flying operationally. However, he told Archie that he had joined the RAF as a pilot and, during his time, had flown in Iraq and India. ‘But biplanes – dope and wood and canvas and not much more.’ He smiled wistfully. ‘Oh, to have been given the chance to fly the kites you chaps have now.’

  Archie was given a room to himself in a wing of the Mess, then taken down to the bar.

  ‘We’ll just wait for Pilot Officer Tyler to arrive,’ Wheeler said, ‘then I’ll take you to see the skipper.’ He raised his glass. ‘Cheers. Good to have you on board. Actually, we were rather expecting you to come down together.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Archie. ‘I’m afraid we went our separate ways yesterday after leaving Northolt.’

  ‘Fair enough. But he’s coming by bus, and they can be a little unreliable.’

  Archie cursed to himself. I should have called him this morning, he thought. The anger he had felt towards Ted had melted away overnight. It still hurt to think they were no longer a part of 629, but his friendship with Ted, he realized, was worth much more to him than belonging to the squadron. After that first sortie over Dunkirk, he had vowed to live for the present. What was the point of bearing grudges? It was not in his nature, in any case. Ted was his best friend; what had happened had happened. At least they were still together. At least they were still on Spitfires. And, actually, perhaps Ted had had a point about Mac – perhaps he had overreacted. No one had been hurt, no aircraft even damaged. That raid had been pretty damn successful. Having thought about it, Archie realized that if he felt any resentment at all, it was towards Mac and not Ted.

  Wheeler drained his glass, then looked at his watch. ‘Look here,’ he said, ‘are you all right sitting tight for a little bit? I’ve got a couple of things to sort out. When Tyler gets here, I’ll come and fetch you and take you to see the skip.’

  It was nearly forty minutes later, at around 1.20 p.m., that Wheeler reappeared with Ted in tow looking damp from the rain that was now falling.

  ‘Ah, good!’ said Wheeler. ‘Still here, then. Look who I found, albeit a little on the wet side.’

  Archie smiled at Ted but received a scowl in return. ‘Hello, Ted,’ he said, ‘how are you?’

  ‘I’d be a lot better if I hadn’t spent half the day getting here.’

  Archie held out his hand, but Ted turned away. Oh, no, thought Archie. It hadn’t occurred to him that Ted might be smarting at him. And had Wheeler noticed? He hoped not.

  ‘Follow me,’ said Wheeler.

  They went out of the Mess and clambered into Wheeler’s car, the adjutant chatting affably, Archie and Ted sitting in silence. They drove down a tree-lined track and past a cluster of low brick buildings. Beyond was a large hangar.

  ‘South Camp Belfast Hangar,’ said Wheeler. ‘We had great excitement here yesterday. The king made a visit. He was awarding gongs to a number of the chaps. There are three squadrons here – 32 and 79, which are Hurricanes, and us in Spits. Our skipper got a DFC and so did Charlie Bannerman. He’s B Flight Com
mander.’

  ‘So that’s why we were told not to arrive until today,’ said Archie.

  ‘Exactly. There was nothing doing while HM was here.’

  ‘And what did you make of him? The king, I mean?’

  ‘He was charming. Everyone bangs on about his stammer, but he spoke jolly well, I thought. All the chaps were frightfully bucked at his coming here, at any rate.’

  They drove past another large hangar, then around the north perimeter. ‘Our chaps are down here,’ he said. Archie saw a number of Spitfires lined up, and others parked in protective pens – grass mounds built up around them – then Wheeler stopped beside a long, wooden hut. ‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘And, right on cue, it’s stopped raining.’

  They clambered out, and stepped into the hut. There were windows all along the front, while the walls were lined with an odd assortment of tables and chairs, models of aircraft, radios and a mass of clutter. There was a stove, a number of old armchairs and on the walls were recognition charts and other posters. The pilots were all there – some sleeping, others reading, several playing cards, others writing letters. It was much like the dispersal hut at Northolt.

  A tall, blond-haired man with a square chin and slightly bent nose jumped up and came over to them.

  ‘Ah, the strafers!’ he said, extending his hand. ‘Welcome to 337 Squadron. I’m Jock Berenson, the CO. We’re jolly glad to have you.’

  Archie and Ted introduced themselves, then Berenson looked around, waving an outstretched hand. ‘There are the chaps. A pretty useless bunch, to be honest.’

  ‘Steady on, Skip,’ said one, a wide-faced lad with a thick head of ginger hair. He pushed himself up out of his armchair. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m Donald Clancy, but everyone calls me Ginger. You’d never guess, would you?’ He grinned amiably.

  Others were getting to their feet now.

  ‘Charlie DFC!’ called out Berenson. A good-looking man, almost as tall as the CO, with long, dark hair slicked back off his brow, got to his feet, a smile rising from one corner of his mouth. ‘How d’you do? Charlie Bannerman.’

  ‘Charlie’s going to be your flight commander in B Flight, Archie. And where’s Ivo?’

  ‘Here, Skip,’ said a tousle-haired young man. ‘Sorry,’ he said, rubbing his eyes and yawning. ‘You caught me catnapping. Hello – I’m Ivo Rainsby.’

  ‘Ted, you’re with Ivo in A Flight. All right?’ He introduced them to the others – young men much like any other bunch of young men in any fighter squadron, Archie supposed. One was called Dougal Macfarlane, a pale-faced lad with fair hair and a mild Scottish accent.

  ‘Where are you from?’ asked Archie.

  ‘He’s a Highlander, aren’t you, Dougal?’ said Bannerman. ‘Another B Flight man.’

  ‘Braemar,’ said Dougal. ‘And you?’

  ‘Near Pitlochry.’

  ‘You don’t say!’

  Already Archie felt himself begin to relax. This lot seemed friendly enough, he thought, although he wished he could have a chance to speak to Ted. They had barely spoken yet.

  ‘So,’ said Berenson. ‘What’s all this about shooting up two Jerry airfields the other day?’

  Ted shrugged. ‘It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time,’ he said. ‘We were sitting around doing very little and Jerry’s bringing all his fighters up to the Pas de Calais, so rather than wait for them to buzz over here, I thought it might be a good idea to go and knock out a few before they had the chance to do the same to us. Unfortunately, our CO didn’t quite see it that way.’

  ‘His loss is our gain.’ Ginger grinned.

  ‘So what height did you go in at?’ asked Berenson.

  ‘About a hundred feet, maybe a bit under.’

  ‘And any ack-ack?’

  ‘A bit,’ said Ted. ‘But it took them by surprise and their aim was too high. We got back without a scratch.’

  Berenson laughed. ‘I’ve known old Mac a good long time. He’s always been a stickler. I mean, I like to think we keep a pretty tight ship here, and maybe if you’d done that on my watch, I might have been a bit binding too, but – well, it was a brave thing to do, at any rate.’ He glanced out of the window. ‘It’s brightening a bit. Let’s have a chat outside, and I can introduce you to Chief White, who’s in charge of ground crew and all our kites. He’s first class. All the erks are, actually.’

  Archie and Ted followed him out.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Personally, I think Mac was mad to give you two the chop, but, having said that, I don’t want you tearing off on your own either, is that clear?’

  They both nodded.

  ‘I’m not a stickler,’ Berenson added. ‘I run a pretty easy-going show, but I have to trust my chaps. I’m going to trust you too. Don’t let me down, will you?’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Ted and Archie together.

  ‘And you can forget the “sir”. It’s Jock, all right? Although most people call me Skipper.’ He patted them both on their backs. ‘Good. Glad that’s all clear. I’ll get you up in the air as soon as possible. It’s mainly convoy patrols and X raids at the moment – dashing off after false alarms – but I think everyone senses it won’t last for much longer. And I’m afraid, when the balloon really goes up, we’re going to be in the thick of it.’

  Archie was allocated OK-Z and, with it, a fitter and rigger.

  ‘She’s a nice one, sir,’ said Corporal Bufton, his fitter. ‘Three-blade variable-speed propeller – we’ve just been fitting them all this past week – and armour plating behind the seat.’

  ‘Good,’ said Archie, thinking of the battered two-speed Spitfire he’d taken on after Dunkirk. ‘She looks gleaming.’

  ‘Straight off the production line, this one, sir,’ said Leading Aircraftsman Lewis. ‘Was only flown in a couple of days ago.’

  Archie grinned. ‘Wonderful!’

  ‘’Scuse me for asking, sir,’ said Bufton, ‘but is it true you got the chop from your last squadron for beating up a couple of Jerry airfields?’

  ‘Er, yes, it is.’

  ‘Well, I think that’s bonkers, sir. Should have given you a gong, if you ask me. An’ you’ve seen a bit of action over Dunkirk?’

  ‘A little bit. I’ve not had that much experience.’

  ‘Got any kills, sir?’ asked Lewis. ‘Apart from the ones you strafed, I mean?’

  ‘I, er, I’ve got four confirmed.’

  Bufton grinned. ‘We’ll mark ’em up, then, sir.’

  ‘You’ll what?’ asked Archie, perplexed.

  ‘We like to paint little swastikas by the cockpit, sir. Just a bit of fun. We do it for all the pilots, sir.’

  ‘Well, as long as it’s normal practice,’ said Archie. ‘I wouldn’t want anyone thinking I was shooting a line.’

  Archie left them, his spirits rising further, then saw Ted walking towards him.

  ‘At last,’ said Archie. ‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you ever since we arrived.’

  ‘And I’ve been wanting to talk to you,’ snapped Ted. ‘You’ve got a nerve!’

  ‘What?’ said Archie. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Saying you wanted to be on your own, then spending the evening with Tess! And then – and then! – binding to her about me. I can’t believe you’d be so disloyal!’

  ‘Disloyal? What are you talking about? How have I been disloyal? And I didn’t bind about you to Tess.’

  ‘I stuck up for you yesterday, didn’t I? Told MacIntyre that it was my fault? I said I was sorry until I was blue in the face, and then I find you’ve been talking to my sister about me behind my back. I’ve had a hell of a journey down here as well, nearly got soaked to the skin, and then you bounce up all cheery, as though everything is fine and dandy. Well, it’s not.’

  ‘I wanted to say sorry,’ said Archie. ‘I was upset yesterday. I’m not really any more.’

  Ted grunted and walked on.

  ‘Come on, Ted. We’re supposed to be friends. I don’t want us to fall out. I�
��m sorry I overreacted, really I am.’

  ‘“Supposed” is the word. And what’s going on with you and Tess?’

  ‘What do you mean? You knew we were keen on each other.’

  ‘I didn’t mind you writing the odd letter and I didn’t mind having her tag along when we were in town, but you were supposed to be my friend.’

  ‘And I still am. Ted, this is ridiculous.’

  ‘Am I? Am I, Archie?’ he said, turning on him. ‘Because the way I look at it, I’m not sure I am. Not any more.’

  18

  Attack on Dover

  Friday 19 July, around 8 a.m. B Flight was flying at around eighteen thousand feet over the English Channel – two vics of three, Archie leading Green Section, widely spaced apart. Down below he could see an east-coast convoy turning into the beginning of the Thames estuary – eight colliers, tramp steamers, black smoke chugging from their funnels, a small white wake following them. Merriman, the IO, had told them that coal was the lifeblood of the nation. ‘If we don’t have coal,’ he had explained a few days earlier, ‘we can’t fire the power stations, and if we can’t fire the power stations, we won’t have any electricity, and if we don’t have any electricity, we won’t have any factories.’

  ‘Yes, all right, Happy,’ Charlie had said, ‘we get the picture: no factories, no Spitfires, no Hurricanes, no nothing.’

  Large-scale convoys – those bringing food and fuel and other supplies across the Atlantic – had stopped using the east-coast route already, but for the colliers there was no choice – they had to reach London – and it was partly Fighter Command’s job to protect them by flying endless patrols overhead. My God, though, it was boring – and Archie was not alone in thinking so: they all did. Grousing about convoy patrols was becoming one of the main activities at dispersal. Every day it was the same: up at first light, fly a patrol, land at Manston, stay there all day, fly a second patrol later and then head back to Biggin at dusk. Once, B Flight had been on patrol and had been vectored towards a lone Dornier 17, but they had lost it in cloud. Otherwise, Archie had not seen a single enemy aircraft since joining 337 Squadron. Not one! Meanwhile, he had heard from Pip Winters that 629 Squadron had had repeated tussles with the enemy high above Southampton and Portland.