Bader in a Spitfire? Yes, of course! I remember the story from four years ago not only for his writing but also because of that uncharacteristic seat-swapping from his beloved Hurri!
Your description of the battery acid in Olga's torch immediately took me back to 1944. I was the one who was usually sent around the corner to have the radio accumulator recharged at the local garage. It was a square, glass, liquid filled jar with electrode connections on the top. Nowadays, the health and safety mafia would shriek in alarm if they knew of any toddler being charged with such a responsibility...if you'll pardon the pun.
'Find your enemy and shoot him down - everything else is unimportant.'
