Gentlemen,

We were feeling despondent later that day after losing three of our chaps. Even more so when we heard that 1 Squadron had intercepted unescorted Stukas over the Medway and really carved them up. That would have been a measure of revenge for us and we felt cheated out of the chance to rack up a good day's score to offset our earlier losses.

On the 11th we were scrambled to challenge another convoy attack of some thirty plus somewhere north of Margate. Our flight of six Hurricanes couldn't find the convoy let alone the Stukas and after a lengthy search we were about to return.
Control came through again...
'They are there alright! Should be above you and heading back eastward'
Too late then. Either they too had failed to find the convoy or had already bombed. Once again we scanned the skies but again with no result.
'Where the hell are they? We have clear skies and no sign of anything above'
'You must see them! The plots have almost merged!'
In exasperation we scoured the skies...and then we saw them! About thirty Ju87s in three flights of ten and well above. About 6,000 feet above in fact and well above the reported height.

With as much boost as we could spare we hung on our props and started out to make up the vast distance between us and the enemy. The steeper we climbed the less progress we seemed to make as the dive-bombers pulled away steadily. The minutes ticked away as we burned more and more of our precious fuel. But then after leaving the Kentish coast far behind we were at a height which was approximate to theirs and began to draw up to the enemy although slightly below.
They were unescorted and had obviously not learned thier lesson of the previous day - or had chosen to ignore it. I doubt if they saw us coming in this far from classic interception.

'O.K. chaps! Take the centre formation and I'll have a squirt at the left one!'
As the day before, the rest of the flight surged ahead and waded into the targets. Within seconds they had sent five plummeting out of the formation with the ferocity of their attack and before I had chance to open up, 'Squiffy' Carstairs had rolled out of his zoom climb and flamed another.

The ten Stukas ahead of me hung in the sky like ripe plums and my speed had almost dropped to match theirs when I opened up and sprayed one after the other while bits and pieces flew back. One exploded with such force that I concluded that he must have still had a bomb slung underneath and my kite bucked and wallowed under the blast. Now I was out of ammo and upside down, fighting to control the Hurricane.
'Anyone left with ammo? Take on the other formation'.
No reply. They had already waded in and I was proud of 'em. Several columns of smoke tapered off towards the sea in the wake of the battles progress.
Another minute and we had broken off and regrouped for the flight back to Manston. A Hurricane was missing.

Our mood that afternoon was in complete contrast to the previous day and the Squadron was credited with five of the enemy although I think we got a few more. Certainly many more damaged.

Sergeant Boghouse was lucky. He chose to ditch rather than bale out and was duly picked up by a Walrus, the crew of which had watched the battle from a safe distance before closing in to pick him up - and a couple of the enemy for good measure. Our replacements had gained valuable experience and we felt confident that the Squadron would benefit operationally from the contrasting fortunes of the two days fighting.