Gosport - July 23rd 1940

My head’s still spinning. I wasn’t supposed to be transitioning to a frontline squadron for another two weeks, but the loss of nine Defiants from 141 squadron a couple of days ago has forced Fighter Command’s hand. With the Hun becoming increasingly active over the channel, Dowding’s looking to bolster 11 Group with as many aircraft and men as he can spare.

Most of the guys I was training with at RAF Benson are now at “proper” OTUs like Hawarden and Sutton Bridge.

Me?

I ended up in Gosport, just west of Portsmouth. It’s not even a real OTU – just a couple of ragged old Tiger Moths, half a dozen recruits and a pair of damp, rotting barracks; all ruled over by the most hideous pair of disagreeably cantankerous ogres Vice-Marshal Park ever saw fit to commission.

Still, it’s not all bad.

This morning, “Lucky” Giles and I got to take the base’s two birds on a little training flight up the estuary to Southampton before heading cross-country to Winchester and Petersfield before finally back home to Gosport. It would have been wonderfully relaxing had Lucky not been accompanied by Squadron Leader Munro and myself by Flight Lieutenant Lambert.

We took off at 6:51.

Lucky went first in the bright yellow Tiger Moth we’ve christened “Custard”.



I followed him in our camouflaged Tiger, “Grumpy”, which got its name from its surly reluctance to start up on cold, damp mornings.



There were no such problems this morning. The warm, bright early morning south coast sunshine was perfectly to Grumpy’s liking and he positively leapt into the air as we roared down the runway.



Once we were off the ground, I began a well-coordinated climbing turn before sliding into position alongside Custard.



As we formed up, I stole a glance across at Lucky and wondered how he was enjoying having the grouchy and unreasonable Squadron Leader Munro as a traveling companion. I could only imagine that he was eternally grateful that Custard wasn’t kitted out with any sort of radio.