My earlier misgivings take a back seat as I work to make the interception, which I still dread but know I cannot shirk. I turn onto the heading indicated and lead the boys towards the raid. I throttle back a bit when I realise I’ve drawn ahead of the others…



…and re-check the raid’s position with the Controller. They’re coming in from the south-east, towards the Thames Estuary.

There they are! Looks like about twenty bombers, with a close escort of maybe eight. A reasonable prospect for a squadron operating at full strength of twelve, but with just the four of us, we’re badly outnumbered. And we’re closing from nearly head on, so there’s not much time to think.



The escorts break up and come straight at us – 109s, probably. I should perhaps have climbed to keep our modest height advantage, then tried to come around onto their tails. But things are happening very fast.



I order the boys to get stuck into the Huns, which they do at once. Then roll right towards the bombers as they slide below. My plan is to make one quick pass, before accepting combat with the fighters.



I put a burst into a Heinkel on the left of the formation and see some hits before I break away, low.



But then I’m hit myself! At first I think it’s return fire, then I realise it’s from somewhere behind. One of the Messerschmitts has got me in his sights! I break more steeply left and down.



Though I can’t see him either, I’m also being fired at by a second 109 who’s coming down from above. All I know is that their rounds are suddenly whacking into me. This is it! My turn has come – it’s me for the chop today!



I briefly flip into the beginnings of a spin, which possibly saves my life, for the hits stop. I recover into a full power descending turn, leaving a trail of smoke behind me.



I can see and hear the air combat continuing up above, but my only thought is to get away from my attackers. I expect to take a fatal blow at any second, and slide back the cockpit canopy so I can bail out quickly, if I’m not killed outright.



The shooting stops and I level out, heading west towards the outskirts of London, looking for an airfield to get down at, while my engine is still running. The Heinkels are now well above me, on roughly the same course; possibly also looking for an airfield!



I feel guilty at running away, of course. But those 109s had me well taped and my Spit has the holes to prove it. I’m lucky simply to have survived the so-nearly-deadly encounter.

Up ahead I can see an airfield – Hornchurch, I think. Thank goodness – I’m not sure how much longer my Merlin would keep going. Already, I can see and feel the revs are falling off.



I make a wide circuit, though, just in case the bombers are going for Hornchurch. But not this time!



Back on terra firma, I’m more than a little relieved to find that nobody got killed, or even shot down. It seems I came off worst, wounded as well as my kite badly damaged. Several of the others fired their guns but no kills are claimed. In the circumstances, we did well not to get wiped out!

I’m hospitalised for five days, this being the report that greets me on my return, on 13th September:



The really good news is illustrated in the squadron roster. We’re getting close to being back at full strength in pilots and aircraft. Next time up, I feel sure we’ll give a much better account of ourselves.



Sixty-five is back in business, good and proper - let the Huns beware!