The Silver Spitfire: The Legendary WWII RAF Fighter Pilot in His Own Words by Tom Neil

Author:Tom Neil [Neil, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780297868149
Google: UWncIUNVZ2sC
Published: 2013-02-28T18:09:08.509000+00:00

Chapter 13

Rockets and Doodlebugs

On 13 June 1944, a day that will always remain in my mind as unusual and rather special; having flown the Fairchild to Biggin Hill and back in the morning for some reason I do not recall, I drove my Morris 10 in the afternoon for several hours to Northwick Park, on the northern outskirts of London, to visit my parents, whose house had been damaged slightly in the recent bombing. Arriving there about 4 p.m., I stayed with them until late in the evening before setting off on my return journey to Kent just before darkness set in.

It took me quite a time to nose my way through London, and several hours more to ‘feel’ my way towards Maidstone in almost total blackness and, later still, meander blindly through the back roads of Kent before finally arriving at my farmhouse sleeping quarters in Headcorn.

Aware that it was then about 1.30 a.m. and that much of the campsite would already be sleeping, I quietly parked my car against the outer wall of my bedroom, and was in the act of gently closing the driving door of my Morris, when a hoarse, tremulous whisper, in an accent straight from the Texas badlands, came to me out of the darkness.

‘Hey, izzat you, Squadron Leader? Jesus, God, I sure hope so!’

As I strained my eyes into the blackness, a tall, beanpole of a figure, stinking of fag ends, wearing a steel helmet and clasping a rifle in a visibly shaking hand, loomed out of the gloom and, standing next to me, breathed a thankful prayer of relief in my direction.

‘Jesus! Am I glad to see you!’

Surprised, I exclaimed, ‘It’s almost two in the morning! Why on earth are you walking about at this hour? And why the gun and the soldier’s outfit?’

A reply came in a frightened, squeaky voice.

‘It’s because I’m a goddamn sentry, that’s why. And I’m shaking all to hell and back because I’ve bin scaring the shit out of myself for the past hour, waiting for my throat to be cut by some Kraut paratrooper. OK? And it’s all because of what happened earlier on, when the Old Man suddenly ordered sentries be posted all around the headquarters site. OK? And I’m one of the goddamn sentries, right?’ And as I watched the rifle begin to shake again almost uncontrollably, my companion muttered almost confidentially to himself, ‘Jesus, God! And it should happen to me!’

I was immediately interested. ‘So what was so special earlier on?’

‘You don’t know? It’s been on the radio just about every minute since it happened. The bloody pop-pop thing: the flying bomb! Came right over the house. Very low down, going like hell and escorted by two of your British fighters.’ Then, in a voice an octave higher, ‘You mean you haven’t heard? And the word is, not just one but thousands more later! It’s sure spooked the Old Man, because he’s bin goin’ round telling everyone we’re about to be invaded and has put special guards around the headquarters.

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