Hurricane by Milton Brian

Author:Milton, Brian [Milton, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Carlton Books Limited
Published: 2011-04-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Eric Nicolson, VC

I n the whole of the Second World War, of more than 150,000 RAF and Royal Navy flyers, only 32 aircrew won the highest of all awards for bravery, the Victoria Cross. Most were from Bomber Command.

Only one was awarded to a Fighter Command pilot, Flight Lieutenant Eric James Brindley Nicolson, on his first sortie with 249 Hurricane Squadron in the Battle of Britain. Nicolson was born in the middle of the ‘war to end all wars’, on 29 April 1917, in Hampstead, North London. His family moved to Shoreham-on-Sea, and he attended Tonbridge School, which he left aged 18 to begin work as an engineer. In 1936, he joined the RAF and was posted to 72 Squadron in 1937, flying Gloster Gladiators. He joined 249 Hurricane Squadron in 1940.

A VC is given ‘For Valour’ in the face of the enemy. It takes precedence over all other orders, decorations and medals. Since the first presentation by Queen Victoria on 26 June 1857, only 1,356 have been awarded (although she gave out 62 that first day, allegedly without getting off her horse).

Three men have won bars to their VCs, two of them doctors. No woman has yet won one. They have also become more difficult to come by. Many of the early VCs might qualify nowadays only for a mention in dispatches. Originally, they were never given posthumously; that changed in 1900. Nowadays, it is almost impossible for a live warrior to win one.

Nicolson was badly wounded during the action that led to his VC. Last Witness Tom Neil could easily have been on that flight that day, and suffered a similar fate. He knew Nicolson well:

Tom Neil:

He had come down to us from 72 Squadron. He was tall, as I am, 6 ft 3 inches (1.9 m), an ex-public schoolboy with hair like a black mop. His uniform always looked as though he had slept in it. And he was a raconteur the like of which you have never come across. He used to tell stories, and fibs, from morning to night, and was an expert on everything. There was no subject in the world he could not talk on.

He used to lecture us (he was a Flying Officer, I was a Pilot Officer – that’s like being a First Lieutenant and a Second Lieutenant) on what we would do if we intercepted the enemy. He had never seen an enemy aeroplane in his life, but he knew everything about it!

Eventually he became flight commander, but I was his buddy and I knew him probably better than anybody else.

On 14 August, we flew down from Yorkshire to Boscombe Down, which is just north of Salisbury in the south of England. It was a satellite station to Middle Wallop in 10 Group. On 249 Squadron, we hadn’t seen anything of the Germans in Yorkshire.

I was flying my dearly beloved Hurricane, P3617. It happened that your own Hurricane becomes like a household dog. Nobody else flew it if you were sufficiently senior in the squadron.

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