Last of the Ten Fighter Boys by Jimmy Corbin

Author:Jimmy Corbin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Last of the Ten Fighter Boys
ISBN: 9780752468365
Publisher: The History Press
Published: 2011-09-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

NOVEMBER 1940 – BIGGIN HILL, KENT

The squadron’s stay at Gravesend was brief and from there we were moved to West Malling aerodrome, also in Kent, which had been the home of Maidstone Flying Club in peacetime. Again our stay was short, but was not without its mishaps which began the moment I touched down on the airstrip.

I had taken off from Gravesend in the morning to carry out a patrol and instead of returning to base as usual I was instructed to fly onwards to West Malling. Somehow I became separated from the rest of squadron and by the time I reached West Malling the landing field was shrouded in darkness. I touched down as normal, but unbeknown to me the airfield had been attacked previously and small bomb craters pock-marked the field. I eased the brakes of the Spitfire only for one of the oleo legs to get stuck in a bomb hole that had been poorly filled. The leg wedged itself in the mud and acted as the axis while the rest of the plane with me inside spun round on it in fast tight circles. I remember thinking that I had survived fierce dogfights only to die swirling around on the aerodrome in my Spit like a fairground attraction. The plane finally came to a standstill leaving me shaken, but unhurt. What was far worse was the weeks of ribbing from the others and references to Corbin’s merry-go-round which I had to endure from the rest of the squadron who had witnessed my accident.

Despite my altercation with the West Malling airfield, I was flying the following day. The intensity of the Battle of Britain had begun to wane. Don’t get me wrong. We still encountered enemy aircraft, but not in the numbers or the frequency that we had in the summer and early autumn of 1940. It meant that when were scrambled we didn’t always come across German aircraft and would return to the ’drome empty-handed. Personally, I never complained. It increased my chances of survival.

Towards the end of our stay at West Malling, we had been on just one of those patrols. The squadron was returning from a sortie over the Channel and had failed to sight any enemy aircraft. Feeling in rather a good mood I called up Dizzy Allen, who was leading the squadron that day, to ask if I could ‘beat up’ Maidstone. Beating up is a common practice among most pilots and involved flying as low as possible over an area in order to frighten the inhabitants. It was nothing more than harmless fun, but, of course, it was frowned upon by the Air Ministry, not least because it could be rather dangerous, although this didn’t stop us. Pilots often would beat up their own homes or those of some girl they were hoping to impress. I had flown over my hometown of Maidstone many, many times before, but on that particularly day I suddenly felt the urge to beat it up just for the sheer hell of it.

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