30.08.2008, 04:21
12:05Hrs August 22nd 1940 - Flight of German 109's reported over the Channel. No 5 Sqn at Hawkinge ordered to intercept.
I knew I had a winning hand. The pile of coins on the table had built up and a cash windfall would do nicely. Scott sighed and said "All right, Caldrail, lets see..."
The bell started clanging urgently. "Squadron scramble!" Yelled an orderly. The chaps flung aside their cards and I was crestfallen. A strong hand yanked me to my feet as Squadron Leader Dobson passed me. He was better known to the chaps as Dobsie, but never to his face. He shouted something I lost in the chaos of sudden activity and engine starts, but it didn't take much guessing. I stepped inside my spitfire, OQ-D, and the mechanic hurriedly strapped me in.
This was my first day of operations at Hawkinge, and I was in a breathless state of excitement. The airfield came alive with spitfires accelerating away and I was one of them, eargerly pushing the throttle home.
The crescendo of noise and vibration was astonishing, the spitfire wallowing and bouncing on the grass, and I was more afraid of pranging this aeroplane than anything the germans might do.The hedge flashed past under my wings leading edge, climbing away as the airspeed built up. I wound the undercarriage up and felt the aeroplane porpoise in sympathy. The radio crackled and Dobsie said "Dover Control, Red Flight airborne."
"Roger that Red Flight. Intercept flight of fighters, your northeast, low altitude."
Dobsie was climbing rapidly and to be honest, I was struggling to keep up. For that matter so were Scott and Porter, the other two members of our flight. He pulled over the top of his climb and confidently flew straight into the midst of their formation.
They were 109's, splitting into two pairs. One started to curve down toward me but past on my right side, diving dowward out of harms way.
I saw another two o'clock low, and chose him as my target. He swung back along the coast as I dived after him, but he still had the edge on speed and I wasn't going to catch him. I tried a long burst of fire to no avail. He saw the tracer though, barrel-rolling to avoid my fire. Then I saw Dobsie, above me and pulling ahead.
I still continued after the 109 in case I got another opportunity. Scotts's spitfire was somewhere above and behind. The german pilot realised he was in trouble, swooping low over the beach before turning back for France in a big hurry. I saw Dobsie letting loose with his guns, repeatedly blowing chunks of the 109 as it began to trail smoke.
Scott had cut across and was now ahead of me. It was clear the german pilot wasn't going to escape Dobsie, so relunctantly I decided to find another target, climbing left in a wide turn. From my vantage point, I could see the 109 burst into flame, arcing gently into the sea.
The only 109 I could see was somewhere above me. I climbed in a gentle spiral and realised to my horror he was about to jump on my tail. I jinked hard to the right as tracer flashed past, and had the 109 not been going so fast he would have had me there.
I flicked left and tried to shoot him as he overtook me... Fire!... But no, I missed, and the 109 outdistanced me and climbed away again. We circled, then he attempted the same trick. Not this time Fritz.
I came round and went down after him, and realised he was coming back up at me. He fired first, tracer everywhere. I fired back almost convinced this was my last moment. It was a miracle he never hit my plane. Then at the last moment he turned...
I circled to go after him and noticed the 109 was in a wide turn to the right, not even trying to get away or get the better of me. Then, as I drew closer, his nose dipped down and to my astonishment the 109 went straight into the sea.
The pilot stood no chance at that height and never baled out. I could see the water splash as he went in. A victory! My first! Could anyone confirm? Are any more 109's about? I looked around and realised the sky was empty.
I decided to save some fuel and fly home to Hawkinge. Radio messages crackled away in my ears but with all the excitement I couldn't tell where they were. I heard someone congratulate Dobsie on another kill. I brought my spitfire down onto the field as I'd been taught, concious that this wasn't practice any more. I bumped and the plane jolted awkwardly into the air again...
I could almost hear my old instructor at Cranwell saying "I've taught monkeys to land better than that". Well, I was down, pilot and aeroplane in one piece, and I taxied to the tower.
"How did you do Sir?" The mechanic asked me. I told him I'd gotten one, to which he grinned and and helped me out of the plane. About ten minutes later, three spitfires came in for landing. Everyone was home safe. As Scott sauntered back across the grass with his parachute over his shoulder, he called out "Heard you got one Caldrail. Good show. Squadron Leader got the other three."
I called out to congratulate Dobsie as he followed along. He changed direction and faced me, casually lighting his pipe. "Thank you... But, ahhhh...."
He prodded me with the stem of his pipe. "The reason I got three of the beggars was because I had two good pilots with me keeping me safe. teamwork you see. If I ever see you swanning off on your own like that again I'll shoot you down myself to teach you a lesson. Understand?"
Yes Sir.
"Well, lets not be niggardly, you got one." He nodded in the direction of the hut, "So lets hear all about it then and I'll tell you what you did wrong."
At 16:05 that afternoon 5 Sqn was scrambled again to meet an incoming bomber stream. Four Heinkel bombers were shot down for the loss of two spitfires. Plt Off Porter baled out near Lympne alive and well. Flt Sgt Caldrail was killed in action.
I knew I had a winning hand. The pile of coins on the table had built up and a cash windfall would do nicely. Scott sighed and said "All right, Caldrail, lets see..."
The bell started clanging urgently. "Squadron scramble!" Yelled an orderly. The chaps flung aside their cards and I was crestfallen. A strong hand yanked me to my feet as Squadron Leader Dobson passed me. He was better known to the chaps as Dobsie, but never to his face. He shouted something I lost in the chaos of sudden activity and engine starts, but it didn't take much guessing. I stepped inside my spitfire, OQ-D, and the mechanic hurriedly strapped me in.
This was my first day of operations at Hawkinge, and I was in a breathless state of excitement. The airfield came alive with spitfires accelerating away and I was one of them, eargerly pushing the throttle home.
The crescendo of noise and vibration was astonishing, the spitfire wallowing and bouncing on the grass, and I was more afraid of pranging this aeroplane than anything the germans might do.The hedge flashed past under my wings leading edge, climbing away as the airspeed built up. I wound the undercarriage up and felt the aeroplane porpoise in sympathy. The radio crackled and Dobsie said "Dover Control, Red Flight airborne."
"Roger that Red Flight. Intercept flight of fighters, your northeast, low altitude."
Dobsie was climbing rapidly and to be honest, I was struggling to keep up. For that matter so were Scott and Porter, the other two members of our flight. He pulled over the top of his climb and confidently flew straight into the midst of their formation.
They were 109's, splitting into two pairs. One started to curve down toward me but past on my right side, diving dowward out of harms way.
I saw another two o'clock low, and chose him as my target. He swung back along the coast as I dived after him, but he still had the edge on speed and I wasn't going to catch him. I tried a long burst of fire to no avail. He saw the tracer though, barrel-rolling to avoid my fire. Then I saw Dobsie, above me and pulling ahead.
I still continued after the 109 in case I got another opportunity. Scotts's spitfire was somewhere above and behind. The german pilot realised he was in trouble, swooping low over the beach before turning back for France in a big hurry. I saw Dobsie letting loose with his guns, repeatedly blowing chunks of the 109 as it began to trail smoke.
Scott had cut across and was now ahead of me. It was clear the german pilot wasn't going to escape Dobsie, so relunctantly I decided to find another target, climbing left in a wide turn. From my vantage point, I could see the 109 burst into flame, arcing gently into the sea.
The only 109 I could see was somewhere above me. I climbed in a gentle spiral and realised to my horror he was about to jump on my tail. I jinked hard to the right as tracer flashed past, and had the 109 not been going so fast he would have had me there.
I flicked left and tried to shoot him as he overtook me... Fire!... But no, I missed, and the 109 outdistanced me and climbed away again. We circled, then he attempted the same trick. Not this time Fritz.
I came round and went down after him, and realised he was coming back up at me. He fired first, tracer everywhere. I fired back almost convinced this was my last moment. It was a miracle he never hit my plane. Then at the last moment he turned...
I circled to go after him and noticed the 109 was in a wide turn to the right, not even trying to get away or get the better of me. Then, as I drew closer, his nose dipped down and to my astonishment the 109 went straight into the sea.
The pilot stood no chance at that height and never baled out. I could see the water splash as he went in. A victory! My first! Could anyone confirm? Are any more 109's about? I looked around and realised the sky was empty.
I decided to save some fuel and fly home to Hawkinge. Radio messages crackled away in my ears but with all the excitement I couldn't tell where they were. I heard someone congratulate Dobsie on another kill. I brought my spitfire down onto the field as I'd been taught, concious that this wasn't practice any more. I bumped and the plane jolted awkwardly into the air again...
I could almost hear my old instructor at Cranwell saying "I've taught monkeys to land better than that". Well, I was down, pilot and aeroplane in one piece, and I taxied to the tower.
"How did you do Sir?" The mechanic asked me. I told him I'd gotten one, to which he grinned and and helped me out of the plane. About ten minutes later, three spitfires came in for landing. Everyone was home safe. As Scott sauntered back across the grass with his parachute over his shoulder, he called out "Heard you got one Caldrail. Good show. Squadron Leader got the other three."
I called out to congratulate Dobsie as he followed along. He changed direction and faced me, casually lighting his pipe. "Thank you... But, ahhhh...."
He prodded me with the stem of his pipe. "The reason I got three of the beggars was because I had two good pilots with me keeping me safe. teamwork you see. If I ever see you swanning off on your own like that again I'll shoot you down myself to teach you a lesson. Understand?"
Yes Sir.
"Well, lets not be niggardly, you got one." He nodded in the direction of the hut, "So lets hear all about it then and I'll tell you what you did wrong."
At 16:05 that afternoon 5 Sqn was scrambled again to meet an incoming bomber stream. Four Heinkel bombers were shot down for the loss of two spitfires. Plt Off Porter baled out near Lympne alive and well. Flt Sgt Caldrail was killed in action.