At the age of 9 years and 7 months, living in Carshalton, Surrey, about 3 miles from Croydon aerodrome as it was called then, were based Hurricanes and Spitfires - 501 and 92 Squadrons - as well as others as they were moved hither and thither.
I remember well in August of 1940 long rectangular formations of 'large' German aeroplanes come over the house, with a lot of 'smaller' aeroplanes above them. All of them moving towards the west before turning in towards Croydon and, as it turned out, Kenley and Biggin Hill as well. I recall with some clarity the fighters from Croydon rising to meet the attackers and within just a few minutes aircraft falling out of the sky, followed by parachutes of either German or Allied airmen.
The dogfights, sometimes overhead, were for a small boy a fascination that is hard to describe but I was very much aware that we were under threat. I was three times put into the Anderson shelter we had, and three times I 'escaped' to continue the watch on this amazing spectacle unfold. But, in seemingly only a few minutes more, it was over and all the aeroplanes, bombers and fighters moved on.
An hour later there was another horde of aircraft, again German, and again the Croydon fighters rose to meet them. Again there were some shot down and again parachutes floating gently down to earth. The cachophony of engines and machine guns was tremendous. The bombs fell no-where near us but they were dropping somewhere!
This was all repeated again on other days but little by little there were no further raids and we had reached the middle of September. It is all clear what happened now, but at the time the real Battle of Britain was being fought very close to a lot of places like Carshalton - in Surrey Kent and Essex - all at the same time.
I grew up with aviation coursing through my veins. It still does but I always wondered who these brave pilots were who day after day put their lives on the line to prevent a tyrannical nation from stepping foot on a proud England. I could remember and never forget.
I lived my life in aviation and enjoyed a life that has thousands of memories. All of them, or at least nearly all of them, very happy and lived content and grateful for a life that was good.
Then I organised one of the GatBashes, on the 1st December 2000. The year of the 60th anniversary of the Battle of Britain. I hit on the idea that I would like to invite a number of those brave men to the bash. 15 of them came, and they were a joy to be with. But for me I had the most humbling pleasure, almost impossible to describe. That there, right there, among those 15 truly noblest of men were 5 pilots who were fighting in the battle, above my head, in August and September 1940. It was a most astonishing moment of realisation. One that I am grateful for with all my heart. That is my abiding memory, and whatever I did with the rest of my life nothing can beat it.
Well, at least I didn't think so. But I have once again invited some of these gallant gentlemen to this year's bash, and there are two more who fought with 501 and 92 at Croydon I didn't meet the first time. I hope that there will be 6 pilots with us and I will be happy to bow very deeply to each one.
Those gentlemen, those brave few are getting fewer. I heard today from the Battle of Britain Fighter Pilot's Association that 10 have fallen to age since September.
Sadly the few will ever get fewer. God bless them all.
edited for simple maths error!
Last edited by PPRuNe Pop; 2nd Dec 2003 at 15:24.