Hullavington airfield

[Nugget90]

RAF Hullavington in the 1940s - in the midst of WWII

My late father, after completing his QFI training, was posted to No 9 Service Flying Training School, RAF Hullavington, on the 5th of June 1939. He and my mother moved into No 3 O.M. Quarters in early February 1940, having lodged in rented accommodation prior to this in 'Little Gables', Kingston Langley. From letters to his parents and sister, thankfully kept so that I could trace the family history, I read,"We have a maid, an AGA cooker (which I like playing with!) and an enormous boiler for the hot water. Remus loves rushing up and down stairs. It took him two days to realise that this was home!". (Remus was their cocker spaniel.)

In another letter, dated 5th of March 1940, my father wrote, "I taxied onto another machine (a Hart) night flying the other night. Broke my prop and his tail. Managed to hush it up!" It would appear that accidents were not uncommon. On the 16th of March he wrote, "Things go on here as usual. We are just at the end of our night flying programme. One of the pupes, by himself, landed outside the aerodrome, hit a four inch thick tree (he did say he brushed something), came through three hedges, hopped over the road and landed on his back on the aerodrome. As usual he had not a scratch or a bruise. Another pupe took two soldiers up (without permission) in an Anson (twin engined 5 seater) and crashed. Smashed the aeroplane to bits and the three of them had two cuts and a few bruises between them! S'mazing, aint it?"

There is quite a lot of information in other letters he sent home about accidents, injuries and some fatalities, but there is one episode that - for me - stands out.

On the 12th of September my father flew - for the first time in this type of aircraft - a Hurricane II for 30 minutes for 'Station Defence'. (His first tour after gaining his pilot's wings in 1936 had been in Egypt where he had flown Hawker Demons in 64 (F) Fighter Squadron, so he had acquired a grounding in fighter tactics.) On Sunday the 15th of September 1940, at the height of what became known as the Battle of Britain, he wrote this letter following his second 30-minute flight in a Hurricane:

Dear Mother and Dad. I nearly got a Junkers 88 long range bomber yesterday!!!! We have a Hurricane we keep ready for Station defence and 3 of us are allowed to fly it. Very occasionally as we waste petrol!! Any way the Junkers came over the camp at about 5000' and as I was doing nothing at the time I grabbed by bike and pedalled off to the Hurricane with my brolly over my shoulder. Leaped in and started up and off. I chased away the way he had gone with my electric sights on and my guns ready. Of course I didn't catch him. He had had too good a start. I flew around at 12000 for a bit in case there was another one and then saw another Hurricane going past towards Swindon. I followed him in case he knew of something but there wasn't anything there. So I came back. Maybe I get one some day. The Hurricane is grand. Cruising at 200 and climbing at 160. I dived, quite gently, and got 360. No effort at all." (My father's 'brolly' was, of course, his parachute, and I have found a contemporary account of the Hurricane's performance that says, 'In September 1940 the more powerful Hurricane Mk IIa entered service. Its maximum speed was 342 mph.")

I missed all this excitement, not being born until July 1941 in near-by Malmesbury, six months before my father went off to RAF Marham and No 115 Squadron to be a flight commander on Wellington IIcs.

Just an observation that some readers may find interesting. Although my father had flown these and other authorised defence missions in the Station Hurricanes (and in Defiants with an air gunner on board), he did not qualify as a Battle of Britain pilot and thus entitlement to the BoB Clasp to the 1939 - 45 Star (war medal) as these flights were not under the control of Fighter Command. I understand that there were some 14 or so like him, one or two of whom actually 'downed' enemy aircraft.

I just think that my father's account of dashing off on a bicycle to leap into a fighter aircraft in which he had only 30 minutes experience, to engage with the enemy, has elements of bravado and confidence that for me epitomises the spirit of the age.