bentley priory - Spink

THE BENTLEY PRIORY BATTLE OF BRITAIN TRUST APPEAL CHARITY AUCTION
show he had qualities the squadron could respect. Leadership
by example was the best method of winning such regard...
After the war, Johnny went into print to claim that he had
transformed 92 Squadron into a disciplined force out of an
undisciplined rout. In fact the reverse was true. It was not
Johnny who changed the squadron but the squadron that
changed Johnny. Almost without being aware of it he
absorbed 92’s unique spirit and, in a few short weeks,
matured from being a chippy colonial into a relaxed,
respected commanding officer.’ (ibid)
Kingcome managed a further two victories with the
squadron, both 109s (one confirmed and one probable),
during sweeps over France; the end of his tour came up in
August 1941, and he was posted for a rest as an instructor
with No. 61 O.T.U.
72 Squadron and The Channel Dash
Kingcome resumed operational flying when he was appointed
CO of 72 Squadron (Spitfires), Gravesend, February 1942,
‘Bob Tuck, by then Wing Commander at Biggin Hill, had
asked that I should take command of 72 Squadron when the
post fell vacant, and this event had come to pass. By that
February of 1942, however, we were on temporary
detachment at Gravesend, one of Biggin’s satellite airfields,
and on the 12th, because of murky weather, we had been
stood down from a state of ‘readiness’ and put on ‘thirty
minutes’ availability’... We spent the dreary morning of the
12th in our luxury pad at Cobham Hall... reading newspapers
or snoozing to catch up on a bit of sleep. Shortly before
midday the phone went and summoned us to a state of
readiness... No sooner had we arrived than we were called to
cockpit standby... There was, it appeared, some as yet
undefined surface activity off Dover involving the navy, who
were very probably going to need our support... During the
next quarter of an hour I must have been summoned four
times between cockpit and control tower, each time fastening
and unfastening the straps and each time been given a set of
different instructions, each set more confusing than the one
preceding it. It became obvious there was not a soul, from
Fighter Command downwards, who had a clue as to what
was afoot in the English Channel.
Eventually I emerged from this spin of activity with a set of
instructions which at least looked positive and clear cut: 72
Squadron was to take off at once and fly flat out towards
Manston. There we would find four other Spitfire squadrons
already orbiting the airfield, and these were to form up
behind 72. Kingcome was to take command of this scratch
wing of five squadrons, at which point six naval Swordfish of
the Fleet Air Arm, based at Manston, would be scrambled.
The task of our Wing would be to escort them to the Straits
of Dover, where some kind of fracas was in progress between
a flotilla of German E-Boats and several of our own MTBs...
The Swordfish were to do what they could to break up the E-
Boat flotilla while the Spitfires provided air cover and, air
cover duties permitting, join in the attack....
At least my instructions from the control tower at Gravesend
seemed clear at last. I sprinted back to my aircraft to clamber
into the cockpit and take off before there could be any more
changes of plan. We could muster only ten serviceable
Spitfires and pilots, and my nine companions formed up
behind me as we high-tailed towards Manston. There the six
Swordfish were already airborne and orbiting the airfield, but
we could see no more Spitfires anywhere in view. How long
the Swordfish had been waiting was impossible to tell, but
they were making their impatience obvious. The instant they
saw us they straightened up and set course without hanging
about for the rest of the escort to show up... the most
immediate surprise they gave me was that, instead of flying
south towards Dover, as I expected, they turned due east and
at zero altitude, headed out across the North Sea, the surface
of which was uninviting and threatening beneath a swirling
cover of low cloud and rain. Undaunted, I took up station
above and behind, deploying the ten aircraft to which the
promised five-squadron wing had evidently been reduced...
The coast was hardly more than a few minutes behind us
before the first attack came from enemy fighters. We
managed to thwart them without sustaining casualties. Then,
without warning, I found myself gazing at an astonishing
sight as it materialised dramatically and magically out of the
low cloud and tempestuous rain. I found I was sitting at
masthead height above the most magisterial warship you
could have imagined... Mentally I began to chalk up points of
congratulation to the Royal Navy. At last, it seemed, they had
made a dramatic move up-market and got themselves a real
ship of battle for the present and future. The contrast
between our lumbering patrol of Swordfish, wallowing
sluggishly over the waves, and this magnificent vast flying
fortress cruelly showed up the contrast between struggling
museum relics and a sleek deadly product of the latest
technology... In the midst of my reveries the marvellous
fighting ship I was circling so admiringly opened up at me
with every mighty gun barrel. I moved deftly away from the
turmoil of shrapnel, aggrieved if not astounded. The Royal
Navy was known among airmen for having this habit of firing
first and asking questions afterwards. Then all at once the
gunners on the great warship switched attention to the
Swordfish, which were by now driving straight towards her in
two ‘vics’ of three in line astern... It was impossible to think
she might be German. Surely in that case we would have been
briefed; and surely a major enemy warship could never have
come so close to the English coast without triggering the
nation’s alarm bells long before this... She lowered her big
guns and fired salvos into the sea ahead of the approaching
Swordfish. As the colossal walls of water and spray rose
directly into their paths, I had the impression that one was
brought down by the deluge. Somehow the others seemed to
survive, however, and then the battleship raised her sights
and let fly directly at the Swordfish with a fiery inferno. The
brave ‘Stringbags’ never faltered, but just kept driving
steadily on at wave-top height, straight and level as though
on a practice run. They made the perfect targets as they held
back from firing their missiles before closing to torpedo
range. They were flying unswerving to certain destruction,
and all we as their escort could do was sit helplessly in the air
above them and watch them die.
Mercifully our role as inactive spectators came to a dramatic
close as, out of the murk and broken cloud, a swarm of
German fighters appeared. We had expected nothing less.
What we had not expected was that among the
Messerschmitt 109s, Germany’s front-line, single-engined,
single-seat fighter, there would be a strange new radialengined
single-seater never before seen or even mentioned in
advance intelligence warnings. As we discovered later, we had
made our first contact with the Focke-Wulf 190... Goring’s
most deadly answer to the Spitfire, and the air cover had been
led by no less a person than Adolf Galland.
Meanwhile there was not a split second free for speculation.
We turned in towards the attacking fighters and did our
utmost to intercept between them and the vulnerable
Swordfish. The battle was was short, sharp and violent, and it
probably lasted only a few minutes before the German
fighters melted away. Of the Swordfish no trace remained,
apart from floating wreckage and one or two life-rafts. There
had been six aircraft and eighteen crew. Five survivors were
later picked out of the water. I never knew how many of the
Swordfish were shot down by the ship’s guns and how many
by the attacking aircraft, but I hoped we had at least managed
to protect them from the main brunt of the attack from the
air. The rest became history....
The great ship I had so admired turned out to be the Prinz
Eugen, the battle cruiser escorting the twin battleships,
Gneisenau and Scharnhorst.... Thirteen men had died and six
aircraft been lost on a doomed mission... With guns empty,
the Spitfires of 72 Squadron made their way back to base,
many shot up but none shot down.’ (ibid)
Having returned to base Kingcome decided to investigate the
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