The Battle of Britain Five Months That Changed History, May—October 1940 by James Holland (z-lib.org).epub

items including a spare parachute, and making sure he chatted up a WAAF
packer first to make sure she did a good job. Dinner was in the old army
mess and, as they ate, the German bombers roared overhead on their way to
London.
After dinner, they decided to go to the White Hart pub at Brasted, a
couple of miles down the hill. Allan was the only one not to join them,
preferring, quite sensibly, to remain sober as far as possible and to get his
sleep. The rest headed off in the squadron truck, everyone yelling in unison,
‘Ninety-Two Fighter Squadron!’ at the tops of their voices in response to
the sentry’s challenge. Through the gate, they drove at break-neck speed
down the narrow roads to Brasted.
In the pub were two identical and striking twins, who were quickly
introduced to Tony as the MacNeal sisters. They seemed to know all the
pilots and in no time pints were being poured and liberally handed out.
‘Who’s paying for all this?’ Tony asked.
‘Don’t know. Who cares as long as I’m not,’ replied Brian. ‘The natives
are very friendly.’
After they had downed a number of pints the landlord called time. One
of the twins suggested they head to the Red House. Everyone seemed to be
keen on that idea. Tony was game, although he hadn’t the faintest idea what
the Red House was. They piled back into the truck and after a short drive
pulled up in front of a fine old manor house. At the door, the twins were
already waiting for them. Tony was shown into the drawing room and given
a very large whisky. Someone put on the radiogram and another pilot
grabbed one of the twins and began to dance.
Several hours and bottles of whisky later, Tony thought perhaps they
should be heading back. Geoff Wellum had been sick, all of them were
drunk. Tony could not help wondering how on earth they were going to
make dawn readiness.
He was woken by his batman at 4.30 a.m. with a cup of tea. In the
corridor, he bumped into ‘Wimpy’ Wade, who had put his uniform on over
his pyjamas. Outside, it was cold and still dark. Somehow, the pilots
managed to converge in the barrack block wearing an assortment of jackets,
pyjamas, roll-neck sweaters and scarves. Silently, they clambered into the
truck and rumbled up to dispersal. Spitfires stood silently silhouetted
against the thin dawn sky. In the middle of the dispersal hut was a stove