To So Few

 

This story was inspired by the bravery of all the airmen during WWII and in particular to my wife's great uncle who gave his life when shot down over Holland. He was a Rear Gunner in a Short Stirling

 A Pilot's Return 

We were ambushed by a couple of ME109’s as we headed back to blighty after a bombing raid. We’d just crossed into Holland when they came out of the dark from altitude.

Two of the Lancasters burst into flames before I realised we were under attack. I nailed one of them before the second got on my tail and bullets started tearing into the fuselage of my Spitfire.

Rupert, my wingman, finally got in some telling shots and the Hun pilot peeled off to flee back to base.

We were down to just one bomber and two escorts as we headed home with my engine beginning to smoke.

I tried to gain altitude to put out the fire but to no avail. I signalled to Rups to go ahead without me and dropped low as I reached the North Sea.

I limped the crate towards the English coast and was relieved when I saw dark fields below me instead of the choppy waves.

I’d got about three or four miles inland before the engine finally gave up the ghost, so I looked around to find a flat spot to park the old girl. I spotted a field with a large haystack at the far end, so I flicked the switch to lower the undercarriage.

Nothing happened! I was now too low to bail, so I aimed at the haystack and allowed the plane to pancake and then slide headfirst into it.

I flipped the cockpit cover and scrambled down into the hay before legging it across the field just in case the plane caught fire.

Once I’d checked myself over for injuries, a few cuts, and a painful right ankle, I decided to recce the immediate area.

I climbed carefully over the wooden gate at the top of the field and found myself in a narrow country lane. With no streetlamps, I had no idea which way to go, so I decided to head left. My ankle was getting worse, and I limped slowly to a crossroads that appeared when I rounded a bend.

In the gloom I spotted a road sign and half hopped half limped over to it.

Darn! The post had had all the signs removed. Government policy to confuse any Nazi spies. Not much help if you’re not a local though.

Unable to travel any further with this dodgy ankle, I decided to sit on the ground with my back against the post.

I must’ve fallen asleep as I was awoken by someone shaking my shoulder. “You alright fella?” growled a deep gravelly voice. “I assume that’s your kite in my bottom field”.

“Certainly is, old man. Encountered a couple of bandits over the hook and barely made it back to blighty” I replied. “I’m Squadron Leader Jack Speight, pleased to meet you”.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a telephone I can use to let the chaps know I’m all tickety-boo”.

“Asn’t worked for over a week, not since the Bosch dropped a nundred pounder on the village telephone exchange”. Chuckled the man.

“Any transport I can borrow? I need to get back to Biggin Hill”

“Well now, the car’s no good as I’ve run out of petrol coupons and the wife took the bicycle to visit her sister in the next village – won’t be back till tomorra”.

“I really need to get back to base today, is there nothing I can use? I don’t think I’ll get too far on this ankle” I said as I pointed to the quite swollen joint.

“There is one thing” he muttered, “but you’re not gonna like it”.

“I’ll take it” I said.

“Righty-o, wait there and I’ll be back in fifteen minutes” he smiled as he set off up the lane.

I lay back against the post and shut my eyes as the pain in my leg was getting harder to bear.

I was once again woken from my slumber by the old farmer, and I saw that he had an animal with him.

“Is that what I think it is?” I asked with a degree of incredulity in my voice.

“Sure is, this is Georgina, the Donkey we use to pull the cart when we’re picking the taters and carrots”.

The farmer helped me to mount up and I listened to his hearty laugh as I rode Georgina unsteadily back towards Biggin Hill. Four hours later I rode into the air base to laughs and whoops from my squadron. 

And that, class, is how I became know for the rest of my career as Don Quixote (or just Donkey for short)