The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - The Telegraph Magazine
THE SPITFIRE PILOT
Martin Grugeon, 93 Sergeant, 278 Squadron, RAF Fighter Command
NOBODY KNEW ANYTHING about the D-day plan until the night before. We were all in the mess at RAF Debden in Essex having a few drinks, and suddenly a senior officer turned up in an aircommodore uniform and called us to a briefing at 10pm. Only pilots were allowed in, along with a few key officers. There was a map on the wall and the senior officer said, ‘What I’m going to tell you will not go beyond these walls. Tomorrow is D-day. That’s when it all happens and you are going to be extremely busy.’
He told us that it would take a week or two to build up sufficient strength to drive inland and that we were not to let the Luftwaffe interfere. ‘You boys are going to fly your balls off,’ he said. ‘You are going to be at it dawn to dusk.’
We went to bed for a few hours but it was difficult to sleep. There was always the question of how many of us were going to be left at the end of the day. I’d lost friends already, as well as the two boys I signed up with, but that said you never thought it was going to be you who didn’t return.
I’d always found it exhilarating and exciting rather than terrifying. I had three uncles who were pilots during the First World War and my childhood was steeped in flying (they taught me to fly in a Tiger Moth when I was 12), so everything about the RAF appealed to me. I started volunteering at 17, began flying operationally in February 1944, and by D-day I’d flown between 40 and 50 missions and shot down five enemy aircraft.
They called us at 3am. We got up and dressed and went out to our Spitfires. Overnight they had been changed to special livery – black and white stripes. We were told it was mainly because US aircraft recognition was so awful that they were always shooting at friends.
The ground crew were all eagerly asking questions as they strapped me in but I couldn’t tell them anything. The armourer asked, ‘Is this the big one, Sir?’ I said, ‘If they’ve got me up at this hour it had better bloody well be.’
Before dawn cracked we took off in loose formation; 36 aircraft in formations of four, flying up into the light. As we headed out over the English Channel we passed the heavies [Lancaster bombers] coming back, and the glider tugs. Alongside us the light-bomber boys were also heading out. On several previous occasions during the war we had gone into things and hadn’t committed enough resources, but when I saw all the ships below us I thought, it’s not too little too late this time. The Channel was so busy it seemed like you could walk across it: battleships, cruisers, destroyers, frigates, landing craft of every type and tugs towing Mulberry harbours [portable landing harbours].
When we reached Normandy, commando troops were already landing and leading the beachhead assault, while paratroopers had dropped in during the night and captured vital positions inland. There was anti-aircraft fire but only spasmodic. We had caught them by surprise.
Over Normandy we broke into pairs, the front aircraft seeking out targets and knocking them out and the rear one backing up and making sure they didn’t get attacked from behind. After a couple of hours we headed back to base to reload and refuel, then it was out again.
We didn’t run into the Luftwaffe until the third mission of the day at around 6pm. There were between 12 and 16 of them – Focke-wulf 190s (single-seat fighter planes), yellow-nosed Messerschmitts (marked to prevent friendly fire, similar to our stripes) – against our 12 Spitfires.
It was a messy dogfight and pretty hairy to be romping about in the clouds. We lost a couple of our blokes and nailed a couple of their blokes – I nailed one of them, a Focke-wulf 190. He dived down out of the fight and started hedge-hopping along a railway line. I followed him down and came up behind him, then he was gone. He was too low to parachute – straight into the ground and that was it. At the time you’re just shooting down an aircraft. You don’t think about the man inside it.
I did five missions in total on D-day and by the time I finished I was bloody exhausted. It was momentous and yet we still had a hell of a job to do.
In total our squadron lost four that day. After landing for the last time I delivered my report to the intelligence officer and then went to the mess for a drink. Every time I killed a German I would pour a Scotch and then raise a glass to them. I never told the others – they might have thought it was silly – but these were young men like us who died fighting for their country.
‘The senior officer said, “What I’m going to tell you will not go beyond these walls. Tomorrow is D-day… You boys are going to fly your balls off”’
Life after the war Left the armed forces: 1958 (retired as squadron leader) / Lives in: Reading / Family: married in 1950, two children, two grandchildren / Career: jazz drummer and racing driver