Great Britain. Royal Air Force. Squadron No. 92 - First Light

Geoffrey Wellum was born in Walthamstow, and educated at Forest School, Snaresbrook. Aged seventeen, he joined the RAF on a short-service commission in August 1939 and served with 92 Squadron throughout the Battle of Britain. In March 1942 he went to 65 Squadron at Debden as a Flight Commander and from there to Malta later that year. He led a group of eight Spitfires off HMS Furious to Luqa during Operation Pedestal.

Returning to England, Wellum became a test pilot on Typhoons at Gloster Aircraft. He later became a gunnery instructor until the end of the war. He stayed in the RAF after 1945, serving in Germany as a staff officer, followed by a four-year tour of duty with 192 Squadron. Wellum left the RAF in 1961 to take up a position with a firm of commodity brokers in the City of London until his retirement to Cornwall, where he still lives. He has three children.

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First published by Viking 2002
Published in Penguin Books 2003

Copyright Geoffrey Wellum, 2002
All rights reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted

ISBN: 978-0-141-91034-5

This book is dedicated to all fighter pilots

PENGUIN BOOKS

Vivid, horrifying, compelling. Wellum tells his tale with an endearing modesty and reticence. A fine piece of writing Literary Review

If you read only one autobiography of an RAF fighter pilot make it this one: First Light really does hook you from the very first page. A most compelling read. Dont miss it Jacqui Rochford, Librarian, Tangmere Military Aviation Museum Trust

A thoroughly absorbing read, a specific aspect of common history as captured by nobody else Sunday Times

Wellums stream-of-consciousness rattles across the page in a way that few authors have matched in its ability to bring to life such harrowing experiences. Deserves to be read for many years to come The Times

Startlingly vivid this is air war at its most intense Spectator

A remarkable portrait of the fighting attitude self-deprecating, selfless, stubborn of an earlier generation Mail on Sunday

The time will come, when thou shalt lift thine eyes
To watch a long-drawn battle in the skies.
While aged peasants, too amazed for words,
Stare at the flying fleets of wondrous birds.

England, so long mistress of the sea,
Where winds and waves confess her sovereignty,
Her ancient triumphs yet on high shall bear
And reign the sovereign of the conquered air.

Stanzas composed in the style of Thomas Gray,
Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard

While men depart of joyful heart
Adventure for to know

Rudyard Kipling,
The Song of the Dead

There are some days in the early spring when the weather is such that, no matter where you are, either in town or countryside, England is at her best and its good to be alive. I notice that it is just such a day as I emerge from the underground at Holborn, turn left and walk down Kingsway.

The morning sun is already warm and rather comforting, which helps to allay somewhat a feeling of apprehension that has been building up within me for the past couple of hours.

I am seventeen and a half years old and, I suspect, a rather precocious young man. It was some six months ago when I first wrote to the Air Ministry. I was leaving school within a year and very much wanted to fly an aeroplane, so could they give me a job, please? It must have been a frightening prospect because they certainly took their time replying, but eventually I received a response in the guise of an enormous and rather complicated form together with a covering letter.

The writer informed me that he had been directed to reply to my undated communication always a communication, never a letter enclosing an application form for completion in due course and he ended by saying that he was my most obedient servant. I remember thinking what charming manners and how polite the Royal Air Force must be to everybody.

So, one evening after junior prep, the members of the VIth Form descended on my study to hold a meeting. The object was to reflect upon and hopefully complete the application form by the simple process of discussing and then taking a vote on the answer to each question. In return I was to supply suitable refreshments for the duration of the discussion. Simple!

The whole meeting was a great success and the answers to the many questions really superb. Duly completed, the form was returned to the Air Ministry a few days later. Dont appear to be in too much of a hurry, they said.

Weeks of silence followed. The Air Ministry had just laughed and torn it up. Then, one day, the headmaster summoned me to the presence.

I have had an extraordinary letter from the Air Ministry, who require me to say something nice about you and so purge myself. Do you think I dare?

Yes, sir, of course; without question.

Really? Why on earth should I? And in any case, what could I possibly say?

Well, sir, you must have done the same thing before for many others and Im certain it cannot be the first time that you have been faced with the dilemma of perjury.

In that case, I suppose Id better think something up, but I was rather hoping that you would be here for the cricket season. I gather you have been invited to captain the first XI. That cant be right, surely, can it?

Im afraid it is, sir. You see, lots of people left after last year and well be hard up for chaps this summer.

Obviously.

I shall be able to stay without too much trouble as Im under age at the moment. You have to be at least seventeen and a half before you can join the RAF.

Lets see, how old are you at the moment?

Seventeen, sir.

All right, Ill see what I can do.

He gave me a pat on the shoulder as I left him, which I thought strange.