Groups and Single Decorations for Gallantry
The ever-increasing score. Kingcome in the cockpit with 92 Squadron’s tally
The recent action over Dunkirk had borne in on me uncomfortably the human side of aerial warfare that I preferred to forget, hypocrite that I was: the signs of German air gunners collapsing over their weapons as my bullets hit home. Here, on the north Devon coast, the lesson should have been rubbed in even more vividly, yet whereas over Dunkirk I had felt genuine remorse for the lives I was taking and families I was bereaving, here I felt none. We had by this stage seen many newsreels of such young men in action, and here was this perfectly formed young demigod, apparently personifying all we had gone to war to fight...faced with this corpse, perhaps I should have brought myself to feel more Christian, more tolerant, more compassionate, I could not manage any of these qualities.’ (ibid)
In early September, No. 92 Squadron returned to 11 Group on the front-line of the Battle at R.A.F. Biggin Hill. Shortly thereafter, the C. O., Sanders suffered a burns injury and Bob Stanford Tuck had been posted to 257 Squadron (Hurricanes) leaving Kingcome to take over as Acting C.O; he commanded 92 Squadron for approximately six weeks during the height of the Battle of Britain, leading them on around 60 operations. Having entered the fray on 9 September, the Squadron claimed a total of 127 aircraft destroyed by year end. Scrambled often multiple times daily, Kingcome’s personal record during the Battle reads as follows: 9th September Me Bf 109E, Destroyed (Probable), Canterbury 11th September Heinkel 111, Destroyed (Confirmed), Dungeness 14th September, Two Me Bf 109Es, Damaged, both over Canterbury 15th September, Dornier 17, Damaged, Hornchurch 18th September, Junkers 88, Destroyed (Shared), Isle of Sheppey 18th September, Heinkel 111, Destroyed (Probable), Southend 18th September, Heinkel 111, Damaged, Southend 24th September, Junkers 88, Damaged, Maidstone 24th September, Me Bf 109E, Damaged, Dover 27th September, Dornier 17, Destroyed (Probable), Maidstone 27th September, Dornier 17, Damaged, Maidstone 27th September, Two Junkers 88, Damaged, Sevenoaks 27th September, Junkers 88, Destroyed (Shared), Redhill 11th October, Me Bf 109E, Destroyed (Confirmed), Dungeness 12th October, Me Bf 109E, Destroyed (Confirmed), English Channel 12th October, Me Bf 109E, Damaged, Margate 12th October, Me Bf 109E, Destroyed (Confirmed), Cap Gris Nez 13th October, Me Bf 109E, Destroyed (Confirmed)
Kingcome’s refusal to follow his damaged victim’s down to the ground was well known and, as a result, both his fellow pilots and and later historians have concluded that his official tally of confirmed kills is conservative, ‘Of course I used up a lot of ammunition on 109s in the Battle of Britain - who didn’t - but I don’t remember claiming many kills’, he wrote. ‘In my experience there was usually too much going on upstairs to spend time following victims down to the ground for confirmation of a kill’ (ibid)
Kingcome’s part in the Battle of Britain was abruptly ended by an Me 109 (this is disputed; Kingcome always believed he was actually shot down by a Spitfire) on 15 October, ‘We were scrambled from Biggin Hill, with myself leading 92 Squadron. We successfully intercepted the raiders over Maidstone in mid- Kent, broke up their formation and turned them back after a fairly brisk encounter. It was a run of the mill operation, and since it had used up all of my ammunition I thought I would head for home. I looked around and found myself alone in the skies, apart from three Spitfires in the far distance... It was around noon, and the October day, as I have said, was glorious. I could see Biggin Hill in the distance, and began to think of my uneaten breakfast. This I had missed as a result of the German’s sadistic sense of humour, which led them to time raids to coincide with meals... I put my nose down to head straight for home... then thought I might as well kill two birds with one brick and decided to throttle back and practice a ‘dead stick’ forced landing; that is to say one with a simulated engine failure. It was breathtakingly stupid behaviour... The skies of Kent were at all times a hostile environment, whatever the illusion of emptiness, yet here was I, as operationally experienced as anyone, casually putting at risk my aircraft and my life... I had grown blasé... forgetting the fighter pilot’s golden rule to watch his tail however safe he thought he might be... I was sailing in a dream when my reveries were rudely haltered by an almighty thump to the back of the right leg... Worse was to follow: a rattling clatter as if someone were violently shaking a giant bucket fall of pebbles close to my ear. Still it took me a farther moment or two to realise that this sound was the jarring impact of bullets striking in and around my cockpit. Glancing down at my leg, I saw blood welling out of the top of my flying-boot... The effect was devastating: one minute relaxed and carefree, in total control with nothing more dramatic in mind than a simulated forced landing and the day’s lunch menu; the next, inhabiting a doomed aircraft at 20,000ft losing blood at a rate that suggested consciousness might slip away at any moment with death following within minutes... I therefore decided to compromise, get rid of the canopy, undo the straps and give the stick an almighty shove forward. With luck I would then be catapulted out by centrifugal force. The trick might well have worked, but I never got as far as testing it. No sooner had I undone the straps than I was plucked violently out of the cockpit as if by a giant hand, hurled into a furious maelstrom of wind and storm and raging that whirled me head over heels, arms and legs windmilling uncontrollably, like a ragdoll in a clamouring hurricane. The brutal blast of air assaulted me with all the solid physical force of a jackhammer, blacking my eyes and bruising my face with a ferocity of which I had never dreamed air to be capable... The ground, from which a short time before I seemed to be irrevocably separated, now rushed up to meet me. My wounded leg meant I landed heavily, permanently damaging a disc in my back before sprawling over and over, the breath knocked out of me.’ (ibid)
The bullet was successfully removed from between two shin bones and, while convalescing, Kingcome learned that he had been awarded the D.F.C. for his actions during the Battle of Britain. Returning to the squadron, he took full command from Johnny Kent in early 1941 and added two Me 109s to his tally, one probable on 16 June and one confirmed on 24 July. He received a bar to his D.F.C. for 10 confirmed kills and, ending his tour in August 1941, was sent to the relatively restful posting of Instructor with No. 61 Squadron.
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