Groups and Single Decorations for Gallantry First Pilot to Bring Down a “Raider” on English Soil
By the outbreak of war, Townsend was a Flight Commander but, like most of his contemporaries, without combat experience. In comparison to their Luftwaffe opponents, this was a serious shortcoming which would result in terrible casualties. However, the R.A.F. possessed its fair share of “natural aviators” and it was these men who rapidly asserted themselves during those bleak days of 1940. Among their ranks was Peter Townsend, who, following his very first combat, emerged with the envious accolade of having brought down the first German raider on English soil. The Heinkel III had fallen victim to his Hurricane’s guns on 3 February 1940, crash landing near Whitby in Yorkshire. Townsend visited one of the survivors in hospital and later laid a No. 43 Squadron wreath on the graves of the less fortunate crew members.
The Squadron transferred to Wick at the end of the same month and not long afterwards, while patrolling over Pentland Firth, Townsend claimed his next victim. Although he had just been instructed to return to base, Townsend adopted the “Nelson touch”, shut off his radio contact and set off in pursuit of two Heinkels which had momentarily come into view. His ensuing attack on one of them was executed with devastating effect:
‘ ... Streaming vapour from its engines, the bomber was going down, but the rear gunner, seeing me silhouetted against the after glow in the north-west, was still putting up a desperate fight. I went in again, guns blazing down his cone of tracers until as I dodged below I could hear his MG 15 machine-guns still firing just above my head. He was a brave man fighting for his life, as I was for mine; two young gladiators between whom there was no real enmity. It was a pity that one of them - and his comrades - had to die ...’ (Duel in the Dark, by Peter Townsend, refers).
Back at base, Townsend found that his Hurricane had been riddled with machine-gun fire. It was a lucky escape. Many of the pilots who had fought over France were less fortunate and it was therefore not surprising that at the age of twenty-five, Townsend became a Squadron Leader, and, on 23 May 1940, he arrived at Debden as the newly appointed C.O. of No. 85 Squadron. His predecessors had either been killed or wounded and the more junior casualties had been replaced by young men in their ’teens or twenties. By comparison, Townsend was already an “old hand”. Unfortunately, as he would later observe, experience alone was not enough; luck, too, played a big part in survival.
Battle of Britain Squadron Commanding Officer
By now the Luftwaffe was wreaking havoc among our defenceless convoys and many fierce combats were being fought over the sea. Up in the front line of convoy defence was No. 85 Squadron, and its modest and conscientious leader, Peter Townsend. On 11 July he intercepted a lone raider off Southwold:
‘ ... Townsend was a peacetime pilot, a flyer of great skill and experience. His eight Browning machine-guns raked the bomber. Inside the bomber there were ‘bits and pieces everywhere: blood-covered faces, the smell of cordite, all the windows shot up’. Of the crew, the starboard rear gunner was hit in the head and fell to the floor. A second later another member of the crew - hit in the head and throat - fell on top of him. There was blood everywhere. But ‘our good old Gustav Marie was still flying’, remembered one of the crew. Townsend had put 220 bullets into the Dornier but it got home to Cambrai, and all the crew lived to count the bullet holes ...’ (Fighter, The True Story of the Battle of Britain, by L. Deighton, refers).
Meanwhile, Peter Townsend had his own problems. The enemy rear gunner had hit his coolant system and when still 20 miles from the English coast, the engine stopped. Reluctantly, he clambered out of Hurricane P2716 and took to his parachute. He was eventually ‘fished out of the water by the good ship Finisterre, a trawler out of Hull’. Sodden but unhurt, he was landed at Harwich. After a nip of rum and a change of clothes, he was ‘back in form’ for a patrol that evening.
On 11 August, Townsend led Yellow Section of his squadron to the defence of another convoy. At 300 yards he got in several bursts on a Dornier 17 and set the right-hand engine on fire. Moments later he was attacked head on by an Me. 110 - it passed him ‘pretty close’. Then on 18 August, in a furious combat somewhere over the Thames Estuary, Townsend accounted for three enemy aircraft in a matter of minutes:
‘ ... A dozen Me. 110s cut across us and immediately formed a defensive circle. “In we go,” I called over the R./T., and a moment later a Me. 110 had banked clumsily across my bows. In its vain attempt to escape, the machine I was bent on destroying looked pathetically human. It was an easy shot - too easy. For a few more seconds we milled around with the Me. 110s. Then down came a little shower of Me. 109s. Out of the corner of my eye I saw one diving for me, pumping shells. A quick turn toward it shook it off, and it slid by below, then reared up in a wide left hand turn in front of me. It was a fatal move. My Hurricane climbed round easily inside its turn. When I fired the Me. 109 flicked over and a sudden spurt of white vapour from its belly turned into flame. Down came another. Again a steep turn and I was on its tail. He seemed to know I was there, but he did the wrong thing. He kept on turning. When I fired, bits flew off, the hood came away and then the pilot baled out. He looked incongruous, hanging there a wingless body in the midst of this duel of winged machines ...’ (Duel of Eagles, by Peter Townsend, refers).
Despite these heartening successes, the strain of commanding an operational fighter squadron was beginning to take its toll - such was the unrelenting ferocity of No. 85’s agenda that after moving to Croydon, no less than 14 of its 18 pilots were shot down, two of them twice:
‘ ... Our dispersal point, with ground crews’ and fighter pilots’ rest rooms, was in a row of villas on the airfield’s western boundary. Invariably I slept there half-clothed to be on the spot if anything happened. In the small hours of 24 August it did. The shrill scream of the deafening crash of bombs shattered my sleep. In the doorway young Worrall, a new arrival, was yelling something and waving his arms. Normally as frightened as anyone, not even bombs could move me then. I placed my pillow reverently over my head and waited for the rest. Worrall still had the energy to be frightened. I was past caring. It was a bad sign; I was more exhausted than I realised ...’ (Duel of Eagles, by Peter Townsend, refers).
Back in action on 26 August, Townsend led No. 85 in an attack against a force of 15 Dorniers and 30 Me. 109s. At length, the fighter escort was compelled to withdraw because of the range, but not before Townsend had led in a head-on attack:
‘ ... I brought the Squadron around steadily on a wide turn, moving it into echelon as we levelled out about two miles on a collision course. Ease the throttle to reduce the closing speed - which anyway only allowed a few seconds to fire. Get a bead on them right away, hold it, and never mind the streams of tracer darting overhead. Just keep on pressing the button until you think you’re going to collide - then stick hard forward. Under the shock of negative G your stomach jumps into your mouth, dust and muck fly up from the cockpit into your eyes, and your head cracks on the roof as you break away below ...’ (Duel of Eagles, by Peter Townsend, refers).
Three Dorniers failed to return to base. Two days later Winston Churchill witnessed the Squadron in action during a visit to coastal defences on the south coast. Above him, Townsend and No. 85 were busy bringing down six Me. 109s for no loss. On 29 August, he claimed yet another victim, this time a 109 which succumbed to a five second deflection burst and crashed near Hastings. And on the following day he damaged an Me. 110 over Beachy Head. During these last days of August the Battle reached unprecedented levels of ferocity and on the last day of the month 40 of our pilots were shot down. Townsend was among them but miraculously survived. The Squadron had been scrambled from Croydon just in the nick of time and as its Hurricanes cleared the perimeter fence, enemy bomb blasts temporarily cut the engine of Townsend’s aircraft. He was relieved to see the remainder of his pilots emerge safely from a ‘vast eruption of smoke and debris’.
Climbing to full boost, No. 85 caught up with an enemy fighter escort 9,000 feet over Tunbridge Wells. Unfortunately, they had run into the experts of Erprobungs Gruppe 210. As Townsend swept into the attack he was engulfed by ‘a shower of Me. 109s, spraying streams of tracer from behind’.
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