One of Churchill's Own: The Memoirs of Battle of Britain Ace John Greenwood

By John Greenwood

A World War II British Royal Air Force flying ace shares his story of fighting in the Battle of Britain.

John Greenwood was born in East London on 3 April 1921. At the age of eighteen, in February 1939, he forged his father’s signature and joined the RAF on a short service commission. Seven months later, Britain declared war on Germany, and 253 Squadron was formed. In May 1940, John and his fellow pilots were sent to France with twenty-four hours’ notice where he shot down a Dornier 17 and a Messerschmitt 109 the next day, before returning to England with only four pilots and three aircraft left. 253 Squadron was then sent to Kirton in Lindsay to reform, having lost half the squadron in France including the CO and both flight commanders. At the end of August 1940, the Squadron flew down to Kenley to join the Battle of Britain. The next day he shot down a Heinkel III and was subsequently credited with half a Junkers 88 and a Messerschmitt 109. Despite being credited with five and a half victories in France and the Battle of Britain, he was, controversially, one of the few aces never to be awarded a DFC.

Although he emigrated to Australia in the 1950s, he returned to London for the twenty-fifth, fiftieth, and sixtieth Battle of Britain Anniversaries, then again in 2005 for the unveiling of the Battle of Britain monument, before passing away in 2014. He was the last surviving member of 253 Squadron. One of Churchill’s last surviving Few, this is his story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Oct 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781473872691

John Greenwood

John Greenwood is the pseudonym of John Buxton Hilton was born in 1921 in Buxton, Derbyshire. After his war service in the army he became an Inspector of schools, before retiring in 1970 to take up full-time writing. Hilton wrote two books on language teaching as well as being a prolific crime writer - his works include the Superintendent Simon Kenworthy series and the Inspector Thomas Brunt series, as well as the Inspector Mosley series as John Greenwood.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Early Years

I was born on 3 April, 1921, in Stratford in the East End of London, the middle child of three, having a sister on each side. My eldest sister was Betty and my younger one Ruth. Betty is still alive living in the North of Scotland; her retired Bank Manager husband Noel (and ex Battle of Britain Pilot) having died a few years ago. Ruth, my younger sister, died a few years ago of a brain tumour. I wept when I heard the news for she and I remained soul mates although I didn’t see her for thirty-five years after the war because I left for Australia and she for America and many other countries with her husband Bob, who was a diplomat in the service of the United States of America.

My mother and father were normal people. Mum was full of fun, always up to telling jokes and funny stories about her family. While my father was a little more serious, did not smoke and drank very little. Betty was two years older than me but acted more like ten as she too was of a very serious nature and religiously reported all my misadventures (which were many) to my parents, resulting in painful punishment from my father. Needless to say she was not my favourite sister. When I was seven, we both contracted scarlet fever and were sent to the isolation hospital at Isleworth, some ten miles from our home. Betty loved being in hospital and determined, then and there, to be a nurse when she grew up. Betty was often left to look after my sister Ruth and myself when my parents went out but Ruth and I gave her a very hard time. To this day she still bears a small scar on her forehead from a teaspoon that I threw at her. In later life when I came to Australia we lost touch, never having much in common, but this was corrected during my visit to the UK in 1980 and we keep in touch regularly by telephone. We have met twice since, in England in 1990 and again in 2000 when she visited us in Perth, Western Australia where I now live. She has two children, a son and a daughter.

My other sister Ruth and I were always the greatest of friends. We got up to all sorts of mischief together and often had midnight feasts with food and drinks stolen from the larder. On one such night we were having a feast by the light of a candle when we heard our father coming up the stairs so we quickly hid the food under the bed, accidentally setting alight the tassels from the bedspread. Putting the fire out with my hands (so I thought) we rapidly retired from the scene of the crime and went to our bedrooms. The next thing, there was a cry from my father when he saw that the bedroom was in a sheet of flame. The bedclothes and the mattress were on fire so he grabbed them and threw them out through the window, where they were extinguished and eventually thrown away. Knowing that I would soon receive the thrashing of my life, I went into the spare room and locked myself inside. I was threatened and coerced all that night and the next day until my mother, nearly hysterical, made a solemn promise that I would not be beaten by my father, I then came out after twenty-four hours of solitary confinement. While my sister Ruth got off scot-free!

We never met Dad’s mother and father because they died before we were born but he had two sisters and a brother, who we did meet, and some others we did not. One sister, Martha was a housekeeper for a rich family at Byfleet, so rich they owned two cars, a Packard and a Willys Knight. Ruth and I hated her because she had a huge, enormous brown mole with whiskers like wire sticking on the side of her mouth. This wouldn’t have been too bad if she hadn’t insisted on kissing us with the wettest mouth I have ever been kissed with. Even that would have been bearable if she had given us sixpence or a shilling when she left; but the best she ever did was a peppermint which she found in her bag and had had since 1066! Dad’s other sister Carrie lived at Southend and there was something odd about her husband – though we never did find out what because nobody talked about him. Anyway, in 1931 Dad became very ill with shingles and he had scabs all over his head and right around his belly. Mum was so worried that she arranged for us to stay at Aunty Carrie’s. Dad took us by car to Fenchurch Street Station, put us onto the train and Aunty Carrie met us at Southend in the afternoon where we were given stewed prunes with custard and a dose of Castor Oil for tea before being sent to bed. I was in a tiny room on a camp bed, all very new and different from what I had been used

Reviews for One of Churchill's Own

[D Montgomery · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Book mostly about getting drunk and chasing women, with a little flying thrown in.