One of the Few

A Story of Personal Challenge through the Battle of Britain and Beyond

Johnny Kent

• Publisher: The History Press
• Year: 2016
• Print ISBN: 9780752446035, 9780750968201
• eBook ISBN: 9780750969291
• Edition: 3
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: Political Biographies
• Index: History

New and updated edition: the original autobiography is enhanced by the addition of family photos and extracts from unpublished letters and writings by the author, and a moving and informative new introduction and epilogue by Alexandra Kent, Johnny Kent's daughter, who presents the father she knew, not only a distinguished and brave war hero but a man who suffered with the scars of war.

'I turned into the attack … The German formation split up and a general mêlée ensued, grey shapes with black crosses on them flashed past only feet away, next the brown and green of a Hurricane flashed across the sights … so confused was the fight that one had little or no chance to see if one's fire had taken effect before having to take wild evasive action to avoid either the enemy's fire or a collision.'

Group Captain Johnny Kent joined the RAF in the 1930s and went on to become a flight commander of one of the most successful fighter squadrons of the Second World War. In this role, he helped the famous 303 Polish Squadron play a decisive part in the Battle of Britain, and this earned him the highest Polish military award, the Virtuti Militari, as well as the affectionate nickname 'Kentowski'.

Group Captain Kent's fascinating memoirs, originally published in 1971, tell the story of his life in the RAF, from his struggles as a boy on the Canadian Prairies to get into the air, detailing his experiences as a test pilot in Farnborough and his constant efforts to excel at what he did. In this new edition, alongside the classic tale of derring-do, Kent's daughter provides supplementary material that places his extraordinary story into the broader context of his life as a son, husband and father. Poignant questions are raised about what it meant to be ' One of the Few ' – for both the men themselves and those to whom they were closest.

1

Early Experiences

I circled the column of oily black smoke that rose from the petrol which still burned on the surface of the water where the Messerschmitt had struck and exploded. The excitement and tension of the sudden violent combat culminating, as it had, in the final screaming dive and destruction of the Messerschmitt began to die down. I became acutely aware that I was alone and that enemy activity was at its height and I – if not on constant lookout – could also be sent crashing to join the enemy who had just hurtled to such violent destruction below.

The strange and exciting tang of burnt cordite was still in my nostrils as I searched for signs of others of the enemy, but not an aircraft was to be seen so I climbed away and headed for home there to refuel, re-arm and be ready to fight again.

It was 15 September 1940, the day that the Battle of Britain reached its zenith and the day, more than any other, that decided Hitler to abandon his plans to invade Britain.

But how had I, a native of Canada’s prairie land some 5,000 miles away, become involved in this titanic struggle that has since been recognised as ranking with the greatest battles in history? Perhaps it would be as well if I went back to the beginning!

I was born and lived for the first twenty years of my life on the outskirts of the city of Winnipeg and my earliest recollections of aeroplanes are of one with which a young American was experimenting about two miles from my home. I must admit that I do not remember many details as I cannot have been much more than four years of age at the time. I do, however, recall that it made a noise like a threshing machine, and to my childish eyes, looked like one too. It was not until I had reached the mature age of about five and a half years that I was to see a real aeroplane. At that time a favourite place to take children for a day’s outing was River Park on the banks of the Red River where there were many things to delight the child, a giant Ferris wheel, ponies to ride, a large roundabout with a steam calliope and a zoo. Then, one day, there was in addition a real aeroplane that took people for flights over the city. I was enthralled and can still remember shedding bitter tears when my mother not only would not let me go up in it, but flatly refused to let me get anywhere near it!

In the early twenties there was very little aviation activity in Western Canada and what there was was carried out chiefly by the Royal Canadian Air Force Forestry Patrol (RCAF) – but their aircraft spent most of their time in the north and there was only limited activity at their base in Winnipeg. As soon as I was old enough to ride a bicycle, I used to ride down to the seaplane base on the river and spend hours admiring the graceful Vedette and Varuna flying boats with which the RCAF was equipped at that time.

As the twenties progressed and the wave of post-war prosperity soared towards its peak a considerable amount of interest began to be taken in aviation by the men who had profited from this great period of expansion; aircraft belonging to wealthy mine owners and grain dealers began to make their appearance in the west. At about the same time there occurred an event which, more than any other single achievement, focused attention upon the aeroplane and put aviation on the map and that was Lindbergh’s solo flight from New York to Paris.

Interest increased at an almost unbelievable rate and companies operating a wide variety of aircraft came into being and commenced, amongst a host of other things, to open up the north. At about the same time the flying club became popular; they sprang up all over the west and it became the thing to belong to one and to fly. More and more record breaking flights were carried out and the Schneider Trophy races received increasing publicity, all of which surrounded aviation with a romantic aura that I doubt has ever been enjoyed by any other profession. The result was a great rush to get into aviation and schools of varying standards made their appearance throughout the United States and the East of Canada but Western Canada lagged behind and most of the flying training then took place in the Government subsidised clubs.

I was one whom the flying bug had bitten badly, long before Lindbergh’s flight, and I was determined to learn to fly. I read everything I could find about my heroes of aviation, such men as Barker, Bishop, McLeod, Mannock and McCudden. I suppose, like many others, I was most thrilled by the tales of the great fighter aces but I never supposed that there would ever be a convenient war which would allow me to take part in similar battles.

As a treat on my fifteenth birthday my father took me out to the Flying Club and allowed me to have my first flight. The pilot kindly showed me over the Gypsy Moth which the club had only recently obtained and then, thrill of all thrills, I was put into the front cockpit, told what not to touch and away we went for a most glorious half hour over the city. I can still recall the terrific exhilaration that I felt and my surprise when I had no sensation of height. When we returned and landed my father saw from the expression on my face as I waved to him that there was no doubt about it – I had to fly!

The next twelve months were a torment of waiting for the next birthday flight, but during this time I finally succeeded in convincing, not only my father, but my mother as well, that I was really serious about making aviation my career. Having accepted the situation, my parents and I set about investigating the various means by which one could start on such a career and to select the most suitable.

Naturally I was terribly keen to fly with the RCAF but when I found that this entailed undergoing a six-year university course I decided, reluctantly, that such a career was not for me. There was, it turned out, only one possible way and that was for my long-suffering father to dig into his not too well-lined pocket and pay up. This he finally agreed to on condition that I waited until I was seventeen and passed my Senior Matriculation examinations. Naturally I agreed most readily to these terms, but as time went on I found it increasingly difficult to concentrate upon my studies.

Finally arrangements were made for me to start my flying lessons at the Winnipeg Flying Club under the tuition of Konrad, or ‘Konnie’ as he was always called, Johannesson, a Canadian of Icelandic parentage who had served in the Royal Flying Corps and Royal Air Force in the First World War.

Early in June 1931, a couple of weeks or so before my seventeenth birthday, I had my first flying lesson from Konnie in the club’s Cirrus Moth, a trusty old aircraft on which many pilots qualified. I was absolutely thrilled with the experience of actually handling the controls and I managed to cope with most manoeuvres including an approach although, naturally, I was not allowed to try an actual landing – still, at the end of this first lesson, I knew I could fly.

The summer in Western Canada gets terribly hot and the air becomes very bumpy and the wind gusty so that the only really suitable times for flying instruction in the light aircraft we used were early morning and evening. The latter period was, of course, the most popular and both the aircraft and the instructor were kept busy every evening that was suitable. In order to maintain some reasonable continuity in my instruction it became necessary for me to concentrate on the early morning periods. Unfortunately, the weather reports were extremely unreliable and on numerous occasions I made my rather tedious way to the airfield only to find that the wind was too high, the cloud base too low or the aeroplane was unserviceable. I could then only sit around and hope that the situation would improve – sometimes it did and sometimes it didn’t.

There was no such thing as a Ground School where one could have made good use of the hours waiting so, to pass the time, I used to visit the other organisations on the airfield, these being the North-West Aero Marine Company which ran a charter service and gave flying instruction, and Western Canada Airways, a really huge concern for those days.

It was during these visits that I met many of the personalities that made up the flying fraternity of those days and laid the foundations for the opening up of Canada with the aeroplane. Amongst these people were many who had distinguished themselves in the First World War – such men as Roy Brown, who shot down the great Richthofen, and ‘Wop’ May, who had been Richthofen’s target on this fateful occasion. Others were Donald MacLaren, who was credited with forty-eight victories, and Freddie McCall, who had forty enemy aircraft to his credit. In addition there was the other Roy Brown, a noted First World War pilot and perhaps the most experienced ‘bush pilot’ in the country.

Compared to such organisations as Western Canada Airways, the Winnipeg Flying Club was very small indeed and, in fact, possessed only three aircraft at this time. This lack of aircraft coupled with the other difficulties made the task of learning to fly both a lengthy and exasperating affair.

My own instruction dragged on and on while I impatiently awaited the return of the Moth which had been damaged, as it was the only aircraft we had in which spinning and recovery could be taught; one was not permitted to fly solo until such instruction had been given. Eventually the Moth came back into service and I was introduced to stalling and spinning. It was a great thrill to throttle back, pull the nose of the aeroplane high above the horizon and wait for the spine-tickling sensation as, with a slight shudder, the nose dropped – at this instant full rudder was applied and the aeroplane commenced spinning rapidly downwards. Then – full opposite rudder, until the spinning stopped, rapidly centralise the rudder and simultaneously ease the stick forward as the nose came back on to the horizon, the engine opened up and normal flight was regained.

Although to many people it is a nausea-inducing manoeuvre I personally loved it and took every opportunity of practising it. At any rate my progress seemed to please my instructor for, on 29 September, some three and a half months after I started taking instruction and after spending some six and a half hours in the air, the great day came!

Konnie and I took off in the normal way in the Moth and climbed to 3,500 feet where he told me to do a spin to the left, which I did, and he then told me to climb back up again and do a spin to the right, which I did. He didn’t say very much but merely grunted something about being ‘safe; anyway’. He then told me to do a ‘spot’ landing as close to the circle in the centre of the airfield as I could. After I had complied he asked me to do three more; he seemed bored with the whole proceeding. When we had rolled to a stop after the fourth landing, he suddenly climbed out of the front cockpit, did up the lap-strap and then climbed off the wing: ‘You will find her a lot lighter on your own,’ he said, ‘and she will climb more rapidly, but on the whole you will find that she has a better response than with two up. Now, off you go and land as close as you can to me – I don’t want to have to walk all the way to the hangar.’

Although I had been looking forward to this moment for an age, it seemed it still came as quite a surprise that the time had, in fact, arrived. It was with an indescribable feeling of exultation that I opened the throttle, rapidly took to the air and climbed away, circling to the left around the airfield, always keeping Konnie’s tiny figure in sight. I kept repeating my instructions to myself; I had to be careful not to let her climb too high and also I must remember to widen the circuit a bit to allow for the shallower gliding angle, but now we were in position, throttle back, watch the speed, glide gently towards a spot a little short and to one side of Konnie, now here we are at twenty feet, start checking, now ten feet, level out and start holding off, gently back on the stick – a little bump – and I was down. I had done it; I had flown by myself with no one to take over, it was a thrill the like of which I was not to experience for another nine years!

The next morning I narrowly escaped disaster – it appears that the great legislative machine in Ottawa was beginning to pay more attention to aviation and someone had decided that practising flying instructors who had not been through the RCAF School must requalify at this establishment as early as possible. Konnie Johannesson had qualified before there was an RCAF School but, nonetheless, he was one of a number who had to requalify. He was due to go to the school early in October and he was anxious to get two of us, in particular, safely solo so that we could build up our flying time while he was away. The other person had soloed a few days before me and Konnie was anxious that I should catch him up so that he could leave the pair of us with a fairly peaceful mind. Such a set of circumstances can nearly always be relied upon to produce an accident and they very nearly did so in this case.

After my successful solo flight Konnie had told me to be ready at the airfield as early as possible the next morning. I got there while it was still dark and waited for him to arrive. The weather did not look too good to me, being cold, blustery and with rather low cloud, but as far as I was concerned Konnie knew best and if he said go, I’d go! Finally he appeared and it was not long before we took off and climbed away. It was extremely rough, but with Konnie’s weight in the machine I was able to handle it reasonably well, he got out and told me to have a crack at it. I don’t think he would have done so had time not been so pressing. At any rate I opened the throttle and almost immediately found myself in the air being tossed about like a cork and struggling to keep the machine under control. I managed to fight it round the circuit and made an attempt to land – but my ‘switch-back’ approach made it well nigh impossible to judge just where I would make contact with the ground; I did not even hope to make a reasonable landing. Finally, I did make contact with a resounding bump and shot straight back into the air again then back down again and up again. I cannot remember now just how many times I bounced as I went across the airfield but I realised that it was time to have another try so I climbed away and made another circuit and approach. On this attempt I made a very much better job of the approach which, in turn, made the landing somewhat less hazardous. All the same I managed to bounce at least four times on this second attempt but, fortunately, came to rest close to where a very worried Konnie was standing. He quickly climbed into the machine and taxied it back to the hangar.

He told me a little later that my series of ‘landings’ were the most Gawd-awful he’d ever seen and it was a mystery to him how in hell the undercarriage had taken it! Then he added: ‘Still, I guess as you only had ten minutes solo time you did all right!’ Which cheered me up a lot.

For the next month I applied myself diligently to practising for the flight tests for a Private Pilot’s Licence and to learning the Air Regulations upon which the written examination for the licence was based. These regulations were certainly all-embracing and I remember still that an aircraft in fog was to ‘proceed with caution making a loud noise such as ringing a bell’ – apparently life in certain quarters had not quite caught up with events.

Early in November I passed the flight tests for my licence and I was also successful in the written test; there remained the Medical Examination. I had learned all I could about the various tests, and I practised hard to ensure that I would be able to tackle them in the right spirit and not lose confidence, which I felt was one of the main issues. I had only a few days to wait before I reported to the Medical Examiner and again I was fortunate and I was passed as ‘fit’.

The final hurdle over I was awarded my Private Pilot’s Licence No. 919, and became the youngest licenced pilot in Canada at the age of seventeen, in fact the great Billy Bishop received his licence after I did! I need hardly say that I was extremely proud of the fact and pleased also with my having made the grade; even my mother relaxed her attitude towards flying and was, if anything, even more proud of me than I was myself – which is saying a lot!

The winter of 1931 was late in coming and it was not until well into November that the aircraft were fitted with skis in place of the normal wheels. Konnie was still away at the Instructors’ School and the supervision was carried out in his absence by the Manager and Chief Instructor of the North-West Aero Marine Company. Naturally he did not know quite how far we various Flying Club students had progressed and, in a fit of mental aberration, he told me to go off one day and re-familiarise myself with the problems of flying off snow; away I went on my first flight with a ski undercarriage – I could not re-familiarise myself as I had never done it before, but I found no real difficulty whatever and was thrilled with the incredibly smooth landing. Taxiing was a little strange at first but I soon became used to it and thoroughly enjoyed it.

All through the winter I continued to build up my experience and learned many tricks of the trade.

I also qualified on another of the club’s aircraft, a small cabin aircraft called a Desoutter Coupe, and was permitted to carry passengers – my first being my father. Later he maintained that he had tossed a coin with a friend of his to see who would be the first – and he lost!

The worst feature of the flying was the cold which ranged from -20 to -40°F, and an open cockpit aeroplane was very breezy, making it impossibIe to stay up for any great length of time. On landing the oil was drained out of the engine immediately after it had stopped and then placed in a large tin and put on the stove to keep it from solidifying. When the aircraft was required again the hot oil was poured back into the engine.

I soon began to realise what an incredibly hard life the bush-pilots led as, for the most part, they had to service their own aircraft without shelter and many miles away from civilisation in temperatures that sometimes went as low as -60°F.

In the following summer and just before my eighteenth birthday I was successful, much to my surprise, in persuading my mother to let me take her for a flight. Knowing now just how much she loathed everything to do with aviation, I hate to think what it cost her in nervous strain, but she bravely climbed into the Desoutter beside my father and never let go of his hand the whole time. I took them round the city and pointed out various landmarks and her interest began to overcome her nervousness. After we had landed she declared that, on the whole, she had really rather enjoyed it, but she wasn’t at all sure about going again. I was very pleased that she had flown with me and took it as a great compliment; also I think it helped to lessen her fear of my flying which was a very good thing for both of us.

About the middle of the summer another young chap arrived at the club to commence flying instruction; his name was Al Bocking and it was with him that I later joined the Royal Air Force. When he started flying he was barely sixteen years old and on his first solo he celebrated by looping the aeroplane or, to be more precise, he pulled the nose of the aeroplane skywards until the machine fell over on its back and then somehow regained level flight. None of us had ever been given any instruction in aerobatics, nor had we been told anything about them, so his knowledge came straight out of a book and, as he said, ‘I must have missed out a couple of pages!’ As I gained experience I developed a more critical attitude and became aware of the fact that there was a sort of Country Club atmosphere about the Flying Club and the aeroplane was considered by many as purely incidental and, in a way, a damned nuisance! At the Aero Marine, however, I noticed that everyone was much more professional in outlook and they were all genuinely interested in aeroplanes and flying. Another aspect that appealed to me was that the company did nearly all its own repair work, whereas the Flying Club did only minor work. In view of this I resigned from the club and joined forces with the Aero Marine Company as a sort of unpaid apprentice; in this way, I was able to learn quite a lot about the technical side of aviation which has stood me in very good stead.

Whilst with the North-West Aero Marine Company I worked steadily towards obtaining my Commercial Licence although I was still below the minimum age. It was an expensive business building up the required number of fly...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Dedication
• Acknowledgements
• Contents
• The Man Behind the Memoirs by Alexandra Kent
• One of the Few, by Johnny Kent
• About the Author
• Foreword by Air Chief Marshal Sir Keith Park gcb kbe mc dfc
• 1 Early Experiences
• 2 Flying Training
• 3 Farnborough
• 4 Test Pilot
• 5 Battle of Britain
• 6 Squadron Commander
• 7 Wing Leader
• 8 Lecture Tour
• 9 The Middle East
• 10 Britain and Germany
• 11 Chief Test Pilot
• 12 Exchange Officer
• 13 Final Fling
• The Human Costs of Heroism by Alexandra Kent
• Plates
• Copyright