Desmond Fopp

 

The other day I was very privileged to be presented a copy of a wonderful Anthony C Harold print of his beautiful oil painting of Australian Battle of Britain pilot Desmond Fopp: ‘1056 hrs – September 3rd 1940 Hurricane M.K 1 – 17 Squadron. Mine is 621 of 1000 and is signed by Squadron Leader Desmond Fopp as well as Harold. On the reverse of the framed print is the ‘Certificate of Authenticity’ signed by Harold and dated ‘15 August 80’. The certificate also gives an account of the events that took place on 3 September 1940. Before I get to that, I will tell you a bit about the early days of the man known as Des to the majority and Dizzy or Dizzy Desmond to his mother, Dorothy, as he always had his head in the clouds.

 

 

Dizzy was born on 13 March 1920 at Cuddlee Creek in South Australia’s Adelaide Hills. His Australian birth was almost by the skin of his teeth, as his father, Dick, and his pregnant English-born bride had only embarked on the Orsova on 22 November 1919, on one of the last ships to bring returning troops and their new wives home.

Dizzy had an idyllic childhood on his father’s prosperous fruit farm in the Adelaide Hills. Dick Fopp grew apples and pears on a large, sloping block but not all of its acreage was given over to fruit trees. There were some steep sections which were ideal for a boy with freedom and imagination to hide and hunt, rove and play. He had a shock of wavy, blonde hair, originally snowy white but which had darkened into a honey blonde that curled up from his forehead. Fair skinned and haired, prone to freckles and sunburn under South Australia’s blazing summer suns, he was an only child who enjoyed his own company, or that of his dog, Smokey. Even so, he was close friends with his cousin Bob who lived nearby and the two would range around on their bikes on the weekend and in school holidays, with Smokey at their wheels. Dizzy was a good swimmer, loved horse riding, played tennis—there was a tennis court near the house—and in his final year at St Peter’s College, Adelaide claimed a gymnasium prize in the end of year prize giving. Although his name did not appear in any of the other school prize lists he was a whiz with maths and rapid mental calculations.

The Depression seemed to have bypassed many of the Adelaide Hill families—those on properties were relatively self sufficient—but even so, Dizzy, like many of the other boys in the area, supplemented his pocket money by shooting the rabbits that abounded in plaque proportions on and near the farm. He had a keen eye and was a good shot, and he always had a supply of pelts when he went into town to collect the bounty. But Dizzy’s eye was not always glued to his gun site. From an early age, he turned it skywards and Amy Johnson and Jean Batten, along with Bert Hinkler and Charles Kingsford Smith, became his role models and heroes. As Dizzy imagined himself climbing into a cockpit just like his aviation heroes, his head really was in the clouds and by the time he sailed to England with his mother after his father’s death in October 1934, he had developed a burning ambition to fly. He fulfilled that ambition in November 1938 when he joined the RAFVR and was called up at the outbreak of war. After training he was posted to 17 Squadron on 24 May 1940. After ops in the dying days of the Battle of France, he participated in the Battle of Britain until his bale out of 3 September.

 

 

(This photo was taken after he returned from France) 

That was the day that he damaged a Do 17 and was then shot down in flames by a Messerschmitt 110. He baled out at 17,000 feet, with burns, and landed at Pressey’s Farm, Hutton. Hurricane P3673 crashed and burned out near Handley’s Dairy Farm, Ingrave, Essex. He noted in his log book: ‘Opps. Intercepted 60 EA. 1 Do 17 probable. Shot down in flames by three Me 110s. Baled out 17,000 feet. In hospital 2 months.’(50 mins for op ‘+ 15 mins by parachute’). I found Dizzy’s description of the day’s events in Franks, The Battle of Britain, Bison Books, London, 1989, p. 38

We were scrambled late and did not get to sufficient altitude to achieve a favourable attacking position from above, with the result that we had to attack head-on at about 20000 feet, and hope to break up the large formation of Do 17s, with guns blazing which did separate them considerably. I had just put a Dornier’s engine out and he was smoking badly when I saw three Me 110s coming in behind me in line astern. By this time I had run out of ammunition but decided that as I could not match them for speed I would turn into them and simulate an attack. This I did and to my astonishment and joy they broke all around me so I immediately half rolled and dived for the deck. Unfortunately for me one of them was also below and behind out of sight and managed to put a cannon shell into my radiator, with the result that all I heard was a thump and the next second I was sitting in a ball of fire.

Then, according to Dizzy in a letter on his RAF Museum file:

I therefore left fairly hurriedly by parachute and arrived at Brentwood still smouldering. In fact the harness of my parachute was still burning on arrival. I was immediately set upon by the local farmer and had a bit of a job convincing him that I was British due to my burnt closes—however a few choice bits of language convinced him!

He was unrecognisable because of his burns: the whole of his back, legs and face around the eyes had been seriously burned; he was blind for a month. He was taken to Brentwood District Hospital. His eye bandages on his eyes had to be changed daily. There were days when he was in great pain and told his nurse he wanted to die. When his mother, who lived in Bristol, came to visit, she was told how desperately ill her son was and asked her not to show her emotions. She apparently just went in to him and said ‘Now what have you been up to Dizzy?’ She never let him know how ill he was. Despite the pain and discomfort, he was a good patient and the nurses were fond of him. He was their own ‘Battle of Britain Boy’ and they were determined to make him better. A nurse remembers the day he winked at her when she removed the dressings.

Desmond Fopp eventually returned to flying duties and enjoyed a good RAF career including the award of the AFC in September 1944 for getting an aircraft down safely after a mid air collision. A sergeant pilot, he was commission on 3 November 1941. He retired as a Squadron Leader on 13 March 1975. He died on 8 August 2005 at the age of 85. He was the last surviving Australian fighter pilot of the Battle of Britain. I think my print, so kindly given to me by Desmond Fopp’s cousin, is a fine way to remember one of our Second World War greats.

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