Australia's Few. Kristen Alexander's Battle of Britain Blog: Australia's Few. 10 July 1940

10 July 1940: Did anyone realise at the time that 10 July 1940 was a watershed day? The British public certainly had no idea. They—including Ann Brawn of Chalfont St Giles—were more worried about tea rationing which had began the day before, gathering up their pots and pans for Lord Beaverbrook’s just launched aluminium appeal, and a sugar shortage for the jam making season. Although there was some Luftwaffe activity during the 10th, eight of the '30 or so' Australians in Fighter Command were enjoying a relatively quiet time and also failed to recognise history’s turning point.

Des Sheen, who had been working with a photo reconnaissance unit, was taking the long way home after fleeing a falling France while Ken Holland, who had recently passed his wings exam, did an hour of formation flying in ‘filthy weather’ at Little Rissington and ‘was told off for not returning. Went to bed early and got some sleep’. Pat Hughes at St Eval was up at dawn for convoy duty and, at the end of a long day, led 234 Squadron’s Blue Section into the air to respond to a call to scramble but it was a non event. Bill Millington, still flushed with the success of his first victory with 79 Squadron, was in transit. Bad weather had impeded the squadron’s move north and, on the 10th, Bill and his friends spent the night at Biggin Hill. At RAF Station Exeter in Devon, Dick Glyde and 87 Squadron were on readiness. They had moved from Church Fenton to Exeter on 4 July and were one of seven fighter squadrons tasked with protecting shipping in the western half of the Channel. Johnny Cock flew a solo patrol at 12.30 p.m.; Dick led Pilot Officer Harry Mitchell and Sergeant Herbert Walton on one at 2.50 p.m.; and Cock doubled up for his second solo effort of the day at 3.15 p.m. Hardly worth it, really as he was only in the air for five minutes. Stuart Walch and Jack Kennedy of 238 Squadron woke to an overcast day at Middle Wallop. Stuart, who had carried out eight sorties between 4 and 9 July—a mixture of base, local and convoy patrols—was off duty. It was Jack and A Flight’s turn to wait at dispersal for the call to ops. All was quiet until 7.45 p.m. when A Flight was called to patrol Portland Bill. It was another anticlimax. There was no enemy encounter and so, after landing, Jack returned to his shabby quarters to await ‘the Blitzkrieg on England.’

Meanwhile, at Cranwell, a stunned John Crossman was in the escort party for a RAF funeral. He had become great friends with Jack Burraston since meeting on the Orama on their way to the United Kingdom. They trained together, shared a billet and studied together. They both expected to be posted to a fighter squadron. Preferably the same one. But on 6 July, shortly before they were to leave Cranwell for a permanent posting, Jack, or Burry as John called him, was killed in a training flight.