© "The Big Show" by Pierre Clostermann, 1954, transcribed and submitted by Allan Hillman
Allan notes, "Pierre Clostermann had flown previously in 125 Airfield/Wing with 602 (City of Glasgow) Squadron, leaving B.11 Longues-sur-Mer in July 1944, tour expired. He came back, onto Tempests in 122 Wing in the early part of 1945."
Another poisonous day. Snow, wind. Visibility nil; flying was quite impossible. However, G.C.C. maintained two sections of Tempests at immediate readiness - one from 486 and one from 56 - together with a section of Spit XIV's from 41 Squadron. These three sections had been taking it in turns with no hope of flying, since dawn.
At about 1500 hours the weather cleared slightly, and the 6 Spits were scrambled. In this appalling cold they had a job getting heir engines started and we looked at them through our windows, jeering. In the end one pair took off, followed at least three minutes later by the rest. A quarter of an hour later these last four came back and landed, not having been able to join-up in the clouds. They told us, however, that the first two had jumped a German jet-aircraft.
We got the remainder of the story that evening in the bar, when the pilots of 41 were distinctly pleased with themselves and let nobody forget it. Flying Officer Johnny Reid D.F.C., shortly after he had scrambled and as he was patrolling Nijmegen bridge at 10,000 feet, had spotted one of the very latest and rarest Luftwaffe planes - and Arado 234 - sneaking into our lines at ground level. Diving straight down, flat out, ignoring the risk of his wings coming off, Johnny succeeded in catching the bastard in a turn, fired at him point plank and gently landed him in flames less than 100 yards from Broadhursts H.Q. at Eindhoven.
We were told that the A.O.C. was delighted, as a group of American journalists had witnessed the operation, and it was the first Arado 234 to be destroyed for certain.
After this episode the pilots of 41 revived the good old Spitfire v. Tempest controversy, and pursued us with their jeers: "You Tempests," they said. "You Speed Merchants, you think you're the cat's whiskers, you and your 7-ton crates, your 4 cannon, you've never managed to catch one of those things. You needn't have browned us off for days on end with yarns about your mighty dives and your terrific cruising speed!"
We naturally retorted that this particular Hun must have been very keen to commit suicide. Besides we'd seen Reid's plane after he landed: his poor Spit's wings were buckled like a concertina, all the paint had come off the surfaces, the rivets had sprung and the fuselage was twisted. Good for the scrap heap! And we closed the discussion by a conclusive argument that always annoyed Spitfire pilots considerably, i.e. that our landing speed was almost greater than their cruising speed.
As I was an ex-Spit pilot myself, Frank Woolley tried to drag me in as umpire. For 10 minutes I spouted feeble explanation and mathematical formulae and everybody was satisfied. Drinks all round settled it; we drank to the midges and they drank to the flying buses and we all went to bed in the best of tempers.