Keith Gillman, Portrait of a Pilot.

Who was Keith Gillman? What sort of man was he? How exactly did he meet his death that day of August 25, 1940? And how was it that his picture was used so widely in wartime newspapers and magazines?

These were the sort of questions from readers promoted by my decision to use George Campbell’s striking portrait of Pilot Officer Gillman on our dust-jacket giving, in my view, the impression of the youthfulness of the vast majority of those killed in the battle and conveying the epitome of “The Few.”

I therefore contacted Humphrey Wynn of the Historical Branch of the Ministry of Defence and he kindly agreed to research into Keith Gillman’s background for us. The facts which have emerged are simple, matter of fact and unstartling, but, nevertheless, perhaps typical of most Battle of Britain pilots – everyday youngsters doing a job in which 537 of them lost their lives.

Two ironies of fate charactised Keith Gillman’s service in the Battle of Britain: one was that no pilot could have operated more closely in defence of his homeland – for, flying mainly from his squadron’s forward base at Hawkinge he was as near as could be to Dover, where he had been born and brought up. The other was the sad irony of his death on August 25, 1940 – just two days before No. 32 were ordered north to Acklington in Northumberland for a “rest” after fighting continuously since May.

K. R. Gillman was born in Dover on December 16 1920 and educated at Dover County School from 1933 to 1938, when he took London University School Certificate. He was good at sport (soccer, rugby, cricket, tennis and athletics) and in his last two years was a cadet in the school’s Cadet Corps. He joined the RAF straight from school, being awarded a short service (four-year) commission w.e.f. March 27, 1939. On February 23 a medical board had found him fit as a pilot and he started flying training at No. 22 E&RFTS, Cambridge, on March 27.

It cannot be said that Keith Gillman distinguished himself in training, though he was later to prove his mettle in the supreme test of the Battle of Britain. From Cambridge he had gone to No. 15 FTS at Lossiemouth (June 10 – November 20), where he was average in all ground subjects and his flying was “poor but —– improved”. He was authorised to wear his flying badge from October 6.

Now Pilot Officer (on probation) K. R. Gillman w.e.f. November 18, 1939, with newly-won “wings”, he was posted to No. 11 Group Pool for flying duties and from there sent at the beginning of 1940 to No. 1Air Armament School, Manby, Lincolnshire, for a special armament course (January 1 April 26), for the second time getting the word “failed” on his short RAF record – with the stern judgement, “showed little interest and did not apply sufficient energy”.

However, a much fiercer test was to come, and in this Keith Gillman – still only nineteen – did not show himself lacking. On May 10, 1940 he was posted to an operational fighter squadron, No. 32, based at Biggin Hill with Hurricane Is and from May 6 commanded by Squadron Leader J. Worrall.

Two things stand out about this squadron’s service in 1940: that it was in action from the days of the Battle of France, supporting the BEF and covering evacuation; the other, that no fighter unit could have been more in “the front line” of the Battle of Britain – operating from Hawkinge. As John Rawlings puts in his book Fighter Squadrons of the RAF, writing about No. 32 in 1940: “June began with patrols over France and bomber escorts but changed to UK airfield defence during the month. This and the next two months were the toughest yet for No. 32 as it took the full weight of the German attacks over Kent and London. Day after day its aircraft were taken off, fought, landed, refuelled and taken off again, by the same pilots and ground crews. All through the long daylight hours of July and August the fighting continued.

This was exactly the period during which Keith Gillman served with No. 32 Squadron. He made his first flight with them on June 5 when they went forward to Hawkinge, but saw his first action two days later on a “fighting patrol” from Manston – ten of 32s Hurricanes, together with No. 79 Squadron, escorting eighteen Blenheims on a bombing mission over the Abbeville area. This mission was duplicated later that day.

Gillman did not fly again until he took part in a similar operation (twice) on June 14: then three days later, in the evening (2115-2205 hours), he was on a “fighting patrol” over Hawkinge. By that date, June 17, the Battle of France was over, the Battle of Britain “about to begin,” to quote Churchill’s prescient words: RAF Fighter Command was on the defensive, and No. 32 Squadron was in the thick of the fighting from then until its withdrawal from operations at the end of August.

The sorties on which Gillman was engaged mirrored the squadron’s dawn-to-dusk activity on those beautiful but desperate summer days: on June 18 at 0430 hours, and again at 0550 hours, ordered off to investigate a raid in the Maidstone area: in the afternoon of June 21, in a six-aircraft patrol over Hawkinge: on the following afternoon one of nine Hurricanes which refuelled at Manston before escorting Blenheims in a bombing raid at Merville: and on June 27 two sorties – an escort with Nos. 79, 111, and 615 Squadrons to “ photographic reconnaissance from Dieppe to Treport” ( as No. 32’s Operations Record Book put it) and as evening (2030 hours take-off) patrol over Tenterden. But on none of these operations had Gillman encountered any enemy aircraft.

The next month was to be sharply different; on the afternoon of July 3 he was on a patrol over Tunbridge Wells and then, two hours later, on another one when a raid was intercepted.
The following day, after a morning patrol over Dungeness-Dover, he was on an evening interception by the squadron and was shot down by 109s – landing, unhurt, at Hawkinge. On July 8, when on convoy escort, he had to return to base with oil trouble; three days later he was on a fighter patrol and on the following day a convoy escort.

Gillman did not fly again until July 17 when he went with the squadron to Hawkinge and they patrolled from there. Two days later on the same kind of operation, his squadrons twelve Hurricanes were involved in a big battle over his home town and he scored his first success as the ORB recorded.

Keith Gillman’s first victory recorded in his combat report of July 19 preserved at the Public Record Office (AIR50/16)
I was flying No.2, in Yellow Section, which was the Squadron rearguard; Three ME 109’s dived in front of the section to attack Red Section, and I followed No. 2. of the enemy formation who dived gently to port, and fired three bursts of approximately 50 rounds per gun, part of the aircraft was shot away, and it dived vertically towards the sea. It was obviously out of control but I had no time to follow it down, as I was attacked by another ME109.

‘Dover area. At 9,000ft a number of JU 87s observed bombing Dover. While evading AA fire, patrol was attacked by 12 ME 109’s and a dog fight ensued. F/Sgt Turner was shot down in flames but baled out. Is now in hospital at Dover on danger list. Enemy aircraft were shot down by F/Lt Brothers (one ME109) Sgt Henson (one Ju87), P/O Gillman (one Me109) S/Ldr Worrall (one Me109 – unconfirmed) and P/O Smythe (one Me109 — unconfirmed)

When Gillman was next involved, on July 22, nine Hurricanes went off to Hawkinge and six (including his) were scrambled from there but recalled. Three days later the squadron was literally flying from morning till night – showing how intense operations were as the battle became more fierce, and what physical and nervous strain was imposed on the pilots and groundcrew. For on July 25 nine Hurricanes (Gillman’s among them) took off from Biggin Hill at 0435 hours, finally landing back there at 2015 hours, having in that 15 hours 40 minutes day put up thirty-three sorties, on two patrols, a convoy escort and a convoy patrol. Nor was this untypical: there was no let-up for the rest of July and during August, and, with only one short break, Gillman was continuously involved.

Throughout this period No. 32 Squadron went daily to Hawkinge. On July 26 they were called back from there hour after hour, and in the late afternoon patrolled from Biggin Hill, but they were recalled: but when Gillman next flew, two days later, there was much more excitement. Sent to the forward base in mid-afternoon, they were scrambled from there an hour later, then again in late afternoon and for a third time at 2035 hours (after having returned to Biggin Hill to investigate a raid over Dungeness – but on all these sorties no enemy aircraft were encountered. On July 29 eleven Hurricanes took off from Biggin Hill at 0750 hours and were vectored over Dover and Deal – Gillman’s home territory – but again did not meet the Luftwaffe, nor did they when scrambled from Hawkinge at mid-day. Back there by 0505 hours the following morning, they had done two scrambles by the time the majority of the Hurricanes were back at Biggin Hill by 0840 hours: and on July 31, off again to Hawkinge at 1255 hours, they were scrambled three times during the afternoon — on the third occasion to intercept six He111s sighted over Dover the Channel escorted by fighters, but which made off in the direction of Le Touquet.

In August it was the same story – back and forth to Hawkinge, scrambles from there. Gillman flew on the first five days, then on the 10th and 11th, the squadron making two successful interceptions on the latter day. Then (after what might have been a week’s leave) he was in action daily from August 19 to 25.

On the afternoon of August 24 he was involved in two big combats — at 20,000ft over Dover when eleven of the squadron’s Hurricanes were attacked by twelve Bf 109’s and shot two down for the loss of two of their own, and at 10,000ft over Folkestone when ten Hurricanes took on fifteen Bf 109’s: in the ensuing dog-fight (32’s ORB recorded) Pilot Officer Gillman ‘attacked one which blew up and fell into the sea’, But this success and another one were costly: one of the squadron pilots baled out and three Hurricanes crashed.

The following day nine Hurricanes went forward to Hawkinge at 0825 hours. After one four-aircraft scramble from there they returned to Biggin Hill at 1420 hours; then at 1655 hours eight Hurricanes (led by Squadron Leader M. N. Crossley, who had become CO on August 16) took off again for Hawkinge. At 1820 hours they were scrambled from there and in the words of the ORB, ‘ordered to patrol Dover’.

It continued:
‘Twelve Do 215’s escorted by about 36 Me 109s were intercepted at 14,000ft south of Dover. S/Ldr Crossley shot down a Do215 in flames and sent an Me 109 spinning into the sea. F/lt Proctor shot down an Me 109 in flames off Cap Gris Nez. P/O Rose was shot down and baled out, landing in the sea, but was rescued uninjured after 1½ hr. P/O Gillman missing’.

His death was presumed – after that last combat in sight of his hometown.
Two days later, No. 32 Squadron were ordered to proceed to Ackington, and on August 28 were relieved at Biggin Hill by No. 79 Squadron.

In sending this profile of Gillman, Humphrey Wynn confessed that ‘ I have been very moved in writing it: it’s only when one looks at an individual, or a squadron, that one realises the intensity of physical effort and courage that went into wartime operations – particularly one on such a scale as the Battle of Britain. There is great poignancy about those young men who were lost in that epic summer conflict, and our admiration for those who survived – especially for those whom we know personally – is increased’.

Shortly afterwards, I was extremely fortunate to receive via Roy Humphrey’s (our Hawkinge author), who had been in contact with surviving members of Gillman’s family, the anonymous tribute by ‘Roscoe’ which was published by Morecambe Wings on September 5, 1941 under the title ‘Fighter Pilot I knew’ Balanced against the official record, it adds a marvellous insight into the personality of the man.
‘In the early days of the war, in fact during the very cold weather, I was flying from a place somewhere on the East coast, almost daily doing trips over the cold, grey North Sea. During this time I had the good fortune to serve with men of the Fleet Air Arm, as well as some of the young bloods of today. During my previous there has always existed a certain amount of professional prejudices between fighter pilots and bomber people. Always having been connected with bombers, I naturally looked upon fighter pilots as something inferior. As events will prove I was wrong.

‘Early in January I had occasion to fly in a Blenheim aircraft on a practice bombing run over the sea. It was on this flight I met what was to be the finest pal I have ever known, a rather tall, coltish youth of nineteen. At the time I did not know that this boy was a competent fighter pilot, in fact, I liked him from the start. He was bright, friendly and full of beans, and very keen on the job in hand. The thing which appealed to me about him was that during the time we were several miles over the sae I discovered that neither of us had on the usual “Mae West.” I pointed this out to him after I had been looking at the tumbling rollers far below. His reply to this was to shrug his shoulders and give the “thumbs up.” At once I realised that he was a lad who could take whatever came along.

‘From that day we became firm friends, spending all our spare time – and working hours – together. Our work at this time was practice all types of bombing, interspersed with patrols and sometimes meeting convoys. The weather was more or less lousy: snow, sleet, fog and wind. We used Blenheims and Fairey Battles for the work, and when a detail called for the use of a Blenheim, he and I always managed to go together, taking turns in the “office” while the other juggled with the bomb site. I specialised at this time in low-level bombing, that is to say, bombing from 250 feet, and when the colt was at the controls I felt sure of a good hit. He, on the other hand favoured high-level bombing, which is bombing from the region of 10,000 feet or thereabouts. ‘If we were detailed to do a job known technically as HLB 7or 8, this meant climbing to the height as set on the operations order. Every morning on such a trip we would climb up through the clouds and at last emerge into the clear, bright space above a carpet of white clouds. At once we would search the sky for a possible Hun. The one who was not at the controls had previously climbed into the rear turret on the off-chance of meeting something with a cross and Swastika. How we used to pray for a solitary Jerry to come up through the clouds. Although at that time we were ordered not to engage an enemy unless attacked, always fighting a defensive action, I am afraid this order would have been overlooked had he or I seen a Hun.
‘ I remember an answer he gave to an instructor who had asked him what he would do if while flying as rear gunner he saw an enemy machine about to attack the tail of his aircraft. The colt’s reply was, I should at once attract the pilot’s attention and say, “don’t look now, but I think we are being followed,” No doubt you can imagine the amusement this remark caused to the other fellows.

‘Here’s an example to show you how calm he was. One morning we were ordered to be “on target” at a certain time. We had on board four 112 HE’s and eight 20 pounders. We hung about over the target and did not get permission to attack, and as a second aircraft appeared and proceeded to bomb from a higher level than ours, we decided to clear off, going out to sea for a few miles. He was at the controls and suddenly said, “What shall we do, Roscoe?” Casually I remarked “We’ve got a good load on board, what about a trip to Germany?” He said O.K. and at once put the aircraft into a screaming dive to within a few feet of waves, setting a course for the opposite side of the North Sea. We flew about twenty minutes, neither saying a word, and I really think court-martial or no court-martial, he would have risked the consequences. Eventually I suggested we were well out of sight of land with nothing but cold, grey water below and to have to come down in this – well, the way back we “beat up” all the trawlers and ships we could find.

‘At times we had to search for British aircraft which had come down in the sea returning from the leaflet raids. This was rather an exciting job and a break from the monotony of continuous bombing and air gunnery excises. Even in the worst weather I had always the colt to come with me or |I with him on these jobs. I firmly believe one would have flown to Hell with the other quite willingly. Though we knew full well the sort of end we would meet if anything failed, this did not seem to worry him.

‘There were times when we were able to show off in machines such as Gauntlets and Hawker Demons etc. Often during trips of this kind the colt would shoot me up good and proper. His flying was superb, and for his age he was a master at juggling with the “stick” or in his own words “dicing with death” This last expression was the term used by the entire station for flying.

‘I have gone so far in this article that you must wonder who this fighter pilot could be. His name Gillman – Pilot Officer Keith R. Gillman, a native of River, near Dover (remember the name of this town). In May 1940 our term of service together came to an end, everyone being posted to a different unit. Gillman was still to stay on at the old station until a suitable squadron could be found for him.
‘My posting necessitated leaving the station at the unearthly time of 0400 hours. Need I say how much I appreciated Keith’s action in getting up and coming five miles to the station to bid me goodbye. I remember his words quite well; “Roscoe, you old — — — I couldn’t let you go without coming to shed a few tears and gnash my teeth in your ear.”

‘Eventually Gillman was posted to a fighter unit, flying his beloved Hurricanes. Letters between us were quite frequent. All his letters bemoaned the fact that I could not fly with him at the station, and he assured me that there was plenty of excitement and action. Naturally my longing to be with him and enjoy some real action were equally strong, but I knew that this was a forlorn hope. In one letter he stated “I had the b — — in my sights and said to myself ‘this is from Roscoe,’ and I squirted the hose like hell.” What worried me was that I never discovered the result of the squirting delivered on my behalf.

‘Then came the Battle of Britain in its full force during August and September, Gillman’s squadron was given a sector of East Kent to defend, which included Dover. To my way of thinking this was all that could be desired; a boy to defend his actual home against the enemy. He flew from daylight to daylight. He flew all hours. His actual score I never discovered, because like most flyers he was modest to a degree.

‘At the beginning of August, being on seven days’ leave, I answered his oft-repeated request and paid him a visit. I must say that I expected to meet a more serious Keith. Instead I found him just as full of life as ever. I spent a very interesting day with him and his comrades.

‘A couple of days later I saw him in the daily newspapers a photograph of K.R.G. depicted as one of the men against Goering’s horde of killers. This photograph featured in almost every picture pare and advertisements for several weeks to come, in fact, it became quite famous. At all times I felt a surge of pride when I saw it, because I knew the sort of boy he was.

‘Suddenly his letters to me ceased to arrive, and feeling rather worried I wrote to his mother who hastened to inform me that Keith had failed to return after an action with the enemy. He was posted as missing on August 25, 1940. Naturally I felt very upset and made various enquiries to discover what had actually happened. I did get some idea of the happenings. It appears that after doing his hours of duty Keith volunteered to do an escort job over France. He was last seen at 7.00 p.m. three miles south of Dover, and apparently all right. Several fights ensued almost immediately afterwards. I have always had what I considered a gift for predicting those flyers who were booked for an early death, but at no time did I ever think that this would happen to Keith. Even now I feel that he is hiding somewhere in France. He could speak French fluently and was game enough to try anything. Wherever he is, my esteem for him is the same.

PILOT OFFICER KEITH GILLMAN, ROSCOE SALUTES YOU.’