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Born in 1920, my brother Len was seven years my senior. His was an ideal age for service at the outbreak of war, while I was merely impressionable. Very athletic and mad keen on flying, Len had already established his credentials by belonging to the Civil Air Guard from1938. Returning from Moosejaw — Canada in 1941 with pilot’s wings, it was not long before Leonard Alfred Smith became one of the many flying Smiths to be affectionately known as Smithy.

Like all pilots, especially fighter pilots, Len was a bit of a daredevil, and the morning of the 27 November 1941 was no different. He had carried out air-to-sea firing exercises off the coast at Selsey Bill with another trainee pilot. Then both Spitfires headed towards their base at Heston. It was Len’s suggestion that, as a diversion, they fly low over a big white building known locally as the ‘Lido’ not far from the seashore at Littlehampton. Unfortunately, a tall flagpole protruded from the top of the Lido and, synchronising through the arc of Len’s propeller, its top knob became embedded in his port wing, resulting in a further eight-foot plummet through a glass section of the roof.

Our widowed father working for the Greater London Council had been seconded to this particular building to assist in the care of evacuated children from the London bombings, which proved Len’s undoing at his court-martial when poor Dad had to act as a prosecution witness.

They do say that had he been an officer he may never have flown again, so maybe he was saved by his lowly education to the age of only 14 in the London Borough of Bow. As it was, his sentence was six months’ grounding, three months’ loss of rank, and two weeks in Chatham Detention Barracks. Any reprimand in the RAF is quantified as a Black, and depending on its severity could be a minor Black or much worse. Len’s particular Black was a Major Black, to say the least, and would virtually wipe out any chance of further promotion. Being a passable artist, the RAF utilised his non-flying time by having him paint murals of Allied and German aircraft in various scenario’s of war, which satisfied Lens talents admirably.

My brother returned to flying duties in June 1942 and soon joined 165 Ceylon Squadron, at Gravesend, and later Tangmere escorting Flying Fortress’s carrying out bombing raids over France. By the year’s end, he was on embarkation leave before sailing to Algiers and eventually catching up with 152 Hyderabad Squadron at Souk-el-Kemis in March 1943. Here the Squadron became the first Spitfire bombing Sqdn, carrying two 250lb bombs slung one beneath each wing. At the end of the campaign he managed to survive a lorry crash where he was thrown through the windscreen, while three of his comrades were fatally injured.

From Malta 152 were involved in the invasion of Sicily, and from there the invasion of Italy. Then they rested at Gioia-del-Colle before eventually sailing to Egypt.

Selected along with 81 Squadron to collect Spitfire MkV111s from Cairo West airport, Len’s third c/o S/Ldr Bruce Ingram DFC led them in 13 hops to India and across that continent to Baigachi near Calcutta. Len said they were making history.

By Christmas 1943, Smithy had become the most senior NCO in the Squadron, now holding the exalted rank of Flight Sergeant. He had also shot down sufficient enemy aircraft to be recognised as an ace pilot. With his aptitude for art he also became the main instigator of the Black Panther emblem painted on the side of 152s Spits. This was a large reproduction of the Cat leaping over the port roundel.

After serving throughout the Arakan - and later inside the Imphal Box - to assist our beleaguered 14th Army, they became the first Squadron to re-enter Burma at Tamu. Immediately they became known as the Black Panthers of Burma.

On the morning of 5 November1944, soon after their return to Burma, they were up scouting for Japanese soldiers after receiving reports of enemy aircraft. Len’s flight was lucky, sighting 12, plus Zero’s and immediately mixing it. His bag was one down and one damaged — he was now one of only two RAF pilots to ever succeed in destroying all three of our enemies. German, Italian and Japanese, the other pilot being S/Ldr Whittamore DFC.

Around the time of this encounter two other things happened to Smithy - he received his well-deserved DFM and a commission came through. The Air Ministry had finally relented and buried the flagpole incident. His commission had been so delayed that his P/O ranking lasted for a mere two weeks before being promoted to F/O. ‘Boy!’ he wrote, ‘Even the AOC calls me Smithy now.’ Major Harry Hoffe had been his C/O then, the first South African to command a Spitfire Squadron after poor S/Ldr Bruce Ingram had unfortunately died from Tetanus poisoning after crash-landing and severely damaging his nose. By the turn of the year, it was Major Hoffe’s turn to be repatriated and command became transferred to S/Ldr Garry Kerr DFC.

Then one day in February 1945 Lord Louis Mountbatten, Supremo of South East Asia Command, came calling, and later sent a telegram to Garry asking him to convey a special word of thanks to Flying Officer Smith and other pilots who flew with him.

The Japanese were well and truly on the run now, and just before the fall of Mandalay Smithy was withdrawn from 152. Garry wrote a farewell message in his Logbook at the end of March 45, just two years and two weeks from his date of joining the Squadron.

After a posting to Peshawar in north-west India to take up Test Pilot duties, and then a Fighter Leaders course at Armada Road, the other end of India, Smithy returned home a Flight Lieutenant in the spring of 1946.

In 1947 I saw him lead the Battle of Britain Display in a MK XV1 Spitfire from Chalgrove in Oxfordshire. The following year he would lead in a MK X1X from his new posting at Leuchars in Fife, because unfortunately another pilot had made a heavy landing in his beloved XV1.

Smithy was due to be married, having finally succumbed to a Scottish lass from St Andrews, just across the bay. On the day, as he pulled from a dive at 300ft above his fiance’s head, prior to entering a rocket loop, the Spitfire was seen to belch black smoke before swiftly breaking up with one wing slicing into the tail section and the remainder diving into a wood on the far side of the aerodrome. The accident made front-page news in the Daily Mirror on the following Monday, 20t September1948, depicting his fiance Mary, as well as the dead pilot, Smithy.

Although the RAF wanted him to be buried in Scotland the family insisted that he was brought home to Romford, Essex, where my eldest sister Ciss had set up home with her husband before the war, and thus established a headquarters for Len and I. He received a full military funeral with RAF Band and Gun Salute.

For the very first time Mary and I were able to meet two of his brother officers who were escorting Len’s coffin. It was a time of great sadness and we found consolation in each other.

Invited to return for Christmas and New Year, Mary managed to rearrange her life and stay longer as gradually we fell in love, finally to be married in the following spring. This year was our fifty-fourth anniversary. With two fine sons and six wonderful grandchildren we feel we owe quite a lot to Smithy.

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