大象传媒

My name is Andre Potier I was born and brought up in Braunton, N.Devon. My story concerns one of my elder brothers, Michael Potier a flight lieutenant in bomber command RAF. He had volunteered before conscription and could be looked on as bit of a daredevil.

In the early part of 1940 the telephone at home rang my father answered it and found that it was Michael on the other end. Apparently he was at RAF Chivenor a RAF station in North Devon about 2 miles from where we lived. His squadron had been on a bombing raid to Brest, in France, where some of the German navy were in port. He was flying a Blenheim two engine bomber and they had landed at Chivenor for re-fuelling on their way back to their base in East Anglia.

My father asked if it would be possible for us to come to the airfield gate and meet him, but as they were only there for a re-fuelling stop, it would not be possible. However he did say that when they took off he would fly over the house and we might see him that way.

My mother, father, brother and I went out into the garden and waited and we heard several planes taking off. In a short while one aircraft came towards our house, which is situated at the end of the valley towards Ilfracombe. It got lower and lower and flew over the house at a height I have never seen an aircraft fly so low before. As it went over you could see him in the pilot cockpit waving to us like mad. The noise was deafening. It flew up the valley did a turn and flew back over the house, slightly higher this time and as it went over the plane waggled its wings.

Neighbours and people in the road not only heard the noise of the aircraft but were worried as to what was happening, when the word got around that the pilot was Michael Potier the comments were 鈥渢rust him鈥� or 鈥渋t could only be him鈥�.

The story has a sad ending as a few months later his squadron were posted to Malta, for a fortnight to relieve the squadron that was there. On the tenth day they were sent to bomb the fleet in Tripoli harbour, North Africa. A volunteer was asked for to fly in first and attract the fire from the war ships, so that the remainder of the squadron would have an easier raid. Unfortunately like all volunteers, the aircraft was badly damaged and he instructed his crew to bale out and he seriously injured flew the plane towards one of the large ships and crashed it by flying into the bridge. His waving from the plane as it flew over Braunton was the last time we saw him.

He lived for flying and was looking forward on his return from Malta to going for training on flying four engine bombers, which would mean long raids into Germany. Like a lot of other young people in the RAF he was 21 when he died.

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