This was not really what I expected. Having read Geoffrey Wellum’s peerless First Light, and knowing that Kingcome was a member of the same squadron, I had expected something similar. However, reading the introduction, it’s clear that Kingcome died having written only a first draft of the book. It was then polished for publication but Kingcome’s death prevented him adding further material.

As a result, the book is actually much more a memoir of Kingcome’s life than an account of the Battle of Britain, or indeed the Second World War. In fact, there’s surprisingly little on the battle and not too much more on the war. However, Kingcome’s life was fascinating, and the insight into the training and preparations for the war are well worth reading.

There are places where the book suggests it might have become one of the great memoirs of a pilot’s life if Kingcome had been given more time to work on it. As it stands, it’s a valuable insight into the milieu of the sort of man who ended up flying planes in the Second War, and a tribute to a fine man, but it’s not the book it might have been.