Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria

The important Second War 1942 ‘fighter operations’ D.S.O., 1940 Immediate ‘Battle of Britain’ D.F.C. and 1941 Second Award Bar group of seven awarded to Spitfire ace, Group Captain C. B. F. Kingcome, Royal Air Force, one of the outstanding characters of the Battle of Britain, who, during its height, led 92 Squadron with great success from Biggin Hill. Shot down and hospitalised in October 1940, he returned to fly with the squadron until appointed to the command of 72 Squadron, February 1942, leading them as the fighter escort of Esmonde V.C.’s Swordfish detachment for their ill-fated ‘Channel Dash’ action. One of the youngest Group Captains in the R.A.F., aged 25, he commanded 244 (Spitfire) Wing, Desert Air Force, providing fighter support For the Eighth Army from Africa into Sicily and then through the campaign in Italy. His D.S.O. citation stating ‘He has destroyed a total of 11 enemy aircraft, probably destroyed 5 and damaged 13. His claims are traditionally modest...’

Distinguished Service Order, G.VI.R., silver-gilt and enamel, reverse officially dated ‘1942’, with integral top riband bar; Distinguished Flying Cross, G.VI.R., reverse officially dated ‘1940’, with Second Award Bar, reverse of Bar officially dated ‘1941’; 1939-45 Star, 1 clasp, Battle of Britain; Air Crew Europe Star, 1 clasp, Atlantic; Italy Star; Defence and War Medals 1939-45, with M.I.D. oak leaf; together with the recipient’s related miniature awards, these mounted for wear; and riband bar for first three awards, generally very fine or better (7) £30,000-£40,000

Provenance: Bentley Priory Auction, Spink, September 2012, when sold by the recipient’s widow.

D.S.O. London Gazette 15 December 1942. The original recommendation states:
‘Wing Commander Kingcome has lead the Kenley Wing on 22 offensive sweeps; including the Battle of Dieppe. He has made a total of 357 operational sorties, 207 of which were offensive sweeps, and has flown 535 operational hours. He has destroyed a total of 11 enemy aircraft, probably destroyed 5 and damaged 13. His claims are traditionally modest. Throughout the period of his command of this Wing, his coolness and ability in action - coupled with his natural powers of leadership has proved a great inspiration to the Squadrons. He is practically the last operational pilot of his ‘vintage’ and has displayed tremendous resolution and athleticism to remain on operations so long.’

D.F.C. London Gazette 25 December 1940. The original recommendation states:
‘This officer has led his flight and during the last week, the squadron, with judgement and a really good offensive spirit. He has personally destroyed 6 enemy aircraft and probably 4 more, and by his leading has been responsible for the destruction of many others. He has infected the pilots he has led with his own determination and confidence and proved himself a most able Flight Commander.’

D.F.C. Second Award Bar London Gazette 29 July 1941. The original recommendation states:
‘This officer who received his D.F.C. last October at the time had 5 enemy a/c destroyed and probably 4 more. He has now increased his score to 10 destroyed 4 probably destroyed and 10 damaged, and during the past 9 months has on many occasions led the squadron with distinction. At all times he has shown real determination, judgement and courage and has set a very high standard to the other pilots which has reflected itself in the achievements of his squadron.’

Charles Brian Fabris Kingcome was born in Calcutta, India in 1917 and educated at Bedford School. He entered the R.A.F. College, Cranwell in January 1936 but soon after beginning his pilot training he was seriously injured in a car accident and told he would never fly again due to permanent double-vision. Despite this setback, after six months of operations and recuperation, he managed to return to Cranwell and at the end of his final term was delighted to learn of his posting to No. 65 Fighter Squadron at R.A.F. Hornchurch, part of 11 Group, responsible for the air defence of southern England, including London.

65 Squadron, Hornchurch - Battle of France, Dunkirk
Having been selected for one of the five vacancies with Fighter Command that year, he enjoyed ‘a most marvellous life...if I wanted to take off and fly up to a friend of mine who had an airfield or station somewhere a hundred mile away for lunch, I would just go. It went down as flying training. I didn’t have to get permission or flight paths. I just went. If you wanted to do aerobatics, you just went.’ (A Willingness to Die, B. Kingcome refers)
As a newly appointed Pilot Officer, he flew Gloster Gladiators from the late summer of 1938 but within a few months the squadron’s dated biplanes were replaced, ‘The most significant event at pre-war Hornchurch came about when we re-equipped from Gladiators to Spitfires, somewhere between six and nine months before the war began. As one of the first squadrons to be re-equipped, we gained the huge advantage that we were already experienced Spitfire pilots by the time we came to the outbreak of war, and most importantly by the time of the Dunkirk evacuation. Dunkirk was, indeed, the first occasion on which the home-based fighters saw any sustained action.’ (Ibid)
Although not sent to France with the B.E.F., he took part in the battle of France, sharing a Dornier 17 on May 25, and was tasked with providing cover for Operation Dynamo, the withdrawal from the beaches of Dunkirk, ‘At Hornchurch the taste of war at last began to tingle our palates as we anxiously followed the desperate retreat of the Allied troops as they were slowly driven into a coastal trap around Dunkirk... My vantage point for the unfolding epic was in the air above the beaches... As I sat in the relative safety of my Spitfire cockpit, it was the clouds that were my main problem. Our orders had sent us in at 30,000ft, too high for the best of the action, whereas the Hurricanes were patrolling at 15,000 feet. Needless to say we cheated and kept slipping down to see what was happening... the task of providing air cover was hampered not only by the extent of the cloud cover but also by its nature. It stood in patchy layers from about 1,000ft upwards - ideal for marauding bombers but not for our purposes... allowing little time for interception... Nevertheless I managed to fire my guns in anger for the first time, and had the basic fact brought home which I tried to forget: namely, that while the aircraft in your sites was an inanimate object, the human beings it contained were frail flesh and blood. In those early days the German bombers carried little or no armour, and one of the first indications that you were registering hits (especially on the Heinkel 111) came with the spectacle of the guns arching suddenly upwards as the unfortunate gunners died and slumped.’ (ibid)

92 Squadron, Biggin Hill - Battle of Britain
Kingcome destroyed two Heinkels on 2 June, damaging a third and was posted to 92 Squadron as Flight Commander following the loss of two of their Flight Commanders, and the Squadron Leader, Roger Bushell, over Calais on 23 May. He revelled in the spirit and personalities of his new Spitfire Squadron, ’To my mind 92 Squadron always had the special ingredient which sets certain people or groups apart from the rest - a small, indefinable quality in the alchemy that gives an edge, a uniqueness. This quality can never be duplicated or planned for, but somehow it comes into being and is aptly called ‘spirit’. It always begins at the top, and 92’s exceptional spirit undoubtedly had its origins in the outstanding personalities of the original squadron and flight commanders. It then continued to flourish in the fertile soil of the rich mix of characters who made up this exceptional fighting unit: determined, committed young men, intent on squeezing the last drop of living from whatever life might be left to them at the same time as they refused to take themselves or their existence too seriously.
They came from all walks of life... there was Neville Duke and ‘Wimpy’ Wade, both outstanding airmen who survived the war with distinguished and much-decorated careers and became household names as test pilots. There was also Allan Wright, an ex-Cranwell cadet, extremely bright and professorial even in those far-off days, but a determined and successful pilot, and then the youngest of them all Geoff Wellum, aged 17 and known as ‘Boy’ because of his age. And there were Don Kingaby and ‘Titch’ Havercroft, two of the R.A.F.’s most successful NCO pilots, both of whom finished up as Wing Commanders, Don having a unique distinction in earning a D.S.O... and three D.F.M.s... Above all, there was Bob Tuck, extrovert and flamboyant... In the air he was a total professional, none was more highly respected.’

92 Squadron, with the loss of six pilots, had been particularly hard hit in the recent fighting and so, during June, were moved to Pembrey in Wales, out of the front line, where they replaced lost planes and injected some new blood. Here they remained, guarding the West Country ports until the end of August. By then, however, Kingcome had shared in the destruction of a Junkers 88 on 10 July (unconfirmed) and been credited with a share of another Junkers 88 on 24 July, ‘early one morning I was out on patrol leading a section of three of my aircraft from A Flight when we ran into a lone Junkers 88 on the approach to Cardiff, looking suspiciously as if it was on a photo-reconnaissance flight. It was a clear morning without cloud cover, and three Spitfires coming in on its rear end, the unfortunate German aircraft never stood a chance. We watched the pilot as he took his plane down in its terminal dive southwards, pulling up just before he hit the water and scraping the top of the cliffs on the north Devon coast, not far from Minehead, before crashing on to the headland above. He finished up on a fairly level stretch of scrub and grass, so after we had returned to base, I climbed into a Magister... and re-crossed the Bristol Channel to land in the field next to the devastated hulk... One of the crew still lay where he had died, an enormous young man... both blond and beautiful. So much of a type did he seem that I thought at once he must have come straight off Dr. Goebbel’s drawing board... The recent action over Dunkirk had borne in on me uncomfortably the human side of aerial warfare that I preferred to forget, hypocrite that I was: the signs of German air gunners collapsing over their weapons as my bullets hit home. Here, on the north Devon coast, the lesson should have been rubbed in even more vividly, yet whereas over Dunkirk I had felt genuine remorse for the lives I was taking and families I was bereaving, here I felt none. We had by this stage seen many newsreels of such young men in action, and here was this perfectly formed young demigod, apparently personifying all we had gone to war to fight...faced with this corpse, perhaps I should have brought myself to feel more Christian, more tolerant, more compassionate, I could not manage any of these qualities.’ (ibid)

In early September, No. 92 Squadron returned to 11 Group on the front-line of the Battle at R.A.F. Biggin Hill. Shortly thereafter, the C.O., Sanders suffered a burns injury and Bob Stanford Tuck had been posted to 257 Squadron (Hurricanes) leaving Kingcome to take over as Acting C.O; he commanded 92 Squadron for approximately six weeks during the height of the Battle of Britain, leading them on around 60 operations. Having entered the fray on 9 September, the Squadron claimed a total of 127 aircraft destroyed by year end.
Scrambled often multiple times daily, Kingcome’s personal record during the Battle reads as follows:

9th September Me Bf 109E, Destroyed (Probable), Canterbury
11th September Heinkel 111, Destroyed (Confirmed), Dungeness
14th September, Two Me Bf 109Es, Damaged, both over Canterbury
15th September, Dornier 17, Damaged, Hornchurch
18th September, Junkers 88, Destroyed (Shared), Isle of Sheppey
18th September, Heinkel 111, Destroyed (Probable), Southend
18th September, Heinkel 111, Damaged, Southend
24th September, Junkers 88, Damaged, Maidstone
24th September, Me Bf 109E, Damaged, Dover
27th September, Dornier 17, Destroyed (Probable), Maidstone
27th September, Dornier 17, Damaged, Maidstone
27th September, Two Junkers 88, Damaged, Sevenoaks
27th September, Junkers 88, Destroyed (Shared), Redhill
11th October, Me Bf 109E, Destroyed (Confirmed), Dungeness
12th October, Me Bf 109E, Destroyed (Confirmed), English Channel
12th October, Me Bf 109E, Damaged, Margate
12th October, Me Bf 109E, Destroyed (Confirmed), Cap Gris Nez
13th October, Me Bf 109E, Destroyed (Confirmed)

Kingcome’s refusal to follow his damaged victim’s down to the ground was well known and, as a result, both his fellow pilots and and later historians have concluded that his official tally of confirmed kills is conservative, ‘Of course I used up a lot of ammunition on 109s in the Battle of Britain - who didn’t - but I don’t remember claiming many kills’, he wrote. ‘In my experience there was usually too much going on upstairs to spend time following victims down to the ground for confirmation of a kill’ (ibid)

Kingcome’s part in the Battle of Britain was abruptly ended by an Me 109 (this is disputed; Kingcome always believed he was actually shot down by a Spitfire) on 15 October, ‘We were scrambled from Biggin Hill, with myself leading 92 Squadron. We successfully intercepted the raiders over Maidstone in mid- Kent, broke up their formation and turned them back after a fairly brisk encounter. It was a run of the mill operation, and since it had used up all of my ammunition I thought I would head for home. I looked around and found myself alone in the skies, apart from three Spitfires in the far distance... It was around noon, and the October day, as I have said, was glorious. I could see Biggin Hill in the distance, and began to think of my uneaten breakfast. This I had missed as a result of the German’s sadistic sense of humour, which led them to time raids to coincide with meals... I put my nose down to head straight for home... then thought I might as well kill two birds with one brick and decided to throttle back and practice a ‘dead stick’ forced landing; that is to say one with a simulated engine failure. It was breathtakingly stupid behaviour... The skies of Kent were at all times a hostile environment, whatever the illusion of emptiness, yet here was I, as operationally experienced as anyone, casually putting at risk my aircraft and my life... I had grown blasé... forgetting the fighter pilot’s golden rule to watch his tail however safe he thought he might be... I was sailing in a dream when my reveries were rudely haltered by an almighty thump to the back of the right leg... Worse was to follow: a rattling clatter as if someone were violently shaking a giant bucket fall of pebbles close to my ear. Still it took me a farther moment or two to realise that this sound was the jarring impact of bullets striking in and around my cockpit. Glancing down at my leg, I saw blood welling out of the top of my flying-boot... The effect was devastating: one minute relaxed and carefree, in total control with nothing more dramatic in mind than a simulated forced landing and the day’s lunch menu; the next, inhabiting a doomed aircraft at 20,000ft losing blood at a rate that suggested consciousness might slip away at any moment with death following within minutes... I therefore decided to compromise, get rid of the canopy, undo the straps and give the stick an almighty shove forward. With luck I would then be catapulted out by centrifugal force. The trick might well have worked, but I never got as far as testing it. No sooner had I undone the straps than I was plucked violently out of the cockpit as if by a giant hand, hurled into a furious maelstrom of wind and storm and raging elements that whirled me head over heels, arms and legs windmilling uncontrollably, helpless as a ragdoll in a clamouring hurricane.
The brutal blast of air assaulted me with all the solid physical force of a jackhammer, blacking my eyes and bruising my face with a ferocity of which I had never dreamed air to be capable... The ground, from which a short time before I seemed to be irrevocably separated, now rushed up to meet me. My wounded leg meant I landed heavily, permanently damaging a disc in my back before sprawling over and over, the breath knocked out of me.’ (ibid)

The bullet was successfully removed from between two shin bones and, while convalescing, Kingcome learned that he had been awarded the D.F.C. for his actions during the Battle of Britain. Returning to the squadron, he took full command from Johnny Kent in early 1941 and added two Me 109s to his tally, one probable on 16 June and one confirmed on 24 July. He received a bar to his D.F.C. for 10 confirmed kills and, ending his tour in August 1941, he was sent to the relatively restful posting of Instructor with No. 61 Squadron.

72 Squadron - the Channel Dash
Kingcome was appointed C.O. of 72 Squadron (Spitfires) based at Gravesend in February 1942 and was almost immediately ordered to provide escort cover for 825 Naval Air Squadron’s ill-fated attack on the German Capital ships Gneisenau, Scharnhorst and the cruiser Prinz Eugen as they dashed through the Channel, a mission so secret that not even Fighter Command HQ knew what was happening:
‘Shortly before midday the phone went and summoned us to a state of readiness... No sooner had we arrived than we were called to cockpit standby... There was, it appeared, some as yet undefined surface activity off Dover involving the navy, who were very probably going to need our support... During the next quarter of an hour I must have been summoned four times between cockpit and control tower, each time fastening and unfastening the straps and each time been given a set of different instructions, each set more confusing than the one preceding it. It became obvious there was not a soul, from Fighter Command downwards, who had a clue as to what was afoot in the English Channel. Eventually I emerged from this spin of activity with a set of instructions which at least looked positive and clear cut: 72 Squadron was to take off at once and fly flat out towards Manston. There we would find four other Spitfire squadrons already orbiting the airfield, and these were to form up behind 72. Kingcome was to take command of this scratch wing of five squadrons, at which point six naval Swordfish of the Fleet Air Arm, based at Manston, would be scrambled. The task of our Wing would be to escort them to the Straits of Dover, where some kind of fracas was in progress between a flotilla of German E-Boats and several of our own MTBs... The Swordfish were to do what they could to break up the EBoat flotilla while the Spitfires provided air cover and, air cover duties permitting, join in the attack... At least my instructions from the control tower at Gravesend seemed clear at last. I sprinted back to my aircraft to clamber into the cockpit and take off before there could be any more changes of plan. We could muster only ten serviceable Spitfires and pilots, and my nine companions formed up behind me as we high-tailed towards Manston. There the six Swordfish were already airborne and orbiting the airfield, but we could see no more Spitfires anywhere in view. How long the Swordfish had been waiting was impossible to tell, but they were making their impatience obvious. The instant they saw us they straightened up and set course without hanging about for the rest of the escort to show up... the most immediate surprise they gave me was that, instead of flying south towards Dover, as I expected, they turned due east and at zero altitude, headed out across the North Sea, the surface of which was uninviting and threatening beneath a swirling cover of low cloud and rain. Undaunted, I took up station above and behind, deploying the ten aircraft to which the promised five-squadron wing had evidently been reduced... The coast was hardly more than a few minutes behind us before the first attack came from enemy fighters. We managed to thwart them without sustaining casualties. Then, without warning, I found myself gazing at an astonishing sight as it materialised dramatically and magically out of the low cloud and tempestuous rain. I found I was sitting at masthead height above the most magisterial warship you could have imagined... Mentally I began to chalk up points of congratulation to the Royal Navy. At last, it seemed, they had made a dramatic move up-market and got themselves a real ship of battle for the present and future. The contrast between our lumbering patrol of Swordfish, wallowing sluggishly over the waves, and this magnificent vast flying fortress cruelly showed up the contrast between struggling museum relics and a sleek deadly product of the latest technology... In the midst of my reveries the marvellous fighting ship I was circling so admiringly opened up at me with every mighty gun barrel. I moved deftly away from the turmoil of shrapnel, aggrieved if not astounded. The Royal Navy was known among airmen for having this habit of firing first and asking questions afterwards. Then all at once the gunners on the great warship switched attention to the Swordfish, which were by now driving straight towards her in two ‘vies’ of three in line astern... It was impossible to think she might be German. Surely in that case we would have been briefed; and surely a major enemy warship could never have come so close to the English coast without triggering the nation’s alarm bells long before this... She lowered her big guns and fired salvos into the sea ahead of the approaching Swordfish. As the colossal walls of water and spray rose directly into their paths, I had the impression that one was brought down by the deluge. Somehow the others seemed to survive, however, and then the battleship raised her sights and let fly directly at the Swordfish with a fiery inferno. The brave ‘Stringbags’ never faltered, but just kept driving steadily on at wave-top height, straight and level as though on a practice run. They made the perfect targets as they held back from firing their missiles before closing to torpedo range. They were flying unswerving to certain destruction, and all we as their escort could do was sit helplessly in the air above them and watch them die. Mercifully our role as inactive spectators came to a dramatic close as, out of the murk and broken cloud, a swarm of German fighters appeared. We had expected nothing less. What we had not expected was that among the Messerschmitt 109s, Germany’s front-line, single-engined, single-seat fighter, there would be a strange new radial engined single-seater never before seen or even mentioned in advance intelligence warnings. As we discovered later, we had made our first contact with the Focke-Wulf 190... Goring’s most deadly answer to the Spitfire, and the air cover had been led by no less a person than Adolf Galland. Meanwhile there was not a split second free for speculation. We turned in towards the attacking fighters and did our utmost to intercept between them and the vulnerable Swordfish. The battle was was short, sharp and violent, and it probably lasted only a few minutes before the German fighters melted away. Of the Swordfish no trace remained, apart from floating wreckage and one or two life-rafts. There had been six aircraft and eighteen crew. Five survivors were later picked out of the water. I never knew how many of the Swordfish were shot down by the ship’s guns and how many by the attacking aircraft, but I hoped we had at least managed to protect them from the main brunt of the attack from the air. The rest became history... The great ship I had so admired turned out to be the Prinz Eugen, the battle cruiser escorting the twin battleships, Gneisenau and Scharnhorst... Thirteen men had died and six aircraft been lost on a doomed mission... With guns empty, the Spitfires of 72 Squadron made their way back to base, many shot up but none shot down.’ (ibid)

Desert Air Force - 244 Wing - Sicily and Italy
On 15 April 1942, Kingcome damaged a Focke-Wulf 190 during a sweep over Boulogne and he probably destroyed an Me 109 on 28 May. His D.S.O. was awarded later that year after one more confirmed victory. There followed stints at Kenley fighter wing and and the new Fighter Leaders School before he was posted, in May 1943, to join the Desert Air Force in the Middle East ‘As yet I knew very little about the Desert Air Force other than that it was a completely mobile, utterly self-contained tactical air group whose task was to support the Eighth Army, and that it was having a very busy time as Rommel and Montgomery were slogging it out in North Africa. It was a tough, independent, battle-hardened group, experienced in mobile warfare and capable of moving anywhere at a moment’s notice without interruption to its activities. By the time I caught up with D.A.F. it had arrived in Malta and was preparing for the invasion of Sicily and Italy. The D.A.F.’s main role was to provide protection and fighter support for the Eighth Army, and as a consequence we needed to be based as close behind the ground forces as possible, which meant a move of base virtually every time the army advanced or retreated. During my time with 244 I recall eighteen such moves, including the two invasions involving sea crossings, first from Africa into Sicily and then on into Italy.’ (ibid)
Promoted to Group Captain, Kingcome found himself, at the age of 25, leading five hardened Spitfire Squadrons Nos. 92, 145, 601, 417 (Canadian) and 1 (South African). He would lead the Wing through the Sicilian and Italian campaigns, taking part in battles such as Anzio and Monte Cassino and conducting long range operations over the South of France. Sent to Palestine in December 1944 to attend the R.A.F. Staff College in Haifa, he ended the war as Senior Air Staff Officer of No. 205 Bomber Group (Liberators) with which he occasionally flew as a waist gunner over northern Yugoslavia.
Remaining in Italy after the war as CO of No. 324 Wing, he was Mentioned in Despatches (London Gazette 1 January 1946) and returned to England in mid 1946, attending Staff College and working at the Air Ministry. His bachelor lifestyle started to take a toll on his health, however, and after being treated for tuberculosis in 1950 he was invalided from the service in 1954, going into business with a former Battle of Britain comrade and ace, Paddy Barthrop. He died on 14 February 1994.

Remembering 92 Squadron and Biggin Hill
One of the pre-war Cranwell elite, Brian Kingcome became one of the R.A.F.’s great fighter leaders during the Second World War, standing alongside such names as Douglas Bader, Bob Stanford Tuck and Johnnie Johnson. He served during the war in sustained front-line operations in both 92 and 72 Squadrons but he always considered 92 Squadron to be his own, having led it as part of 244 Wing in the Desert Air Force as well as through the most exhilarating and treacherous part of the war during the Battle of Britain. In his memoir he recalls with great affection his time with 92 at Biggin Hill:

‘The surge of adrenalin, the half dozen or so pilots, that were all we could normally muster, sprinting to their aircraft, the tiredness and the hangovers disappearing as though they had never been, the flat-out climb to 20,000ft, the mud on our flying boots freezing fast to our rudder bars in our unheated and unpressurised cockpits, the long shallow tension-building dive south to meet the enemy, sometimes seeing the sun lift over the horizon from 20,000ft and again, after landing, on the still darkened earth. The day only just begun and already behind us the savage, lethal action, death for some, and for those safely back on the ground the memory of two sunrises in one morning and thoughts quickly suppressed of friends not yet accounted for. And life, at least until the next telephone call. Adrenaline-filled life. One sustained electrifying high.
I remember Biggin Hill with enormous affection.’


Sold with the following original documentation and items:
Original card box of issue for campaign awards addressed to ‘W/Cdr C. B. F. Kingcome, C/O Lloyds Bank Ltd., Cox & Kings Branch, 6 Pall Mall, London’ with enclosure slip and named Authority to Wear slip; Royal Air Force Pilot’s Flying Log Book, Group Captain B. Kingcome, covering the period 22 April 1946 to 25 June 1948; Bestowal Document for Distinguished Service Order dated 15 December 1942 with named enclosure slip from the Air Ministry; M.I.D. certificate dated 1 January 1946; A quantity of I.D. cards and passes including R.A.F. Biggin Hill Operations Room Pass named to Sqn. Ldr. Kingcome D.F.C., 72 Sqn, 1942, Permit to enter Fighter Ops. Room, Malta dated 1 July 1943, R.A.F. Identity Card with photograph of recipient, dated 7 April 1950; A quantity of club membership cards and party invitations; the recipient’s Officer’s Pay and Allowances Book; letter written by the recipient to his mother, dated 2 January 1944, while serving with 244 Wing D.A.F. during Italian Campaign; Savoy Hotel card with 14 signatures including Max Aitken, Hugh Dowding, Sailor Malan, Al Deere, Ian Gleed, John Kent, Richard Hillary and Brian Kingcome; sketch book containing mainly mechanical sketches; original recommendation for D.F.C. awarded to J. S. Ekbury, 145 Sqn., typed and hand written, signed by Group Captain Kingcome, dated 6 June 1944; a quantity of photographs spanning the recipient’s flying career including a mounted portrait in uniform; letter from Sy Bartlett of Melville Productions, Hollywood dated 7 May 1956; reference written by Air Marshal R. Atcherley, with personal letter to Kingcome; a copy of ‘Biggin on the Bump’, by Bob Ogley, given to the recipient by his grand-son in later life; the recipient’s copy of First Light by Geoffrey Wellum; and other ephemera.