Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria

The important Battle of Britain Fighter Ace’s ‘1940’ D.F.C. and ‘North Africa - Operation Torch’ Second Award Bar group of seven awarded to Squadron Leader A. C. ‘Bolshie’ Bartley, Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve - one of the founder members of the famous 92 Squadron, who is credited with at least 12 Victories, 8 damaged, a number of probables and possibles, and countless unclaimed.

Bartley cut his teeth over the beaches of Dunkirk, shooting down two enemy aircraft after his first dogfight, 23 May 1940 - his aircraft riddled with bullets as a result. On the way home, ‘as I was racing back across the Channel, another Spitfire flew up beside me, and the pilot pulled back the hood and started pointing at my aircraft. Then, Bob Tuck came on the intercom and chortled, ‘You look like a sieve, chum.’ I scanned his fuselage and answered back, ‘Just wait until you get a look at your crate.’

Bartley survived a remarkable episode during the height of the Battle of Britain, when he shot down a Do 17, 15 September 1940, ‘I heard a cannon shell explode behind my armour-plated seat back, a bullet whizzed through my helmet, grazing the top of my head and shattering my gun sight, while others punctured my oil and glycol tanks. A 109 flashed by.

Fumes then started to fill my cockpit, and I knew without doubt that I had had it, so I threw open my hood, undid my straps and started to climb over the side. As I braced myself to bale out, I saw my enemy preparing for another attack, and knew it meant suicide to jump with him around. Escaping airmen over their own territory were fair game in some combatants’ log book, and a friend of mine had been shot down in his parachute. So, I decided to bluff it out, climbed back into my aircraft, and turned on my attacker.

My ruse worked; he didn’t know how hard he’d hit me, but he did know that a Spitfire could turn inside a Messerschmitt, and I fired a random burst to remind him, whereupon he fled for home. By this time I was too low to jump, so I headed for a field and prayed.

At a hundred feet, my engine blew up, and I was blinded by oil. I hit the ground, was catapulted out, and landed in a haystack, unharmed. I hit the buckle of my parachute to release it, and as it fell to the ground, the pack burst open spewing forth the silk which had been shredded by splinters of cannon shell. I said a hasty prayer before the first of the rescue party could reach me.’

Bartley’s was a life of extraordinary adventure, during which he was involved in a number of iconic incidents, all of which are reflected in his Log Books and autobiography - a veritable who’s who of stars of the stage, screen and sky. From Winston Churchill to Clark Gable, Noël Coward to Laurence Olivier, and Bob Stanford Tuck to ‘Sailor’ Malan - all ultimately leading to his marriage to the film star Deborah Kerr, of The King and I fame

Distinguished Flying Cross, G.VI.R., reverse officially dated ‘1940’, with Second Award Bar, reverse officially dated ‘1943’, mounted on investiture pin, in damaged Royal Mint case of issue; 1939-45 Star, 1 clasp, Battle of Britain, loose; Air Crew Europe Star, 1 clasp, France and Germany; Africa Star; Pacific Star; Defence and War Medals 1939-45, with seven related and mounted miniature awards, and riband bar for first four awards, the latter indicating the award of a bar to Africa Star, generally very fine or better (7) £100,000-£140,000

D.F.C. London Gazette 25 October 1940:
‘Pilot Officer Bartley has shot down at least eight enemy aircraft. He has always displayed great coolness in action and proved himself a clever and determined fighter.’

D.F.C. Second Award Bar London Gazette 16 February 1943:
‘In the operations in North Africa, Squadron Leader Bartley took part in numerous sorties on which he destroyed 2 hostile aircraft, bringing his total victories to 13. His great skill, courage and determination have been an inspiration to all.’

Anthony Charles Bartley was born in Judge’s House, Ramna, Dacca, Bengal, India in March 1919. He was the son of Sir Charles Bartley, KT, a Judge in the Calcutta High Court. Bartley was educated at Stowe, and took up an apprenticeship at a Chartered Accountants in London with a view to joining the East India Company. A useful athlete, Barclay played for Blackheath Rugby Football Club - where his skipper encouraged him to learn to fly at West Malling Flying Club, Kent in 1938. With a sense of impending conflict Bartley applied for a commission in the Royal Air Force, and in May 1939 was posted as an Acting Pilot Officer (on probation) to No. 13 F.T.S., Drem:
‘A whole new life had opened up for me, and I knew that the next few months could make or break it. The sky was now my only goal, my only limit.’ (Smoke Trails in the Sky, by A. C. Bartley refers)

With Jamie Rankin (later D.S.O. and Bar, D.F.C. and Bar and C/O of 92 Squadron) as one of his flying instructors, Bartley soon got in to the swing of things:
‘In our off duty time, I learned to play golf, sail a thirty-two foot boat I’d bought with four of my friends and named Pimms No. 4, went into Edinburgh with them on Saturday night drinking safaris, and fell madly in love with the Provost of Edinburgh’s daughter. When war was declared, just after I had got my Wings, I proved that the Oxford was acrobatic by looping the Firth of Forth Bridge, and nothing fell off. In October 1939 I was posted to 92 Fighter Squadron at Tangmere, and after a gargantuan farewell party in the officers’ mess, I headed my MG towards the south.’ (Ibid)

The Squadron had reformed primarily from pilots from 601 Squadron, with Roger Bushell (later mastermind of the “Great Escape” from Stalag Luft III) as the commanding officer. As Bartley settled in to squadron routine he noted, ‘A new life line was starting for all of us. Few were to survive it.’ (Ibid)

92 Squadron - Enter the Spitfire, Bob Stanford Tuck and Churchill...
The Squadron re-equipped with Spitfires, 6 March 1940, Bartley was 20 years old at the time:
‘My second most exciting experience was to fly a Spitfire for the first time. It was like driving a racing car after an Austin... riding a racehorse, after a hack. It just didn’t seem to want to slow down... the perfection of a flying machine designed to combat and destroy its enemy. It had no vices, carried great fire power, and a Rolls Royce motor which very rarely stopped. An aerodynamic masterpiece, and a joy to fly.

The next weeks were spent in a hasty training programme as the inevitable confrontation with the Luftwaffe drew nearer... The more proficient we became in mock combat, the more restless we were to get into the real thing, but our CO knew we were not yet qualified. We lacked a paramountly important element in our team - a second flight commander.... He knew we were unprepared until he’d found one.

The arrival of Robert Stanford Tuck at Croydon was as spectacular as his reputation. He buzzed the airfield with every known and, to us, unknown acrobatic before making a perfect three point landing, and we watched in awe. We’d heard that he was an ace aerobatic pilot, crack shot, had once baled out in an aerobatic collision which had scarred his face, and been court marshalled for beating up another airfield, but reprieved as some ‘brass hat’ knew that when the shooting started he would prove himself indispensable.

He lounged out of his cockpit, a silk scarf draped around his neck, a monogrammed handkerchief drooping from one sleeve. He lit a cigarette in a long white holder, and strolled towards our CO who had emerged on the dispersal area to greet him. We watched them pace the tarmac whilst in conversation, then exchange salutes, and Bob mount up his Spitfire and take off. Roger sauntered back to join his protégés, and grinning, told us that he had completed his team.’ (Ibid)

The Squadron moved to Northolt at the start of May 1940, and ‘in the third week... a section of three led by Paddy Green, my [’A’] flight commander, escorted Churchill and his Chiefs of Staff in a Flamingo to and from Paris on a last resort mission to try and bolster French morale before their capitulation. I did not consider that there was any possibility of contact with the enemy, so, before leaving Le Bourget, I unloaded the ammunition from one of my machine gun tanks and substituted bottles of brandy. On landing back at Northolt, mission accomplished, my armourers, according to standard operating procedure, whipped open the ammunition bays to check re-armament, and my precious bottles broke on contact with the tarmac.

The PM, who had just disembarked from his Flamingo parked beside me, witnessed my despondency, let alone concern about court-martial, walked over to me, opened his top coat, and from its pockets produced two bottles of the same brand. All he said was, ‘Smart thinking, young man. It was the last chance either of us are going to get.’ (Ibid)

Success First Time Out - Over the Beaches of Dunkirk
On 22 May 1940 the Squadron was ordered to transfer to Hornchurch. The following day they were thrust into the battle to protect the retreating British Expeditionary Force as it rushed towards the Channel Ports in the hope of evacuation. Bartley carried out two offensive patrols on 23 May, and met with almost immediate success:
‘Twelve Rolls Royce Merlins roared in unison with twelve fighter pilots crouched in their cockpits alone with their thoughts. This was the day, the hour, the moment of truth ... I watched the plane of my flight commander, Paddy Green, ahead of me and repeated his last instructions to myself: ‘Stick to my tail and for God’s sake keep a look out behind.’

I had no feeling of fear, just the intense excitement before any contest. The fact that this was to the death, didn’t cross my mind. I looked down at Cap Gris Nez, and up at the dark surround of smoke which hung predatorily above it from its source on earth. Then, ‘Look out, 109s,’ someone yelled over the intercom, and almost simultaneously I saw it. It was grey and evil-looking with its large black crosses. So, this was it.... and as I started after him, wondered if this was his first combat, as it was mine. If he felt as I did.... I wondered how soon he would spot me closing in on him, or whether I could take him unawares.

Then suddenly he turned in a tight circle, but I turned tighter. I saw him crouched in his cockpit, looking back at me as I held him in my gun sight and pressed the trigger of my eight machine guns. I saw the flash of my bullets as they struck his wings and tail plane. Then, I heard the bullets thudding in to me and saw his compatriot whizz past. I’d forgotten Paddy’s warning to look behind me.

I was angry now, and prepared for a second attack when Paddy’s aircraft suddenly appeared in front of me. He hit the 109 with a long burst of fire, and an aileron flew off and fluttered earthwards like an autumn leaf. The aircraft flick rolled, then spewed out its pilot. I was close enough to see his helmet fly off, a white face and blonde hair streaming grotesquely. He didn’t pull the rip cord. My petrol gauge was showing next to zero, so I radioed Paddy that I was returning to base and dived towards the ground. I saw a blazing wreck of a Spitfire as I darted seawards over the beach. It was Pat Learmond’s - the squadron’s first war casualty....

The squadron took off again in the afternoon, and ran into the enemy as soon as we reached the beaches. A swarm of Heinkels approached like a gaggle of grey geese. Just above them, their close escort of countless Me 110’s, and higher still a swarm of 109’s, small specks which betrayed their presence by their smoke trails in the sky.

I didn’t know how Roger proposed to attack the armada, and I thought of Henry V at Agincourt, perhaps because it was not far from us. Suddenly, Roger’s voice broke the RT silence:
‘Paddy, your flight take on the top cover. The rest stick with me, and we’ll take on the bombers.’
I stuck to Paddy’s tail as he scrambled for more altitude, and all of a sudden we were in the middle of a milling mass of Me 110’s. I turned in behind the closest of them. He had shark’s jaw painted on his nose. I saw his rear gunner’s tracer bullets reaching for me and then stop abruptly as I took aim and fired my first burst from my eight machine guns. On my second, he lurched, flipped over on his back and started to plunge towards the ground, both engines on fire.

The 110’s had formed into a defensive circle with the Spitfires wheeling and shooting inside it picking their targets, one after the other. The rear gunners fired back. The sky was filled with tracer. A veritable maelstrom of whizzing bullets. I crouched lower in my cockpit to make myself as small a target as possible, tacked on to another 110, and finished the rest of my ammunition into him at about fifty yards’ range. I couldn’t miss and again I saw the engines start to smoke, then burst into flames as he broke away from the circle.

As I ducked out of this aerial arena since there was no more that I could contribute, and I had felt several ominous thuds in my fuselage, I heard Roger ‘whoopying’ on the intercom that he had got one, and was after another. Then, minutes later, cussing that some bastard in a Me 109 had got him.

As I was racing back across the Channel, another Spitfire flew up beside me, and the pilot pulled back the hood and started pointing at my aircraft. Then, Bob Tuck came on the intercom and chortled, ‘You look like a sieve, chum.’ I scanned his fuselage and answered back, ‘Just wait until you get a look at your crate.’

We escorted each other, more slowly, back to Hornchurch. When we landed we discovered that Roger, John Gillies, the famous plastic surgeon’s son, and Sergeant Pilot Paul Klipsch were never to join us again.

Paddy Green had landed at Hawkinge, his cockpit awash with blood. He’d been hit in the thigh with an armour-piercing bullet.... The Station Commander, ‘Daddy’ Bouchier, drove over to our dispersal while Bob Tuck and I were checking who had the most bullet holes in our respective Spitfires, congratulated us and told Bob that he was to take over acting command of the squadron.
Back in the officers’ mess, we downed unsconscionable pints of beer.’ (Ibid).

Bartley had shot down at least 2 enemy aircraft during the patrol. His Log Book gives the following for the patrols on that date:
‘Patrol. Encountered 12 Me 109’s. 6 Shot Down By Squadron. Pat Learmond Killed. No Personal Score.
Patrol. Encountered About 50 Me 110’s & Bombers. About 18 Shot Down. Personal Score 2 Me 110’s. Missing: - Bushell, Gillies, Klipsch, Paddy Wounded.’

“Tell Mother I Will Be Home For Tea”
Bartley claimed another 2 enemy aircraft destroyed the following day:
‘We could only muster eight serviceable aircraft. Crossing the French coast, we ran into about fifty bombers with their fighter screen. Harry Edwards, in the section I had been promoted to lead, and myself took on the close escort Me 110’s who turned for home in closed ranks, trying to keep us at bay with their rear gunners. We attacked from beneath their line of fire until our ammunition ran out. Two of my targets went down in flames before the 109’s caught up with us... bullets flying everywhere. I ducked for home. As I swept over the beaches, Pete Casanove called me that he’d been shot down and crash-landed. Asked me to call his mother which I promised I would [the Old Etonian famously quipped “Tell Mother I will be home for tea”, despite which he ended up crash-landing on the Calais coast, and joining Roger Bushell in Stalag Luft III. His Spitfire was dug up in the 1980’s and fully restored].

I staggered in to land, my guts aching from the centrifugal forces of air combat, and my right eye was bleeding from a burst blood vessel. My fitter helped me out of the cockpit. My rigger counted eighteen bullet holes in my Spitfire. All the rest of the boys landed safely. Bob Holland with half an aileron, Al a direct hit on his reflector sight, and Tuck, as usual, full of holes.

That evening developed into a party, God knows why. We hadn’t much to celebrate except rumours we were being temporarily rested. We had lost our CO, five pilots and Paddy wounded but we wanted to forget the battle and make merry. That was the spirit, initiated at the battle of Dunkirk, which prevailed amongst fighter pilots throughout the war.’

Battered and Bruised - Timely Arrivals: Wellum, Wade and Kingcome
The Squadron flew their final patrol over Dunkirk, 25 May 1940. They were only able to field one flight, which was led by Bob Tuck. Bartley shared a Do 17 with Tuck, ‘We saw two men jump out before the Dornier hit the water, but one parachute failed to open, so, we reckoned the airman dead. We watched the second man float down, wished him luck and headed back to Hornchurch.’ (Ibid)

Later the same day, the Squadron was informed that it was to move immediately to Duxford for a well earned rest:
‘Duxford was a haven of peace, and we needed it badly. All save Bob Tuck who thought it a waste of good shooting time and took some of us out to shoot up German shipping off the enemy-occupied coastline. The rest of the time we basked in spring sunshine and drank beer in the local pub while we gradually unwound and awaited our replacement pilots. Our new CO ‘Judy’ Sanders arrived; he was the complete antithesis of Roger, with no combat experience which wasn’t his fault. Poor devil, to take on us lot, I thought. Bob Tuck had pulled strings to get his old compadre from 65 Fighter Squadron to take over Paddy Green’s flight, and Brian Kingcome moved in with his bulldog ‘Zeke’. They looked and acted somewhat alike. Two other recruits were Geoffrey Wellum and Wimpy Wade. Geoff was 18 years old and very unsure of himself. Wimpy borrowed my Spitfire to get in some more time on the type, and straightaway slow rolled it at nought feet over the airfield, so was forthwith accepted in our league.’ (Ibid)

The Squadron fought its last battle over the Dunkirk beaches on 2 June 1940. This was to be a remarkably successful patrol for Bartley, with his Log Book recording:
‘Patrol Dunkirk. Encountered About 30 He III’s & Me 109’s - About 18 Shot Down. Personal Score 5 He III’s. 3 He III’s Confirmed As Having Both Engines Either On Fire Or Pouring Out Oil & Glycol, By P/O Saunders.’

Sources are, unsurprisingly for the period, at variance and eventually he was credited with 4 He III’s damaged. Bartley wrote in his autobiography:
‘We flew to our forward base at Martlesham Heath where two other squadrons were stationed, one commanded by Douglas Bader. In the afternoon we took off as a wing, 92 leading and led by Bob Tuck, our new CO deferring to Bob’s combat experience. It was a comforting spectacle to see a gaggle of thirty-six Spitfires around me. Bob had briefed the wing to fly in loose formations. The Hun was going to have a rude awakening, I was thinking.

We intercepted ten miles behind Dunkirk. The bombers were flying in their formations of threes, and there were lots of them, but their fighter cover appeared quite a way off, for some reason. Bob ordered 92 to go straight for the big boys, and the other squadrons to engage the escort fighters, then ploughed straight on in.

My section, with Harry Edwards, attacked a Vic of three He III’s from below where their rear gunners couldn’t reach us. We slid from one to the other, as they started to burn. Then hopped over to a second Vic formation, and repeated the exercise from about fifty yards range. We silenced all six rear gunners and set five Heinkels on fire, before running out of ammo. Sammy Saunders confirmed that he saw at least three hit the deck, but I didn’t stick around when their escort 109’s started to get to us.’

Wales - A Brush With the Law and a Failure of the Old School Tie
The Squadron was withdrawn to Pembrey for a rest on convoy patrols. The arrival of 92 Squadron at their new ‘digs’, certainly had an effect on the locals, and on this occasion Bartley excelled himself in another way:
‘On June 18th the squadron took off for Pembrey in South Wales. We broke formation over the aerodrome, and buzzed everything in the environment, rudely arousing the Welsh country from its tranquility. Farmers, doctors, parsons, lawyers, local councillors and police flooded the telephone lines to the Station, demanding an explanation for our demoniacal flying. I rolled my Spitfire around our new CO, ‘Judy’ Saunders, my engine cut dead, and I force-landed in a bog which I had mistaken for a field. I skated along on the mud, and started to turn up on my nose. For a moment, I hung poised, terrified that my Spitfire would turn over on its back, and drag me down with it, into the quagmire. It fell back on its belly, and I leaped out, as it started to sink. I waded out, practically up to my neck in mud and stagnant water, and, on reaching terra firma, was promptly arrested by the Home Guard. Since I was wearing red Daks trousers and an old Stoic tie, my captors were highly suspicious and took me to the local police station where I was locked up.’ (Ibid)

The Battle of Britain - From a Distance
Bartley was ‘sprung’ from jail by the Adjutant, and returned to life as part of No. 10 Group in Wales. Slightly withdrawn from things, the Squadron still managed to get involved, and on 15 July 1940:
‘There was a large TNT factory next to the airfield which had become a Luftwaffe target, and we knew that if they hit it, we would be out of this world. This morning, a cloud-hopping Junkers 88 made a pass at it with a stick of bombs, and I became airborne in a matter of seconds, as I didn’t want to be around if they proved to be delayed action. I cornered him in a cumulus cloud that wasn’t quite big enough to hold him, and I chased him in and out of it, like a game of hide and seek. I hit him with several bursts, and his rear gunner hit me, but I couldn’t make a kill, and finally he escaped. The Junkers was a tough one to bring down on account of its radial air-cooled engines, as opposed to the vulnerable liquid-cooled of the Heinkel and Dornier, and a load of armour plating. However, according to one aircraftman who had witnessed the fight and collected some pieces shot off the bomber, “E was very badly ‘urt, Sir.” (Ibid)

Bartley moved with ‘A’ Flight to Bibury:
‘At the beginning of August and to our disgust and despondency A Flight was moved to Bibury and put mainly on night fighter patrols. This was the last straw, when every day we heard on the news what our old friends in 11 Group were doing in the front line. Bibury was a pretty little Cotswold village, and a great contrast to the sordidness of Llanelly. We were billeted in an old coaching house that belonged to a widow who trained racehorses.

The second day after we arrived, we were attacked, without warning by a Junkers 88. I had just finished a luncheon sandwich, and was watching what I had thought was an Oxford trainer circle the airfield, when, to my horror, it dived down at our dispersal point, machine guns blazing. A stream of bullets ploughed into the ground behind my heels as I dived into a ditch, while a stick of bombs came tumbling out of its belly. I lay mesmerised by the falling projectiles, and could not take my eyes off them until they disappeared into the ground with a succession of mighty crumps when everything was obliterated by smoke and debris. The rear gunner fired a parting burst as the Ju 88 disappeared into cloud.

Pat Patterson, Wimpy Wade and I leapt into our Spitfires, and took off after him. In my haste I omitted my flying helmet, and was in consequence, out of touch with Ops Room’s radio communication which could have directed me in the enemy’s pursuit, so I lost him and returned to base. When I had switched off at my dispersal point and disembarked, I discovered that my flight sergeant had been rapped over the knuckles with a bullet that had first transfixed my aeroplane, two adjacent Spitfires had been written off, and our nearest aerodrome anti-aircraft defence gunner had been shot dead through the heart.’ (Ibid)

The Battle of Britain - In the Thick of It - Welcome to Biggin Hill
In early September, 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 leaving Brian 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.

Bartley flew in to Biggin Hill on 12 September, after a short period of leave:
‘As my Anson transport plane made a quick circuit of Biggin, I had a look at the scene below. The whole environment was a mess of bomb-scarred earth and bombed-out buildings. The hangars were in ruins, the entire airfield pock-marked with holes ringed with obstruction warning flags. There were newly laid patches on the runways where craters had been filled in and tarmacked ... The boys, in their flying boots, fur coats and Mae Wests were either standing by their aircraft talking to their ground crews, or lounging in chairs outside the wooden pilots’ dispersal hut. Brian’s bulldog was sprawled at his master’s feet ... The boys helped me stow my gear in the aircrew station wagon while I shot questions at them on the form.

‘We shoot at Huns all day, dear boy, and get bestially drunk at night,’ Brian answered. ‘Station stores has been blitzed, so you can help yourself to anything in the line of flying clothing. I got two of everything for a rainy day.’
As he spoke, the ack-ack guns started barking at a Ju 88 which had emerged momentarily from cloud over the airfield heading south, having, evidently, dropped his bombs, as he ignored us.
‘What does one do on these occasions?’ I asked, a little nervously.
‘Just put on a tin hat, and strike a hostile attitude,’ Brian said.

After a heavy night out at the White Hart in Brasted, 92 Squadron were scrambled in the early hours of the following morning:
‘I looked over my starboard wing, and in the distance, could make out hundreds of little black puffs of cotton wool in the sky. They were approaching fast, and travelling in the wake of an armada of dark bombers flying in V formations. The ‘snappers’ were made visible by smoke trails in the sky. Jeesus, I thought. Where the hell do we start on this lot? I saw six squadrons of Hurricanes tearing up on our port side and I felt less lonely.
‘Tally Ho, right. Here they come, chaps,’ somebody yelled on the RT, and the squadron swung towards the approaching enemy which were making straight for London.
‘Ok, boys, let’s go.’ Brian half rolled, and tore into the leading formation from the quarter. I lowered my seat, crouched over my gun sight, and followed him.

As we closed in on them, I pushed my face close to the armour plated glass and tried to make myself as small as possible. This was like the Dunkirk days. The thrill of the chase. The scent of the kill. I watched as Brian opened fire. Flames spurting from his eight machine gun ports. I filled my gun sight with a fat Dornier, and pressed the trigger. My guns started their staccato chatter, and lead crashed into its fuselage with flashing De Wilde. He jettisoned his bombs, and started to burn. I transferred my aim to another, and his engine cowling flew off before I was caught in his slip stream and tossed to one side as my ammunition ran out.

Simultaneously, my ailerons gave a jolt as one of them hit, and I saw two 109’s flash by. I yelled, ‘Snappers’, on the RT, half rolled, and dived for the deck. Aircraft were falling, in every direction, out of the sky which was now full of smoke trails and parachutes.I made a dicey landing due to my crippled aileron, taxied up to my dispersal point where my apprehensive crew helped me out of my cockpit. I hurriedly lit a cigarette, before I said anything.
‘You all right, Sir?’ Wallace asked me anxiously.
‘Bit of 109 trouble, that’s all. Got my aileron.’ (Ibid)

Remember the Hun in the Sun.....
On 15 September 1940, Bartley added further to his score with a Do 17 Destroyed and another Probably Destroyed over Hornchurch. He was shot down at the point of victory on 18 September 1940, Bartley’s Log Book giving ‘Shot Down by 109. Jumped While Shooting Down Do 17 - Abortive Parachute - Jump Attempt Caused by Pursuing 109 - Crashed at Appledore - Do 17 Confirmed in Sea.’

Bartley records the above incident thus:
‘I was firing at a Dornier 17 and so preoccupied with my target that I forgot the cardinal rule of air fighting. Remember the Hun in the Sun. I heard a cannon shell explode behind my armour-plated seat back, a bullet whizzed through my helmet, grazing the top of my head and shattering my gun sight, while others punctured my oil and glycol tanks. A 109 flashed by. Fumes then started to fill my cockpit, and I knew without doubt that I had had it, so I threw open my hood, undid my straps and started to climb over the side. As I braced myself to bale out, I saw my enemy preparing for another attack, and knew it meant suicide to jump with him around. Escaping airmen over their own territory were fair game in some combatants’ log book, and a friend of mine had been shot down in his parachute. So, I decided to bluff it out, climbed back into my aircraft, and turned on my attacker. My ruse worked; he didn’t know how hard he’d hit me, but he did know that a Spitfire could turn inside a Messerschmitt, and I fired a random burst to remind him, whereupon he fled for home. By this time I was too low to jump, so I headed for a field and prayed. At a hundred feet, my engine blew up, and I was blinded by oil. I hit the ground, was catapulted out, and landed in a haystack, unharmed. I hit the buckle of my parachute to release it, and as it fell to the ground, the pack burst open spewing forth the silk which had been shredded by splinters of cannon shell. I said a hasty prayer before the first of the rescue party could reach me.’

Bravery Rewarded as War takes its Toll
Bartley was shot up again a couple of days later, but returned to form when he Destroyed a Ju 88 over Redhill, 27 September 1940:
‘Some days, we could only field five serviceable aircraft out of twelve. We fought all day, and played most of the night. We lived for the present and dismissed our future. The battle would be won, of course. We had no doubts about that. Meanwhile, the casualties mounted, but no one grieved as we knew it was inevitable ... I had developed a septic wisdom tooth which had to be extracted ... For twenty-four hours, I lay on my bed and spat blood. Then I went up and fought again, and that night something snapped, and for the first time I was really afraid. I drank half a bottle of brandy at the White Hart, and finished it off at the Red House. The [MacNeal] twins took me upstairs, and put me to bed. My head was swimming, and I wept like a child, with fatigue and sorrow for the friends I had lost.

The next day, the MO grounded me, and two days later Brian and I heard that we had been awarded the DFC. I went down to the tailor to have it sewn on, and he refused to accept payment. He shook my hand warmly, and as I stepped out onto the pavement, I felt supremely conscious of the blue and purple striped decoration under my wings.’

Success After The Battle - Additional Firepower
After a period of leave, and the emergence of a new CO (Johnnie Kent), Bartley hit the ground running in November 1940:
1 November Me Bf 109E, Destroyed (Shared), Manston, over Estuary
3 November Me Bf 109E, Destroyed, Ashford area
15 November Me Bf 109E, Destroyed, Maidstone.

The Squadron was moved to Manston in January 1941, and placed on convoy patrols and escort duties. At the start of the following month the Squadron received the first Spitfire Vb’s cannon-armed and with Merlin 45. Bartley claimed the first victory in one of these aircraft when he shot down a He III off Southend:
‘Four of our Spitfires had been equipped with 20-millimetre cannons for trial purposes, and I was flying one of them. On 3rd February it was a cloudy morning when I was at readiness and ordered to scramble to intercept a lone bandit over the Thames estuary. It was luck that I saw his bombs explode below me on Hornchurch, and looking up, I spotted an He III. The experiment was on.

I told the Controller the situation and that I was armed with cannon. I added that I’d leave my transmitter on and give a running commentary. As I got within range, the Heinkel’s gunner started shooting at me and the aircraft started diving for the ground. Within range, I opened fire from dead astern. The cannons shook my plane, and I saw the shells exploding on his fuselage. His rear gunner stopped firing simultaneously, and the Heinkel started to disintegrate, tail first. A gout of blood splashed my windshield. Then bodies started to bale out, but no parachutes opened.
‘The bugger’s blown to pieces,’ I yelled over the RT. The Heinkel plunged into the sea with a cascade of spray.

When I landed, the Controller was on the Ops phone to me. Fighter Command was delighted with the result of my cannons, but not my language. From this encounter and my simultaneous commentary of the results, I am of the opinion that the Air Ministry finally decided to adopt this armament as standard.’ (Ibid)

Bartley laconically described the above in his Log Book as a ‘Good Show.’

Life After 92
At the end of February 1941 the Squadron moved back to Biggin Hill, and due to a reshuffle, once again found themselves with a new CO. The latter being Jamie Rankin:
‘Wimpy Wade and I were having a drink in the bar after the day’s action, when I spotted Jamie’s entrance. With a ‘long time no see’ I greeted him and asked him to join us in a drink which grinning, he accepted. I asked him what he was doing at Biggin, and how were things at our old station Drem. Somewhat nervously, I thought, he answered that he’d left Drem and been posted to Biggin to take over 92.
Wimpy and I almost choked over our pints, then Wimpy said, ‘Well, then you just stick around and we’ll teach you the form.’ He finished his drink, and walked out of the bar.
‘I apologise for that, Jamie. He’s a rude bugger, a great fighter pilot and doesn’t mean any harm,’ I said.

Bartley went on to introduce Rankin to the rest of the Squadron in the even less formal surroundings of the MacNeal’s house. During the party the recently promoted ‘Sailor’ Malan, ‘got me in a corner and told me I was a goddamn playboy, as were the rest of my tribe. That the only responsibility we ever showed was in the air, and then we were a better team than any, but notwithstanding, he was going to make me a proposition.
‘I propose to give you a flight in 74 [his old squadron - now led by Mungo-Park] if you promise to behave yourself on the ground. Think it over, and give me your answer first thing in the morning, when you’ve sobered up.’

I had never wanted to leave the squadron, but all around me my friends were leaving for promotion and added responsibilities, so the next morning, I reported to Sailor and told him I’d settle down and accept his offer with gratitude. I said my goodbyes to the boys, my flight sergeant mechanics, my fitters and riggers, armourers and Ops Clerk Webber. Then, I packed my bags and made my departure.’ (Ibid)

What followed was a two month stay with 74 Squadron, during which disagreement was rife and the nadir of which for Bartley was:
‘On April 6th I was briefed to go to an airfield behind St. Omer, using low cloud cover, to shoot a group of young Luftwaffe pilots who Intelligence had told us were having their ‘passing out’ parade. I took a young New Zealand pilot with me, and neither of us relished the assignment. We had never before been involved in such brutality against the human race, and the thought revolted us, but those were our orders. I wondered why Mungo had selected me for this savage task. A strange malevolence, I had to think. As we approached our target, I thought of their pride in their new wings, exactly as mine had been. As we swept over their parade ground, took aim and pressed the trigger of our eight machine guns, I nearly threw up. On the way home, we were jumped by an Me 110 who had sneaked up behind us as we approached the coast. Neither of us had any thoughts other than those for the young airmen we had murdered. As a hail of lead whipped by our wing tips, both of us spontaneously looped into cloud cover, and upon emerging, found our attacker right in front of us, an easy target which we destroyed.’ (Ibid)

Four days later Bartley’s ear drums burst whilst diving on an Me 109; with a monumental effort he managed to fly home and pass out upon landing. He was put on sick leave and grounded for a month. Having recuperated Bartley was posted for instructor duties to 56 O.T.U. and then 53 O.T.U., before being attached, as a favour from ‘Sailor’ Malan, to Vickers-Supermarine as a production test pilot in July 1941.

A Brush With Noël Coward, Laurence Olivier and a Cameo in ‘The First of The Few’
Whilst employed as a test pilot, Bartley had digs in Southampton:
My whole life became absorbed in test flying the only aircraft I had ever wanted to fly, and my evenings spent drinking with my new test pilot friends... All my expenses were paid, and I bought myself a motor car, as my other perks included an unlimited supply of petrol. For a while, I thought I had it made. One evening, late, I was collecting my key from the front desk, when I bumped into Noël Coward whom I’d met at the Biggin Hill camp concert. He told me that he was on a film location in Southampton (In Which We Serve) and deplored the fact that the bar was closed. I told him I had a bottle of whisky in my room to which we promptly adjourned to broach it. I wanted to call Paula but didn’t have a room phone, so telling Noël to get on with the booze, I returned to the lobby to use the kiosk. When I got back to my room, Noël was lying on my bed in a silk dressing gown, whisky in hand.
‘Thought I’d make myself comfortable, dear fellow,’ he said.
‘Going to make a pass at any moment,’ thought I, preparing to throw him out on his ass. We talked of my war, his film, and finished the bottle. Then he said goodnight and left, and I’ll never know!’ (Ibid)

Bartley’s time as a test pilot was possibly also an introduction to his later career with the film industry. During this time he struck up a friendship with Laurence Olivier, then serving with the Fleet Air Arm , and Ralph Richardson as well as Roger Livesey. Bartley also met Leslie Howard, and went to perform the aerobatics for his film The First of The Few (1942) which chronicled the life of the Spitfire’s designer, R. J. Mitchell.

Command - 65 and 111 Squadrons
Despite the hi-jinks of above, Bartley wished to return to operational flying with a squadron. After pulling the odd string he was posted as a flight commander to join his friend Humphrey Gilbert, who was 65 Squadron’s CO. Bartley joined the squadron at Debden in February 1942. The Squadron were briefly employed in a night fighter capacity, before operating as a Wing on offensive sweeps and bomber escorts. The following month Bartley was joined by Geoff Wellum as another flight commander, and in April they settled down to their new offensive warfare over northern Europe. The other two squadrons in the Wing were 71 and 111, and together they escorted bombers to targets at St Omer, Hazebrouck, Gravelines, Andrieuc, Le Touquet, Calais, Dunkirk, Abbeville, Ostend, Cap Gris Nez, Flusing, Ypres and Zeebrugge.

Bartley added to his score the same month:
‘The FW 190s gave us a lot of trouble which came to a climax on April 27th over St. Omer, where we were escort cover to a squadron of Bostons, which can be best described by a letter Geoff Wellum wrote me after the war.
“As the circus turned for home after the bombing, we were on the outside of the turn and got well and truly bounced by about forty 190’s. FO Davies and PO Grantham collided after the first attack, and Freddie Haslett was shot out of the sky. I had seen it coming, and tried to warn him on the RT, but to no avail. I couldn’t help, as I was being truly clobbered by another 190. It all happened so quickly. The sight of Haslett and my own predicament still haunts me to this day. I just managed to make it back to Manston. You and Tommy Burke fought your way out via Calais, he told me, right on the deck, and you saved his life by shooting a Focke Wulf off his tail.”

Gilbert died in a flying accident in May 1942, and Bartley took over command of the squadron in place of his friend. Despite his best efforts, fatigue and loss started to have an effect on Bartley. He was posted for a rest to the School of Air Gunnery at Sutton Bridge. After a period of recuperation Bartley was posted as the new CO of 111 Squadron in August 1942. The Squadron was based at Kenley, and was destined for transfer overseas. Bartley assembled the pilots that he wanted - Jimmy Baraldi, Mac Gilmour, Tommy Tinsey and Bill Draper, and led them to North Africa. Travelling by ship via Gibraltar in October 1942, and on to Algiers flying their Spitfires as an escort for some Hudsons in November.

Part of ‘Dutch’ Hugo’s Wing
Bartley had trained at Drem with Petrus Hugo, or Pete as he called him, and now found himself under his command as part of 322 Spitfire Wing in North Africa. Flying as part of the Operation Torch landings, Bartley was very quickly into his stride and hit a purple patch over the following month:
16 November, MC 202, Destroyed, Bone
25 November, Ju 87, Destroyed (Probable), Tebourba
25 November, Ju 87, Destroyed (Probable), Terbourba
29 November, Me Bf 109E, Destroyed, Souk el Arba
4 December, Me Bf 109E, Destroyed, Tunis-Bizerta
28 December, Me Bf 109E, Destroyed, south-west Pont du Fahs
28 December, Me Bf 109E, Damaged, south-west Pont du Fahs.

Despite the horrendous conditions, being under almost constant attack, and struggling with the quality of the Algerian wine, Bartley marshalled his squadron to good effect. Often bunked up with Hugo, Bartley and his men were constantly in the thick of it as evidenced by the amount of annotations in his Log Book for this period - listing ‘Tremendous’ dogfights, his ‘Boys’ Claims’ and ‘Casualties’ as they wracked up into December.

Enough is Enough: The Final Sortie
Bartley’s last ‘victories’ of the war, came on 28 December 1942:
‘The army was having a pitched battle around Pont du Fah, and asked us to go over and shoot up the eight wheeled, self-propelled enemy guns that were causing a lot of trouble. As we were walking out to our aircraft, the enemy came over in force, and I yelled to the boys to hit the slit trenches, and dived into the nearest one by yards. I lay in this, half under water, and watched them as they proceeded to shoot down the standing patrol over Souk el Arba, then bomb and machine-gun the field ... As soon as the Huns had left the area, we dashed out to our Spitfires and rendezvoused with some Hurribombers over Pont du Fah at the same time as a formation of Ju 88’s heavily escorted by 109’s appeared. I led the squadron in behind the Messerschmitts, and blew up their leader with my first burst, before attaching myself to his wing man who must have been a novice as he took little evasive action, and notwithstanding my cannons jamming, I peppered him with my two machine guns from minimal range until my de Wilde set him on fire.’ (Smoke Trails in the Sky refers)

Ultimately fatigue and strain had caught up with Bartley:
‘It was not the air combat that was getting us down, but the continual movement from place to place, the chaotic organization, the anxiety of a sudden German counter offensive, and the ceaseless attacks, night and day, by bombs and machine gun fire. There was never a moment to let up. When one was not seeking the enemy in the sky, one was ducking his bullets on the ground. I had found myself incapable of a full night’s sleep, as I tossed around my plans and new tactics for the morrow, worrying about my young pilots, the condition of the deteriorating landing strip and the whine of a Daimler Benz engine approaching ... I was drinking to extremes, I was fully aware of, but it brought the only relaxation I ever got, and without this I would have blown my fuse. I compared this life with the trials of Dunkirk, the Battle of Britain and the relentless sweeps over the cold North Sea into occupied Europe, listening all the while to the throb of one’s single engine, for it to falter and bring you down to a death by freezing ... It now seemed that my Nemesis had caught up with me. In those days, I hadn’t witnessed so graphically the death and destruction I now knew so well, and I was younger, able to forget, and able to sleep in the arms of someone I loved.’ (Ibid)

Bartley was awarded a Bar to his DFC, but blanked out whilst flying on an operational sortie in January 1943. He was recommended for 3 weeks leave back in the UK, and ‘I wrote my last sortie in my Log Book. It was my three hundred and sixty-fifth combat mission.’

In January 1943, ‘Bartley hitched a ride home in a four engine American Liberator bomber which lost two engines and crash-landed in Wales. Bartley was not injured, and on his return was awarded a Bar to his DFC. In February of that year, he was posted to Headquarters No. 83 Group in the new Tactical Air Force forming within Fighter Command.

After training squadrons in ground attack and Army support for the forthcoming invasion of Normandy, Bartley attended the US Command and General Staff College at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, and taught at the School of Air Tactics at Orlando, Florida. This proved useful when, on his return, he became liaison officer with the 70th Fighter Wing of the US 9th Air Force, moving on, in October 1944, to Transport Command to set up staging posts in Europe. When the war ended in Europe in May 1945, Bartley volunteered for service against the Japanese and in July 1945 established a transport staging post in the Palau Islands. The Pacific Islands and Far East war ended within weeks and Bartley fixed a lift home in a Douglas Dakota which was returning for an overhaul. He was released from the service and in 1946 returned to Vickers-Armstrong as a test pilot and sales executive.’ (Bartley’s Obituary from The Times refers)

Life in the ‘Bright Lights’ - Starts with Clark Gable and Ends with Deborah Kerr
Whilst stationed in America, Bartley spent time in Beverly Hills and socialised with stars such as Clark Gable, whom he had met in London. Gaining introductions to Toni Lanier, Betty Hutton, Kay Williams, Elizabeth Taylor and Mickey Rooney, a world of opportunities formed. In March 1945 Bartley was in Brussels and met the actress Deborah Kerr (later nominated six times for the Academy Award for Best Actress, and awarded a Golden Globe for her performance alongside Yul Brynner in The King and I). He was smitten. Back in London, Bartley bumped into David Niven in the Savoy in July 1945, and together they wrote a telegram of proposal. The couple were married in 1947 (the footage of the wedding held at St. George’s Church in Hanover Square is available online), after ‘a wild stag party thrown by Sailor Malan and attended by my ushers Robert Stanford Tuck, Jamie Rankin and ‘Laddie’ Lucas, amongst some other survivors of the Few.’ (Smoke Trails in the Sky refers)

Bartley’s marriage brought a change of direction and he moved to Hollywood, studying film production with MGM. He wrote and produced television films for Fireside Theatre, MCA and Douglas Fairbanks Presents, including Assignment Foreign Legion, starring Merle Oberon. After his divorce in 1959, he continued to work for in film and television in Canada, then Barbados. In 1971 he settled in the west of Ireland with his second wife, Victoria Mann, where he continued to write and develop television programmes. His autobiography Smoke Trails in the Sky, was published in 1984.

After a truly extraordinary life Squadron Leader Bartley died in April 2001:
‘I liken life to a game of cricket. A challenge to defend oneself against a relentless foe, ever watching and waiting for the mistake which ends one’s innings. At a score of fifty, one raises one’s bat to the applause of the crowd, and thanks God for his mercies. From then on, the game is not of paramount importance, since one has achieved, at least, a substance of success to have survived as long. One knows that the bowling will eventually prevail.’

Sold with the following, and significant, related contemporary items and documents:
Original portrait of recipient in charcoal and white chalk by Cuthbert Orde, signed and dated by the artist, 10 October 1940, framed and glazed; Vulcain, Cricket, wrist watch, gold, reverse engraved ‘Tony From Deborah 11-28-53’, lacking strap, and in poor general repair; No. 1 Squadron Leader’s Service Dress, jacket and trousers, former with Gieves Ltd label named to ‘A. C. Barclay’ (sic), and dated November 1945, and Mess Dress, jacket and trousers; Civil Aviation Pilot’s Log Book (4 July 1938 - 31 July 1938); 2 Royal Air Force Pilot’s Flying Log Books (24 January 1939 - 29 August 1942 and 11 November 1942 - 25 October 1946), the latter water damaged, and annotated ‘Log Book No. 2 was sunk and destroyed aboard the S.S. Berto in the Bay of Algiers 1942’, also later annotated ‘Civil Log Book destroyed in September 1940’, log book with signatures of Roger Bushell, Charles ‘Paddy’ Green and Brian Kingcome; 2 fine photograph albums compiled, and annotated by recipient, covering the period immediately prior to the war, through to 92 Squadron during the Battle and beyond; a Savoy Menu, dated 14 September 1942, with multiple signatures, including the recipient, Hugh Dowding, Richard Peck, ‘Sailor’ Malan, Brian Kingcome, Max Aitken and others; The Battle of Britain Memorial Trust 60th Anniversary Limited Edition Print, signed by a number of notable pilots, including: the recipient, Johnnie Johnson, John Cunningham, and Pete Brothers; another limited edition print of ‘The Hunting Party’, signed by artist Ivan Berryman, number 150/400; together with other ephemera.