Geoffrey Wellum was one of those men, patrolling the blue skies in his Spitfire with his fellow pilots of 92 Squadron at the tender age of 19, an age where for many of us, the most important decision revolved around which pub to go to with our mates on a Friday night. He left school, at 17, to join the RAF two months before the outbreak of World War II, and had barely completed his basic training when he was thrust into combat – so desperate was the country in need of bodies to pilot its fighter planes.

It sickens me to hear, as so sadly we often do, of surviving war veterans being mugged in our streets, their homes broken into, their lives turned upside down, by the same apathetic and nihilistic youth whose way of life they fought so valiantly to defend all those years ago. Every one of those ingrates who take their lives and liberty for granted, and act as if the world owes them something, should be made to read this book. That’s assuming they can read in the first place.

"First Light" starts out when Wellum is a seventeen year old, having applied to the Air Ministry to train as a pilot, and takes us through his training on the Tiger Moth bi-plane, the ubiquitous North American Harvard trainer and finally on to Spitfires. The main part of the narrative centres on his combat experiences with the legendary 92 Squadron at RAF Biggin Hill (SE London – near Bromley), before his transfer to 62 Squadron based at RAF Debden (in North Essex). He was then moved to the island of Malta in the latter part of 1942 where he continued to fly Spitfires on combat missions – most importantly during Operation Pedestal (to get desperately needed supplies to Malta in August 1942) this time from aircraft carriers.

He pointedly reminds us that there were other men – much in the same position as he – flying the German fighter planes that he, and his fellow pilots shot down. Men who left behind wives, children, sisters, brothers, fathers and mothers who no doubt grieved for them no less intensely than those on the English side who gave their lives. There is no sense of triumphalism here - no gloating or jingoism – just a deep and lasting respect for his adversaries, even as he did his damnedest to shoot them out of the sky.

It’s a compelling, unpretentious story that really draws you in. You sense that this is the tale of a young man who was proud to do his job, but who has never gone out of his way to “dine out” on his experiences. There is an understated humility about the narrative that whispers quietly that the author did what was expected of him by family, King and country – all the while with the minimum of fuss and nothing in the way of complaint.

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