Carnage in the Emporium. After Duxford last week it could only be an air battle for yesterday’s wargame. The table was set up as a corner of Manstone in the summer of 1940 with a Spit being hastily refuelled and rearmed. These proceedings were spotted by both an Me110 fighter bomber and a couple of free hunting yellow nosed 109’s led by the redoubtable Major Von Richter. Just as these worthies lined up their strafing runs a couple of 242 Squadron Hurricanes pitched in at the 109s. The low level hard turning fight was short but desperate. Squadron Leader Bader being shot down into a field on the airfield’s perimeter and his wingman left struggling to control his crippled and smoking Hurricane. Luckily for Manstone a lone Spitfire came streaking in from the west, latched onto the 110 and blew it from the sky with incredible venom. The Spitfire then turned head on to the 109s and swept in. Major Von Richter smiled gleefully into his gun sight as the Spit grew ever bigger and he opened fire knocking lumps from the British fighter. Unfortunately for The Von his opponent was none other than the Raff’s best marksman, Sailor’s bullets smashed his engine, windscreen, and melon in that order and his yellow nosed 109 crashed in the middle of the airfield. Sailor skillfully belly landed his stricken Spit and clambered from the wreck. Luetnant Dicke in the other 109, in true Hun style, came in to shot him up on the ground. So intent was Dicke on his dastardly mission he failed to notice a badly smoking Hurricane latch onto his tail. It was his last mistake as the eight guns thundered and the 109 exploded. Sailor waved in salute to the gallant 242 Squadron Hurricane pilot came in to land. Great couple of hours we had playing it, especially when Section Officer Harvey arrived at Squadron Leader Bader’s stricken aircraft to be met with a bellow. “Don’t just stand there women, get me out and find me another b****y Hurricane!” To which she gamely replied. “Don’t shout at me Mister Bader!” The Jeries were all killed and our lads battered, bruised but triumphant, then in the Emporiom’s finest treadition we all galloped off to the Officer’s Mess for a gallon of Tetley’s Best Bitter.