Richard Hillary
| Richard Hope Hillary | |
|---|---|
| Birth name | Richard Hope Hillary |
| Born |
20 April 1919 Sydney, Australia |
| Died | 8 January 1943 (aged 23) near Greenlaw, Berwickshire, Scotland (killed in night training flight accident) |
| Allegiance |
 United Kingdom
|
| Service/branch |
 Royal Air Force
|
| Years of service | 1939–1943 |
| Rank | Flight Lieutenant |
| Unit | No. 603 Squadron RAF |
| Battles/wars | |
Flight Lieutenant Richard Hope Hillary (20 April 1919 – 8 January 1943) was a Battle of Britain pilot who died during World War II. He is best known for his book The Last Enemy (1942), based upon his experiences during the Battle of Britain.
Hillary was the son of an Australian government official and was sent to England to be educated at Shrewsbury School and Trinity College, Oxford. Whilst at Oxford, he was secretary of the Oxford University Boat Club and president of the Rugby Club. He rowed in the successful Trinity College VIII of 1938. He joined the Oxford University Air Squadron and RAFVR in 1939.
Hillary was called up to the Royal Air Force in October 1939 and in July 1940, having completed his training, he was posted to B Flight, No. 603 Squadron RAF, located at RAF Montrose, flying Spitfires. The Squadron moved south to RAF Hornchurch on 27 August 1940 and immediately saw combat. In one week of combat Hillary personally claimed five Bf 109s shot down, claimed two more probably destroyed and one damaged.
Hillary writes about his first experience in a Supermarine Spitfire in The Last Enemy:
The Spitfires stood in two lines outside 'A' Flight pilots' room. The dull grey-brown of the camouflage could not conceal the clear-cut beauty, the wicked simplicity of their lines. I hooked up my parachute and climbed awkwardly into the low cockpit. I noticed how small was my field of vision. Kilmartin swung himself on to a wing and started to run through the instruments. I was conscious of his voice, but heard nothing of what he said. I was to fly a Spitfire. It was what I had most wanted through all the long dreary months of training. If I could fly a Spitfire, it would be worth it. Well, I was about to achieve my ambition and felt nothing. I was numb, neither exhilarated nor scared. I noticed the white enamel undercarriage handle. "Like a lavatory plug," I thought.
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