The squadron was now stationed at Northholt and I went out there next day to re-join them. The doctor took a rather poor view of my leg and bandaged it heavily and gave me strict orders not to fly again till further notice. This may or may not have saved my life because a week later the squadron was very heavily engaged over Dunkirk during the evacuation. This has no part in this story and it will be sufficient to say that we destroyed a number of Huns and suffered rather heavily ourselves, nearly a quarter of the squadron being lost in four days.
Meanwhile I sat on the ground at Northolt, watching the squadron take off and waiting anxiously for their return, and feeling very unhappy and useless.
The affair at Abbeville was buried in the back of my mind, and I did not even give it another thought.