Neville Henry Berryman, known to most as Nick, thanks to a cheeky schoolmate who dubbed him “Neville the Devil – Old Nick!” — a moniker that stuck like mud to a car tyre. And besides, “Nick” had a certain rakish charm, far more suited to his charismatic persona.
Nick was the kind of chap who could charm the pants off a room full of grumpy spinsters with a cheeky grin and a well-timed quip. His memoir, which reads like a rollicking adventure, takes us from his schoolboy days, through the clouds of World War II, and back to terra firma in 1946, when he swapped his RAF wings for a life in the motor trade.
In 1941, filled with a sense of youthful adventure, Nick set sail for the USA. There, he learned to fly single-engine aircraft in sun-soaked Florida and Texas, returning to Blighty as a qualified pilot. He was posted to the 276 (ASR) Squadron at Warmwell in Dorset, where he piloted a motley crew of aircraft including the Boulton & Paul Defiant, the iconic Supermarine Spitfire, and the less glamorous but endearingly quirky Walrus. His mission? Air/sea rescue across the Channel, plucking soggy airmen from the drink.
This wasn’t some gentle Sunday afternoon jaunt, mind you. The work was dangerous and unpredictable, with the elements and enemy fire taking turns to play the villain. Nick and his comrades often found themselves needing a rescue of their own. But the camaraderie between them and working alongside the RAF High Speed Launches and RN Corvettes forged bonds as strong as any between comrades in wartime.
The Walrus, affectionately known as the ‘Shagbat’, wasn’t exactly a beauty queen in the skies, but like a trusty old Land Rover, it got the job done and was equally adept on sea and land. Nick became an expert at flying it, finding joy in the sheer thrill of taking off from turbulent waters. Later, he would fly this ungainly beast in the balmy Mediterranean during a stint in Egypt in 1944/5.
Beyond the war, we learn of Nick’s personal life. Raised in the London boroughs of Acton and Ealing, he was educated at the posh Mercers’ School in Holborn. He dabbled in boxing, excelled at athletics, and had a soft spot for musical theatre, particularly the London Palladium. His romantic escapades were more farce than fairytale but happily culminated in a 1945 wedding to the widow of his best friend, a fellow pilot who had been killed in action like so many of his wartime counterparts. This union came with the added responsibility of his late friend’s infant son and faithful Springer spaniel, turning Nick into an unexpected family man overnight, a role he took to like a Walrus to water…