Thanks Mal, I did consider contacting you about the 'M', but thought it shouldn't be too hard to cut myself.

Photo reconnaissance offered a unique challenge. That of bringing back the first real evidence of success or failure and simultaneously, not to say unavoidably, providing a measure by which the quality of your own sortie might be judged. Not surprisingly it exerted a powerful attraction.
Thoughts to encourage the loner in photo 'M', sitting high above Rotterdam, looking down on the perfection of a late autumn day. The outlines of the city shimmering softly through the haze. Black shell bursts stained the sky. The squadrons moved into echelon and plummeted earthwards. Light flak veiled the target merging into a carpet of destruction - and the diving aircraft became vague shadows darting through layers of murk and smoke.
Brief words of command, leaders reforming their squadrons, and then silence on the radio. The storm of flak died away. A pall of dust hung over the target area. My time had come.
The 88s opened up immediately, a muffled thud shook the aircraft, and oil began to smear the screen. It spread rapidly, still thin, but enough to obscure the view. The cockpit filled with fumes and the curtain of oil grew darker. On instruments now. Fear caught at me and I strove to fight it
down..... Hold the dive!..... Hold it!..... You must hold it!..... Level out and switch the cameras on!.....
By now I was down to 2,500 feet - rocketing blind across the centre of Rotterdam - at least the flak was invisible!
The return trip was agonizing. Trying to spare the engine resulted in a suicidally slow passage across the docks and I expected a direct hit at any moment. Winding the canopy open was no help at all. An alarming close up of the Dordrecht bridges, heavily guarded by flak guns, frightened me out of my skin and I was deluged with hot oil. After what seemed an age I reached friendly territory and called 'Longbow'6 to alert the nearest airfield, Gilze-Rijen, to my predicament.
Oil continued to flood over the windscreen obscuring my goggles and, when I raised them, stinging my eyes. Time to start the approach, staying high in case the engine failed, and slightly offset to provide a view of sorts until the last possible moment. The temperatures were almost off the clock and the oil pressure falling rapidly..... Undercarriage..... Flaps..... Into the final turn.....
It was a surprisingly good landing which came to a shuddering halt alongside a group of airmen and a Coles crane. Difficult to know who was the more taken aback. But reaction was beginning to set in and I shouted across to them, "You can take it away!" The effect was rather spoilt when I slipped on the oily wing root, and ended up in a heap on the runway, fortunately without further damage.
Photo 'M' had been hit in the spinner, which was like a colander, and the constant speed mechanism had been badly damaged. The fuselage looked as if it had been painted glossy black. It was a miracle that the engine had kept going.