I believe you are right.
Here is an excerpt from his own writings on his time as 257 Sqn CO.
This would be Hurri 2C, FM-A (257 sqn code changed from DT)
On 21 June 1941, I was flying on a routine patrol and had gone as far as Southend without seeing anything. It was a beautiful clear day, so I flew a wide arc out to sea off the east coast. All I could see were great white clouds and the calm sea stretching to the horizon in all directions. It was very peaceful, calm and restful with the strong sunlight pouring into the cockpit. I must have day-dreamed a little, because suddenly there was an appalling crashing sound in the cockpit as a heavy blast struck me from astern. I pulled up quickly and was immediately hit again from the left. My left hand was suddenly numbed and my arms jarred as the whole throttle quadrant was blown out of my hand. The reflector sight plate exploded and a chip lodged in my forehead between my helmet and goggles. The side door and hood blew off with a great roar, the engine was misfiring badly and I had no throttle.
A few seconds later the engine was spluttering and cutting out, and temperatures were climbing fast. The radio was dead and speed falling off rapidly. Oil and glycol drenched my legs, but somehow the aircraft stumbled on. It was astonishing that the machine stayed in the air at all after the punishment it had taken. It seemed that the airframe could stand almost anything.
After a few more moments, desperately staggering back to the coast, the starboard aileron broke off and disappeared astern, white smoke and flames started to appear at the bottom of the cockpit under the dashboard. I baled out, shed my boots and ‘chute, and got my punctured dinghy inflated.
I was in the dinghy for two hours before being picked up by a coal barge from Gravesend, and was kept fully occupied getting the chips of glass out of my forehead, staunching the blood and baling out the dinghy. I trailed my left hand in the water, as when I baled out the parachute lines had somehow slipped through the palm of my hand, causing painful blisters. I had been attacked by three Bf 109s, but had had the satisfaction of sending two of them crashing into the sea.
