<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<h1>WAR FLYING</h1>
<div class="center wspace vspace">
<p class="p4 xxlarge bold">WAR FLYING</p>
<p class="larger">BY A PILOT</p>
<p class="p2">THE LETTERS OF “THETA” TO HIS HOME PEOPLE<br/>
WRITTEN IN TRAINING AND IN WAR</p>
<p class="p2 smaller"><i>And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky.</i>—<span class="smcap">Campbell.</span></p>
<p class="p4 larger">BOSTON<br/>
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br/>
1917</p>
</div>
<hr />
<div class="ded">
<p class="newpage p4 in0">THESE—</p>
<p class="p1 center wspace">FROM “THETA” TO HIS MOTHER</p>
</div>
<hr />
<h2 id="PREFACE">PREFACE</h2></div>
<p class="in0"><span class="firstword">This</span> little volume of “Theta’s” letters to his
home people is offered in the hope that it
may prove useful, and not for glory or reward.
The Royal Flying Corps in war-time works
in secret. Many of our gallant lads would
gladly become pilots if they knew how to set
to work, and, approximately, what they
would have to face. When “Theta” decided
to try to enter the service he had nothing to
go on save a determination to “get there”
and a general idea of the difficulty of achieving
his purpose. His careless and unstudied
notes, written at odd moments in the work
of training and of war, do show how a public-schoolboy
may become a flying officer and
how he may fare thereafter. Names, dates,
and places, about which the Censor might
have concern, have been concealed, and extraneous
matters have been omitted. The
letters are a cheery and light-hearted record,
and may stimulate others. From first to last
they have not contained a grumble.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span>
It should be understood, however, that the
experiences of the writer must not be taken
as typical of those of all pilots at the front.
The R.F.C. has different squadrons for different
duties, and different types of machines
suited to the nature of those duties. In the
faster type of machine it is possible to do
better and more dangerous work, and, even in
one’s own squadron, the duties of a colleague
may have been more onerous and more trying
than those described. In a fighting squadron
the pilot may have almost daily combats in
the air; in another, he may have very long
and very trying reconnaissance work. “Compared
with that of some squadrons,” writes
“Theta,” “our work is pleasant.”</p>
<p class="p1 smaller"><i>November 26, 1916.</i></p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span></p>
<h2 id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2></div>
<table id="toc" summary="Contents">
<tr class="small">
<td> </td>
<td class="tdr" colspan="2">PAGE</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Ordered Overseas (after Kipling)</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#ORDERED_OVERSEAS">17</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc book" colspan="3">INTRODUCTORY</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Development of an Idea</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#THE_DEVELOPMENT_OF_AN_IDEA">23</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc book" colspan="3">BOOK I</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc booksub" colspan="3"><i>IN TRAINING</i></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr top">I.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">From Theory To Practice</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#I-I">33</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">EARLY IMPRESSIONS</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp1">33</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">MY FIRST FLYING LESSON</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp2">34</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">ON GOING “SOLO”</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp3">38</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">TAKING A TICKET</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp4">41</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">FIRST CROSS-COUNTRY FLIGHT</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp5">44</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr top">II.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Some Episodes: and a “Crash”</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#I-II">47</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr top">III.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">From Passenger To Pilot</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#I-III">53</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc book" colspan="3">BOOK II<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc booksub" colspan="3"><i>ON ACTIVE SERVICE</i></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl book" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">R.F.C. Alphabet</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#RFC_ALPHABET">56</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr top">I.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Opening Movements</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#II-I">57</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">SOMEWHERE</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp6">57</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">MAP STUDY</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp7">59</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">A FORCED LANDING</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp8">61</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">ARCHIES</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp9">62</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">AGED NINETEEN</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp10">64</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">A CONCERT</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp11">65</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr top">II.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Increasing the Pace</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#II-II">67</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">FRENCH AVIATOR’S BAG</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp12">67</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">THE ENEMY IN OUR MIDST</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp13">68</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">“HOT-AIR STUFF”</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp14">71</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">A BIG “STRAFE”</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp15">72</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">LOOPING THE LOOP</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp16">75</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">NIGHT FLYING</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp17">80</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">PHOTOS</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp18">81</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">HIDE AND SEEK</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp19">82</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">“MISSING”</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp20">85</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">PANCAKING IN A WHEAT FIELD</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp21">87</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">AN EXCITING LANDING</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp22">89</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">DUAL CONTROL</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp23">90</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr top">III.</td>
<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Storm after Calm</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#II-III">94</SPAN><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">BACK TO DUTY</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp24">94</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">A GOOD STORY</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp25">96</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">A FOKKER’S FLIGHT</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp26">97</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">A TAIL PIECE</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp27">98</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">NIGHT BOMBING</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp28">99</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">GESTICULATION IN MID-AIR</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp29">102</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">A FIREWORK DISPLAY</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp30">104</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">A MIXED GRILL</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp31">106</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">STALLING</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp32">110</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl side" colspan="2">AN AIR FIGHT</td>
<td class="tdr"><SPAN href="#snp33">116</SPAN></td></tr>
</table>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span></p>
<h2 id="ORDERED_OVERSEAS">ORDERED OVERSEAS</h2></div>
<p class="center b1">(<i>After Kipling</i>)</p>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><span class="firstword">Does</span> he know the road to Flanders, does he know the criss-cross tracks<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With the row of sturdy hangars at the end?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Does he know that shady corner where, the job done, we relax<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the music of the engines round the bend?<br/></span>
<span class="i2">It is here that he is coming with his gun and battle ’plane<br/></span>
<span class="i2">To the little aerodrome at—well <em>you</em> know!<br/></span>
<span class="i2">To a wooden hut abutting on a quiet country lane,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">For he’s ordered overseas and he must go.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Has he seen those leagues of trenches, the traverses steep and stark,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">High over which the British pilots ride?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Does he know the fear of flying miles to eastward of his mark<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When his only map has vanished over-side?<br/></span>
<span class="i2">It is there that he is going, and it takes a deal of doing,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span><br/></span>
<span class="i2">There are many things he really ought to know;<br/></span>
<span class="i2">And there isn’t time to swot ’em if a Fokker he’s pursuing,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">For he’s ordered overseas and he must go.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Does he know that ruined town, that old —— of renown?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Has he heard the crack of Archie bursting near?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Has he known that ghastly moment when your engine lets you down?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Has he ever had that feeling known as fear?<br/></span>
<span class="i2">It’s to Flanders he is going with a brand-new aeroplane<br/></span>
<span class="i2">To take the place of one that’s dropped below,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">To fly and fight and photo mid the storms of wind and rain,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">For he’s ordered overseas and he must go.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza"><em>
<span class="i0">Then the hangar door flies open and the engine starts its roar,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the pilot gives the signal with his hand;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As he rises over England he looks back upon the shore,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For the Lord alone knows where he’s going to land.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Now the plane begins to gather speed, completing lap on lap,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till, after diving down and skimming low,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They’re off to shattered Flanders, by the compass and the map—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They were ordered overseas and had to go.<br/></span></em></div>
</div></div>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span>
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span></p>
<h2 id="INTRODUCTORY"><i>INTRODUCTORY</i></h2></div>
<h2 id="THE_DEVELOPMENT_OF_AN_IDEA">THE DEVELOPMENT OF AN IDEA</h2>
<h3>I</h3>
<p class="in0"><span class="firstword">The</span> first number of the well-thumbed file of
<i>Flight</i>, carefully kept by “Theta” up to the
present day, bears date July 30, 1910, just
two years after the first public flight in the
world. At that time this particular public-schoolboy
was thirteen years of age. His
interest in aviation, however, dated from considerably
before that period, and its first
manifestation took the form of paper gliders.
Beyond the fact that they could be manipulated
with marvellous dexterity and that they
could be extremely disturbing to the rest of
the class in school, no more need be said. In
December 1910 “Theta” felt that he had a
message on airships to convey to the world,
and he communicated it through the medium
of the school Journal. Thenceforward he
wrote regularly on flying topics for the Journal,
and for four years acted as its Aeronautical<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span>
Editor. Throughout 1911, with two school
friends, he also assisted in producing <i>Aviation</i>,
a cyclostyle sheet of small circulation proudly
claimed as “the first monthly penny Aviation
journal in the world.” Therein the various
types of machines were discussed with all the
delightful cocksureness of youth, and various
serial stories based on flying adventures duly
ran their course. For some years he pursued
the construction of model aeroplanes with an
assiduity that may well have been fatal to
school work and games, and that was kept up
until the German power-driven model drove
the elastically-propelled machines into the
realms of toydom. A motley crowd of enthusiasts
used to gather every Saturday and
Sunday in one of the great open spaces of
London for the practice of their craft—nearly
all boys in their teens, occasionally one or two
grown-ups with mechanical interests. When
the War came the group broke up. Some of
them took up real aircraft construction;
others became attached to the Air Service,
naval and military, as mechanics. At least
two became flying officers.</p>
<p>In July 1911 “Theta” obtained his first
Pilot’s Certificate, from an Aero Club which
he had assisted in founding. The document
is perhaps sufficiently interesting to reproduce:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span></p>
<blockquote>
<p class="center">No. 1</p>
<p class="p1 b1 center">X.Y.Z. AERO CLUB: PILOT’S CERTIFICATE</p>
<p>I hereby Certify that “Theta” has passed the required
tests for the above-named Certificate. The tests
have been witnessed by the undernamed:</p>
<p class="p1 b1 center">R. H. W. and J. H. C.,</p>
<p class="in0">who are Members of the X.Y.Z. Aero Club.</p>
<p>The tests are as <span class="locked">follows:—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<p class="hang">1. Flight of 100 yards.</p>
<p class="hang">2. Circular flight of any distance provided the machine
does not touch the ground and lands within fifteen
yards of the starting-point.</p>
<p class="hang">3. Or (alternative) flight of any distance when machine
flies not less than six feet higher than the starting-point.</p>
<p class="hang">4. Flight lasting at least eight seconds.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The above tests have been approved by the members of
the Club.</p>
<p class="sigright">
(<i>Signed</i>) R. H. W., <i>Secretary</i>.<SPAN name="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">1</SPAN><br/>
J. H. C., <i>President</i>.<SPAN name="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">2</SPAN></p>
</blockquote>
<p>The tests would have been very different a
few months later, and really wonderful long-distance
flights were afterwards accomplished.</p>
<p>In order to be able to write with some
authority, “Theta” kept abreast of all developments
in Aeronautics, reading with
avidity all the literature on the subject and
visiting the flying-grounds. The first aeroplane<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span>
he saw in the air was when Paulhan gave
a demonstration of flying at Sandown Park.
Subsequently numerous pilgrimages to Brooklands
and Hendon were made.</p>
<p>There followed visits to France in the
vacations. On the second visit “Theta” and
a companion, it was afterwards discovered,
cycled round the rough and narrow stone
parapet of a fort when a single slip would
have meant precipitation into a moat on one
side, or into the sea on the other. It was a
test of nerves. The return from the third
visit was memorable. “Theta” had left his
portmanteau on a railway platform in Normandy
and his waterproof on the Cross-channel
steamer; but he arrived at Waterloo serenely
content with the wreck of his model aeroplane
wrapped up in an old French newspaper and
a bathing-towel. His knowledge of French
and his customary luck, however, served him,
and the missing impedimenta duly followed
him up in the course of a day or two. Of his
French friends—three brothers—one was killed
in the opening months of the War; a second
was wounded and taken prisoner by the
Germans, after an adventure that would have
won him the V.C. in this country; and the
third, as interpreter, was one of the links
between the Allied forces at the Dardanelles,
and is now engaged on similar work.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span>
A few months before war broke out
“Theta” visited Germany and photographed
the Zeppelin “Viktoria Luise” and its hangar
at Frankfort. He was immensely struck by
the ease with which the huge airship was
manipulated, and with its value as a sea scout;
but as a fighting instrument he put his money
on the heavier-than-air machines. So grew
day by day, month by month, and year by
year—without the least slackening—that interest
in aviation which came to fruition in
war time.</p>
<h3>II</h3>
<p>“Theta” was born in May 1897; the War
broke out in August 1914. On his eighteenth
birthday “Theta” decided that it was time
to “get a move on.” His ambition from the
first had been to enter the Royal Flying
Corps. This was opposed chiefly because of
his youth and seeming immaturity and the
excessive danger attached to training. But
fate, impelled by inclination, proved too
strong. He had been a member of his O.T.C.
for four years, and had attended camps at
Aldershot and Salisbury Plain; but he deliberately
set his face against “foot-slogging.”
He urged that though he was old enough to
risk his own life he was not old enough to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span>
risk the lives of others—his seniors—by
accepting an infantry commission.</p>
<p>After many preliminaries an appointment
was secured at the War Office with a High
Official of Military Aeronautics. There
“Theta” was subjected to a curiously interesting
catechism which seemed to touch
on nearly every possible branch of activity
under the sun except aviation. Finally the
High Official, probably seeing a way of
ridding himself of a candidate who had accomplished
little or nothing of the various deeds
of daring enumerated in the Shorter Catechism,
suggested an immediate medical examination
on the premises. That ordeal
safely passed, “Theta” returned to his
catechist, who said wearily, “Well, we’ll try
you, but you know you have not many of the
qualifications for a flying officer.” “Theta”
returned to school to await his summons,
which was promised within two months.
The school term ended; a motor-cycling
holiday in Devon followed—and still no call.
On the return to London a reminder was sent
to the War Office. There immediately came
a telegram ordering “Theta” to report for
instruction at what may be called Aerodrome
“A.”</p>
<p>Training began almost at once with a joy-ride
of ten minutes’ duration. But the weather<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span>
was for the most part what the aviators in
their slang call “dud.” An “abominable
mist” hung over the aerodrome, and consequently,
though the period of instruction was
fairly prolonged, the opportunities for flights
were few. There was much waiting and little
flying, and the bored youth was driven to
music and rhyming to fill up the interstices.
But before the end of the year a good deal
had been accomplished. At the close of his
eleventh lesson “Theta” was told to hold
himself in readiness for a “solo” performance.</p>
<p>After four more flights came the successful
tests for the “Ticket” which transforms the
pupil into a certificated aviator. This preliminary
triumph was celebrated the same
evening by a joy-ride at nearly 2,000 feet,
the highest altitude that “Theta” had reached
on a solo performance. Nearly four years
and a half had elapsed between the schoolboy
“Ticket” and the real thing.</p>
<p>Then came a transfer to another and more
advanced type of machine. On this there
were but three flights with an instructor, and
then another “solo” performance. Towards
the close of the year “Theta” left
Aerodrome “A” for Aerodrome “B,” having
in the meantime been gazetted as a probationary
second lieutenant, Special Reserve.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span>
The advanced course occupied about three
months. It proved more exciting in many
ways. In the elementary portion of training
“Theta” saw many “crashes,” none of
which, however, proved fatal. In the second,
war conditions more nearly prevailed, and at
times—when, for example, three colleagues
lost their lives in flying, and a Canadian friend
who shared his hut in training was reported
“missing, believed killed,” within a few weeks
of reaching the front—the stern realities of
his new profession were driven home.</p>
<p>But youth is ever cheerful and optimistic.
In fulness of time there came a flight of a
covey of seven “probationaries” in one
taxicab to an examination centre for “wings,”
a successful ending, followed shortly afterwards
by final leave, an early-morning gathering of
newly made flying officers at Charing Cross
Station, the leave-taking, and the departure
to the front.</p>
<p>Training was over; the testing-time had
come. Before his nineteenth birthday was
reached “Theta” had been across the German
lines.</p>
<p>His letters may now be allowed to “carry
on.”</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span></p>
<h2 id="BOOK_I">BOOK I<br/> <span class="subhead"><i>IN TRAINING</i><br/> (<span class="smcap">October-April</span>)</span></h2></div>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span></p>
<h2 id="I-I" class="vspace">I<br/> <span class="subhead">FROM THEORY TO PRACTICE</span></h2></div>
<div id="sn1" class="sidenote">Early Impressions.</div>
<p id="snp1" class="in0"><span class="firstword">Arrived</span> here O.K. and reported. Spent the
best part of the morning signing
papers and books, and buzzing
around. On the way across to
the hangars discovered two R.F.C. men lying
on the ground trying to look like a mole-hill,
and fidgeting with a gadget resembling an
intoxicated lawn-mower, the use of which I
have not yet discovered. Am posted to “A”
Flight (and wondering when I am going to
get it, so to speak). You report at six o’clock
if you are on the morning list; at nine o’clock
if you are not. When you report possibly
you go for a joy-ride, weather and number of
pupils permitting. You spend some time in
the shops, followed by a lecture and then
drill. At four o’clock you report again. If
it’s fine, and the officers don’t feel too bored
with life, they may take you for a flight, but
it is generally some one else they take and not
you. Then you smoke till 5.30 p.m., when you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span>
go home. However, I’m enjoying myself,
and the pupils seem a decent lot. I don’t
think there will be anything doing for the
next few days, as there is an abominable mist
all over the place. The machines are the
safest in the world.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>Have had a ten minutes’ flight this evening.
It was splendid, and felt perfectly safe.
Machine seems quite simple to control. I
had my hands on the dual set, and felt how
the pilot did it. Don’t expect I shall get up
again for a long time. I was quite warm,
and felt happy, calm, and confident.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn2" class="sidenote">My First Flying Lesson.</div>
<p id="snp2">My first flying lesson was in the gathering
dusk of a cold evening, but an extra
leathern waistcoat and an overcoat
and muffler kept me warm.
I mounted to my seat behind the pilot in the
nacelle of the huge biplane, fastened my safety
belt, donned my helmet, and sat tight.</p>
<p>A duologue ensued between the pilot and
the mechanic who was about to swing the
propeller and to start the great 70-h.p. Renault
engine.</p>
<p>“Switch off,” sang out the mechanic.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span>
“Switch off,” echoed the pilot as he complied
with the request.</p>
<p>“Suck in,” shouted the mechanic.</p>
<p>The pilot moved a lever. “Suck in,” he
echoed.</p>
<p>The mechanic put forth his strength, and
turned the propeller round half a dozen times
or so to draw petrol into the cylinders.</p>
<p>“Contact,” he shouted.</p>
<p>“Contact,” came back the echo from the
pilot as he switched on.</p>
<p>A lusty heave of the propeller, and the
engine was started.</p>
<p>For a moment the machine was held back,
while the pilot listened to the deep throbbing
of the motor, and then, satisfied with its
running, he waved his hand, and we began
to “taxi” rapidly across the aerodrome to
the starting-point. The starting-point varies
almost every day, as the rule is to start facing
the wind. Then we turned, the pilot opened
the throttle wide, and a deep roar behind us
betokened the instant response of the engine.
With the propeller doing its 900 revolutions
a minute we were soon travelling over the
ground at 40 m.p.h. The motion got smoother,
and on looking down I found to my surprise
that we were already some thirty feet above
the ground. A slight movement of the
elevator, and we started to climb in earnest.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span>
A couple of circuits and we were 700 feet
up.</p>
<p>The pilot looked round and signalled to
me to put my hands on the controls. I did
so, and then—apparently to test my nerves—he
started doing some real sporting “stunts,”
dives, steep-banks, and so on—in fact, everything
but looping the loop. However, it did
not occur to me at the time to be nervous,
I was enjoying it so much. And so at last the
pilot, who kept casting furtive glances at me,
was satisfied, and taking her up to 1,000 feet
put her on an even keel, and took both his
hands off the controls, putting them on the
sides of the nacelle and leaving poor little me
to manage the “’bus.” This I did all right,
keeping her horizontal and jockeying her up
with the ailerons when one of the wings
dropped a little in an air pocket. On reaching
the other side of the “’drome” he retook
control, turned her, and let me repeat my
performance.</p>
<p>Then, again taking control, the pilot, after
a few more stunts, throttled down till his
engine was just “ticking over,” and did a
<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">vol plané</i> from 1,000 feet into the almost
invisible aerodrome. A gentle landing in the
growing darkness and rising fog, a swift “taxi”
along the ground to the open hangar, and my
first lesson in aerial navigation was concluded.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span>
The teaching methods may be considered
rather abrupt, but they are those adopted
now by all the flying schools. The pupil is
taken up straight away on a dual-control
machine to a height of about 1,000 feet, and
then is allowed to lean forward and amuse
himself with the second set of controls, any
excessive mistake being corrected by the
pilot. After a time he is allowed to turn
unaided, to do complete circuits unaided, and
finally to land the machine unaided. If he
does this successfully he is sent “solo,” and
after a few “solos” is sent up for his “ticket”
or Royal Aero Club Certificate. At the time
of writing I am doing circuits unaided, but I
hope, weather permitting, to have come down
unaided by the time this appears in print.—<cite>Reprinted
from the School Journal.</cite></p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>Have not been up again, but hope to go up
to-morrow. Am enjoying myself, and am
quite fit.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>Had a nice flight yesterday with Captain
——. If fine, hope to have another to-morrow.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span></p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>Up this evening. We passed over a field
and spotted a B.E. smashed. It had run into
a hedge. No one hurt; machine new.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>Three flights yesterday, and would have
gone “solo” in the afternoon but a pupil
smashed the solo machine.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>Nothing doing! Nothing done!</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn3" class="sidenote">On Going “Solo.”</div>
<p id="snp3">At last I have gone “solo.” On Sunday and
Monday two of our machines were
smashed by pupils on their first
solos and both machines had to
be scrapped. In consequence, the pilots have
been rather chary about letting us go up alone,
and we too have been wondering whether we
were fated to follow the example of the others.</p>
<p>At length, however, Captain —— sent up
X this evening, and <em>he</em> got on all right. So
he turned to me suddenly and said, “Well,
you’d better go and break your neck now.”
Thus cheered, I gave my hat as a parting gift
to Y, shook hands mournfully all round, and
amid lamentations and tears took my seat for
the first time in the pilot’s seat.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span>
“Contact,” etc., and my engine was running.
I pointed her out into the aerodrome,
and then turned her to the right; but “taxiing”
is almost as tricky as flying, and before
I could stop it the machine had turned completely
round. However, I got it straight
again, and taxied to the starting-place.</p>
<p>A “biff” of my left hand on the throttle,
and the engine was going all out. Faster and
faster over the ground; a touch of the controls,
and we were off! The next thing I
recollect was passing over a machine on the
ground at a height of 200 feet, and then I was
at the other end of the aerodrome. This
meant a turn; so down went the nose, then
rudder and bank, and round we came in fine
style. A touch on the aileron control, and
we were level again. Thus I went on for ten
minutes, and as Captain —— had told me to
do only one circuit and I had done considerably
more, I decided to come down.</p>
<p>It was growing dusk, so it was as well that
I did. I took her outside the “’drome,” then
pointed her in, put the nose down and pulled
back the throttle.</p>
<p>The roar of the engine ceased, and the
ground loomed nearer. A very slight movement
of the controls and we flattened out
three feet above the ground and did a gentle
landing.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span>
A touch on the throttle, a roar, and I
taxied back to the waiting mechanics. “Good
landing,” sang out one of them, and a moment
later some half a dozen pupils were shaking
me violently by all the hands they could find
and all talking at once in loud voices.
“Where’s my hat?” I asked, and a crumpled
object was handed to me. Then up came
Captain ——, very red in the face, and looking
exceedingly happy. “Damn good, ‘Theta’!”
and so it ended. Heaps of love to you both.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>Went “solo” last Wednesday and shall be
surprised if I do so again before Christmas.
It is cold and misty, and when not misty it is
windy; when it is neither it rains and so on,
but mist from the marshes is the worst by far.
So sometimes we sits and thinks and cusses
and smokes; and sometimes we just sits.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>Have been up again at last—the first time
for a week. Four solo flights to-day. Went
up 1,500 feet on the third and stayed up an
hour on the fourth, between 900 feet and
1,000 feet. It was lovely flying this evening,
but bumpy and airpockety this morning.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span></p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn4" class="sidenote">Taking a Ticket.</div>
<p id="snp4">“Theta,” C. Av. What! At last I am a
certificated pilot. As soon as I
arrived this morning they sent me
up for my ticket, although (as I
said) I had never done a right-hand turn
alone! I took my ticket in fine style, landing
right on the mark each time, while X, who
went up first for his, was helping to extricate
his machine from a ditch. He finished his
tests, however, all right afterwards. When
I landed after finishing my eights, my instructor
said I could consider myself “some
pilot” now. I went up to nearly 2,000 feet
this evening for a joy-ride, and stayed up until
I got bored and it got dark and began to rain.
Well, I have got my ticket without “busting”
a wire, so I hope I shall keep it up. Was
overwhelmed with congrats, from pupils, etc.
I expect I shall be transferred to “B” flight,
and get taken up as a passenger so as to learn
to fly another type.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>Up this morning for a joy-ride with Sergeant
——, and got into a fog bank and lost sight
of land and sky. Got out of it all right in
the end. Rather interesting.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>To-day was the first nice day for flying for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span>
a week, so the officers and men arranged a
football match! All the same I did manage
to get a flight; so cheer-o. I had my hair
cut yesterday, and a new glass put in my
watch. To-day I find my glass cracked, and
my hair grown almost as long as before, in
the night.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem w15"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Whizzing through the azure blue<br/></span>
<span class="i2">In an aeroplane, say you.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Must of sports the nicest be;<br/></span>
<span class="i2">So it is, but then, you see,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The only part that can give pain<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Is the return to earth again.<br/></span></div>
</div></div>
<p>Got on splendidly to-day. Went solo all
right. This type is much nicer to handle than
the other, but you land faster owing to higher
speed. This I managed so well that Sergeant
—— clapped his hands and said “Very
good!”</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem w15"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The wind has been blowing.<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Ye gods! How it blew!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Stopped bicycles going.<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Not one pilot flew.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Up above—eighty-five!<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Down below it blew—well—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In this place dead ’n’ alive<br/></span>
<span class="i2">It is absolute ——!<br/></span></div>
</div></div>
<p class="in0"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span>
(Deleted by R.F.C. Censor as not being
sufficiently expressive.) However, we attended
a very boring lecture, and walked
through slud and mush at drill time; so we
have not done so badly.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem w15"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Some poets say,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As well they may,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Congenial surroundings<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Conduce a lay<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With rhythm gay,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And artful phrase compoundings<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With helpful muse<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To air their views<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On Nature’s grand aboundings.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">E’en so as joy and sorrow<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Do in cases bring forth tears<br/></span>
<span class="i0">(A simile to borrow),<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In this case it now appears<br/></span>
<span class="i0"><em>No</em> sunshine sets the muse to work<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In humble little me;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">’Tis wind, and rain, and fogs that lurk<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Drive <em>me</em> to poesy.<br/></span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>Cleaning wires with emery paper is grand
exercise, albeit a trifle monotonous. However,
the pay (15<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> a day) is good. And
as we pass we hear the voice of R—— weeping
for his pupils (which are not) and will not be
comforted.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span></p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>A most wonderful exhibition of flying by
Hawker, Raynham, and Marix.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn5" class="sidenote">First Cross-country Flight.</div>
<p id="snp5">Did you see your little son to-day emulating
the antics of Nature’s aerial ornithopters?
I left Aerodrome “B”
about 10.15 a.m. and went over
to S., then I branched off at right angles for
W., but as I was about 4,000 feet up I could
not pick it out from the other parks and
commons, and so, finding myself running into
a formidable set of clouds, I “about turned,”
and after taking my map from my pocket and
studying it on my knee for a few minutes, I
found out where I was and set out for Aerodrome
“A.” I found it all right, landed, had a
chat with the pupils, borrowed a “bike” and
went round to my old rooms, with chocolate
for Betty. Teddie, the dog, was overjoyed to
see me.... I soon got going again and did a
few circles over the hospital where Mrs. S.
was nursing, climbed to 2,000 feet, and followed
the railway to—home! Here I did a
circle, trying to cover the houses of as many of
my old friends as I could, and then made off at
right angles to the railway for Aerodrome “B.”
Before I left home I dropped four letters with
streamers attached—two to you, one to A. C.,
and one to the Head. Only a few words<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span>
inside, so it does not matter whether they are
lost or opened by some one else. I have no
idea where they fell. I could see Aerodrome
“B” eight miles away directly I left you, and
landed beautifully in time for lunch. I
covered the distance in about seven and a
half minutes, having had a ripping morning.
I hope you saw me; and if you did, how much
money did Dad win betting it was <em>me</em>?</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>The following extracts are from a letter from
home which crossed the above in post:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“We saw you. It was all very interesting,
and has sent a thrill over the neighbourhood!
To ease your mind I may tell you that your
letter was duly picked up and delivered within
three hours of your visit.... The Mater saw
an aeroplane passing over earlier in the morning
and told me she was sure you had taken Betty
her chocolate. Later it became borne in
upon me that you were on your way back. I
went to the door. Immediately there came
the roar of a Gnome-engined biplane, and I
yelled ‘Here he is.’ Up came the Gnome-engine
biplane, gaily waving its propeller;
then it turned and circled round home. I
gurgled ‘It is Theta,’ seized my handkerchief
and waved it violently. Then there fluttered
down from the aeroplane some little things<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span>
that glittered in the sun as they fell, and we
<em>knew</em> it was your machine.... Then you
appeared to go up over the school grounds
and so home. I watched you till you were
only a speck in the sky, and then turned
away. I shall hope when I wake in the
morning to have the scene described as it
appeared to you from above. Meanwhile our
hearty congratulations on your first cross-country
flight.”</p>
</blockquote>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span></p>
<h2 id="I-II" class="vspace">II<br/> <span class="subhead">SOME EPISODES: AND A “CRASH”</span></h2></div>
<p class="p1 b1 center">(<cite>Extracts from “Theta’s” Private Log-Book</cite>)</p>
<table id="logbook" summary="LogBook extracts">
<tr>
<td class="tdc b1">Date.</td>
<td class="tdc b1">Remarks.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc"><i>November.</i></td>
<td class="tdl">Stalled machine all round aerodrome. Captain L——: “Flying with your tail between your legs: looked d—d dangerous.”</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc">„</td>
<td class="tdl">Wind screen completely frosted over; had only done few solos; had to take machine to 1,000 feet, lean out, and clean screen.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc">„</td>
<td class="tdl">Same day got in hot air over factory chimneys. Hell!</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc"><i>January.</i></td>
<td class="tdl">Second solo on new type. Side-slipped through turning without flying speed. Ghastly sensation. Captain ——: “You would have been killed on any other machine but a ——.”</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc">„</td>
<td class="tdl">Another side-slip, but not so bad; pulled her out of it.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</span></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc">„</td>
<td class="tdl">First forced landing. Connecting rod broke, and inlet valve went. Machine ought to have caught fire. Was two miles from the ’drome. Just got in, machine vibrating horribly from 2,200 feet down.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc"><i>February.</i></td>
<td class="tdl">Worst day so far flown in. Chucked about like a leaf. No goggles, so could hardly see. Nearly strafed officers’ mess. Landing all right, but frightful day.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc">„</td>
<td class="tdl">Engine lost 100 revs. per minute over trees. Had to “bird’s-nest”; unpleasant. Lucky engine did not cut out altogether.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc">„</td>
<td class="tdl">Rising over hangars when another aeroplane rose and headed me over tree, and kept too close. Had I not turned quickly at low altitude might have rammed me. Unpleasant.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc">„</td>
<td class="tdl">Cut out just in front of trees at 50 feet. Steep bank; quick right-hand turn; landing close beside trees. O.K.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc">„</td>
<td class="tdl">As passenger; pilot, Lieutenant ——. Engine missing badly over trees. Attempted to land in small field, but seeing would crash into trees at the other side at 40 m.p.h. pilot put nose up, and with missing engine cleared them by inches, the wheels actually touching the top. Then more tree dodging and steep banks just above ground, landing in aerodrome.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc"><i>March.</i></td>
<td class="tdl">Climbed into clouds and steered by instruments out of sight of earth for practice. Spiralled down.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</span></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc">„</td>
<td class="tdl">Climbed 7,000 feet. Glorious view from above of clouds 4,000 feet below me. Most beautiful spectacle I have ever seen. Climbed till engine would go no higher, then stopped engine and did right- and left-hand spirals down, landing without starting engine again.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc">„</td>
<td class="tdl">Started on cross-country to A. Mist very thick; lost my way, and found myself over London [No compass.—<i>Ed.</i>] Turned and discovered Aerodrome “C” below me, so landed. Later, when mist cleared, restarted, but a following wind and mist made me over-shoot A., and landed in field near D. to find out whereabouts. Engine refused to start, so pegged down machine for the night, and ’phoned H.Q.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc">„</td>
<td class="tdl">Restarted next day when weather cleared up, but all landmarks covered by snow. Landed in field again, but decided to go on. So restarted, and again lost my way. Circled over town and railway, but could not decide what they were, and could not find a landing-ground. Eventually I found one and landed, just stopping in time at the other end. Kept engine ticking over, and was told was four miles from A. Restarted, clearing a large tree by one foot; saw blizzard coming up; had no time to land, so headed into it and flew for twenty minutes at 200 feet altitude unable to see either instruments or ground. Wind and storm increased in violence; was frequently blown up on to one wing tip, the machine side-slipping once to within a few feet of the ground, and just recovering in time for me to clear a house. Driving snow prevented machine from climbing and nearly drove it to earth. When a lull came and I saw a clear place beneath, I promptly circled round, clearing semi-invisible trees by a matter of inches (I was told). Finally landed well, and was running along the ground when a fence dividing the field in two loomed up a few yards ahead. Elevated, and the nose cleared it, but the tail skid did not, and caught the fence, bringing the machine down on its nose with a crash, and turning it over. My head went through the top plane, and I remained suspended upside down by my safety belt.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">50</span></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc">„</td>
<td class="tdl">Propeller smashes in mid-air.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc">„</td>
<td class="tdl">Tested new-rigged machine which had not been flown since it was smashed. Weather very bad for flying, much less testing a reconstructed machine. Did not seem to answer well to the controls and flew left wing down. Landed machine successfully and reported on it.<SPAN name="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">3</SPAN></td></tr>
</table>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span></p>
<h2 id="I-III" class="vspace">III<br/> <span class="subhead">FROM PASSENGER TO PILOT</span></h2></div>
<p class="in0"><span class="firstword">The</span> following notes from “Theta’s” Diary
show the progress from novice (with accompanying
pilot) to certificated aviator (solo):</p>
<table id="diary" class="p1" summary="Diary">
<tr class="bt bb">
<td class="tdc b1">Height.</td>
<td class="tdc b1 blbr">Course.</td>
<td class="tdc b1">Remarks.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl wid5">350 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Circuits of Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">Calm and even; dusk; rested hands on controls.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">1,000 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Round Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">Smooth; dusk; felt controls.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">1,000 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome and neighbourhood</td>
<td class="tdl">Had control a little time, and did left-hand turn.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">900 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">Controlled along straights.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">800–1,000 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome with occasional turns outside</td>
<td class="tdl">Bumpy. Had control along straights for some time. Did several left-hand turns, and one complete turn right round.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">600–700 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">Did circuits, turns, and one landing.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">600 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">Bumpy; so did not get much control.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">500 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">Controlled circuits, and two landings.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">600 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">Entire control; recovery from bank not quite quick enough. One landing.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">400 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">Better; two landings.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">300 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">Two landings; taxi and take off. Told to go solo in afternoon.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">300 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">Two good landings; one bad. Too bumpy for solo.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">400 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">Bumpy; one landing.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">300 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">One landing; bumpy.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">300 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">Entire control, and then sent solo.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">350 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">First solo; a few circuits and smooth landing.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">500 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">All right.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">800 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">Bumpy; landed with engine ticking over too fast.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">1,500 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">Climbed too steeply and nosed down too much on turns. Very bumpy.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">700–1,000 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">Calm; flew for half an hour solo; landing fairly good. Climbed at better angle and turns slightly better.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">500 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Figure eights in ’drome</td>
<td class="tdl">Did first part for ticket successfully, and landed right on T.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">500 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Eights in ’drome</td>
<td class="tdl">Did second part of ticket right again, landing within few yards of T.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl nobl">580 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">One wide circuit with engine switched off</td>
<td class="tdl">Completed tests for R.A.C. Certificate.</td></tr>
<tr class="bb">
<td class="tdl nobl">1,600 ft.</td>
<td class="tdl">Aerodrome</td>
<td class="tdl">Joy-ride; landed with too much engine.</td></tr>
</table>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span></p>
<h2 id="BOOK_II">BOOK II<br/> <span class="subhead"><i>ON ACTIVE SERVICE</i></span></h2></div>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</span></p>
<h2 id="RFC_ALPHABET">R.F.C. ALPHABET</h2>
<p class="in0 in2 blist">
<b>A</b> stands for Archie, the Huns’ greatest pride,<br/>
<b>B</b> for B.E., our biplane they deride.<br/>
<b>C</b> for the “Crash” when by “A”<SPAN name="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">4</SPAN> “B” gets hit,<br/>
<b>D</b> for the Dive before “C” ends the flit.<br/>
<b>E</b> is for Engine, which sometimes goes dud,<br/>
<b>F</b> is Cold Feet, as you wait for the thud.<br/>
<b>G</b> is the Gun that you keep on the ’plane,<br/>
<b>H</b> as per “trig”<SPAN name="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">5</SPAN> is the height you attain.<br/>
<b>I</b> am the Infant who flies a 2C,<SPAN name="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">6</SPAN><br/>
<b>J</b> the Joy-stick on most ’buses you see.<br/>
<b>K</b> is the Kick that you get from a gun,<br/>
<b>L</b> a forced Landing, too oft to be done.<br/>
<b>M</b> for Mechanic; in France most are “firsts,”<SPAN name="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">7</SPAN><br/>
<b>N</b> for the Noise that A makes when it bursts.<br/>
<b>O</b> which is oil, stops the seizing of E,<br/>
<b>P</b> Petrol used by the E of the B.<br/>
<b>Q</b> is the Quiet one gets on a glide,<br/>
<b>R</b> the Revolver you keep by your side.<br/>
<b>S</b> is for Side-slip, some Shot, or a Stunt,<br/>
<b>T</b> is the Thrill of a big Fokker hunt.<br/>
<b>U</b> Under-carriage, first to go in a smash,<br/>
<b>V</b> a V.P.<SPAN name="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">8</SPAN> oft precedeth a crash.<br/>
<b>W</b> the Wireless, for directing big guns,<br/>
<b>X</b> <b>Y</b> <b>Z</b> I don’t want, so I’ll give to the Huns.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">57</span></p>
<h2 id="II-I" class="vspace">I<br/> <span class="subhead">THE OPENING MOVEMENTS</span></h2></div>
<div id="sn6" class="sidenote">“Somewhere.”</div>
<p id="snp6" class="in0"><span class="firstword">I am</span> here at last. Where that is, however, I
can’t tell you.... We had a good
journey, but while I was snoozing
the carriage door—which must
have been carelessly shut by one of our men—opened,
and one of my field boots departed.
I had taken them off so as to sleep better. I
told a police corporal at the next station, and
he is trying to get it. I had to put on puttees
and boots, and pack the odd field boot....
You would hardly believe we were on Active
Service here, although we are, of course,
within hearing of the big guns. There is a
stream near by where we can bathe. We have
sleeping-huts fitted with electric light, nice
beds, a good mess, and a passable aerodrome.
The fellows all seem nice, too. I have met
three of our squadron before.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>I have been up several times, but have not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span>
had a job yet. I have been learning the
district, and how to land and rise on cinder
paths ten feet wide. The ground here is
rather rough, and it speaks well for our under-carriages
that they stand up to it so well. A
good landing is a bounce of about twenty feet
into the air, and a diminuendo of bounces, like
a grasshopper—until you pull up. A fairly
bad landing is a bounce of fifty feet and
diminuendo. Every one here is cheerful, and
thinks flying is a gentleman’s game, and infinitely
better than the trenches; when your
work is over for the day, there is no more
anxiety until your next turn comes round, for
you can read and sleep out of range of the
enemy’s guns. What a pity the whole war
could not be conducted like that, both sides
out of range of each other’s guns all the time!</p>
<p>One of our more cheerful optimists feels sure
the war will end in the next four or five years.</p>
<p>My field boot has turned up, much to my
surprise. It was forwarded on to me by our
local Railway Transport Officer.</p>
<p>We are having quite a good time in our
squadron and are rejoicing in bad weather.
Our messing bill is reasonable, and cigarettes
and tobacco are very cheap; so are matches.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>I have just been over to get some practice<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span>
with the Lewis gun. They are rather amusing
toys, for you get rid of 100 shots in ten
seconds, as you are probably aware....</p>
<p>I took up a mechanic who is a good gunner,
to act as an escort to one of our men who
was going photographing. The corporal was
awfully amusing. He was always getting up
and turning round, or kneeling on his seat
looking at me and signalling to me. I thought
several times he was going to get out and walk
along the planes. The flight was quite uneventful.
Next time I write I hope to be
able to tell you what the trenches are like;
at present, owing to low clouds and bad
weather, I haven’t been able to look at them.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn7" class="sidenote">Map study.</div>
<p id="snp7">On Thursday I went up with an officer observer
on a patrol, to look for Huns
and gun flashes, etc. We could
not see anything above 3,000 feet; so we came
down to 2,500 feet and flew up and down the
lines—well on this side, though—for a couple
of hours. I thus got a splendid view of the
trenches on both sides for miles, and it was
awfully interesting to see the fields in some
places behind our lines, originally green
pasture land, now almost blotted out with
shell holes and mine craters.</p>
<p>There has been a craze here for gardening<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span>
recently, and people are sowing seeds sent
over from England, and building rockeries and
what not. A counter-craze of dug-out digging
was started by our C.O. so as to provide a
place of retreat if over-enthusiastic Huns come
over some day to bomb us. The dug-out was
almost finished when the rain came and converted
it into a swimming-bath. The dug-out
mania has now ceased.</p>
<p>Thanks for your advice about studying
maps. If I carried it out as you suggest in all
my spare time, this is something like what my
diary would have been for the past week:</p>
<table id="diary2" class="p1 b1" summary="another diary">
<tr>
<td class="tdr top">3.30 a.m.</td>
<td class="tdl">Wakened for early patrol work. Weather is dud, so study maps until:</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr top">8.30 a.m.</td>
<td class="tdl">Breakfast. Raining, so return to room to study maps.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr top">12.30 p.m.</td>
<td class="tdl">Snatch ten minutes for lunch, and get back to maps.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr top">4.30 p.m.</td>
<td class="tdl">Have some tea, having violent argument meanwhile on contoured and uncontoured maps. More study.</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr top">8 p.m.</td>
<td class="tdl">Break off map study for dinner; then go to bed and study maps till “lights out.”</td></tr>
<tr>
<td> </td>
<td class="tdl">Here ends another derned dull day.</td></tr>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span>
Still I quite understand what prompted your
advice. If one does get lost, however, one
has only to fly west for a few minutes till one
crosses the lines, and then inquire, as we never
go far over the lines unless escorted.</p>
<p>I have been up two mornings running at
3.30 for work, but the weather has been
“dud.” We do not always get early work, of
course; we take it in turns.</p>
<p>I was up over the lines yesterday about
4,000 feet and they put up a few Archies at
me. They were rather close, so I zigzagged
to a cooler spot.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn8" class="sidenote">A Forced Landing.</div>
<p id="snp8">This morning we were up at half-past two
o’clock. We got up 8,000 feet,
and awaited the signal to proceed
from our leading machine; but
the clouds below us completely blotted out the
ground, so we were signalled to descend.
When I had dived through the clouds at
5,000 feet, I discovered to my surprise what
appeared to be another layer of clouds down
below, and no sign of the ground at all. I
came lower and lower with my eyes glued on
the altimeter, and still no sign of the ground.
Finally I went through the clouds until I was
very low, and then suddenly I saw a row of
trees in front of me, pulled her up, cleared<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span>
them, and was lost in the fog or clouds again.
I decided that that place was not good enough,
and, not knowing where I was, I flew west by
my compass for about a quarter of an hour
and came down very low again. This time
we had more success, and could occasionally
see patches of ground fairly well from about
twice the height of a small tree. We cruised
around till we spotted a field, and, after a good
examination of it, landed all right, and found
on inquiry, to our great relief, that we were in
France. The observer-officer and I shook
hands when we landed. We returned later
in the day when the weather cleared up. I
am not the only one who had a forced landing,
but we all came out all right, I believe.</p>
<p>I was getting some well-earned sleep this
afternoon when there came a knock at the
door of my hut, and R. H. W. walked in. He
is not far from me and so motor-cycled over.
He stopped to tea, and I showed him round.</p>
<p>We are very hard up for games, so I want
you to send me a Ping-Pong set—wooden or
cork bats, and a goodly supply of balls.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn9" class="sidenote">Archies.</div>
<p id="snp9">(<i>To B.C.</i>) I have been putting off writing to
you till I can tell you how I like
German Archies. Well, I can tell
you now; that is, I can tell you how I don’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span>
like them if you promise not to show any one
else this letter. Still, perhaps I’d better not;
you are such a good little boy and have only
just left school; perhaps one day when you
are grown up I’ll tell you my opinion of Archie.</p>
<p>Yesterday I was some miles across the line
with my observer, as an escort to another
machine, and was Archied like the—er—dickens,
shells bursting all round and some
directly under me. Why the machine wasn’t
riddled I don’t know. I was nearly 10,000 feet
up too. The Archies burst, leaving black
puffs of smoke in the air, so that the gunners
could see the result. Those puffs were all over
the sky. Talk about dodge! Banking both
ways at once! ’Orrible. What’s more, I
had to stay over them, dodging about until
the other machine chose to come back or
finished directing the shooting. Both W. and
J. who came here with me got holes in their
planes from Archie the day before yesterday,
and W. had a scrap with a Fokker yesterday
and got thirty holes through his plane about
three feet from his seat. The Fokker approached
to within twenty-five feet. W. had
a mechanic with him, and he fired a drum of
ammunition at it, and the Fokker dived for
the ground. So the pilot was either wounded
or—well, they don’t know how the machine
landed, but are hoping to hear from the people<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span>
in the trenches. The funny part is that the
Fokker attacked as usual by diving from
behind, and W.’s observer turned round and
fired kneeling on the seat; but W. never saw
the Fokker once during the whole fight or
after. W. had his main spar of one wing shot
away, and several bracing wires, etc., so he
had a lucky escape.</p>
<p>My latest adventure is that my engine
suddenly stopped dead when I was a mile
over the German lines. My top tank petrol
gauge was broken, and was registering twelve
gallons when it was really empty. I dropped
1,000 feet before I could pump up the petrol
from the lower tank to the top, and was being
Archied, too; but I could have got back to our
side easily even if the engine had refused to
start, though it would have been unpleasant
to cross the lines at a low altitude. I have
had the petrol gauge put right now. Incidentally,
not knowing how much petrol you
have is rather awkward, as I landed with less
than two gallons at the end of that flight;
that is ten minutes’ petrol.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn10" class="sidenote">Aged 19.</div>
<p id="snp10">It is rather strange having a birthday away
from home, but the letter and
parcels I got to-day made it all
seem like old times.... I have done some night<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span>
flying here, and when I was up 2,000 feet I
could see flares and lights over in Hunland.
I stayed up some time, and finally by a
colossal fluke did the best landing I have
ever done at the Aerodrome.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn11" class="sidenote">A Concert.</div>
<p id="snp11">I went to a concert at Wing Headquarters the
other evening; it wasn’t at all
bad. “The Foglifters” had really
quite good voices, and some of the turns were
excellent. One made up as a splendid girl.
The programme may interest you:</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="p2 b1 center larger"><i>IN THE FIELD</i></p>
<p>Lieut. —— presents, by kind permission of Lieut.-Colonel
——, his renowned Vaudeville entertainment,</p>
<p class="p1 b1 center larger">THE “FOG-LIFTERS.”</p>
<p class="center">(They are thoroughly disinfected before
each performance.)</p>
<p class="p1 b1 center">PROGRAMME</p>
<p class="center b1"><span class="smcap">Part I</span></p>
<div class="hang">
<p> 1. The Fog-lifters introduce themselves.</p>
<p> 2. C—— tries—but can’t.</p>
<p> 3. B—— sings a Warwickshire song in Yorkshire brogue.</p>
<p> 4. Six-foot picks his mark.</p>
<p> 5. B—— on his experiences in the Marines.</p>
<p> 6. C—— relates his visit to Hastings.</p>
<p> 7. T—— on Acrobatic Eyes.<br/><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span>
8. The Second-in-Command ties himself in a knot.</p>
<p> 9. Six-foot warns the unwary.</p>
<p>10. The Fog-lifters, feeling dry, retire at this point for a drink, and leave you to the tender mercies of H——. “Watch your watch and chain yourself to your seat.”</p>
</div>
<p class="p2 b1 center"><span class="smcap">Part II</span></p>
<div class="hang">
<p>11. T—— thinks of leave.</p>
<p>12. The “Boss” makes a bid for the biscuit.</p>
<p>13. B—— and his Favourite Topic.</p>
<p>14. Rather a Fagging Turn.</p>
<p>15. B—— in Love.</p>
<p>16. T—— endeavours to sing a Sentimental Song.</p>
<p>17. Six-foot shows B—— how it’s done.</p>
<p>18. The Second-in-Command excels ’iself.</p>
<p>19. B——’s memories of the Spanish Armada.</p>
<p>20. Six-foot and C—— have a Serious Relapse.</p>
<p class="p1 b1 center"><i>The Beginning of the End.</i></p>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The King.</span></p>
</div>
</blockquote>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span></p>
<h2 id="II-II" class="vspace">II<br/> <span class="subhead">INCREASING THE PACE</span></h2></div>
<div id="sn12" class="sidenote">French Aviator’s Bag.</div>
<p id="snp12" class="in0"><span class="firstword">Only</span> time for a few lines before the post
goes. I was flying at a quarter to
three o’clock this morning. I was
orderly pilot, and a Hun was
reported in the neighbourhood. I went to
bed after two hours’ flying and was knocked
up again, and spent another couple of hours
in the air—all this before I had anything to
eat or drink. Luckily I was not at all hungry
or thirsty. The Hun I was chasing (or rather
looking for) on my second patrol was brought
down a few miles from our aerodrome by a
French aviator. The pilot and observer were
killed. Neither my observer nor I saw anything
at all of the fight, as we were patrolling
further down the line. You bet I was fed up
when we landed. The smash was brought
to our place and taken away by the French.
The machine seemed essentially German—very
solid and thick, weight no object.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span>
The French aviators were very nice. I had
a chat with them. The rumours at the aerodrome
were various—one that I was brought
down; another that I had brought down a
Hun; and a third that a French aviator and
I had had a scrap!</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn13" class="sidenote">The Enemy in our Midst.</div>
<p id="snp13">Here is a true story. There was some night
flying at one of our aerodromes
the other day, and a machine came
over and fired a coloured light
asking “Can I come down?” The people
on the ground fired one in reply meaning
“Yes,” and a completely equipped German
biplane landed and a guttural German voice
was heard shouting for mechanics. He got
them all right, but they were R.F.C. and not
German mechanics. The coincidence of the
signals was extraordinary. The machine—it
was an Aviatik—was in perfect order, and
has since been flown and tested by the R.F.C.
It was wonderfully kind of them to plank their
machine down in that aerodrome, and the
surprise on both sides must have been extremely
comical to watch when the Hun
discovered it was an English ’drome, and
the mechanics discovered it was a Hun
pilot.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span>
I know that this is Sunday, as we have had
a lot of work to do. I have just come down
from my job. I went up at 12.30 and landed
at 3.40. Not a bad flight? I was up and down
the lines patrolling most of the time. Our
escort lost us soon after leaving the ’drome,
but it didn’t matter. I got Archied two or
three times, but nothing really annoying.
They are very clever with those guns. For
instance, when I was a mile and a half or
perhaps less on our side of the lines they fired
Archie on the French side of me, hoping I
would turn away from it and so get within
better range. They generally let you cross
the lines in peace, so as to entice you over as
far as possible, and then let you have it hot
and strong all the way back....</p>
<p>I have just been to look at the machine.
Apparently one of those Archies got nearer
than I thought, for a piece of shrapnel has
made a 6-inch hole in the tail plane. The
shrapnel must have been spent, because it
has only pierced the bottom surface of the
tail, and has not penetrated the top. I was
rather pleased when I found that, as it is
something to say that your machine has been
hit by Archie.</p>
<p>The ping-pong set has arrived.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span></p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>I’ll let you know right enough when I want
any more garments. Our linen goes off to be
washed at any old time, as there are plenty of
laundries near here—an old woman, an old
wooden bat, and a smooth worn stone by a
dirty stream. The stuff comes back wonderfully
clean, however.</p>
<p>Don’t you worry about my food while night
flying. I get that all right; it was a very
’ceptional case the other day. If we have an
early stunt we always get hot cocoa and bread-and-butter.
But you see, I was orderly pilot
that day, and the Huns weren’t polite enough
to ring me up the night before and tell me
what time they were coming; and so I had
to move rather more quickly when they did
come. I can get chocolates and biscuits at
the Canteen here.</p>
<p>This is what you will call another “restful”
letter because I have had no flying yesterday
or to-day. We rather like bad weather here
when it is sufficiently bad.</p>
<p>Dunno why the other squadron was “mentioned”
in despatches. They have about
seven of our chaps there—perhaps that’s why—or
perhaps the General lost some money at
bridge to the C.O., or perhaps they drew lots
for it.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</span></p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn14" class="sidenote">“Hot Air Stuff.”</div>
<p id="snp14">I had some ping-pong to-day—quite a relaxation
after the job I did this
morning. I went out with an
observer on a howitzer shoot, an
officer in this case. We went over to the lines,
arriving there about 11.15 a.m. and “rang up”
the battery. All being well, we ploughed
over the lines to have a look at the target in
Hunland. The battery then fired, and the
observer watched for the burst and wirelessed
back the correction. Each shot fired meant a
journey over the lines, and each time we went
over the Huns got madder and madder, and
loosed off “Archie” at us in bucketsful.</p>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem w15"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Archie to right of us,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Archie to left of us, etc.<br/></span></div>
</div></div>
<p class="in0">We were fairly plastered in Archie. Each
time I crossed the lines I did so at a different
altitude. The first five times I climbed higher
each time to throw the range out, and the
next five times I came down a bit each time.
The last five times I was so fed up with their
dud shooting that I went across at whatever
altitude I happened to be at, and that probably
upset ’em more than ever! At any
rate they fired about 600 shells at us in the
course of that “shoot,” allowing roughly
forty shells per crossing (at least) and fifteen
crossings, and the only damage they did was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span>
to put a small hole through my top plane.
My, they must have been disgusted!<SPAN name="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">9</SPAN></p>
<p>The “strafe” took place between 5,000 feet
and 6,000 feet altitude. The Archies got so
near sometimes that we went through the
smoke from the shell. Of course it would
never do to go on flying a straight course; it
is a case of dodge, twist, turn, and dive at odd
and unexpected moments, and when it gets
really too hot, run away and come back at a
different altitude.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn15" class="sidenote">A Big “Strafe.”</div>
<p id="snp15">The Bosches started a big “strafe” yesterday,
and so kept us all busy on
counter battery work; that is,
spotting the flashes of the “hun-guns,”
and wirelessing down their positions
to the artillery, who either fire at them or
note their positions for a future occasion.
With all the German guns going, the woods
behind the lines were a blaze of flashes, and
we sent down as many in the afternoon as the
battery had got in the previous six weeks.
The artillery were naturally rather bucked.
It was a wonderful sight seeing all the shells<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</span>
bursting along the miles of trenches, and the
huge white spreading gas shells at intervals.
One could hear the bang of our big guns when
they fired salvos from under us, and at times
we got bumps from the shells passing near us
in the air. “Shell bumps” are fairly common,
and I have had them before. I don’t know
how near the shells pass, but moving at that
speed they would affect the air for a long way
round. I felt them at 5,000 feet once. They
were not being shot at us, but shells which
pass through to Hunland, so:</p>
<div id="ip_73" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 32em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_069.png" width-obs="506" height-obs="139" alt="" /></div>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>We got a wireless report here of a naval
battle and not a cheery one at that. We are
all waiting to see what the papers will have
to say about it to-morrow.... Later: The
C.O. has just been on the ’phone about the
naval battle, and we are relieved to hear that
it was not so bad as we had heard at first, or
rather that the German losses were not so few
as we were told.</p>
<p>I must stop, as I have some letters to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">74</span>
censor. “Hoping this finds you as it leaves
me, in the pink.”</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>We have had two or three days of rest, as
the weather has been too bad for flying....
The naval battle was not a defeat after all,
and it seems a case of “as you were” in
France; so we just sit here and play ping-pong
and wait for the Army to win the
war.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>We have just had the papers with the news
of the loss of Kitchener. We got the story
by wireless a couple of days ago, but could not
believe it until we saw it actually in print.
It is a big blow, though probably morally
more than in any other way....</p>
<p>Bad news has come through from the wing.
Our ten days’ leave will in future be cut down
to seven days from time of leaving here; that
means five clear days in England. I only
know this, that I shall be pleased to have leave
in England, however short it is. It is a case
of “so near and yet so far.” An hour and a
half or two hours’ flying on a clear day would
land me at home for tea—always providing
I did not miss my way. But we don’t have
such a bad time here on the whole, and I am<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">75</span>
perfectly frank with you in my letters. On
carefully analysing my feelings, I believe I
am actually enjoying the life, for we certainly
do have the best time of any branch of the
Army when our job is over.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn16" class="sidenote">Looping the Loop.</div>
<p id="snp16">I had a job in the morning yesterday. A
slight bombardment was on, and
the C.O. sent me up to stop it. It
was a beastly day—rain stings at
seventy miles an hour—and it was cloudy and
misty. We stayed a couple of hours, got a
few Archies and came home.</p>
<p>The afternoon cleared up, and my Flight
Commander suggested I should go up and
practise with a camera and some old plates.
So up I went, and, with the camera tied on
very securely in case I “accidentally” turned
upside down, beetled off to a spot behind the
lines where I played a delightful game of
“make-believe.” Fixing on an innocent little
farmhouse as my objective, I dodged imaginary
Archies on my way to it, and, regardless of the
laws of aerial navigation, put my machine in
such postures that the farmhouse was sighted
by the camera.</p>
<p>I tried a dozen or so shots at it, and then, as
I had reached a height of 6,000 feet, I thought
I would try to do my first loop. I shoved the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span>
nose down 70—80—90—100 miles per hour.
The pitot tube did not register any higher;
the liquid went out at the top. Then, when
at a speed of approximately a hundred and
twenty miles an hour, I pulled the “joy-stick”
back into my tummy, and up went
the nose—up—up—and there I was, upside
down, gazing at the sky. Gee, how slowly
she seems to be going! Ah!! she’s over at
last. The white blank overhead changes to a
black mass of earth rising up at me, and the
nose dive part is over too, and a final sweep
brings me level.</p>
<p>I glanced at the altimeter. I had lost
400 feet.</p>
<p>Cheer-o! Now I’ll write home and tell
them. No, I <em>must</em> do another. If I did only
one they would think I had funked it after
the first shot.</p>
<p>Down goes the nose, then up—up—and
slower—slower. By Jove, she’s going to
stick at the top of the loop this time. Too
slow; centrifugal force is not great enough.
My feet seem to lose their contact with the
floor.</p>
<p>I grip the “joy-stick” fiercely with both
hands. Ah! She’s over. Now the rush
down, and then level once more. Now I’ll
get off to the aerodrome and show them how
to do it.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span></p>
<div id="ip_77" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 31em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_073.png" width-obs="488" height-obs="568" alt="" /></div>
<p>I did a couple more quite close to the aerodrome—beauties;
and then came down in a
steep spiral. They were all at a height of
6,000 feet, and I only lost 400 feet each time.
Four good loops at the first time of attempting
a loop isn’t bad considering I had never even
looped as a passenger. Strangely enough, I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">78</span>
wasn’t half so excited as I expected to be,
and once accomplished, the feat seemed easy
and not out of the ordinary. But to set your
minds at rest I do not intend to go in for
stunting.</p>
<p>I am quite bucked, though, at having done
it, and it was a curious sensation, to say the
least. I have been heartily congratulated:
they were “d—d good loops!”</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>Thanks ever so much for the pastries and
the cake. They were ripping. But really,
though, you mustn’t trouble so much over me
in the food line, for we have to pinch ourselves
and tell each other “There is a war on”
sometimes when we get some unusual delicacies.
By the same post I got a pound of
lovely nut chocolate from S. We had a
tremendous scrap in the Mess over it when I
discovered what it was, and it ended up with
the box of chocolate on the floor, with me on
top of it, and five people on top of me. When
they discovered that the more people there
were on top of me the farther off became the
chocolate, they got up, and I handed it round
in the usual civilised manner. It was great
fun, though, and the chocolate being in a tin
did not suffer.</p>
<p>We had a visit from Ian Hay’s friend to-day,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">79</span>
if you recall a certain incident in the trenches.
He recently got the Military Cross.<SPAN name="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">10</SPAN></p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>One of the difficulties I have to contend
with here is finding out the correct day and
date. Days here are all one to us, and it has
even sometimes to be put to the vote.</p>
<p>Yesterday I spent four and a half hours in
my machine! Not all in the air, though. I
took up fifteen different passengers, and gave
them all a spiral. They were sent over to
see what signalling on the ground looks like
from a ’plane. I don’t think any of them had
been up before. At Hendon I should have
made between £30 and £40 for that.</p>
<p>As I was going out of the aerodrome I flew
over a passing car and we waved merrily to
each other. Then I chased the car, slowed
my engine and dived at it, and a little later
flew after it again. The driver must have
been watching me too closely, for he went
into the ditch. My passenger was awfully
bucked about it.</p>
<p>I suppose you know we have adopted the
new time now. It only alters the hour of
our meals, however; our work goes on according
to the light and the weather.</p>
<p>Cricket is the great “stunt” here in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</span>
afternoon and Rugby in the evenings. The
mornings are spent in repairing the damage of
overnight caused by the Rugger. All this,
of course, provided the little incidentals of
flying, and so on, do not interfere to excess.
The batsman is out-numbered by fielders in
the proportion of fifteen to one, and for his
further annoyance he may not smite the ball
more than quite a moderate distance or it
counts as out. Still, the game provides much
amusement, and as the batsman generally
ignores the boundary rule, and smites at every
ball on the principle of a short life and a gay
one, it is also conducive to short innings.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn17" class="sidenote">Night Flying.</div>
<p id="snp17">I had another twenty minutes’ night flying a
couple of nights ago, and did a
good landing. It was almost pitch
dark, as there was a long row of
clouds at 2,000 feet which hid the moon. We
had flares out, and a searchlight lighting up
the track; but from the moment you start
moving you go out into inky darkness, flying
on, seeing nothing till the altimeter tells you
that you are high enough to turn. Then
round, and the twinkling lights of the Aerodrome
beneath. Higher, and gradually, as
you become accustomed to the dark, you pick
out a road here and a clump of trees there,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">81</span>
till finally the picture is complete. At length,
you throttle down the engine and glide—keeping
a watchful eye on the altimeter, aerodrome,
and air speed indicator. When about
400 feet up you open out your engine again,
and fly in towards the aerodrome, stopping
your engine just outside. Then you glide
down and land alongside the flares.</p>
<p>As I write, I hear a lively bugle band in
the distance on the march. More troops
going up to the trenches, I suppose. Our
gramophone still plays on, our gardens and
flower-beds are blooming, and all is well.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn18" class="sidenote">Photos.</div>
<p id="snp18">To-day I went up to take photos, and went
over the lines four times, carefully
sighting the required trenches, and
taking eighteen photos. I spent nearly two
and a half hours in the air, and when I got
back I found the string that worked the shutter
had broken after my third photo, and the rest
had not come out. It was disappointing,
because my last three journeys over the lines
need not have been made, and incidentally
it would have saved getting a hole through
one of my planes.</p>
<p>J. saw a scrap in the air to-day in which
one of our machines was brought down. He
was too far off to help. The report came in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">82</span>
first that it was my ’bus which was down,
but neither I nor my escort machine saw the
fight, which must have been some distance off.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn19" class="sidenote">Hide and Seek.</div>
<p id="snp19">All goes well, and I have finished my job for
to-day (a three hours’ patrol) without
seeing a Hun or getting an
Archie. Two of us went up and
F had streamers on his wings; he was going
to direct the flight, and I was to follow him.
It was very cloudy, and F being in a skittish
mood played hide-and-seek round them. This
was good fun for the first hour, but after that
it became boring. Once, when I was following
him a short distance behind, he ran slap
into the middle of a huge cloud. I said to
myself, “If you think I am going to follow
you there you’re jolly well mistaken”; so I
waited outside the cloud, and was gratified
to see him come out at the bottom in a vertical
bank, about 500 feet directly below me. It
turned out that he had been pumping up
the pressure in his petrol tank, roaring with
laughter as his passenger gave a little jump
at every pumpful, for the passenger sits on
one of the large petrol tanks, which swells or
“unkinks” itself as you pump, and to his
disgust he had run slap into the cloud without
seeing it. It was a wonderful sight among<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</span>
the clouds, and to see the other aeroplane
dodging in and out of grottos, canyons, and
tunnels, poking its nose here and there, sometimes
worrying a zigzag course through a
maze of cloudlets, and sometimes turning
back from an impenetrable part with a vertical
bank, outlining the machine sharply against
the cloud. Finally we came down to a height
of 5,000 feet, and there, just by the lines, we
had a sham battle for the amusement of the
Tommies in the trenches.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>“I have nothink to write about this time.
I got a letter from Bert the other day, he’s
out in France, and old George’s group is called
up too. I wonder when those Saterday nites
with them will cum back, they were times.
Then that supper with me and him at Eliza’s
after—my! Everyone thinks as how the war
will be over with luck in a few years’ time.
’As Pa got that job or is he still at the ‘Green
Man’? Well hoping this finds you as it leaves
me at present, in the pink. I wish you’d send
our cook the resepe for them cooked chips
you used ter do on Saterday nites. Give my
love to Rose.”</p>
<p>No, I’m still sane—merely a temporary
lapse owing to an overdose of censoring. The
squadron yesterday, noticing that I was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</span>
orderly officer, decided to give me a run for
my money, and wrote millions of letters.</p>
<p>My Flight Commander—one of the finest
fellows I have ever met—is busy cooking
tobacco with E. in a tin by means of a spirit
lamp! They are trying to determine its
“flash point,” and I have sent word round to
the M.O. to stand by with stretchers.</p>
<p>I was up with K. yesterday, strafing some
trenches. We started at 3,000 feet and the
clouds descended lower and lower till we
ended up at a height of 1,200 feet over a
well-known town, where it became too wet
and too hot at the same time for our job.
To-day the clouds are crawling about just
over the ground, so there is nothing doing.</p>
<p>Our food here is English right enough. We
get French bread as well, and it is generally
preferred to ration bread. The gardens here
have flowers—planted out mostly—pansies,
nasturtiums, etc. I suggested that asparagus
would be rather a good thing to plant, but the
idea didn’t seem to catch on!</p>
<p>There is no reason whatever to be worried
about not receiving letters. If there is ever
a move either way it would not affect the
R.F.C. to any great extent. It couldn’t
improve German Archie shooting or anything
of that sort. No fighting on the ground can
reach us, and in a big bombardment it only<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</span>
means that we are kept fairly busy directing
the fire of our batteries, etc.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn20" class="sidenote">“Missing.”</div>
<p id="snp20">Sorry I shan’t be able to write you to-day
except this rough note written in
my biplane. I have finished my
job, and am writing in the hope of catching
the post. There is bad news to-day. My
pal B., who was on a bombing stunt this
morning, has not returned, so I am afraid he
may have landed in Hunland. I am just
doing a long glide down to the aerodrome;
my passenger has asked me not to spiral down
as he has got a bad head. I enclose his note.
His writing is better than mine, as he has
written on a soft pad. (Enclosure:—“Got
a rotten head, so go steady, will you?”)</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>I’ve got a top-hole souvenir now. It is a
machine-gun bullet which my rigger found
in my fuselage—that is to say, the aeroplane
fuselage. It is bent “some,” as it smote
something rather hard—a bomb.</p>
<p>I went up to take some special photos for
the C.O. to-day, but the weather was very
bad, and the sky as smothered in clouds as I
was in Archie, and that is saying a good deal.
It took me three trips over the line to get five<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span>
photos. Four came out, including on them
corners of clouds I was dodging. The Huns
got our range to a nicety, but there was not
a scratch on the machine. One Archie burst
just in front of us, and I looked up to see the
corporal I had as passenger disappear in the
smoke as we actually went through it. It was
like going through a tiny cloud. I have heard
and seen plenty of Archie before, but never
before <em>smelt</em> it. The C.O. was rather pleased,
though only one photo was really of any use.</p>
<p>The engine in my machine has put up a
record for the squadron. It did over a hundred
and ten hours’ running without being touched
or even having the sparking plugs changed.
It was still going strong when we changed it
and put a new one in. I have tested the new
one and flown with it, and it is very good.</p>
<p>We are kept well up-to-date with the London
theatre news by the fellows who come back
from leave. They also bring the records of
them back for the gramophone, and now the
camp resounds with music from “The Bing
Boys are Here” and “Mr. Manhattan.”</p>
<p>To people who think this branch of the
Service the most dangerous, you can say I’d
sooner be here than in the trenches these days,
and I think the opinion of the whole corps is
the same.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span></p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn21" class="sidenote">Pancaking in a Wheat Field.</div>
<p id="snp21">I ran out of petrol a quarter of a mile from
the aerodrome, and had to land in a
field of wheat about five feet high.
I had been up three hours and twenty
minutes non-stop when my petrol
ran out, and the gauge still showed three
gallons in the tank, though it was bone dry.
I was 700 feet up and had to make up my mind
where I was going to land in about four
seconds. I brought her down, and pancaked
her beautifully into the field about three yards
from a road. It is jolly hard to land in wheat
without turning over, but I did it without
hurting the machine at all; in fact J. flew it
that evening on a night stunt. We wheeled
it from the field along the road back to the
aerodrome inside half an hour. My passenger
said he enjoyed the flight more than any other
he had had!</p>
<p>At the present moment there is <em>some</em>
storm on. J. is playing the violin not two
yards from me, and I cannot hear a single
note except during lulls. Perhaps it is just
as well.</p>
<p>One of our squadron was out on a stunt
the other day. Next day the ’phone was
continually on the go, and there was so
much “hot air” in the office that it was
dangerous to fly over on account of the
bumps.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span>
Several of us have got special leave to go to
a flicker show some way off, and a tender is
coming in a few minutes. I am very fit, and
we are all a very happy party. I am sitting
on my bed, in my little hut about 8 feet by
6 feet. It is really quite snug. Washstand,
etc., and shelves and books <em>and</em> boots and
clothes. Diabolo (home made) is the latest
craze here! Here comes the tender, so I
must catch the post first.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>I was up on photos to-day. I hope and
expect these are the last for a while. I had
quite a job getting them owing to clouds. I
flew about behind the German lines for over
an hour before I could get a single photo,
owing to there being no holes in the clouds.
I got practically no Archie, and got the
photos.</p>
<p>I went to the flicker show the other day and
it was quite good. A splendid divisional band,
a Charlie Chaplin film, and tea, <em>and patisserie</em>!
Ah!</p>
<p>I think Gillespie’s book (<cite>Letters from Flanders</cite>)
most interesting. I have only dipped
into it here and there at present, but am going
to read it through. Send some more as soon
as you like.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span></p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn22" class="sidenote">An Exciting Landing.</div>
<p id="snp22">Blessed if I know what to write about. I
did the three-hour patrol yesterday,
but it was very cold and cloudy and
no Huns ventured out.</p>
<p>A visitor landed at our ’drome from night
bombing and a bomb blew his machine up
on landing. He calmly got out of the scrap-heap
and walked away. It was a miraculous
escape, and most of our people who were
asleep thought it was a Hun bombing us.
The engine was still running on the ground,
and the C.O. stopped it by using a fire extinguisher
in the air intake—a jolly clever
and plucky thing to do, as there were gallons
of petrol all around, and, for all he knew,
more bombs.</p>
<p>There is a darling puppy here belonging to
one of the men, and I go round and have a
chat with it every morning when I inspect my
transport. It is a jolly little thing, and quite
looks forward to my visits.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem w15"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">At the Base was a Censor,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He chopped up my letter;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thus he was a base Censor,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or why didn’t he let her<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Go by? Yet he’d some sense or<br/></span>
<span class="i0">News even better<br/></span>
<span class="i0">You’d get in my letter.<br/></span></div>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span></p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn23" class="sidenote">Dual Control.</div>
<p id="snp23">I am at present flying a machine fitted with
dual control. A couple of days ago
I went up to test it and E. came
with me. We trotted round the
country very low and stunted gently over
neighbouring villages. You can easily tell
when people are watching you, as in looking
up the black blob of the hat changes to the
white blob of the face. We went up again
yesterday, and when I had taken the machine
to 2,000 feet or so, I signalled E., and he
fitted in his control lever and took charge. I
then had a pleasant little snooze of twenty
minutes or so, waking up now and then to give
my lever a pat in the required direction when
he did not get the machine level quickly
enough after turning, or something like that.
He did jolly well, turning the machine splendidly
sometimes. Then, when it was just
about a quarter of an hour before dinner time
he took out his lever, and I brought the
machine down in the most gorgeous spiral I
have ever done. Absolutely vertical bank on.
M. was very amusing afterwards. “Quite a
good spiral that,” he said patronisingly to E.,
“for a first attempt.”</p>
<p>I was up again this morning for two and a
half hours with E. The weather was hopeless;
our altitude was often under 2,000 feet by the
lines. To relieve the monotony E. flew me<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">91</span>
for about half an hour while I observed—the
clouds and mist! Finally, we got up a bit
higher, and just before it was time to come
home did a beautiful spiral quite close to the
lines for the benefit of a few thousand Tommies
and Huns in the trenches—just to show there
was no ill-feeling, you know.</p>
<p>I had just got my letters to-day when I was
sent up, so I had to take them with me, and
read them in the air on the way to the lines.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>I took up some chocolate the other day
when I was on patrol, and gave some to the
observer in the air, and we munched away for
some time. He was a sergeant, one of the
ancient observers, and he did not know that
when I waggled the joy-stick—thus shaking
the ’bus from side to side—I wanted him to
turn round. I waggled away for about five
minutes, and he sat there quite contentedly,
thinking to himself (as he afterwards told me)
that it was rather a bumpy day. Then I
started switch-backing and he endured that,
though on what theory I don’t know. Finally
I nearly had to loop him to persuade him to
turn round, and when he did so he had a
grin on his face and a sort of “Think-you-can-frighten-me-with-your-stunts-you-giddy-kipper”
look as well.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span>
The newspaper stories of the firing in France
being heard in Ireland, the north of Scotland,
and Timbuctoo amuse me greatly. Those
people must have “some” ears.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>I was most frightfully sorry that you hadn’t
received up to Sunday my letter about the
postponement of my leave. It must have
been a rotten disappointment, and I raged
round the camp until I finally simmered down
again. Never mind, it won’t be long....
Six people have just invaded my 8 feet by
6 feet hut. That is one of the ways superfine
Virginias depart this life quickly. Rescued
the inkbottle from an untimely death as a
billiard ball, the cue a rolled-up map; violent
cussin’, almost worthy of Mother Guttersnipe
caused E. to vamoose and the others buzzed
off.</p>
<p>My dear old ’bus (or aeroplane as the
authorities insist on its being called)<SPAN name="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">11</SPAN> has gone
under at last. One new pilot too many was
called upon to fly it, and I may be bringing
home a new walking-stick! I have not been
flying it for a week now, as I have a nice new—er—machine
to fly. But E. and I did all our<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span>
“hot-air stuff” on the other ’bus, and I
looped it.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>The splendid news has come through that
my pal B. is “safe and well though a
prisoner.” W., who is on leave, wired us.</p>
<p>I shan’t write to-morrow, as if all goes well
it will be a race between this card and myself
to get home first. The very best of love to
you.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span></p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<h2 id="II-III" class="vspace">III<br/> <span class="subhead">STORM AFTER CALM</span></h2></div>
<div id="sn24" class="sidenote">Back to Duty.</div>
<p id="snp24" class="in0"><span class="firstword">Back</span> to work and my old friend Archie
quickly. I was on bombing yesterday,
not very far over the lines
though, and there were about ——
of us. It was a wonderfully pretty sight to
see the bombs going down in a string,
dwindling, and finally disappearing below.
Bags of Archie were flying around, but my
“machine” was not hit at all. I was first
up to-day and we had a non-stop flight of
nearly three hours, ranging some batteries.
The weather was pretty dud, but W. and I
managed all right. S. is missing, as
perhaps you have heard. He was on a long
bombing stunt. He is reported unhurt and
prisoner of war.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem w15"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I shot a bullet into the air,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">It fell to earth I know not where.<br/></span></div>
</div></div>
<p>When we were up to-day P. emptied a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span>
drum of ammunition from the gun over the
lines—not firing at anything in particular,
but just to test the gun. The empty cartridges
as they were ejected landed with clockwork
regularity on the top of my head. I
said to myself, “This is some hail.”</p>
<p>Last evening E. and I went in a tender to
the battery we had been working with in the
morning and saw the wonderful ruins of a
town near there. We were really quite close
to the lines, but luckily there was no shelling,
and we got back O.K.</p>
<p>We have a game here now which is something
like tennis. Instead of racquets and
balls, we use a rope quoit, which must be
caught and returned as per tennis, but must
not be held in the hand or thrown over-arm.
I had a game of solo yesterday with three
others, and I have discovered two people who
are frightfully keen on “Scramble Patience.”
Gee whiz! One of them knows practically all
Gilbert and Sullivan by heart as well. Isn’t
it extraordinary how “Scramble Patience”
and Gilbert and Sullivan always seem to go
together? We went for a walk last evening,
and sang the Nightmare song through, and
several from “Patience” and the “Yeomen,”
etc. We are getting a tennis court made
after all; it is progressing quite well.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span></p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn25" class="sidenote">A Good Story.</div>
<p id="snp25">Here is a story as it was told to me. One of
the best pilots at the front one day
crashed on the top of some trees.
He got out, and was standing by
the remains of his machine when a Staff
Officer came up and remarked, “I suppose
you’ve had a smash!” “Oh n-no,” stuttered
the pilot, who was, to put it mildly, somewhat
savage, “I <em>always</em> l-land l-ike this.” The
Staff Officer, annoyed in his turn, said, “Do
you know whom you are speaking to? What
is your name?” To which: “Don’t try to
c-come the comic p-policeman over me.
Y-You’ll f-find my n-number on my t-tail
p-plane.”</p>
<p>I was called at four this morning, and leapt
heroically into the air at five. It was confoundedly
cold, but I had a thick shirt and
vest, a leather waistcoat, double-breasted
tunic, the fleece lining from my waterproof
and a leather overcoat, so I just managed to
keep warm.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>Yesterday I was in the middle of a game of
tennis when, with one or two others, I was
ordered to fly over to a neighbouring aerodrome
to be ready for a special job in the
morning. I landed there all right and reported,
and went into the mess-room slap<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span>
into the arms of an old schoolfellow. I was
chatting with him when the C.O. sent for me
to explain the nature of the work before us.
I went into his office, and the other pilots
detailed for the work came in, and to my
utter astonishment I recognised another old
schoolfellow. I had dinner with him and
stayed the night there. This morning the
weather was too dud for our work and it was
washed out, and we returned to our aerodromes.
I brought back my bed, valise,
pyjamas, etc., with me in the passenger seat of
the aeroplane. I had to fly back without my
goggles, as I had lost them at the other aerodrome.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn26" class="sidenote">A Fokker’s Flight.</div>
<p id="snp26">One of our pilots had my machine up to-day
and met a Fokker. His (or rather
my) machine was damaged, but he
spun round and let fly at the Fokker.
Then his gun jammed, but to his surprise the
Hun went off home “hell for leather.” The
R.F.C. have absolutely got the Huns “stiff”
in the air, partly owing to our “hot stuff”
new machines, and partly to the pilots. But
a Fokker running away from the machine L.
was flying must have been a comical sight.
My machines always seem to be unlucky when
in the hands of other pilots.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">98</span>
To-day I have done very little else but
sleep, and the weather has done very little
else but rain. I tried to get my hair cut this
morning at a village not far away, but was
informed that it was after twelve o’clock.
“Surely not,” I said, and the barber said
“Si,” and unblushingly produced a watch
showing about ten minutes to twelve, and
motioned me away. However, I got some
magazines, and chocolate, and some new
shaving soap and razor blades.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn27" class="sidenote">A Tail Piece.</div>
<p id="snp27">Just now I bid fair to outdo H.’s record of
unpleasant stunts, as I nearly had
a third within twenty-four hours.
The first one was just to whet my
appetite, so to speak, but although I only
went a few miles over the lines I was Archied
the whole blessed time. The Huns must have
spent fortunes on Archie in the last week.
I hit something with one of my bombs that
made a colossal burst—probably some Hun
ammunition. Yesterday they started on me
just before I got to the lines, and, I think,
went on until I was a good ten miles the
other side. Then the Archies started from
the place I was going to bomb, and clattered
away for ages, but they were not nearly so
good as those near the lines, as they haven’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">99</span>
got so much practice. There were some
wonderfully near shots, and the machine was
badly shaken by one which made a most
appalling crash just behind the tail. I
was horribly scared, of course. I looked
round, saw the tail still there, said “Remarkable!”
and went on. The Hun aerodrome
was a very nice-looking place. It had
two landing T’s out—great white strips of
sheet, and there was a machine on the ground.
I dropped several bombs there, one landing
on the road beside the ’drome and one by the
landing T. I don’t know if I hit any of the
sheds or not, as it was rather cloudy, and I
could not see the effect of all my bombs.
When I had finished I came back with the
wind, nose down, at <em>some</em> pace, and hardly
got an Archie at all. I was jolly pleased when
it was over, and pleased too (in a way) that
I had been, as it really was interesting to be
so many miles behind the lines and see their
aerodromes, etc.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn28" class="sidenote">Night Bombing.</div>
<p id="snp28">Well, I went night bombing yesterday—rather
an Irish way of putting it,
though! I went up after dinner,
and as it was a bit misty I signalled
down “bad mist.” They signalled to me to
come down, but I wasn’t having any, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">100</span>
turned my blind eye to ’em and beetled off.
You see, from the ground it didn’t look misty,
and so, as I didn’t want any doubts on the
subject, I sloped off towards the lines. I soon
lost sight of the flares and then became absolutely
and completely lost. Everything was
inky black and I could only see an occasional
thing directly below me. My mapboard was
in the way of my compass, so I pulled the
map off, chucked the board over the side, and
then flew due east for about a quarter of an
hour, when I saw some lights fired. I crossed
the lines about 4,000 feet up and tried to find
my objective, but it was no go. I went about
four miles over, and came down to 2,000 feet
with my engine throttled down, but could not
even recognise what part I was over, owing
to the mist. Then, to my surprise, the Huns
loosed off some Archie nowhere near me, so
I expect they couldn’t see <em>me</em>; but it looked
ripping. They got a searchlight going and
flashed it all round, passing always over the
top of me. Then some more flares went up
from the lines, and I could see the ground
there beautifully, as clear as day, and some
deep craters, but it did not show me sufficient
to enable me to recognise what part of the
lines I was over. Deciding it was hopeless,
I set out for home, flying due west by my
compass. It seemed ages before I picked up<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">101</span>
the aerodrome lights again, and I was afraid
I might have drifted away sideways, but I
spotted them all right, and just as I was
nearing them, passed another of our machines
by about 200 yards in the darkness. He was
a wee bit lower than I was, and as he passed I
could see his instrument lights in his little
cabin. I then switched on some little lights
I had on the wing tips, and flashed my
pocket lamp—you know, the one I had in
Germany and at Penlee—and then gave an
exhibition of spiralling and banking in the
dark. They said it looked topping from the
ground. Then I signalled down “N.B.G.”
and came in, “perched” (with all my bombs
on, of course), and made a perfect dream of a
landing.</p>
<p>Altogether I had really enjoyed myself, and
would much rather do night bombing than
day bombing. The only thing that annoyed
me was that I couldn’t find my target, ’cos
the bombs would have looked so pretty
exploding in the darkness. I didn’t get up
until about twelve o’clock this morning,
and I am playing tennis at 5.15, so it has
its advantages.</p>
<p>A little red spider has just landed on me
and buzzed off again; that’s lucky, ain’t it?</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span></p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn29" class="sidenote">Gesticulation in Mid-Air</div>
<p id="snp29">Have just had a forced landing. M. was up
with me, and I yelled to him to
work the throttle from his compartment.
He smiled benignly on me,
not understanding or taking much heed.
Finally I stood up, waved my arms at him,
and shouted. He turned round, and, thinking
that I had a mad fit on, put his thumb to
his nose and extended his fingers. Finally,
realising what I wanted, he tried the throttle,
but did not succeed in working it, and in his
turn waved his arms. We must have been
a comical sight up there, wildly waving our
arms at each other. As we couldn’t use the
engine and were descending, I warned M. that
we were going to have a forced landing. He
tumbled to that all right and removed the
gun from behind his head and put it on the
front mounting, just in case—er—we met a
hedge! We reached the aerodrome all right
a couple of thousand feet up, and spiralled
down. Just as I was coming in to land,
another machine cut in ahead of me, but as
I had no engine I couldn’t “wai-at” (like
Peg), but just perched behind him and dodged
him. So all ended well, for I made a perfect
landing.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>Have just been up with E. We spotted a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span>
storm coming up and ran for home. I came
down to land, and found myself going too
fast, so had to go round again. Great loss
of dignity! I came in again, this time right
at the end of the aerodrome, and closed the
throttle, but the blessed machine went on
flying, and I switched off just in time to
prevent running out of the aerodrome. The
throttle had become incorrectly set and the
engine continued to run at half speed, although
the throttle was entirely closed. We just got
in before the rain came down.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>I was up 8,000 feet this morning, but the
whole sky was clouded over and one could not
see the ground. Flying just above the clouds
it was gorgeous; one felt like leaning out
and grasping a handful of snow and making
snowballs, the clouds were so fluffy and
white. I had a splendid game of tennis
yesterday, and was in topping form. Lightning
services. Swish!</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>To-day has been “some” day. It started
raining in the early hours and is still going
strong. We are going to have floats fitted to
the machines so as to take off the lakes!</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span></p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn30" class="sidenote">A Firework Display.</div>
<p id="snp30">Inasmuch as I was out all yesterday afternoon
trying to get my hair cut, I
was unable to write to you. Sorry.
I was up at 2.45 a.m., and of course
it was pitch dark. I left the ground shortly
afterwards by flares, and had hardly got up
a thousand feet when my engine began to
misfire, go “chug-chug,” and lose its revs.
I signalled that I was descending, and came
down, trying not to come in too low, as I
was afraid my engine might not pick up.
Result: I came in too high (not having had
time to get used to the dark), and had to
open up my engine and crawl round again
at a couple of hundred feet. Again I essayed
to land, but failed, and by this time I was
absolutely furious with myself. I gave a
glance at the rev. counter, and saw that
the engine had found its revs, again and
appeared to be running smoothly; so, feeling
that fate had willed me to stay up, I sent down
“Engine O.K. now,” and went off to the
lines. Just after I left the aerodrome, clouds
came up, and the C.O. would not let the next
pilot go. I found my way quite well (in a
blue funk, though, lest my engine should let
me down), crossed the lines, picked up the
road I was to follow, and finally reached the
place I was to bomb. Here I ran into clouds
and had to come down to between 1,000 and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span>
2,000 feet. I dropped my bombs all right,
and saw them explode—as good as a Brock’s
firework display. Moreover, I heard the
bangs from them, and felt the machine
bumped by the rush of air caused by the
explosions. Flying back by compass, I soon
picked out some flares which I headed for.
Realising that I was over the wrong aerodrome,
I looked round, spotted ours, got there, did a
good landing, reported, and went to bed again.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>My Flight-Commander has gone home after
being out nearly eleven months. We are all
sorry to lose him, I am sure there is no
better Flight-Commander in all France.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>I have just come down from a long and
rather boring job with E., which took us from
1.30 p.m. to 5 p.m. in the upper regions. I
had trouble with my engine yesterday, and
had a forced landing, managing to get into
the aerodrome and land in a cross wind. I
had a repetition of the stunt to-day when
testing it. We have now solved the trouble—a
semi-choked petrol pipe. I am booked for
tennis shortly, so will write more another
time.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span></p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn31" class="sidenote">A Mixed Grill.</div>
<p id="snp31">Well, I have a little news for you this time.
To let you down lightly, I will first
tell you that I am having several
new walking-sticks made, and with
your usual Sherlock Holmes intelligence you
will deduce, quite accurately, that I have
carefully and conscientiously reduced a B.E.2C.
to its molecular constituents—in other
words, “crashed it.”</p>
<p>Now don’t worry, as I am perfectly all
right and thoroughly enjoying life.</p>
<p>To sum up my work for the last twenty-four
hours, I have had three forced landings, four
hours’-odd flying, and one night flight, and
a crash—not bad, eh?</p>
<p>The three forced landings within that short
space of time constitute almost a record. It
was with my own machine, and each time
some trouble with the engine broke out when
I had got up 500 feet. Each time that we
thought that we had discovered the trouble
and I took her up again, she cut out just the
same. By great good luck I managed to get
back into the aerodrome. On one occasion
I had bombs on too! Now the machine is
being practically pulled to pieces and altered
by almost raving mechanics.</p>
<p>I had, as I wrote you yesterday, a three
and a half hours’ non-stop flight, and later was
down for night bombing. I was all on my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span>
own, and several people said they thought it
was too misty. However, the C.O. asked
me if I would like to try, and I said I was
quite willing, and got ready.</p>
<p>I went up all right, though from the time
I passed the last flare I saw absolutely
nothing. There was a horrible ground mist,
worse than it looked from the ground, and
with no moon everything was black as ink.
I could not tell whether I was flying upside
down or anyway, and the machine was an
old one and not very stable. I looked round
at the flares and found I was flying all on
the skew, left wing down, and I put that
right; but not being able to see even a white
road directly below me, I knew it was hopeless
trying to leave the vicinity of the ’drome,
and signalled that I was coming down. So
down I came.</p>
<p>I had been told to land down wind, owing
to trees being at the other end of the ’drome.
Well, there wasn’t much wind, but what little
there was I had pushing me on instead of
holding me back. Likewise I lit a flare at
the end of my wing, and although that enabled
me to see the ground directly below me, I
couldn’t tell my height. I expected to touch
ground by the first flare, but owing to these
things and the fact that I was flying a strange
machine the engine of which “ticked over”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span>
rather fast, I did not touch ground at the first
flare—but at the last. The landing was all
right, but I plunged merrily on into the pitch
darkness until I came to a nice new road and
a ditch which pulled up y<sup>e</sup> machine with a
“crunch”! It at once began to take up
peculiar attitudes, similar to those of a stage
contortionist, and endeavoured to mix up its
tail and rudder with the propeller. At any
rate, this is how the machine looked a second
afterwards:</p>
<div id="ip_108" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 34em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_104.png" width-obs="537" height-obs="166" alt="" /></div>
<p>The flare on the wing tip was still burning,
and I had hardly time to get over my surprise
at the bombs not bursting, when it occurred
to me that there might be a lot of petrol
knocking about. “This is no place for me,
my boy,” I thought, and undid my safety
belt double quick and slid down one of the
wings to the ground.</p>
<p>Meanwhile some dozens of breathless
mechanics and officers arrived at the double,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span>
and made kind inquiries as to my health. I
am absolutely certain they were infinitely
more scared than I was, and they all seemed
relieved when I told them I was all right. I
then lit a cigarette (as being the correct thing
to do), observing with satisfaction that my
hand was quite steady, and walked up to the
C.O. and apologised. “Oh, that’s all right, as
long as you are all right: J—, just ring up
the Wing, and tell them our machine has
landed.”</p>
<p>Everybody was bucked that I got out all
right. One of our pilots said he didn’t know
how I managed to land at all, and thinks I
was jolly lucky.</p>
<p>At any rate, it is experience and it didn’t
hurt me in the least, so I have nothing to
grumble about. By the way, I don’t expect
to get my next leave much before Christmas at
any rate, as there is none going here just now.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>I had a good game of tennis yesterday, and
took up my machine to test it again. This
time the engine ran perfectly and I did some
splendid stunts coming down. When I had
landed, an officer who was visiting the
aerodrome came up and thanked me for my
“beautiful exhibition.” I felt inclined to
pass the hat round. I have just come down<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span>
now, and have been taking photos. Archie was
scarce owing to clouds, but the clouds made it
harder for me to photo. Made a topping landing.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>Just come down from a shoot. G. was up with
me, but I did the shoot. We got some pretty
good Archie at us, and as the artillery did not
shoot well, I dropped a couple of bombs on the
target. I must get tea, and then to tennis.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>I have not much news to-day, except that
I have had a splendid game of tennis, and a
rather pleasant bombing raid. We went a
long way over, past a Hun aerodrome, and
got hardly any Archie at all, owing to the
clouds. I got a beautiful shot with one of
my bombs, on a railway station—my objective.
On the way back I did a spiral on
the other side of the Hun lines, and one of
our chaps, thinking I was a Hun going down,
fired a drum of ammunition at me. I told
him he must be a rotten shot, and had better
have some practice on the range with me.
Altogether it was quite a jolly flight.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn32" class="sidenote">Stalling</div>
<p id="snp32">I was testing my machine round the ’drome
this morning when it occurred to me
to indulge in a few stunts. I obtained
the sanction of my passenger, and we
proceeded to do vertical banks, stalls, and tail<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span>
slides, much to the enjoyment of a group of
officers who (I heard afterwards) were watching.
I found it most enjoyable. Perhaps you
don’t know what “stalling” is. You are
flying level so:</p>
<div id="ip_111" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 15em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_107.png" width-obs="226" height-obs="80" alt="" /></div>
<p class="in0">then you pull the nose of the machine up so:</p>
<div id="ip_111b" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 15em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_107b.png" width-obs="226" height-obs="211" alt="" /></div>
<p class="in0">till at last it becomes perpendicular, so:</p>
<div id="ip_111c" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 15em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_107c.png" width-obs="226" height-obs="233" alt="" /></div>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span></p>
<p class="in0">when of course it gradually slows down and
stops dead in the air, sticks there a moment,
and then falls so:</p>
<div id="ip_112" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 25em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_108.png" width-obs="390" height-obs="529" alt="" /></div>
<p class="in0">and plunges on until it regains sufficient speed
to bring it under control again and level.
The feeling after the machine has stuck at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span>
the top, and then falls down, is the “left your
stummick up above—tube-lift feeling”—only
more so.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>E. and I have been on a cross-country flight.
The exhaust pipe blew off, and as the hot
exhaust then became directed on the petrol
tank, we decided to land, and came down in
a nice little field, pulling up six inches from
a ploughed field, and conveniently near a
hospital. However, we didn’t need the hospital,
and soon got the machine to rights, but are
stuck here owing to rain. We are, however,
near a town, and are going to a “flicker
show” to-night to see Charlie Chaplin. We
have “fallen” among friends here, for there
was an officers’ mess within a hundred yards
of where we landed, and we are being splendidly
treated. Altogether an ideal place for a forced
landing.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>My adventures of the past two days remind
me of the great motor-cycle ride R. and I had
from Devon to London. Let me see—it was
the day before yesterday, I think, that I last
wrote you, and told you about our forced
landing. Well, E. and I and two others went
to the cinema and saw “Charlie” in the
evening, and stopped the night in an hotel.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span>
The next day we made a few purchases, and
when the rain stopped I went up alone from
the field to dry the machine and examine the
weather. I had hardly left the ground before
I went slap into the clouds at 50 feet. I
turned quickly and crawled back just above
the ground, missing a factory chimney by a
few yards, and plunged down again into a
bigger field close by the other, pulling up a
couple of yards from a hole in the ground.
Later in the day when it cleared up we started
again, and we were only a few miles away when
the blessed exhaust pipe popped off. The
petrol tank started getting hot again, so we
had to come down, and it took us an awful
time to find a decent field. They were all
humps and bunkers and hazards, where, if we
had landed, we should have gone head over
heels. At last I found a good place, and
perched, pulling up with the wing tip touching
a bundle of hay. We stopped a car, and E.
went on it to the aerodrome for help. However,
I got a spare bolt from the car, and while
they were gone repaired the damage myself,
got two farm labourers to hold the machine
while I swung the propeller, and started the
engine myself. Then I clambered into the
machine and went off alone, getting to the
aerodrome just as my helpers were leaving.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span></p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>The weather is pretty dud. You remember
the two games of Patience I used to play—the
Four Aces and the Idle Year. They have
caught on here tremendously; every one from
Flight Commanders down is playing them.
I am thinking of sending to Cox’s for my passbook.
Four of us played pitch and toss
yesterday with pennies for two hours, and I
lost sevenpence. The gambling fever has
gripped.</p>
<p>I took up a Scotch sergeant a couple of days
ago. He was a perfect “scream.” “Can you
tell me where ahm tae pit ma feet, an’ where
ahm no tae pit them.” He quite enjoyed the
flight, though, and looked round once with a
huge grin, and said “Bon!” By the way, I
saw a very curious sight the other day, and a
very rare one. I saw two of our shells pass in
the air while I was flying. They were not near
me, but I just got an impression of them as
they went down. You can, I believe, see them
go if you are standing behind the guns, but P.
is the only one in our Flight who has seen
them from the air.</p>
<p>I think the idea of dividing R.F.C. Squadrons
up by public schools is splendid, but, alas!
impossible.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span></p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<div id="sn33" class="sidenote">An Air Fight.</div>
<p id="snp33">Yesterday G. and I were doing a big shoot
some four miles or so over the lines,
and as it was a bit misty we went up
to about 6,000 feet and sat right over
our target for about a quarter of an hour.
There was a Hun patrol of three machines
buzzing around that neighbourhood, and when
they got within a few hundred yards, I thought
it was about time to draw G.’s attention to the
matter. He sat up with a jerk, gave a quick
glance round, never noticed ’em, and glued
himself on his target again. “All right,” I said
to myself, “you’ll wake up with a jump in a
minute.” To my surprise two of the Huns took
no notice of us and went on, while the third
circled about very diffidently watching us. Once
he passed right over about 200 feet above us, and
at that moment G. looked up. You could see
the black iron crosses painted on a background
of silver on the wings, and at that G. moved,
and damn quickly too. I was busy watching
the Hun, and didn’t feel a bit excited or
nervous. I watched and waited, and then
suddenly the Hun stuffed his nose down and
swooped behind us, and we heard his machine
gun pop-popping away like mad. I waited
till he was about a hundred yards away, and
then did a vertically banked “about turn” and
went slap for him, and let him have about
forty rounds rapid at about seventy yards<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span>
range. G. had his gun ready to fire, when the
Hun turned and made for home. We chased
him a short way just for moral effect, and then
went back to our target and on with our job.
We were awfully surprised when he didn’t
come back. I suppose we scared him or something.
This little chat took place about
7,000 feet up, and five miles on their side of
the lines. Was up ’smorning; jolly cold.
The guns are going like Rachmaninoff’s
Prelude.</p>
<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>
<p>Before I stop I want to say this: If my
adventures and amusements are going to
cause you loss of sleep when they are over,
you ain’t a-goin’ to hear no more. Please
don’t let them disturb you. I have generally
forgotten all about them by the time your
return letter arrives.</p>
<p class="p2 center">[END]</p>
<p class="newpage p4 center smaller vspace wspace">
PRINTED BY<br/>
HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,<br/>
LONDON AND AYLESBURY,
ENGLAND.</p>
<div class="footnotes">
<h2 id="FOOTNOTES" class="nobreak p1">FOOTNOTES</h2>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="fn1"><SPAN name="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="fnanchor">1</SPAN> Now with the gunners in France.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="fn1"><SPAN name="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="fnanchor">2</SPAN> Interned in Germany since outbreak of war.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="fn1"><SPAN name="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="fnanchor">3</SPAN> In his private Log Book “Theta” apportions to the
various “episodes” a figure showing the probable value
of each narrow escape. From this it appears that he
reckoned he ought to have lost his life fifteen and a half
times!</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="fn1"><SPAN name="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="fnanchor">4</SPAN> Archie = Anti-aircraft.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="fn1"><SPAN name="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="fnanchor">5</SPAN> Trig = Trigonometry.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="fn1"><SPAN name="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="fnanchor">6</SPAN> 2C = B.E.2C.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="fn1"><SPAN name="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="fnanchor">7</SPAN> Firsts = 1st Air Mechanics.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="fn1"><SPAN name="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="fnanchor">8</SPAN> V.P. = <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Vol Plané</i>.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="fn1"><SPAN name="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="fnanchor">9</SPAN> In his private log book “Theta” sets out the cost
of petrol expended by him on a non-eventful flight, and
the cost to the Huns of the Archies fired at him, drawing
out a balance of cash profit or loss to the R.F.C.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="fn2"><SPAN name="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="fnanchor">10</SPAN> The Prince of Wales.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="fn2"><SPAN name="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="fnanchor">11</SPAN> Reference to a humorously satirical caution against
the use of the terms “’bus” or “plane” instead of
“aeroplane” or “machine.”</p>
</div>
</div></div>
<div class="transnote">
<h2 id="Transcribers_Note" class="nobreak p1">Transcriber’s Notes</h2>
<p>Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made
consistent when a predominant preference was found
in the original book; otherwise they were not changed.</p>
<p>Footnotes, originally at the bottoms of pages, have been collected,
resequenced, and moved to the end of the book.</p>
</div>
</div>
<SPAN name="endofbook"></SPAN>
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