The Mammoth Book of Fighter Pilots (14 page)

I came to the conclusion that this Hun was very good, and that it would be most difficult to shoot him, so I turned away, just in time to see four others coming down to aid him. I had not turned away a second too soon.

That Hun was a good one, for every time I got behind him he turned upside down and passed out underneath me. I well remember looking at him too. He seemed only a boy.

It seems all very strange to me, but whilst fighting Germans I have always looked upon a German aeroplane as a machine that has got to be destroyed, and at times when I have passed quite close to a Hun machine and have had a good look at the occupant, the thought has often struck me: “By Jove! there is a man in it.” This may sound queer, but it is quite true, for at times I have fought a Hun and, on passing at close range, have seen the pilot in it, and I have been quite surprised.

On the evening of the 22nd, I again led my patrol over the lines, and very soon saw four Huns flying west over Zandvoorde, so, as we were north of them, we soon got between them and their lines, and then we attacked them over Ypres. They turned out to be all D.F.W.’s, apparently doing a formation reconnaissance.

We each picked out our man and commenced shooting. I shot an awful lot at my man, who finally went down in a steep, jerky dive towards the east. I then turned away and saw Muspratt finish off his opponent in great style. This Hun went into a very flat spin, which lasted from 14,000 feet to the ground, and I watched him the whole way until he crashed in our lines near St. Julien. I never have seen anything so funny for a long time as that old Hun going round and round for over two minutes. I bet the pilot and observer had a sick headache after that.

Meanwhile, Cronyn had finished off another, who also fell in our lines, so between us we made that two-seater formation sorry that it ever crossed our lines that evening. That was the end of activity that evening, so we flew home, all very happy.

On the evening of September 3rd I had been out alone looking for stray Huns, and not having seen any, I went up to the Salient, when Potts and Jeffs, of “A” Flight, quietly attached themselves to me, having lost Maxwell in the heat of a fight. We saw three V-strutters going north over Poelcappelle, and so down we went, and just before I got to the rear Hun, my engine chocked, and I got vertically below the last Hun, whom I saw looking over the side of his fuselage at me.

The next thing I saw was tracers passing this Hun, who immediately burst into flames and fell instantly. So quickly did he fall that I did not have time to dodge, and the Albatros, a flaming mass, fell about fifty feet away from me. I distinctly heard the roar of it as it passed me, for my engine was not making much noise, and was throttled down. I now got my engine going, and chased one of the remaining Huns, who at once went down in an awfully obvious funk, having seen his comrade go down in flames, but I could not shoot this fellow, for he knew how to manœuvre in defence.

On September 4th, 1917, I led my patrol up to 14,000 feet over Ypres, and then we crossed the lines to meet a formation of D.H.4’s on their return from bombing Audenarde. My orders were to meet them over Courtrai at 2.10 p.m. at 15,000 feet, and punctually to the minute we saw the big British two-seaters coming towards us amid a cloud of black Archies.

We turned, and whilst escorting them back to the line, we saw several Albatros climbing up north of Lille. We took the D.H.4’s west of the lines and then went back to look for the Huns we had seen. We found them at 16,000 feet near Lille, but they were going east, and by the time we would have got to them, we would have been too far east of the lines. However, young Rhys-Davids kept calling my attention to them, for he was all for chasing the Huns out of the sky altogether, and I had some difficulty in making him realise that bravery should not be carried to the extent of foolhardiness.

The Huns soon returned, and we met them at 17,500 feet over Baccelaere. I singled out my Teuton partner, and we circled around each other until I at last managed to get on his tail. He at once went down in a spiral. It is the most difficult thing imaginable to shoot an opponent who is spiralling, so after chasing him down to 8,000 feet and firing a lot of ammunition to little effect, I turned away just in time to see Coote chase a Hun away who had been following me down. By this time I had reformed the patrol; we found it was time to go home, so I fired the “washout” signal.

As the visibility was good I thought I would save my height as much as possible until I got over my aerodrome, in the hope of running into a two-seater over our lines, so I crossed our lines homeward bound at about 16,000 feet, and I then saw a Hun two-seater above me near Armentières. As he was 500 feet above me, I pulled my top gun down and fired a drum of Lewis at him, but it did not take much effect, for it is rather difficult to fire at a machine that is vertically above one and fly straight at the same time, so this old Hun got away east of the lines.

I resumed my homeward journey at 17,000 feet and very soon saw a Hun two-seater, a D.F.W., coming towards me from the S.W. over Estaires. I intercepted him, and took up a position to shoot at him in such a way that he could not shoot at me, as I had been practising this method of attack for a long time. My Vickers gun was out of action, but the Lewis was working, and so I opened fire at two hundred yards. I fired a whole drum, and the Hun commenced to shy, so I quickly changed a drum, and whilst doing so, I exposed myself to the Hun’s fire, whose bullets I felt hit my machine.

“Never mind,” I thought, so I closed again, and fired my last drum, which caused the old D.F.W. to wobble and pitch like anything, and then the observer disappeared into the cockpit apparently disabled, and the Hun went sliding down over Quesnoy under control. I had hard luck with this fellow, for if I had had another drum, I could have concentrated on my shooting without troubling about the gunner. However, this was all good practice for me.

I returned to my aerodrome, and after landing found that I should require a new machine, as the Hun had put an incendiary bullet into one of my longerons just at my feet, and this meant the machine going into the repair-section for a while. Lieutenant Sloley went to St. Omer for me to get another machine, and brought back a Factory-built S.E.5 No. A/4863. This S.E. was destined to give me a lot of trouble before I got it going well finally.

The weather during this time was simply glorious, and we always had plenty of spare time, so we thoroughly enjoyed it. Our usual patrol time was about six p.m. during the late summer, and as a rule we were not sent up unless there was pronounced enemy aerial activity. We spent our spare time in various ways.

We had a wonderful game called “Bumple-puppy,” which one played with tennis rackets. A ball is tied by a length of string to the top of a pole and the two players stand opposite each other with the pole between. They both try to hit the ball opposite ways until either of them has wound the ball up to the fullest extent on the pole, and the player who succeeds in doing this first wins. This does not sound very exciting, but it is when two good players get going.

In the hot afternoons we all bathed in a little stream a few miles from the aerodrome, and all went very well until one day we went down there to find a lot of Portuguese soldiers in possession of our bathing place. Needless to say, the water in that place never recovered its pristine clearness, nor odour.

When the days were dull or wet, we had tenders in which to go up to the trenches or to go to St. Omer to see the fair maids of France. Most fellows had an attraction of some sort in St. Omer, and the teashops, where was usually to be had wonderful French pastry, were always full. In the mess we had many games, ping-pong being easily the most popular. Then we had the inevitable cards, gramophone, and piano, which several fellows could play nicely.

One dud day Barlow and I set off to visit Vimy Ridge. On our way we called in at another Squadron to visit my young brother, who was a Sergeant-pilot, flying D.H.4’s. We resumed our journey and then visited some friends of Barlow’s at an Artillery Group Headquarters. I think Barlow had a cousin there. After lunch we went by tender through the valley of Notre Dame de Lorette, and through Carency and Souchez, in which valley so many gallant Frenchmen gave their lives in the intense fighting of early 1915.

Souchez and Carency were merely a pile of rubbish, and on our left towered the height of Vimy Ridge. After thoroughly viewing this natural fortress, which was held by the Germans in 1914, ’15, ’16 and part of ’17, I was amazed to think that it fell to a direct frontal attack such as it did in April, 1917, when the Huns were completely routed for some miles by the Canadians.

We drove over the Vimy Ridge on a plank roadway constructed by the Sappers, and sheltered the car on the eastern slopes of the ridge. We then walked to an observation post which was near, and viewed the trenches from this vantage point. The visibility was poor, so we could not see too much, but we could, with the aid of glasses, see the clock-face on the church tower of Haines, a small village some way behind the enemy lines, and we could also see the Wingles Tower, a large steel structure that the enemy uses for his observation post.

After we had had a good look round we went to find some souvenirs off the Vimy battlefield. We could have taken away heaps of souvenirs had we the room for them. We saw some huge mine craters about 100 yards across. One of the largest is known as Winnipeg Crater, I think. War material of every description littered the ground: rifles, grenades, both British and Boche, trench mortars and shells of all calibres. I got a very good German rifle, and we had some fun pulling the string of the German bombs, known amongst our Tommies as potato mashers, and then throwing them down a crater to burst. We spent some time examining the graves of fallen German soldiers which bore crosses with many forms of German inscriptions. After which we walked to our tender and then came away.

We had spent a most interesting and instructive afternoon and we were only sorry that we had not seen German machines up over the trenches, for we had been within a mile of our front line the whole afternoon.

On our way from Vimy we decided to have tea in Béthune, so we went to a little teashop that is on the main road to Lillers, and is a stone’s throw from Béthune church tower, and here was the same dainty little Madeline who had given us tea when I was a Corporal, and passed through Béthune a lot in late 1914. Madeline was very grieved when I last saw her, for her fiancé, a Lieutenant in the French infantry, had been killed at Verdun. I expressed my sympathy, as well as I could, in my not too perfect French, which elicited the remark: “Ah, M’sieu! c’est la Guerre!”

We had a very nice tea, and then walked round Béthune
to make a few purchases. Béthune, since I had seen it last in 1915, had not been shelled much, although the square had been damaged a lot, but it is remarkable how well the French people take it as a rule. Many who read this book will remember the dainty little Ma’m’selle in the “patisserie” in the main Rue to Chocques and Lillers.

Whilst passing a shop window I noticed a certain quality of brilliantine of which I had last purchased a quantity at Avesnes-le-Compte in 1916, and since then I had tried everywhere to find this same quality. I went into the shop and bought up the entire stock of that grade, and the tradesman must have thought that I was going to start a barber’s shop. I think the total cost was something over thirty francs, and it was only recently that I finished my last bottle.

After this, Barlow and I resumed our journey, and arrived back at our aerodrome just in time for dinner. Some of the fellows had been to Calais, some to Ypres, and some to St. Omer.

On September 6th, the anniversary of shooting down my first Hun, I went up on my new S.E.5 at the head of my trusty Flight, and after getting up to 13,000 feet we crossed the lines about Bixschoote. Immediately after crossing the lines, we saw some enemy scouts over the Houthoulst Forest, and we flew to the attack. We got closer, and I saw two new types of enemy scouts. One was a triplane, and was not very unlike the Sopwith of that type. The other one was a machine with very obliquely cut wing tips and tailplane. These two machines, I afterwards found, were the Fokker triplane and the Pfalz scout.

We manœuvred around for a while, and the Huns did most of the shooting, for they were above and had the initial advantage on their side, but finally there was no advantage to either side, and after some time the Huns withdrew. My Vickers was now out of action owing to a fault in my interrupter gear, and so I only had my Lewis.

On sighting two Albatros Scouts over Passchendaele I dived and, getting to close range of one, my Lewis fired one shot and stopped. The Boche at once spun and got away, but the other, after having been engaged by Jeffs of “A” Flight, crashed near Poelcappelle Station.

We now reformed, and then dived on three two-seaters over Houthem, who were about 4,000 feet high. I opened fire on one at once and fired sixty rounds at him, and he then put his nose down east and flew off into a fringe of mist as though he was all right. Nothing happened of further interest, so we flew back to our aerodrome, and, after having breakfast, I had to give a full description of the two new German types that I had seen.

After that I spent the remainder of the morning working on my Constantinesco interrupter gear, which was giving a lot of trouble on my new machine, for up till now I had hardly fired my Vickers guns at all.

Whilst on the aerodrome Bowman landed, and after taxiing up to where I stood, started to get out of his machine, and I spoke to him about something. While listening to me he put the back of his leg, just behind the knee, on his red-hot exhaust pipe. As he was wearing shorts that finish above the knee, he rested his bare flesh on the very, very hot metal.

There was immediately a hell of a yell, and a sizzling sound as Bowman leapt about four feet into the air, shouting most angry profanity. I very quickly made myself scarce, for, as I said to Bowman afterwards, the smell of roast pork was most appetizing. Poor old Bowman’s leg was tied up for weeks afterwards.