The battle of Arras, as it came to be called, was now imminent, and would probably have commenced before April 10 but for an unexpected move on the part of the enemy. On March 30, the first clear day after a spell of bad weather, the first patrol to land reported thirty or forty fires in the tract of country east of the Arras-Albert sector. Every village for ten or fifteen miles back was alight. At first we could not understand what it meant—for although an R.F.C. squadron knew a good deal more of what was happening than a battalion in the line, still we did not always fully comprehend the meanings of the incidents we reported, which the G.H.Q. Intelligence Staff could, no doubt, interpret with the help of reports from their numerous other sources of information.
The German retreat of March 14 came, therefore, as a complete surprise to us. For, even at this stage of the war, we had become so used to hearing that the enemy’s morale was undermined, and that their troops were unwilling to fight, etc., that we had ceased to take much notice of these stories, the truth of which—for they were true—only became manifest nineteen months later.
The next two days, the 14th and 15th, were days of stormy weather, in spite of which patrols were continually sent out to try and ascertain the depth of the withdrawal and to locate the new German positions. The rough-and-ready way in which this was done was to fly low until we came under fire from anti-aircraft guns or rifles and machine guns on the ground. Molesworth, in a letter, gives quite a graphic account of this retreat as follows:
“60 Squadron R.F.C.,
“B.E.F., France.
“March 1917.“No luck for me in the Hun line yet, although the beggars seem to be running on the ground all right.
“Three of us went out the other day, and had the most hectic time. The clouds were about 3,000 feet and very dense, with gaps here and there. We crossed the lines and expected to get it pretty hot from Archie,[7] but, strangely enough, nothing happened. Heading towards Croisille, we came out of a thick cloud and saw a most extraordinary sight. For miles around every village was a blazing mass with smoke columns, like great water-spouts, ascending upwards to the clouds. Along the roads one could see lines of retreating men making for the Hindenburg defences, which we could plainly distinguish owing to the amount of barbed wire entanglements round them. Suddenly we were met by a perfect tornado of bursting ‘archies,’ and so were forced to turn into a cloud. This cloud was so thick that we all promptly proceeded to lose ourselves. I looked at my compass[8] and saw that it was pointing west, so carried on. At last, after about half an hour’s flying, I found myself alone in an opening in the clouds. Below me were dozens of shell-holes filled with water; round about, black clouds and sheets of driving rain. I knew I was somewhere near the lines, and yet could not decide in which direction to turn. Trusting to the compass I still pushed on west, and at last the shell-holes disappeared. Just as my petrol was giving out I spotted some hangars. There was nothing for it, so I decided to land. Coming down to about 200 feet I did a half-circle to get into the wind, and to my utter disgust saw a large party of Germans on the ground. I therefore made up my mind that it must be a Hun aerodrome. No machines were out, owing to the ‘dud’ weather, so I landed, jumped out of the machine, seized the Very pistol, and was just going to fire it into the grid when I saw, to my amazement, two mechanics in khaki coming across to give me a hand. I tell you, I have never been so bucked to see anyone in khaki before. Evidently the party I had seen were German prisoners. When the old kite had been filled up I pushed off again, and got home after about an hour’s run. On arrival I heard that the other two had lost themselves as well, but had managed to get back. In future I shall take jolly good care to get to know the country better before playing about in clouds.”
On the 17th and 18th the weather became too bad to fly, and an “excursion” was organised in tenders to the nearest points of the old front line, Ransart and Monchy-au-Bois, near Adinfer Wood; this last-named had been the home of a peculiarly accurate enemy “archie” gun for many months past. At the latter place skeletons of French soldiers still hung in the wire, where they had been since September 1915 at least.
The systematic and deliberate devastation of the evacuated country made a great impression on all our pilots, who were also thrilled to see the very trenches which the enemy’s troops had occupied only a few days earlier. It seemed wonderful to see the marks in the muddy sides of the trenches made by German feet and elbows, and the clips of rifle cartridges laid on the fire steps by their sentries less than a week before. Absorbingly interesting, too, to explore their dugouts, and to trace the routes by which their troops came up into the line from the rest billets behind. All the roads had been blown up, and every house in each abandoned village was most efficiently destroyed, except in a few cases, like Bapaume town hall, where delay action mines had been prepared.
One of the most impressive sights was the German cemetery, which was to be found in almost every hamlet, carefully laid out and extremely carefully tended, with monuments, cement steps, and ornamental shrubs symmetrically disposed amid the ruins of the houses among which it stood.
There were souvenirs enough for an army, let alone a squadron, and we were fortunate when collecting them not to fall into a single “booby trap,” such as a helmet which exploded when picked up. This expedition is also described by Molesworth in another letter:
“60 Squadron R.F.C.,
“B.E.F., France.
“March 1917.“The rumour about leave is true, so my turn ought to come in a few days as my name is next on the list. The weather has been hopeless lately for aviation. Yesterday some of us decided to go and have a look at the old Boche trenches. We chose the ones west of Adinfer Wood, as they were less likely to be mined than those further north.
“Having seized a tender, we pushed off after breakfast towards the line. We got to our front trenches at about ten o’clock, and left the tender here, as the road was still in pretty bad repair. No Man’s Land was dotted about with shell-holes. A few broken stumps of trees lined the road—war-worn veterans that had stood the test of battle. (Amongst other souvenirs, I am bringing you back a walking-stick made from a branch of one of these.) There was a wood, or what remained of it, to our right front, as this part of the line had been very quiet, and was nothing compared to the utter desolation of the Somme or ‘Arras’ battle-fields.
“The German system of trenches consisted of thick belts of barbed wire, behind which was a trench about 10 feet deep, with platforms and machine-gun emplacements to shoot from. About every 50 yards or so square openings led down to the underground dugouts. The old Hun seems to have lived fairly comfortably, as there were beds and tables here and there, with store-rooms and passages connecting each dugout.
“We went about collecting souvenirs very gingerly, as warnings of booby traps were posted up everywhere we went. But luckily no one was caught out. We managed to collect some tin hats, bombs, Very pistols, and a few other odds and ends, which we loaded into the tender.
“I am bringing some of these home.
“Orders have just come through for us to go on another balloon strafe, so I will finish this when we come back if old Fritz doesn’t stop me.
* * * * *
“(Two hours later)
“Here I am back again, with a Hun and a ‘sausage’[9] added to my bag. I am fearfully bucked with life, as the Major has just told me that I have been made a ‘flight commander.’ No time for any more, as I am just off to have a cheery time with the other lads, who seem to have done pretty well too.”
That the enemy knew that the British intended to attack was evident, because the numbers of the aforementioned V-strut Albatros scouts had obviously increased on this front. The performance of these machines was considerably better than the Nieuport, and they had two Spandau guns firing through the propeller; and, moreover, the circus of red machines led, so they said, by Richthofen, was functioning freely throughout the month of March 1917. It is perhaps unnecessary to repeat that the offensive in the air commences always before the push on the ground, and though the latter was timed to commence on April 10, 60 had a hard month to go through before this date arrived. We were short of scout squadrons at this time, and though 48, the first Bristol fighter squadron, and 56, another new squadron equipped with the S.E.5s, had arrived from England, these were to be kept as a surprise for the Boche, and were not to cross the line until “zero day,” as the day fixed for the first assault was called. With 56 Ball had come out again from England, and it was during this battle that he was killed, on May 7, 1917, after a severe engagement in which Meintjies, who also had been posted to 56 after a period of rest at home, was badly wounded; the latter is one of the best pilots, and almost the most popular officer, 60 ever had.