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“France,
“December 3, 1917.“I am still merely watching operations from the ground. Two fresh pilots have been posted to the squadron since Hemsworth and I arrived, and we shall probably commence flying to-morrow if the weather is suitable.
“Great interest is being shown out here in the coming general election in Canada, and the authorities are endeavouring to have every Canadian register his vote. Quite contrary to army precedent and regulations, the authorities are openly urging everyone to vote against Laurier. Most of us share this view, but it is interesting to see the officials of an army in the field canvassing votes for one party.
“The Canadians are no longer near us. I imagine they needed a rest badly after their recent push.
“You ought to see our strength in dogs. The squadron boasts sixteen canines at present. The officers’ mess possesses five. We are very proud of them. Besides these, we have six pigs and twenty-five hens. There is no shortage of eggs about the mess.”
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“France,
“December 9, 1917.“Since last Sunday I have been waiting, waiting, waiting for a flight, and not till last Thursday did I get it. The day was cloudy and the visibility poor. Hemsworth and I were to have a practice flight, and we spent about twenty minutes at it. When we finished, I had lost sight of the aerodrome and so had he, for I could see him flying aimlessly one way and then another, diving on one hill and then on several more. As our aerodrome is near a town perched on a high hill, I knew what he was looking for, but none of the hills seemed to be the right one. After that he flew east for a time, and, although I knew such a course would take us into Hunland, I followed, deciding to go with him as far as the trenches and then turn west again. Just our side of the line I spotted a town[41] which I recognised from the great relief map we had at Oxford. It is a town that has undergone more shelling than any other during the whole war. I never saw such a sight of desolation. Nothing but shell-holes in all directions. Practically all the buildings in ruins, and every now and then a shell would burst in the desolate city with a blinding flash. Of course, I could hear nothing of the explosion. I knew my way back to the aerodrome and felt much relieved, as it is most undignified to get lost on one’s first flip. I opened my engine and soon caught up the other machine, and signalled Hemsworth to turn round and follow me. We were at the aerodrome twenty minutes later. I have not been in the air since owing to a temporary shortage of machines.
“... The little town[42] near our aerodrome, perched on a high hill, has a fine square, from which a beautiful church can be seen, and the square and streets are cobbled. The road which leads into the town from the east enters through a short tunnel, which emerges right into the square itself. When I was last there, several howitzer batteries were coming from the line for a rest, and the caterpillar tractors, which haul these huge guns, were grunting and chugging from the tunnel into the town, and through it, making for some spot further to the rear. All units which come out of the trenches for a rest are sent far enough back to be out of earshot of the guns. The Casino, at the highest part of the town, is devoted to military purposes. From it a wonderful view of the Western Front may be had, puffs of smoke in the distance, captive sausage observation balloons, aeroplanes, and roads teeming with hundreds and hundreds of motor-lorries slowly crawling along. A batch of miserable-looking German prisoners were engaged in cleaning the streets. Their appearance gave the impression that they must have been reduced to sorry straits before their capture, as they all looked white, pinched, and sickly. I think they are pretty fairly treated by our people, and certainly given enough to eat.
“Speaking of food reminds me that you may be interested to know that we do pretty well in our mess. I quote from our ordinary dinner menu: Soup (mock turtle), toast; fish (grilled sole, mustard sauce); entrée (beefsteak, pastry, boiled potatoes, green peas); sweets (stewed prunes, cornstarch pudding); biscuits, cheese, coffee. Does this satisfy you? It does me.
“We have the correct number of machines, six in each flight, and there are three flights, ‘A,’ ‘B,’ and ‘C.’ I am in ‘B’ Flight. There are eighteen pilots, an equipment officer who is also quartermaster, a recording officer (adjutant) and the commanding officer. So we have twenty-two in our mess.
“Lunch is served at one o’clock. Sometimes I have spent the afternoons walking in the near-by town. Tea is at 4 p.m., and now it is dark at that time. After tea we read or play cards till dinner, at 7.30. After dinner some music. By the way, we have a ragtime band, composed of a piano, a snare drum, two sets of bones, a triangle and brass cymbals, and an auto horn. It is ‘some’ band. We all go to bed fairly early.”
Patrick was transferred to H.E. on December 29, 1917, to take up an appointment in the Training Division of the Air Board—as it was then—and Major B. F. Moore, Royal Warwickshire Regiment and R.F.C., was given the command.
It was about this time, also, that General Trenchard went home to become Chief of the Air Staff, prior to the official formation of the Royal Air Force by the amalgamation of the R.F.C. and R.N.A.S. His successor to the command of the R.F.C. in the field was General Sir J. Salmond, who remained in this position till the end of the war.
January 1918 passed fairly quietly. Morey collided in the air with an Albatros scout during a fight and both pilots must have been killed, but as this was some way over the lines, we never heard the German pilot’s fate. Up to this time, the Huns had been very good in sending information about the fate of our pilots, nor were we behind them in courtesy. On one occasion, during May 1917, a message was dropped on Douai aerodrome, two hours after his capture, announcing the safety of a German scout pilot whom we had driven down near St. Pol. A study of the lists sent over by the Germans showed that just over 50 per cent. of our missing airmen were alive—wounded or injured most probably—but alive. Later, after March 1918, these amenities were not so nicely observed and information became harder to get. February came and went with the squadron still at Marie Capelle. A. C. Ball, brother of Albert Ball, was missing on the 5th of this month. He was a very promising young officer, but it was too early in his flying career to say that he would have rivalled his brother. Happily he is alive, and was repatriated at the end of the war. Lieuts. H. Crompton and W. Duncan, 2/Lieuts. H. Hegarty and V. Priestly may perhaps be mentioned as fighting most pluckily and well during this month. Soden, by now a flight commander, did a good show on February 5, 1918. He attacked an Albatros scout, which he drove down out of control, and was then attacked by two other hostile machines, who drove him down from 15,000 to 50 feet, eight miles over the line; he came back “hedge-hopping” and banking round trees, and when halfway home saw the leading Hun crash into a tree; he then began to gain on the other, and, finally outdistancing him, crossed the trenches, still at 50 feet, and came home.
On February 18, Hammersley, Clark, Evans, and Kent took on four triplanes and got three of them, Evans and Clark sharing one, and Kent and Hammersley taking one each.
During the last month, before moving south, a lot of work was done, and a great many bombs were dropped from a low altitude on rest billets and other targets, this form of annoying the Hun having become fashionable.
Another unusual incident occurred when W. Kent opened fire, one day in March, at an enemy scout with both guns from a distance of about 400 yards. Usually it was considered complete waste of ammunition to shoot at ranges exceeding 100 yards, while 10 or 15 yards was the really effective distance. This scout caught fire all right, however, and crashed in our lines. Bishop did a similar thing once in the summer of 1917, but it was not a practice that was encouraged.