* * * * *
“60 Squadron R.F.C.,
“B.E.F., France.
“June 1917.“The heat is simply terrific, and the only ways of keeping cool are flying or sitting under the trees in the orchard. We spend most of the day, when not in the air, in multi-coloured pyjamas, some lads even going so far as to fly in them.
“Another awfully good way of keeping cool is to dig a hole about a foot deep and 3 feet long and cover it with a ground-sheet, pegged down at the corners, so as to make a bath. You lie in this with a book and a cooling drink by your side, and if you are lucky enough to escape the bombardment of mud, stones, and various other missiles which are thrown at you by the more energetic and lively spirits in the camp, you can really enjoy yourself. These baths have been such a success that we decided to dig a small bathing-pool about 20 feet square by 3 feet deep. When we got this going the whole population of the nearest village had to come and watch us. This was rather disconcerting, as we used to bathe tout à fait nude. Most of the chaps managed to rig up something in the way of a bathing-dress by buying various articles of clothing in the neighbouring village—I was forced to content myself with a type of female undergarment, which seemed to cause great amusement amongst the ack-emmas.[45]
“The village maidens were highly delighted, and thought it quite the thing, now that we were decently clad, to watch us at our aquatic sports.
“We three flight commanders have decided to take over a Nissen hut and knock out the partition so as to make it into one room; of course, some wags had to start painting things on the outside. They began by printing on the window in large black letters, ‘Saloon Bar’; and ended by naming the hut the ‘Hôtel du Commerce,’ as most of the squadron seemed to collect there, including Kate and Black Boy (the special pet dogs of the squadron), who made it their abode.
“I don’t think I told you in my last letter that one of my pilots nearly finished me off. I was leading a patrol, when, without any warning, he dived about four yards in front of me. We would have collided if I hadn’t managed to yank my machine over on her back. He successfully put the wind up me, I can tell you, and I gave it to him pretty hot when we got down.”
* * * * *
“60 Squadron R.F.C.,
“B.E.F., France.
“June 1917.“I hope it will be ‘dud’ to-morrow, as I want to supervise the painting of my grids. We have all got the craze of having them coloured. Mine are going to have red, white, and blue wheels. Our crack flight commander[46] has had a spinner made and painted blue, which he says puts the wind up the Huns. I should think they must be getting to know him well now, as he has crashed twenty-five of them, two of which he got in flames yesterday. He always lets us know when he has got one by firing a red Very light over the aerodrome before landing.
“Talking about colours, you ought to see the Huns. They are just like butterflies, with bright red bodies, spotted wings, and black and white squares on their tails, or else a wonderful mauve colour with green and brown patches.
“It was our day off yesterday, so the Major[47] asked me to go for a ride with him. We borrowed horses from a cavalry depot near-by, and set out in his car for the rendezvous where we were to pick them up. We did not intend to go far, but lost our way in a wood. The Major is a keen horseman and, consequently, led me over all sorts of obstacles, such as fallen trees, etc. Not having ridden for three years, I found it rather a job to stick on; however, I got used to it. We went up and down vertical banks, and eventually had to get the nags over a 3-foot jump, which we managed to do with a bit of coaxing. Soon after we arrived at the beautiful old château of Lucheux, where we were to meet the car. This château was used by Marlborough during the Flanders Wars. It is now a Red Cross hospital. We had a talk to the sisters, and wangled some topping roses out of them for the mess. The car was waiting for us, so we got into it and drove home.
“When we arrived back, we found the mess decorated with branches of trees, which made it look like a greenhouse. This was to commemorate the Major’s M.C., which he has just been awarded for bringing down Huns. We had a tremendous ‘bust’ in the evening in which the Major joined. Speeches were made wishing him the best of luck, and then we retired to the ante-room and had a good old rag.”
* * * * *
“60 Squadron R.F.C.,
“B.E.F., France.
“July 1917.“Rotten luck!
“Everything is black to-day. The Major[48] has been wounded in the arm; one of my best pilots[49] is going off to another squadron as a flight commander, and I missed an absolute ‘sitter’ this morning on our side of the line. However, every cloud has a silver lining. This time it is in the shape of an M.C. for one of our flight commanders who thoroughly deserves it. He hasn’t managed to get a big bag yet, but there is lots of the ‘good stuff’ in him, in both senses of the word.
“We are going to have a great ‘bust’ to-night to commemorate it, and to cheer things up a bit. The show on which the Major was hit was a pretty hot mix-up. We were in the middle of our tennis tournament when word came through that a large formation of Huns was on the line. It was ‘A’ Flight’s turn for a job, so they pushed off, accompanied by the Major. They got into a big ‘dog-fight,’ and a Hun, who wasn’t in the show at all, took a pot shot at long range and hit the Major in the arm, breaking up his switch at the same time. However, he managed to get back to the aerodrome all right, and went off to hospital soon after.
“We got into another big show on the 11th, and scrapped hard for about twenty minutes over the Hindenburg Line, without any luck. At last one of the Huns, with more guts than the rest, came over and began to attack one of our grids. I nipped in behind him without being seen and gave him a dose of lead. I must have hit his guns or something, as he had no ginger left, and simply flew west across the lines, intending to land on our side. Of course, my stupid old gun had to stop, and I discovered, to my annoyance, that there was no ammunition left. Seeing that I didn’t fire, the Hun guessed that something was up and turned back. I felt absolutely wild to see him calmly sneak off into a cloud on his way home.
“On another occasion, when three of us were attacking a formation of six Huns, one of us had a most extraordinary escape. We had our noses down, going full out to try and catch the blighters, when suddenly the Hun directly under us did a sharp turn. The chap on my right yanked his grid over after him. He pulled her over with such a jerk that one of his bottom planes came off and fluttered down to the ground in two bits. I couldn’t see what happened to him after that, as we were getting to close quarters with the Huns. We tried to scrap them, but hadn’t any luck, as they wouldn’t put up a fight.
“When we arrived home, I reported that one of my patrol[50] had ‘gone west,’ as I had seen him break up in the air. Hardly had I finished when, to my amazement, he appeared outside the window. I could not believe my eyes and thought it was his ghost, but he turned out to be flesh and blood, and so we went to the mess and had a drink on the strength of it.
“He told me that he had managed to fly his kite back with great difficulty. Luckily the top planes had held. Of course, when he landed, the machine turned over and crashed, but he crawled out unhurt.
“We three flight commanders went to see the Major in hospital yesterday. He seemed in the best of spirits, and had been trying to ‘pump’ a Hun observer, who was in his ward, by asking him whether he liked doing artillery work on our part of the front, but the old Boche wouldn’t give him an answer.
“We all hope to have the Major back with us soon, as his arm is much better. We miss him ‘some,’ as he often comes with us on our patrols.
“Charlie Chaplin isn’t in it now with us! We were cinematographed the other day. Some of us stood in a row and tried to look pleasant and unconcerned, but this was rather difficult, as everyone else was making rude remarks about us. We then bundled into our new grids, which we have just got, and started off on a stunt formation, nearly running down the old cinema man to put the wind up him. After we had done a circuit, my radiator began to boil, and I was forced to come down. Thank heavens! it was a good landing, as the old man was still at it turning the handle. My part of the show was to be known as ‘Pilot landing for more ammunition after fierce fight.’”
* * * * *
“60 Squadron R.F.C.,
“B.E.F., France.
“August 1917.“The new grids[51] are a great success, and we have been hard at work training and doing line patrols.
“Three of us, led by our famous ‘Hun-strafer,’[52] used them over the lines for the first time on the 5th. As a rule we only fight in flights, but on certain occasions we volunteer for a ‘circus,’ that is a mixed formation generally composed of the best pilots in the squadron.
“Our numbers were not overwhelming this time, but we know that the Huns had got pukka wind-up by the way they disappeared when we arrived on the line, so we felt quite confident in taking on twice as many as ourselves. Of course we were all out for trouble, as we wanted to show what the new machines could do. As soon as our leader spotted a formation of Huns, he was after them like a flash. I think there were seven of them, but we were all much too excited to count. Suddenly they saw us coming, and tried desperately to escape, but our leader got into his favourite position, and the rear Hun hadn’t a ghost of a chance. The next instant he was a flaming mass.
“We simply had it all over the Boche for speed and, as we had the height, they could not possibly get away. I picked my man out as he was coming towards me, and dived straight at him, opening fire with both guns at close range. He suffered the same fate as his companion.
“A burning machine is a glorious but terrible sight to see—a tiny red stream of flame trickles from the petrol tank, then long tongues of blazing petrol lick the sides of the fuselage, and, finally, a sheet of white fire envelops the whole machine, and it glides steeply towards the ground in a zigzag course, leaving a long trail of black smoke behind it, until it eventually breaks up. There is no doubt that your first Hun in flames gives you a wonderful feeling of satisfaction. I can well imagine what the big-game hunter must think when he sees the dead lion in front of him. Somehow, you do not realise that you are sending a man to an awful doom, but rather your thoughts are all turned on the hateful machine which you are destroying, so fascinating to look at and yet so deadly in its attack.”
* * * * *
“60 Squadron R.F.C.,
“B.E.F., France.
“August 1917.“Sorry I haven’t written for some time, but we have been kept awfully busy as the weather has been so fine. I have been trying hard to get another Hun, and only succeeded the day before yesterday, when we had another great scrap.
“Five of us met eight Huns and attacked them the other side of the line. I missed my man in the first dive, but turned on another and must have hit the pilot, as he spun straight into the ground. One of my patrol also destroyed an Albatros by shooting him up so that he fell to bits in the air. The remaining six Huns put up quite a good fight, and nearly got one of us by doing in his lateral control. However, he managed to land all right, as these machines are fairly stable.
“On scanning my kite, I discovered that it had not escaped scot-free, as a large piece of the tail plane had been shot away.
“There was tremendous excitement in the squadron yesterday, as our ‘stunt merchant’[53] has been awarded the V.C. for that aerodrome show that I told you about. We celebrated it last night by one of the finest ‘busts’ I have ever had. There were speeches and lots of good ‘bubbly,’ consequently everyone was in the best of spirits.
“After dinner we had a torchlight procession to the various squadrons stationed on the aerodrome. This was led by our Very light experts. Luckily for us, the night was very dull and cloudy, or else I expect old man Boche would have had a hand in it too. We charged into one mess and proceeded to throw everyone and everything we came across out of the window. We then went over to the other squadron. The wretched lads were all in bed, but we soon had them out, and bombarded their mess with Very lights, the great stunt being to shoot one in through one window and out at the other. I can’t imagine why the blessed place didn’t go up in flames. After annoying these people for a bit, we retired to our own mess, where we danced and sang till the early hours of the morning. I have still got a piece of plaid cloth about 6 inches square, which was the only thing left of a perfectly good pair of ‘trouse’ that belonged to one of our Scotch compatriots.
“This morning the C.O. sent for me to go to the orderly room. He told me that my name had come through for H.E.,[54] and congratulated me on having been awarded the M.C.
“Later I went round to the sheds to say goodbye to the men, and finally ended up at the mess to have a farewell drink with all my old friends.
“I can hardly realise that the time has come for me to go back to Blighty. I shall be awfully bucked to see you again in a few days, old chap, and yet I can’t help feeling sad at leaving this dear old place—full of memories, sometimes tragic, sometimes comic. It is very hard to part with these comrades of mine—‘Knights of the Air,’ who live from day to day facing eternity with a smile, and laying down their lives, if need be, with such heroism, for the cause of freedom.”