A stands for Archie, the Huns’ greatest pride,
B for B.E., our biplane they deride.
C for the “Crash” when by “A”[4] “B” gets hit,
D for the Dive before “C” ends the flit.
E is for Engine, which sometimes goes dud,
F is Cold Feet, as you wait for the thud.
G is the Gun that you keep on the ’plane,
H as per “trig”[5] is the height you attain.
I am the Infant who flies a 2C,[6]
J the Joy-stick on most ’buses you see.
K is the Kick that you get from a gun,
L a forced Landing, too oft to be done.
M for Mechanic; in France most are “firsts,”[7]
N for the Noise that A makes when it bursts.
O which is oil, stops the seizing of E,
P Petrol used by the E of the B.
Q is the Quiet one gets on a glide,
R the Revolver you keep by your side.
S is for Side-slip, some Shot, or a Stunt,
T is the Thrill of a big Fokker hunt.
U Under-carriage, first to go in a smash,
V a V.P.[8] oft precedeth a crash.
W the Wireless, for directing big guns,
X Y Z I don’t want, so I’ll give to the Huns.
I
THE OPENING MOVEMENTS
“Somewhere.”
I am 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.
* * * * *
I have been up several times, but have not 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!
One of our more cheerful optimists feels sure the war will end in the next four or five years.
My field boot has turned up, much to my surprise. It was forwarded on to me by our local Railway Transport Officer.
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.