Yesterday I was some miles across the line with my observer, as an escort to another machine, and was Archied like the—er—dickens, shells bursting all round and some directly under me. Why the machine wasn’t riddled I don’t know. I was nearly 10,000 feet up too. The Archies burst, leaving black puffs of smoke in the air, so that the gunners could see the result. Those puffs were all over the sky. Talk about dodge! Banking both ways at once! ’Orrible. What’s more, I had to stay over them, dodging about until the other machine chose to come back or finished directing the shooting. Both W. and J. who came here with me got holes in their planes from Archie the day before yesterday, and W. had a scrap with a Fokker yesterday and got thirty holes through his plane about three feet from his seat. The Fokker approached to within twenty-five feet. W. had a mechanic with him, and he fired a drum of ammunition at it, and the Fokker dived for the ground. So the pilot was either wounded or—well, they don’t know how the machine landed, but are hoping to hear from the people in the trenches. The funny part is that the Fokker attacked as usual by diving from behind, and W.’s observer turned round and fired kneeling on the seat; but W. never saw the Fokker once during the whole fight or after. W. had his main spar of one wing shot away, and several bracing wires, etc., so he had a lucky escape.
My latest adventure is that my engine suddenly stopped dead when I was a mile over the German lines. My top tank petrol gauge was broken, and was registering twelve gallons when it was really empty. I dropped 1,000 feet before I could pump up the petrol from the lower tank to the top, and was being Archied, too; but I could have got back to our side easily even if the engine had refused to start, though it would have been unpleasant to cross the lines at a low altitude. I have had the petrol gauge put right now. Incidentally, not knowing how much petrol you have is rather awkward, as I landed with less than two gallons at the end of that flight; that is ten minutes’ petrol.
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Aged 19.
It is rather strange having a birthday away from home, but the letter and parcels I got to-day made it all seem like old times.... I have done some night flying here, and when I was up 2,000 feet I could see flares and lights over in Hunland. I stayed up some time, and finally by a colossal fluke did the best landing I have ever done at the Aerodrome.
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A Concert.
I went to a concert at Wing Headquarters the other evening; it wasn’t at all bad. “The Foglifters” had really quite good voices, and some of the turns were excellent. One made up as a splendid girl. The programme may interest you:
IN THE FIELD
Lieut. —— presents, by kind permission of Lieut.-Colonel ——, his renowned Vaudeville entertainment,
THE “FOG-LIFTERS.”
(They are thoroughly disinfected before each performance.)
PROGRAMME
Part I
1. The Fog-lifters introduce themselves.
2. C—— tries—but can’t.
3. B—— sings a Warwickshire song in Yorkshire brogue.
4. Six-foot picks his mark.
5. B—— on his experiences in the Marines.
6. C—— relates his visit to Hastings.
7. T—— on Acrobatic Eyes.
8. The Second-in-Command ties himself in a knot.9. Six-foot warns the unwary.
10. The Fog-lifters, feeling dry, retire at this point for a drink, and leave you to the tender mercies of H——. “Watch your watch and chain yourself to your seat.”
Part II
11. T—— thinks of leave.
12. The “Boss” makes a bid for the biscuit.
13. B—— and his Favourite Topic.
14. Rather a Fagging Turn.
15. B—— in Love.
16. T—— endeavours to sing a Sentimental Song.
17. Six-foot shows B—— how it’s done.
18. The Second-in-Command excels ’iself.
19. B——’s memories of the Spanish Armada.
20. Six-foot and C—— have a Serious Relapse.
The Beginning of the End.
The King.