To-day I have done very little else but sleep, and the weather has done very little else but rain. I tried to get my hair cut this morning at a village not far away, but was informed that it was after twelve o’clock. “Surely not,” I said, and the barber said “Si,” and unblushingly produced a watch showing about ten minutes to twelve, and motioned me away. However, I got some magazines, and chocolate, and some new shaving soap and razor blades.
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A Tail Piece.
Just now I bid fair to outdo H.’s record of unpleasant stunts, as I nearly had a third within twenty-four hours. The first one was just to whet my appetite, so to speak, but although I only went a few miles over the lines I was Archied the whole blessed time. The Huns must have spent fortunes on Archie in the last week. I hit something with one of my bombs that made a colossal burst—probably some Hun ammunition. Yesterday they started on me just before I got to the lines, and, I think, went on until I was a good ten miles the other side. Then the Archies started from the place I was going to bomb, and clattered away for ages, but they were not nearly so good as those near the lines, as they haven’t got so much practice. There were some wonderfully near shots, and the machine was badly shaken by one which made a most appalling crash just behind the tail. I was horribly scared, of course. I looked round, saw the tail still there, said “Remarkable!” and went on. The Hun aerodrome was a very nice-looking place. It had two landing T’s out—great white strips of sheet, and there was a machine on the ground. I dropped several bombs there, one landing on the road beside the ’drome and one by the landing T. I don’t know if I hit any of the sheds or not, as it was rather cloudy, and I could not see the effect of all my bombs. When I had finished I came back with the wind, nose down, at some pace, and hardly got an Archie at all. I was jolly pleased when it was over, and pleased too (in a way) that I had been, as it really was interesting to be so many miles behind the lines and see their aerodromes, etc.
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Night Bombing.
Well, I went night bombing yesterday—rather an Irish way of putting it, though! I went up after dinner, and as it was a bit misty I signalled down “bad mist.” They signalled to me to come down, but I wasn’t having any, and turned my blind eye to ’em and beetled off. You see, from the ground it didn’t look misty, and so, as I didn’t want any doubts on the subject, I sloped off towards the lines. I soon lost sight of the flares and then became absolutely and completely lost. Everything was inky black and I could only see an occasional thing directly below me. My mapboard was in the way of my compass, so I pulled the map off, chucked the board over the side, and then flew due east for about a quarter of an hour, when I saw some lights fired. I crossed the lines about 4,000 feet up and tried to find my objective, but it was no go. I went about four miles over, and came down to 2,000 feet with my engine throttled down, but could not even recognise what part I was over, owing to the mist. Then, to my surprise, the Huns loosed off some Archie nowhere near me, so I expect they couldn’t see me; but it looked ripping. They got a searchlight going and flashed it all round, passing always over the top of me. Then some more flares went up from the lines, and I could see the ground there beautifully, as clear as day, and some deep craters, but it did not show me sufficient to enable me to recognise what part of the lines I was over. Deciding it was hopeless, I set out for home, flying due west by my compass. It seemed ages before I picked up the aerodrome lights again, and I was afraid I might have drifted away sideways, but I spotted them all right, and just as I was nearing them, passed another of our machines by about 200 yards in the darkness. He was a wee bit lower than I was, and as he passed I could see his instrument lights in his little cabin. I then switched on some little lights I had on the wing tips, and flashed my pocket lamp—you know, the one I had in Germany and at Penlee—and then gave an exhibition of spiralling and banking in the dark. They said it looked topping from the ground. Then I signalled down “N.B.G.” and came in, “perched” (with all my bombs on, of course), and made a perfect dream of a landing.
Altogether I had really enjoyed myself, and would much rather do night bombing than day bombing. The only thing that annoyed me was that I couldn’t find my target, ’cos the bombs would have looked so pretty exploding in the darkness. I didn’t get up until about twelve o’clock this morning, and I am playing tennis at 5.15, so it has its advantages.
A little red spider has just landed on me and buzzed off again; that’s lucky, ain’t it?
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