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[Illustration: BALLOON STRAFING.

Attacking an enemy kite balloon with incendiary ammunition.

  By Capt. W. E. Molesworth, M.C.

            [_Frontispiece_
]




  SIXTY SQUADRON
  R.A.F.

  A HISTORY OF THE SQUADRON
  FROM ITS FORMATION

  BY
  GROUP-CAPTAIN A. J. L. SCOTT,
  C.B., M.C., A.F.C.

  WITH A PREFACE BY
  THE RT. HON. LORD HUGH CECIL, M.P.

  LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
  NEW YORK: GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY




PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN




DEDICATED

TO THOSE WHO WERE

KILLED WITH THE SQUADRON

  “Clean, simple, valiant, well beloved,
  Flawless in faith and fame.”

            KIPLING




PREFACE


This book tells the story of Squadron No. 60 of the Royal Flying Corps,
afterwards of the Royal Air Force.

When the war began, in August 1914, the Royal Flying Corps was a
very small body which sent four squadrons on active service and
had a rudimentary training organisation at home. In those days the
only functions contemplated for an airman were reconnaissance and
occasionally bombing. Fighting in the air was almost unknown. The
aeroplanes were just flying machines of different types, but intended
to perform substantially the same functions. Gradually as the war
continued specialisation developed. Fighting in the air began,
machine guns being mounted for the purpose in the aeroplanes. Then
some aeroplanes were designed particularly for reconnaissance, some
particularly for fighting, some for bombing, and so on. It was in the
early part of this period of specialisation that Squadron No. 60 was
embodied. And, as this narrative tells us, its main work was fighting
in the air. It was equipped for the most part with aeroplanes which
were called scouts--not very felicitously, since a scout suggests
rather reconnaissance than combat. These machines carried only one
man, were fast, easy to manœuvre, and quick in responding to control.
They were armed with one or two machine guns, and they engaged in a
form of warfare new in the history of the world, and the most thrilling
that can be imagined--for each man fought with his own hand, trusting
wholly to his own skill, and that not on his own element, but in
outrage of nature, high in the air, surrounded only by the winds and
clouds.

The embodiment of the fighting scout squadrons was part of the
expansion and organisation of what became the Royal Air Force. Among
all the achievements of the war there has been, perhaps, nothing more
wonderful than the development of the Royal Flying Corps and the
Royal Naval Air Service, and their amalgamation in the great Royal
Air Force which fought through the last year of the war. When the
war opened, the Royal Flying Corps and the Royal Naval Air Service
were bodies of few units, ancillary to the Army and the Navy, of
which the control was in the hands of the Army Council and the Board
of Admiralty. It was not realised that warfare in the air was a new
and distinct type of warfare. Generals who would have laughed at the
idea of commanding a fleet, Admirals who would have shrunk from the
leadership of an army corps, were quite unconscious of their unfitness
to deal with the problems of aerial war. Every step, therefore, of the
organisation and expansion of the flying services had to be conducted
under the final control of bodies, kindly and sympathetic indeed, but
necessarily ignorant. That the Royal Flying Corps attained to its
famous efficiency and was expanded more than a hundredfold should earn
unforgetting praise for those who were responsible for leading and
developing it. The country owes a great debt, which has not, perhaps,
been sufficiently recognised, to Sir David Henderson, whose rare gifts
of quick intelligence and ready resource must have been taxed to the
utmost in his dual position as head of the Flying Corps and member of
the Army Council; to Sir Sefton Brancker, who worked under him in the
War Office; and to Sir Hugh Trenchard, who, from the date that Sir
David Henderson came back from France to that of the amalgamation of
the flying services in the Royal Air Force, was in command in France.
It was the administrative skill of these distinguished men that stood
behind the work of the squadrons and made possible their fighting or
bombing or reconnaissance. And this background of administrative skill
and resource must not be forgotten or suffered to be quite outshone by
the brilliant gallantry of the pilots and observers.

But in this book we read, not of the organisation of the Flying Corps
or the Air Force, but of the actual work done in the field. We catch
glimpses, indeed, of the expansion and organisation which was going
on, in the mention of new armament, new machines, new units; and
we are able to gauge the importance of the work done at home and at
Headquarters in France by the effect produced on the fighting capacity
of Squadron No. 60. For example, we hear how machines supplied from
France at one point proved untrustworthy in structure, and how the
fault was detected and put right. But in the main attention is
concentrated on the thrilling story of the achievements of No. 60
against the enemy. I think every reader will agree that he has seldom
known a story more moving to the imagination. Many people even now
feel apprehensive at flying at all, although familiarity has produced
a juster estimate of the degree of risk attending that operation than
used to prevail. But to fly and fight, to sit alone in an aeroplane
thousands of feet above the ground, to catch sight of an enemy, to go
to attack him, flying faster than an express train moves, to venture as
near as may be dared, knowing that the slightest collision will cast
both helpless to the ground, to dodge and dive and turn and spin, to
hide in clouds or in the dazzle of the sun, to fire a machine gun while
not losing mastery of the control and rudder of one’s aeroplane, to
notice the enemy’s bullets striking here and there on one’s machine,
and know that if a bullet hits the engine it means either death or
a precarious landing and captivity, and if a bullet hits the petrol
tank it means being burned alive in the air, and yet to fight on and,
escaping, go forth afresh next day--surely to read of this is to
realise with new and penetrating force the stupendous measure of what
human skill can do and human courage dare.

The picturesque effect of the fighting is enhanced by the security and
comfort in which the pilots rested when they were not in the air, and
from which they went up day by day to their terrific duties. Anyone
who visited the Flying Corps while the war was going on must have
been struck by this poignant contrast. The visitor saw a comfortable
mess and billets, roughly organised indeed, but for young men in the
height of their strength a pleasant place to live in. Good food and
drink, cigarettes to smoke, newspapers to read, and all the fun and
merriment that are natural to a group of young men between eighteen
and thirty years old. And for most of such squadrons the surroundings
seemed peaceful: around were the smiling, highly-cultivated fields of
France--perhaps the most evidently civilised country in the world--with
nothing to witness of war except the distant booming of its guns. Yet
from this abode of youth and ease and joy the dwellers went forth into
the abyss of the air, to face danger at which imagination quails and of
the reality of which they were grimly reminded by missing week by week
some familiar face, gone for ever from their circle. This was what was
done and felt by Squadron No. 60, and here is the story of it.

I am sure this book will interest those who read it, but I would have
it do something more. Even already the memory of the war is beginning
to fade. And it is happy that it should: may its orgy of hate and
blood pass from our minds as from our lives! Yet, while the healing,
deadening waters of oblivion are only drawing near, let us save from
them with careful hands some jewelled memories, that by them we may be
profited; and, amongst them, this of the men of No. 60, who fought a
new warfare with old but unsurpassed courage and found the way of glory
among the untrodden paths of air. Many died and many suffered, but they
bought for us the unpriced treasure of their example. This is like
sunshine to us, giving us life and killing all diseases of the soul.
Let us, then, read these pages that we may learn from our hearts to
honour the fighting airmen of No. 60, and grow ourselves in honour as
we read.

            HUGH CECIL.

  21 ARLINGTON STREET.
    _July 1920._




AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT


It has only been possible to produce this book at all by reason of the
help that so many old friends have given me.

My thanks are due to many of them, but in particular to Flight-Lieut.
G. W. Dobson, who has himself contributed the account of the squadron
at Savy, and has assisted with much of the more arduous work in
connection with the preparation of the appendices, which we both hope
are now correct in every detail, though we really know quite well that
errors will, in fact, be found.

Capt. W. E. Molesworth also has helped very greatly by allowing me
to use his vivid letters and by giving the four drawings by himself,
which, I venture to think, are of considerable merit. To Mr. R. J.
Maclennan, Mr. W. A. H. Newth, and Mr. W. T. Howard, and also to Mr.
G. S. Armstrong, father of the late Capt. D. V. Armstrong, perhaps
the finest pilot the Flying Corps ever produced, I owe letters and
photographs which have been invaluable.

In conclusion, I would ask those many others whom I have not space to
mention to believe that I am sincerely grateful for their help.

            J. S.

  4 WILTON STREET, S.W.1.
    _June 28, 1920._




CONTENTS


                                                                    PAGE

  PREFACE                                                            vii

  AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT                                                 xiii

  AN EXPLANATION OF TECHNICAL TERMS USED                             xix


  CHAPTER I

  THE FORMATION OF THE SQUADRON                                        1


  CHAPTER II

  THE SOMME                                                           11


  CHAPTER III

  ARRAS                                                               30


  CHAPTER IV

  PASSCHENDALE AND THE NORTHERN BATTLES                               65


  CHAPTER V

  THE MARCH OFFENSIVE (1918)                                          92


  CHAPTER VI

  DEMOBILISATION                                                     125


  APPENDIX I

  A LIST OF THE OFFICERS WHO SERVED IN 60 SQUADRON DURING THE WAR    128


  APPENDIX II

  A LIST OF BATTLE CASUALTIES                                        134


  INDEX                                                              139




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


  BALLOON STRAFING                                        _Frontispiece_

                                                             FACING PAGE

  PATROL OF MORANE “BULLETS” ABOUT TO LEAVE THE GROUND, VERT
      GALANT, JUNE 1916                                                6

  H. BALFOUR AND D. V. ARMSTRONG, JULY 1916                            8

  CLAUDE A. RIDLEY, D.S.O., M.C., IN A MORANE “BULLET”                 8

  SUMMERS STANDING BY HIS MORANE “PARASOL”                            16

  MAJOR R. SMITH-BARRY IN A MORANE “BULLET”                           16

  BROWNING-PATERSON WITH HIS MORANE “PARASOL”                         20

  CAPT. D. V. ARMSTRONG                                               20

  SOME OF THE OFFICERS OF 60                                          24

  MORANE “BULLET” CRASHED BY SIMPSON. BOISDINGHEM, JUNE 1916          24

  “A” FLIGHT AWAITING SIGNAL TO PROCEED ON PATROL, MAY 1917           28

  THE KAISER DECORATING VON RICHTHOFEN, WHOSE AEROPLANE APPEARS
      BEYOND THE GROUP                                                28

  MOLESWORTH, BISHOP, AND CALDWELL, APRIL 1917                        40

  BISHOP, CALDWELL, AND YOUNG, APRIL 1917                             40

  THE HARD TENNIS-COURT AT FILESCAMP FARM, MAY 1917                   58

  60 SQUADRON’S NIEUPORT SCOUTS LINED UP IN THE SNOW AT LE
      HAMEAU AERODROME, NEAR ARRAS, JANUARY 1917                      58

  A DOG-FIGHT                                                        100

  “ARCHIE”                                                           100

  GERMAN MACHINES                                                    112

  AN S.E.A. WITH LIEUT. ROTH, A PILOT OF 148 AMERICAN SQUADRON,
      STANDING                                                       118

  S.E.5A. WITH 200 H.P. HISPANO SUISA ENGINE, ARMED WITH ONE
      VICKERS AND ONE LEWIS GUN                                      118


  MAPS: ON THE WESTERN FRONT

  SITUATION ON SEPTEMBER 25, 1918                                    116

  THE BATTLES AND THEIR EFFECTS                                      126




AN EXPLANATION OF TECHNICAL TERMS USED


The line drawing below of a typical tractor biplane will explain to the
non-technical reader the meaning of many terms used hereafter which are
difficult to describe without the aid of a diagram:

[Illustration]

A monoplane has no lower planes, while the top planes sprout from the
side of the body like the wings of a bird, but are rigid.

In either type of aeroplane it is the action of the air on the wing
surfaces, both upper and lower, when the machine is travelling forward
at a minimum speed of about forty miles per hour that keeps it in the
air. If the speed is allowed to drop below this minimum (known as the
flying speed) the machine “stalls,” i.e. becomes uncontrollable, drops
its nose and dives to regain flying speed. If this happens near the
ground--within a hundred feet--a serious, and often fatal, crash is
the result.

Among the types of aeroplanes used in France during 1916-18, and
mentioned in these pages but not described in detail, are:


B.E.2C., R.E.8, AND OTHER TYPES OF TWO-SEATER MACHINES

All two-seater machines carrying one pilot and one observer which were
chiefly used for artillery observation, i.e. correcting, by observation
from the air, the fire of batteries on the ground.

These were tractor biplanes, i.e. the engine and propeller were in
front, while the observer and pilot sat tandem in two cockpits, or
nacelles, in the fish-shaped body.


F.E.2B.

A two-seater fighting biplane of the “pusher” type with the engine
behind the pilot, who with the observer sat in a cockpit which
protruded beyond the leading, or forward, edges of the planes. This
aeroplane was used for day and night bombing, for fighting in 1916 and
the first half of 1917, and also for reconnaissance and photographic
work.


DE HAVILLAND 4

A high-speed tractor two-seater biplane used for bombing,
reconnaissance work, and photography.


NIEUPORT, S.E.5, AND SOPWITH CAMEL

Single-seater fighting scouts, all tractor biplanes.




SIXTY SQUADRON

R.A.F.




CHAPTER I

THE FORMATION OF THE SQUADRON


To create a new flying unit is a task which entails much thought and
labour, and the formation of 60 had been a matter for the careful
consideration of the R.F.C. authorities for many months before the
squadron number could appear on any of those manifold returns, without
a bountiful supply of which no country seems able to go to war. Vital
points for preliminary consideration are: The type of aeroplane and the
numbers of this type likely to be available in the future; the engines,
and, no less important, the spares which must be procured in adequate
quantities if these engines are to be kept in running condition. The
training units, too, must be increased in order to keep the new service
formation up to strength in pilots. A sufficient number of trained
mechanics must be got from somewhere, and these have usually to be
wrung from the commanders of other units, themselves already short of
trained personnel, and as a rule most reluctant to part with good men.

All these matters were at last decided, and 60 Squadron was formed on
May 1, 1916. At that time there were in the Royal Flying Corps about
thirty-five service squadrons all told, of which by far the greater
number were in France. The Royal Naval Air Service had at this date
considerably fewer service units. When the Armistice was signed, there
were well over two hundred service squadrons in the Royal Air Force,
which had come into being as an independent entity distinct from the
Army or the Navy on April 1, 1918. During the months previous to the
formation of 60, the Germans, with the aid of the Fokker monoplane,
which they produced in the autumn of 1915, had begun seriously to
interfere with our artillery observation machines. At this period of
the war--early 1916--we had no complete single-seater fighting scout
squadrons, but achieved the protection of the artillery machines,
mostly B.E.2C.s, by having a few Bristol and other scouts in each
two-seater squadron.

As a result of these losses, General Trenchard decided to form some new
scout squadrons, of which 60 shortly became one, and also to re-equip
some of the existing squadrons with scouts. No. 1 Squadron, for
example, was given Nieuports (a French machine), at that time the equal
of any German fighter.

No. 60 was formed from No. 1 Reserve Aeroplane Squadron at Gosport.
Major F. Waldron, known to his friends as “Ferdy,” was the first
commander of the new unit. He had previously commanded No. 1 R.A.S.,
and was a cavalry officer who had been seconded from his Hussar
regiment (the 19th), some time before the war, to the R.F.C. He was
one of the earlier military aviators. He had been an instructor at the
Central Flying School at Upavon and was a first-class pilot. The three
original flight commanders (Capts. R. Smith-Barry, A. S. M. Somers, and
H. C. Tower) were all three old Etonians. The original flying officers
were: Capt. D. B. Gray; Lieuts. H. A. Browning-Paterson, J. N. Simpson,
G. F. A. Portal, H. H. Balfour, H. Meintjies, A. D. Bell-Irving;
2/Lieuts. C. A. Ridley, D. V. Armstrong, H. G. Smart, and G. D. F.
Keddie.

The observers were: Lieuts. R. H. Knowles and G. Williams; 2/Lieuts. L.
L. Clark, H. J. Newton, H. H. Harris, H. Good, C. F. Overy, J. I. M.
O’Beirne, W. E. G. Bryant, J. Laurie-Reid, J. N. O. Heenan (A.E.O.),
and J. Bigood (A.E.O., wireless).

Usually a new squadron received its machines in England at its home
station and flew them over to France. 60 Squadron, however, was to be
equipped with Moranes, French machines which were not built in England
at that time. Consequently the squadron, with its motor transport,
stores, etc., crossed to France by sea, and went to St. Omer, where its
equipment was completed.

An R.F.C. squadron had two sergeant-majors: one disciplinary, the
other technical. Waldron, when forming 60, chose these warrant
officers with considerable discretion. Sergt.-Maj. Aspinall, an old
Guardsman brought into the Flying Corps by Basil Barrington-Kennet
in the very early days, was the disciplinary warrant officer. He had
qualified as a rigger and had tried to learn to fly, but it was as a
disciplinarian that he really shone. He played no inconsiderable part
in the achievement of whatever success the squadron may have had. He
was a first-class soldier, and his instructions to flight commanders
in the form of little typewritten lectures were gems of their kind.
It should be remembered that at times the casualties in the squadron
were very heavy, and officers became flight commanders at an age which
would have been regarded as absurd before the war. “The Great Man,”
as we called him, would explain with profound respect to a captain
promoted, most deservedly, at the age of nineteen the necessity for
assuming a judicial demeanour when an air mechanic was brought up
before him on some minor charge; he would, further, instruct the
young flight commander most carefully in the punishments appropriate
to each offence, and all this without in the smallest particular
transgressing that code of military etiquette which regulates so
strictly the relations between commissioned and warrant officers. Only
his successive commanding officers know how much of the tranquillity
and contentment of the men was due to “the Great Man.” The technical
sergeant-major, Smyrk by name, was a wizard with an internal combustion
engine. He had been employed at the Gramophone Co.’s factory at Hayes
in civil life before joining the R.F.C. in 1912, and had a gift for
teaching fitters their business. During almost all the war, two
fitters a month had to be sent home to assist in the manning of new
units, while the squadrons in the field had, in consequence, always
to carry a percentage of untrained or partially trained men, who had
to be made into experts on the engines with which they were equipped.
The technical sergeant-major had to train these men, and was also
the specialist who was called in whenever one of the flights had an
unusually refractory engine which had baffled both the flight commander
and his flight sergeant. Smyrk was always equal to every call upon him,
and a long line of pilots should, and no doubt do, remember him with
gratitude, for, after all, the degree of efficiency with which the
engine was looked after often meant the difference between a landing in
Hunland and getting home.

After a few days at St. Omer we received our machines, which were
Moranes of three different types: “A” Flight had Morane “bullets,” 80
h.p.; “B” Flight, 110 h.p. Morane biplanes; and “C” Flight, Morane
“parasols.”

Of the “parasol,” a two-seater monoplane, it is unnecessary to say very
much, as they were soon replaced by “bullets,” and “C” Flight did
practically no work on them. The machine is best, perhaps, described as
a biplane without any bottom planes, by which is meant that the wings
were above the pilot’s head, a feature which suggested its nickname. It
had an 80 h.p. Le Rhone at that time, almost the best air-cooled rotary
engine. They were good for artillery registration, as the view downward
was excellent; they were very stable also, easy to fly and to land,
and, in fact, were “kind” machines, giving their pilots the sort of
feeling afforded by a good-tempered, confidential old hunter.

The Morane biplane had a more powerful engine, the 110 Le Rhone, also
an air-cooled rotary, and was quite an efficient “kite,” as the R.F.C.
called them, with its inveterate habit of inventing pet names for its
aeroplanes. It was draughty and cold to sit in, but was light on the
controls and had a reasonably good performance. This machine was also
a two-seater, like the “parasol,” with the observer’s seat behind the
pilot’s.

[Illustration: PATROL OF MORANE “BULLETS” ABOUT TO LEAVE THE GROUND,
VERT GALANT, JUNE 1916.]

The Morane “bullet,” with a 80 h.p. Le Rhone engine, was quite a
different proposition.

This was a monoplane with a fuselage (body) of the monococque, or
cigar-shaped, type and very small wings, giving, therefore, a very high
loading per square foot of lifting surface. The speed near the ground
was not too bad for 1916, being about ninety to ninety-five miles per
hour, but, owing to the high loading on the wings, the machine became
inefficient at a height. It had the gliding angle of a brick, as
a pilot moodily complained after an unsuccessful forced landing. It
is obvious that, if a machine has a very small wing surface, it must
be kept going fast, when gliding without the engine, to preserve its
flying speed, and this can only be done by keeping the nose well down;
hence the unfriendly description quoted above.

Above 10,000 feet it was difficult to turn a “bullet” sharply and
steeply without “stalling”; moreover, in bad weather it was very
uncomfortable to fly, giving the impression that it was trying its
best to kill the pilot all the time. The lateral control,[1] of the
“warp” type, was to some extent responsible for this. The armament was
a fixed Lewis gun firing through the propeller, which was fitted with a
metal deflector--a steel wedge which prevented the propeller being shot
through. There was no synchronising gear on any of the Moranes. By this
is meant the device by which the detonation of the gun was harmonised
with the beat of the propeller; actually the gun is blocked when the
blades of the propeller are in the line of fire.

Later on we were given some “bullets” with 110 h.p. Le Rhones, but
these were no better, as the loading was even higher with the heavier
engine, and their performance above 8,000 feet was consequently poor.
The climb for the first few thousand feet was wonderful, as the engine
seemed almost to pull the machine straight up.

Generally speaking, the “bullet” was not a success, as it was too
difficult to fly for the average pilot. Nevertheless, as several of our
pilots, notably Smith-Barry, Gilchrist, Foot, Grenfell, Meintjies, and
Hill, and in particular D. V. Armstrong, were considerably above the
average, some useful work was accomplished on these machines.

The equipment having been completed, we moved to Boisdinghem, between
St. Omer and Boulogne, for a few days’ practice with the new machines.
This was very necessary, as hardly anyone had flown Moranes before.

On June 10 we were ordered to Vert Galant, an aerodrome astride the
Doullens-Amiens road, and joined the 13th Wing of the 3rd Brigade
R.F.C., operating with the 3rd Army. War flying was started a few days
later, and it at once became apparent that our anti-aircraft batteries
found difficulty in distinguishing our “bullets” from the Fokkers.
In consequence the black cowls of our machines were painted red to
help the “archie”[2] gunners, who had been assiduously firing at 60’s
machines.

[Illustration: H. BALFOUR AND D. V. ARMSTRONG, JULY 1916.]

[Illustration: CLAUDE A. RIDLEY, D.S.O., M.C., IN A MORANE “BULLET.”]

The work at this time chiefly consisted of offensive patrols, which
were supposed to keep the air clear for our corps and bombing machines.
Numerous reconnaissances were also carried out. In these days scouts
usually worked in pairs, but larger formations of five and six machines
were becoming more common; later in the war it was the rule to send
out a whole squadron, or as many of its machines as were serviceable,
over the line at once; but in 1916 aeroplanes and pilots were, usually,
too scarce to send more than two off the ground at once.

On August 3, 1916, Claude Ridley had a forced landing near Douai
through engine failure when dropping a spy over the lines. His
adventures were remarkable. His spy got out, told Ridley to hide for a
little, and presently, returning with civilian clothes and some money,
told him that he must now shift for himself. Ridley did so with such
address that he eluded capture for three months on the German side
of the line, and eventually worked his way via Brussels to the Dutch
frontier and escaped. This was a good performance, none the worse
because he could speak neither French nor German. The method he adopted
was a simple one--he would go up to some likely-looking civilian and
say, “I am a British officer trying to escape; will you help me?” They
always did. He had many interesting adventures. For example, he lay up
near the Douai aerodrome and watched the young Huns learning to fly and
crashing on the aerodrome; here he saw one of our B.E.s brought down,
and the pilot and observer marched past him into captivity; later the
conductor of a tram in the environs of Brussels suspected him, but,
knocking the man down, he jumped into a field of standing corn and
contrived to elude pursuit.

This method of landing spies was not popular with R.F.C. pilots, as
there was always quite a chance that one might not be able to get the
machine off again, and, anyhow, it was a nerve-racking experience to
have to land in a field after a necessarily hurried survey from the
air, and wait while your spy climbed slowly--very slowly--out. Later,
different and, from the pilot’s point of view, improved devices were
adopted; the spy was made to sit on the plane with a parachute and to
jump off when told. Occasionally they refused to jump, nor is it easy
to blame them, so a further improvement is said to have been introduced
by which the pilot could pull a lever and drop the wretched agent out
through the bottom of the fuselage, after which he parachuted down to
earth.

They were very brave men, these French spies who voluntarily entered
the occupied territory in this hazardous manner. They were usually
dropped either in the late evening or early morning.




CHAPTER II

THE SOMME


Sixty had not to wait long for its first taste of serious fighting.
The “aerial offensive,” which always precedes any “push,” was already
well developed when the squadron commenced war flying. Casualties
were heavy, and on July 3, two days after the official commencement
of the Somme battle, Ferdy Waldron was shot down and killed on the
“other side.” He considered it his duty to try and do one job per day
over the line, and on this particular morning he led “A” Flight’s 80
h.p. “bullets” over at 4 a.m. in perfect weather. The other members
of the patrol were Smith-Barry, Armstrong, Simpson, and Balfour. The
last-named thus describes the fight: “Both Armstrong and Simpson fell
out, through engine trouble, before we reached Arras. Armstrong landed
by a kite balloon section and breakfasted with Radford (Basil Hallam,
the actor), whose kite balloon was attacked a few days later, and who
met his death through the failure of his parachute. Waldron led the
remaining two along the Arras-Cambrai road. We crossed at about 8,000
feet, and just before reaching Cambrai we were about 9,000, when I
suddenly saw a large formation of machines about our height coming
from the sun towards us. There must have been at least twelve. They
were two-seaters led by one Fokker (monoplane) and followed by two
others. I am sure they were not contemplating ‘war’ at all, but Ferdy
pointed us towards them and led us straight in.

“My next impressions were rather mixed. I seemed to be surrounded by
Huns in two-seaters. I remember diving on one, pulling out of the
dive, and then swerving as another came for me. I can recollect also
looking down and seeing a Morane about 800 feet below me going down
in a slow spiral, with a Fokker hovering above it following every
turn. I dived on the Fokker, who swallowed the bait and came after me,
but unsuccessfully, as I had taken care to pull out of my dive while
still above him. The Morane I watched gliding down under control,
doing perfect turns, to about 2,000 feet, when I lost sight of it. I
thought he must have been hit in the engine. After an indecisive combat
with the Fokker I turned home, the two-seaters having disappeared.
Smith-Barry I never saw from start to finish of the fight. I landed at
Vert Galant and reported that Ferdy had ‘gone down under control.’ We
all thought he was a prisoner, but heard soon afterwards that he had
landed safely but died of wounds that night, having been hit during the
scrap.

“About twenty minutes after I had landed, Smith-Barry came back. He
had not seen us, but had been fighting the back two Fokkers, which he
drove east, but not before he had been shot about by them, one bullet
entering the tail and passing up the fuselage straight for his back
until it hit the last cross-member, which deflected the course of the
missile sufficiently to save him.”

This was the end of a first-class squadron commander, and, coming
so early in our fighting career, was a heavy blow. If he had lived,
Waldron must have made a great name for himself in the R.F.C.

Smith-Barry now took over the squadron. He was a great “character”--an
Irishman with all an Irishman’s charm. A trifle eccentric, he was a
fine pilot. He had crashed badly near Amiens in the retreat from Mons,
the first Flying Corps casualty, breaking both his legs, which left
him permanently lame. Although beloved by his squadron, his superiors
sometimes found him a little trying officially. It is often said,
half admiringly, of a man by his friends that “he doesn’t care a damn
for anyone.” I believe this to have been almost literally true of
Smith-Barry. He could do anything with an aeroplane, and delighted in
frightening his friends with incredible aerial antics. He was a fine,
if original, squadron commander, almost too original, in fact, even for
the R.F.C., where, if anywhere in the fighting services, originality
was encouraged. At a later stage (in 1917) in Smith-Barry’s career
he rendered a very great service to the Corps and to the country by
bringing his contempt for precedent and genius for instruction to bear
on the question of teaching pilots to fly. It is no exaggeration to say
that he revolutionised instruction in aviation, and, having been given
almost a free hand by General J. Salmond, he organised his Gosport
School of Special Flying, which afterwards developed into a station
where all flying instructors were trained.

He has been seen to walk down the Strand in full uniform with an
umbrella.

When promoted in 1918 to the command of a brigade, he, having come
into conflict with authority, dispatched the following telegrams on
the same day to his immediate superior: (1) “Am returning to Gosport.
Smith-Barry, Brig.-Gen.” (2) “Have arrived at Gosport. Smith-Barry,
Lieut.-Col.”

Smith-Barry’s batman was a French boy named Doby, a refugee from Lille,
whom Nicolson, sometime private secretary to General Seely and one of
the early pilots of the R.F.C., had picked up during the retreat from
Mons and taken back to England with him. When Nicolson was killed at
Gosport, Smith-Barry appointed Doby as his batman and, in order to
take him to France, dressed him in R.F.C. uniform and called him Air
Mechanic Doby. This boy was most useful, being competent to bargain
with his compatriots for the goods which the mess required. When a year
had gone by and there had been several changes in command, nobody knew
his history, and he was regarded as a genuine member of the Corps.
History does not relate how he was eventually “demobilised.”

This, then, was the kind of man who took over the squadron on Waldron’s
death--at a critical point in its career.

Those who were most conspicuous during the battles of the Somme were:
Ball (who joined from 11 Squadron in August), Summers and Tower (two of
the original flight commanders), Gilchrist, Latta, Grenfell, Meintjies,
A. D. Bell Irving, Phillippi, Hill, Foot, Vincent, Armstrong, and
Walters. Foot, as one of the most skilful pilots, was given a “Spad,”
on which he did great execution during the autumn.

The fighting was mainly over places like Bapaume, Courcelette,
Martinpuich, Busigny, St. Quentin, Cambrai, Havrincourt, etc.

Ball began to show very prominently about this time, several times
destroying two or more hostile aeroplanes, and hardly a day passed
without at least one Hun being added to his bag. Much has been written
about Albert Ball, so much that at this date it is difficult to add
anything of interest to the accounts which are already so widely known;
but this at least can confidently be said, that never during the war
has any single officer made a more striking contribution to the art
of war in the air than he, who was the first to make what may be
called a business of killing Huns. He allowed nothing to interfere with
what he conceived to be the reason of his presence in an aeroplane in
France--the destruction of the enemy wherever and whenever he could be
found. He was a man--a boy in truth--of a kindly nature, possessed by a
high sense of duty and patriotism. These months (August and September
1916) saw Ball at his best, and though it is true that he was awarded
the Victoria Cross after his death in an heroic fight in the spring of
1917, when he was a flight commander in 56 Squadron, yet it was in the
summer and autumn of 1916 in 11 and 60 Squadrons that he began to show
the Flying Corps what fighting in the air really meant. The copy of a
report rendered to R.F.C. H.Q. is given below:

[Illustration: SUMMERS STANDING-BY HIS MORANE “PARASOL.”]

[Illustration: MAJOR R. SMITH-BARRY IN A MORANE “BULLET.”]

    “Lieut. Ball has had more than twenty-five combats since May 16 in
    a single-seater scout.

    “Of these thirteen have been against more than one hostile machine.

    “In particular, on August 22, he attacked in succession formations
    of 7 and 5 machines in the same flight; on August 28, 4 and 10 in
    succession; on August 31, 12.

    “He has forced 20 German machines to land, of which 8 have been
    destroyed--1 seen to be descending vertically with flames coming
    out of the fuselage, and 7 seen to be wrecked on the ground.

    “During this period he has forced two hostile balloons down and
    destroyed one.

            “(_Sgd._) J. F. A. HIGGINS,
                “_Brigadier-General,_
              “_Commanding 3rd Brigade R.F.C._

  “IN THE FIELD,
    “_Sept. 1, 1916_.”

Of the others, Latta became a wonderful pilot; Gilchrist, a gallant
South African, commanded 56 at the end of the war and became one of the
very best instructors under Smith-Barry at Gosport; Roderick Hill, a
fine pilot, is also an artist of no small reputation; A. D. Bell Irving
worthily upheld the traditions of an heroic Canadian family whose name
will always appear prominently in any history of the Air Force; while
Meintjies, also a South African, though young, himself displayed an
infinite patience, together with a wisdom far beyond his years, in the
introduction of new pilots to the hazardous game of aerial fighting as
practised on the Western Front, of which he himself was a first-class
exponent.

As for D. V. Armstrong, a South African, who was killed in a crash
just as the war had ended, and who after leaving 60 became a brilliant
night-flying pilot, the following letter from Col. Small will give some
slight idea of the work done by him in 151 Night Fighting Squadron.

    “At 10.40 on the night of September 17/18, whilst on patrol east
    of Bapaume, Capt. Armstrong observed a Gotha biplane caught in a
    concentration of searchlight at 8,500 feet, with a Camel machine
    behind it.

    “Seeing the Camel was not engaging the E.A. (enemy aeroplane) from
    a sufficiently close range, this officer dived down, coming in on
    the E.A.’s right. He closed right up under its tail and fired 100
    rounds into it. The E.A. then burst into flames and dived to the
    ground, where it burst into pieces just east of Bapaume.

    “On the night of September 10/11, 1918, on receipt of a report that
    E.A. was over the 4th Army front, Capt. Armstrong volunteered to go
    up, although the weather was practically impossible for flying, the
    wind blowing at about fifty miles an hour, accompanied by driving
    rain storms. In spite of this, Capt. Armstrong remained on his
    patrol 1 hour 5 minutes, although his machine was practically out
    of control on several occasions. On landing, his machine had to be
    held down to prevent it being blown over.

    “On the night of August 6/7, 1918, Capt. Armstrong attacked
    Estrées-en-Chaussée aerodrome. After dropping three Cooper bombs on
    the hangars from 600 feet, he observed an E.A. coming in to land.
    Capt. Armstrong then closed under the E.A.’s tail and opened fire
    from fifteen yards’ range when at 700 feet. The E.A.’s observer
    answered the fire, and then suddenly ceased altogether. Capt.
    Armstrong continued firing until the E.A. suddenly turned to the
    right with nose down and crashed on its aerodrome, bursting
    into flames as it struck the ground. This officer then dropped
    his fourth bomb on the wreck and fired a further burst into it,
    returning to his aerodrome with all ammunition expended.

    “On the night of August 8/9, 1918, although the clouds were at
    about 500 feet, this officer flew to the same hostile aerodrome,
    but finding no activity there and seeing no lights whatever, he
    flew to Cizancourt Bridge, dropping his four bombs upon it from 500
    feet.

    “On this night he was unable at any period to fly at over 800 feet,
    owing to low driving clouds and a very strong wind.

    “Capt. Armstrong attacked aerodromes as follows on the dates shown:

    “MOISLANS, 3.15 a.m. to 3.30 a.m. on August 21/22, 1918, dropping
    two incendiary and two Cooper bombs from 400 feet on hutments
    and tents, although subjected to the most accurate and fierce
    machine-gun fire from the ground and his machine being brightly
    illuminated in the glare of the incendiary bombs.

    “ESTRÉES-EN-CHAUSSÉE, on the night of July 31--August 1, 1918,
    dropping four bombs on landing lights from 500 feet.

    “Capt. Armstrong took part in the defence of London against all but
    three raids by E.A. between September 1917 and June 1918.

    “This officer has been the right hand of his squadron commander
    since the formation of his squadron, and has, by his wonderful
    flying, taught the pilots of 151 Squadron more than any other
    instructor could possibly have done. He has demonstrated to all
    pilots daily the only successful method of attack at night against
    E.A. by personal supervision of their flying.

    “As a flight commander I cannot speak too highly of him and his
    wonderful spirit at all times. His bravery as a pilot at all times
    and in all weather conditions cannot be surpassed, and I am unable
    to recommend him too strongly for this decoration.

            “B. C. D. SMALL,
              “_Lieut.-Colonel,
      “Commanding 54 Wing R.A.F._

  “_Sept. 19, 1918_.”

[Illustration: BROWNING PATERSON WITH HIS MORANE “PARASOL.”]

[Illustration: CAPT. D. V. ARMSTRONG.]

It was about this time that “balloon strafing” was invented by
Headquarters. Three Le Prieur rockets of the ordinary type were
attached to the interplane struts on each wing; these were fired by
means of an electric bell-push in the nacelle (or pilot’s seat), and
if they hit the hostile kite balloon, were guaranteed to send it down
in flames. The effect of this extra load was to make the machine
singularly unhandy when fighting, but it must be admitted that they
did effectually set hostile kite balloons alight if the pilot was
sufficiently resolute to restrain himself from pressing the button
until he was within 150 yards of the object balloon. This sounds much
easier than, in fact, it was, as hostile balloons were usually found
as low as 2,500 feet, and the wretched pilot had to contend with heavy
gunfire from the ground, while always remembering that he was some
considerable distance over the line and had sacrificed his height in
order to approach the balloon. The aeroplane of those days would glide
about one mile per 1,000 feet in still air, and, remembering that the
balloons were usually at least two miles behind the line and that the
wind was almost always from the west, it will be obvious that, if the
engine was hit, there was very little chance of gliding back over the
trenches. Hence it will be readily understood that balloon strafing was
not enormously popular among junior flying officers.

Nevertheless, Gilchrist, Bell Irving, Summers, Phillippi, and Hill
all successfully brought down hostile kite balloons during the Somme
battles (September 1916).

Later, in 1917, Buckingham incendiary ammunition was used for
destroying balloons. This change was greatly appreciated by the R.F.C.,
because the handiness of the machine was not impaired, as was the case
when the Le Prieur rockets were carried.

From Vert Galant the squadron moved to St. André on August 3, 1916,
to refit, having only five pilots left. There the first flight of
Nieuport scouts was received and, after a fortnight, another move was
ordered to Izel le Hameau on August 16. This was an aerodrome we were
destined to occupy again during the Arras battle. We here became a
homogeneous unit completely equipped with Nieuport scouts, and moved
three miles away to Savy, midway between Arras and St. Pol, early in
September. Here, during November, little flying was possible owing to
continual rain and fog, and the squadron settled down, almost in the
Roman manner, into winter-quarters. Savy Aerodrome stood just above the
village of that name, and while “C” Flight were accommodated in huts on
the aerodrome so as to be near their machines in order to deal quickly
with any Huns who were bold enough to cross the line, the remainder
of the squadron were billeted in the Mayor’s château in the village
itself, some half a mile away. Here pigs and turkeys were kept, out of
which the mess made a good profit, and which, in addition, provided
both an excellent Christmas dinner for the men and the material for the
farewell banquet to Smith-Barry, who was posted to Home Establishment
early in December. This dinner was somewhat memorable. The guests
included General Higgins (the brigade commander), Pretyman (the wing
commander), Col. Lewis and Barnaby of the “archie” gunners, Robert
Loraine and several other squadron commanders. The squadron band,
organised by Vincent, performed during dinner with great vigour. Led by
Sergt. Nicod at the piano and conducted by Vincent himself, it helped
to enliven the evening very considerably.

In addition to the band, the squadron ran at this period both a
Rugby and an Association football team. The Rugby side was for a time
invincible, the leading players being Middlemas, the wing machine-gun
officer, an old Cambridge Blue and a fine three-quarter; D. Bell Irving
and Giles, a first-class pair of halves; and Meintjies, a tower of
strength at full back. The Soccer team also won many matches, captained
by the “Great Man,” Sergt.-Maj. Aspinall; while the stores sergeant, a
league player, was the star performer at centre-forward. Matches were
very difficult to arrange, as they had to be postponed if the weather
was fine, and could only take place, therefore, on thoroughly “dud”
days, to use the inevitable R.F.C. expression.

Smith-Barry was succeeded by Major E. P. Graves, a regular gunner,
young in years, who had crashed a Gnome Martinsyde scout at Netheravon
early in 1915 and spent many months in hospital, emerging towards
the end of that year permanently lame but quite fit to fly. He had
been staff captain and brigade major to General Higgins at home when
recovering from his injuries, but as soon as he became fit gave his
General no peace until he was allowed to go to France in a fighting
unit. He got posted to 20 Squadron as a flight commander early in
1916, and had been sent home again on promotion to command a training
squadron after six months of very good work in France. Soon after he
had taken over, the squadron was moved from Savy back to Izel le
Hameau, the correct name of the station being Filescamp Farm. Here,
with the aid of the local R.E. and thanks to Graves’s tireless efforts,
an almost ideal little station was created in the orchard adjoining
the great grey walls of M. Tetus’s demesne. This was a very old and
picturesque house, half farm and half château, and was removed some
two miles from a main road or railway line, a circumstance which
prevented the aerodrome being bombed at night for a very long time, as
it was hard to see from the air. An admirable mess, with a large brick
fireplace, corrugated-iron hangars, together with Nissen huts for the
officers and N.C.O.s and good accommodation for the men, were all built
by the sappers. At this station in M. Tetus’s orchard the squadron
found a quiet retreat when not actually engaged with the enemy. It is,
perhaps, appropriate here to observe that every pilot at this time did,
on the average, three patrols in two days over the line, and seldom
returned to the aerodrome without a brush of some kind with the Boche.
The contrast between our quarters and those occupied by the infantry
and gunners in the line was striking. We had cream at every meal, and
a hot bath--made by digging an oblong hole in the turf and lining it
with a waterproof sheet--whenever we felt inclined. That the mess was
good was largely due to Dobson, a 19th Hussar, partly paralysed as the
result of a fall when riding in a steeplechase before the war, who was
the recording officer at this time, having vainly tried to qualify
as an observer in spite of his disability.

[Illustration: SOME OF THE OFFICERS OF 60.

_Front row_: Bell Irving, Reid, and Meintjies.]

[Illustration: MORANE “BULLET” CRASHED BY SIMPSON. BOISDINGHEM, JUNE
1916]

During the early months of 1917 there was a very hard frost, which made
it difficult for the Germans to start their engines, most of which were
water-cooled stationaries, but did not affect 60’s air-cooled rotaries,
though both sides found that their machine guns were almost useless
owing to the extreme cold. This frost lasted till mid-February.

Below will be found the first of a series of letters written by
Molesworth, who joined the squadron at this time. They have been
inserted as far as possible whenever the narrative reaches the events
which they describe.

            “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,
              “B.E.F., FRANCE.
                “_March 1917._

    “It has been snowing hard all day, so at last I have a chance of
    sending you a scrawl.

    “Well! old bean, I had my first trip with my flight commander over
    the lines on the 2nd. My word! it was some trip too, I can tell
    you. I was posted to ‘A’ Flight and allotted a machine. Having
    interviewed my C.O. with much fear and trembling, I was told that
    he would take me up to the lines to have a look round. My job was
    to watch and follow my leader, look out for any Huns and get a good
    idea of the ground. By this time I had got well acquainted with my
    machine, or ‘grid,’[3] as it was generally called by one of our
    Colonial flight commanders, and felt quite confident that, if we
    met any Huns, I could give them a pretty hot time.

    “We started off late in the afternoon, climbing to about 8,000
    feet. The view was wonderful--the ground covered with a thin
    coating of snow, while far away one could see the incessant
    flashing of the guns near the battered old town of Arras. White
    clouds floated in the ground mist over the eastern horizon like
    great icebergs, their tops tinged with a wonderful pink which one
    only sees in the air.

    “I shall never forget that first impression of the battle-field
    from an aeroplane; it was so different to the sights of war on the
    ground. No Huns were on view, but a few of our artillery machines
    were still working. We turned home and landed in the dusk.

    “I don’t think I told you about a Boche we brought down last week.
    We got him quite near the aerodrome--apparently he had lost his way
    in the clouds. He appeared out of them at about 3,000 feet over our
    heads. Of course, every available machine dashed off in pursuit,
    and caught him up in a few minutes, as he was forced to turn from
    the lines by some old F.E. Birds.[4] They all went for him, and he
    had to land in a ploughed field near-by. He put the machine down
    quite well, without crashing anything, but one of his pursuers,
    who belonged to the squadron next to us, turned upside down in his
    excitement when landing. However, he did not hurt himself, and
    managed to prevent the Hun from setting his machine on fire, by
    holding a Very pistol[5] at his head.

    “Afterwards I had a chat with the prisoner in French, and found out
    that he was a star pilot, having a number of our machines to his
    credit and the inevitable Iron Cross.

    “I am all out for getting a Hun now, and hope to be able to tell
    you, when I next write, that my name has appeared in _Comic
    Cuts_.”[6]

The Nieuport scout deserves a short description, as it was on the
successive types of this aeroplane that nearly a year’s work was done,
from September 1916 to July 1917. This single-seater fighter was a
French machine, and one of the most successful in its day which our
allies ever produced. The various types of this make with which the
squadron was at different times equipped--15, 16, 17, 21, 24, and
29--showed a continuous improvement in performance, though all had the
same engine, 110 h.p. Le Rhone, which itself was modified slightly and
converted into a 120 h.p. engine by the substitution of aluminium for
cast-iron pistons. Through all the modifications introduced in each
successive type the machine preserved its essential characteristics.
It was a biplane, but its lower planes were non-lifting and only
operated to stabilise the machine to some extent in flight; the top
planes were streamlined with the pilot’s eyes, giving him the free
view which is essential in a fighting scout. It may be said that it
was mainly this characteristic, that it was good to see out of, that
made the Nieuport, in 1916, the best fighting machine on either side.
Strong in construction and very handy, it could turn inside any German
aeroplane we ever encountered. It was not very fast, but, with an
exceptionally good climb to 10,000 feet, it was no bad “grid” on which
to go Hun-hunting between the sea and the Somme. It was armed with a
single Lewis gun carrying a double drum with ninety rounds of .303
ammunition and two spare drums. The gun was mounted on the top plane
and fired over the propeller at an angle slightly above the horizontal.
The earlier Nieuports were all treated with a bright silver-coloured
“dope”--the substance used to tighten the fabric--and when properly
turned out had a very smart appearance.

[Illustration: “A” FLIGHT AWAITING SIGNAL TO PROCEED ON PATROL, MAY
1917.]

[Illustration: THE KAISER DECORATING VON RICHTHOFEN, WHOSE AEROPLANE
APPEARS BEYOND THE GROUP.

Hindenburg and the German Crown Prince figure in the group on the left.]

Another characteristic of all types was the V-shaped interplane strut,
which, although the Germans also used them in their D3 Albatros,
made the machines easy to recognise in the air.

In conclusion, the Silver Nieuport was a good machine to fight in,
but a bad one either for running away or for catching a faint-hearted
enemy, as its best air speed, even near the ground, rarely exceeded
ninety-six or ninety-seven miles per hour.




CHAPTER III

ARRAS


With the beginning of March 1917, the Boche became very active in the
air. The D3 V-strut Albatros appeared in numbers on the 3rd Army front,
and about the same time a squadron of red-painted machines of this
type, known to the R.F.C. as “the Circus,” did a good deal of damage to
British machines and annoyed us very much. One aeroplane in particular,
called the “Pink Lady” on account of an absurd story that it was flown
by a woman--the machine itself was coloured bright red--was often seen
between Arras and Albert. It is thought that the pilot was Freiherr von
Richthofen the elder. This machine it was that, venturing well over
our side of the line on March 6, 1917, crashed an F.E. and went on and
engaged and shot down Evelyn Graves, whose machine caught fire. When
picked up, he was found to have been shot through the head, so that he
was spared the pain of death by burning.

After Evelyn Graves’s death, A. J. L. Scott, of the Sussex Yeomanry,
was appointed to succeed him. He was a flight commander in 43--a
Sopwith two-seater squadron--and was also lame as the result of a
crash during the early part of the war, being the third lame squadron
commander in succession appointed to 60.

Scott took up his appointment on March 10, 1917, about the time that
the aerial offensive precedent to the Arras battle began to develop.

There had been, on the 3rd Army front, a lull during January and
February, and by a lull is meant that pilots were doing one job a day
instead of the two that they were almost certain to be called upon
for when business was good. The casualties lists show this clearly,
as, though E. O. Grenfell and Gilchrist were wounded in December,
there were only two more casualties until Evelyn Graves’s death in
March--R. Hopper, killed on January 11; and E. G. Herbert, wounded on
the 28th. February passed without the loss of a single officer. This
was due mainly to the month of hard frost referred to above, which
kept the Hun machines on the ground. Even when machines did meet in
the air at this time, it was very difficult to get the guns to fire,
so that on several occasions the pilots, after manœuvring round one
another for a while, waved hands and went home. A non-freezing gun-oil
was brought out before the next winter, which put an end to these not
altogether unwelcome interludes to the sterner business. Mention of
Grenfell’s wound calls to mind the occasion on which he received it.
An O.P. (offensive patrol) led by him, and consisting of Caldwell,
Daly, Whitehead, Weedon, and Meintjies, met a two-seater Albatros over
Dainville on our side of the line. All our machines opened fire, and
the Hun hurriedly landed. Grenfell, anxious to get down and claim him,
crashed and broke his leg, while all the other five machines landed,
and three of these also crashed, not so seriously as to injure the
pilots, but enough to prevent them taking off again. Thus the Hun
in one field was flanked by a crashed Nieuport in every adjoining
enclosure, while, to make matters worse, the Boche observer--who,
unlike the pilot, was not wounded--set fire to his machine to prevent
it falling into our hands. The machine shortly exploded, seriously
injuring the observer and several of our own infantry who by that
time were standing by. If these had grasped the situation a little
more quickly they could easily have prevented the destruction of the
machine, which it was important to preserve.

The battle of Arras, as it came to be called, was now imminent, and
would probably have commenced before April 10 but for an unexpected
move on the part of the enemy. On March 30, the first clear day after a
spell of bad weather, the first patrol to land reported thirty or forty
fires in the tract of country east of the Arras-Albert sector. Every
village for ten or fifteen miles back was alight. At first we could
not understand what it meant--for although an R.F.C. squadron knew a
good deal more of what was happening than a battalion in the line,
still we did not always fully comprehend the meanings of the incidents
we reported, which the G.H.Q. Intelligence Staff could, no doubt,
interpret with the help of reports from their numerous other sources of
information.

The German retreat of March 14 came, therefore, as a complete surprise
to us. For, even at this stage of the war, we had become so used to
hearing that the enemy’s _morale_ was undermined, and that their troops
were unwilling to fight, etc., that we had ceased to take much notice
of these stories, the truth of which--for they were true--only became
manifest nineteen months later.

The next two days, the 14th and 15th, were days of stormy weather, in
spite of which patrols were continually sent out to try and ascertain
the depth of the withdrawal and to locate the new German positions. The
rough-and-ready way in which this was done was to fly low until we came
under fire from anti-aircraft guns or rifles and machine guns on the
ground. Molesworth, in a letter, gives quite a graphic account of this
retreat as follows:

            “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,
              “B.E.F., FRANCE.
                “_March 1917._

    “No luck for me in the Hun line yet, although the beggars seem to
    be running on the ground all right.

    “Three of us went out the other day, and had the most hectic time.
    The clouds were about 3,000 feet and very dense, with gaps here
    and there. We crossed the lines and expected to get it pretty hot
    from Archie,[7] but, strangely enough, nothing happened. Heading
    towards Croisille, we came out of a thick cloud and saw a most
    extraordinary sight. For miles around every village was a blazing
    mass with smoke columns, like great water-spouts, ascending upwards
    to the clouds. Along the roads one could see lines of retreating
    men making for the Hindenburg defences, which we could plainly
    distinguish owing to the amount of barbed wire entanglements
    round them. Suddenly we were met by a perfect tornado of bursting
    ‘archies,’ and so were forced to turn into a cloud. This cloud was
    so thick that we all promptly proceeded to lose ourselves. I looked
    at my compass[8] and saw that it was pointing west, so carried on.
    At last, after about half an hour’s flying, I found myself alone
    in an opening in the clouds. Below me were dozens of shell-holes
    filled with water; round about, black clouds and sheets of driving
    rain. I knew I was somewhere near the lines, and yet could not
    decide in which direction to turn. Trusting to the compass I still
    pushed on west, and at last the shell-holes disappeared. Just as
    my petrol was giving out I spotted some hangars. There was nothing
    for it, so I decided to land. Coming down to about 200 feet I did
    a half-circle to get into the wind, and to my utter disgust saw a
    large party of Germans on the ground. I therefore made up my mind
    that it must be a Hun aerodrome. No machines were out, owing to the
    ‘dud’ weather, so I landed, jumped out of the machine, seized the
    Very pistol, and was just going to fire it into the grid when I
    saw, to my amazement, two mechanics in khaki coming across to give
    me a hand. I tell you, I have never been so bucked to see anyone in
    khaki before. Evidently the party I had seen were German prisoners.
    When the old kite had been filled up I pushed off again, and got
    home after about an hour’s run. On arrival I heard that the other
    two had lost themselves as well, but had managed to get back. In
    future I shall take jolly good care to get to know the country
    better before playing about in clouds.”

On the 17th and 18th the weather became too bad to fly, and an
“excursion” was organised in tenders to the nearest points of the
old front line, Ransart and Monchy-au-Bois, near Adinfer Wood; this
last-named had been the home of a peculiarly accurate enemy “archie”
gun for many months past. At the latter place skeletons of French
soldiers still hung in the wire, where they had been since September
1915 at least.

The systematic and deliberate devastation of the evacuated country made
a great impression on all our pilots, who were also thrilled to see
the very trenches which the enemy’s troops had occupied only a few
days earlier. It seemed wonderful to see the marks in the muddy sides
of the trenches made by German feet and elbows, and the clips of rifle
cartridges laid on the fire steps by their sentries less than a week
before. Absorbingly interesting, too, to explore their dugouts, and to
trace the routes by which their troops came up into the line from the
rest billets behind. All the roads had been blown up, and every house
in each abandoned village was most efficiently destroyed, except in a
few cases, like Bapaume town hall, where delay action mines had been
prepared.

One of the most impressive sights was the German cemetery, which was
to be found in almost every hamlet, carefully laid out and extremely
carefully tended, with monuments, cement steps, and ornamental shrubs
symmetrically disposed amid the ruins of the houses among which it
stood.

There were souvenirs enough for an army, let alone a squadron, and we
were fortunate when collecting them not to fall into a single “booby
trap,” such as a helmet which exploded when picked up. This expedition
is also described by Molesworth in another letter:

            “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,
              “B.E.F., FRANCE.
                “_March 1917._

    “The rumour about leave is true, so my turn ought to come in a few
    days as my name is next on the list. The weather has been hopeless
    lately for aviation. Yesterday some of us decided to go and have a
    look at the old Boche trenches. We chose the ones west of Adinfer
    Wood, as they were less likely to be mined than those further north.

    “Having seized a tender, we pushed off after breakfast towards the
    line. We got to our front trenches at about ten o’clock, and left
    the tender here, as the road was still in pretty bad repair. No
    Man’s Land was dotted about with shell-holes. A few broken stumps
    of trees lined the road--war-worn veterans that had stood the
    test of battle. (Amongst other souvenirs, I am bringing you back
    a walking-stick made from a branch of one of these.) There was a
    wood, or what remained of it, to our right front, as this part of
    the line had been very quiet, and was nothing compared to the utter
    desolation of the Somme or ‘Arras’ battle-fields.

    “The German system of trenches consisted of thick belts of barbed
    wire, behind which was a trench about 10 feet deep, with platforms
    and machine-gun emplacements to shoot from. About every 50 yards
    or so square openings led down to the underground dugouts. The old
    Hun seems to have lived fairly comfortably, as there were beds and
    tables here and there, with store-rooms and passages connecting
    each dugout.

    “We went about collecting souvenirs very gingerly, as warnings of
    booby traps were posted up everywhere we went. But luckily no one
    was caught out. We managed to collect some tin hats, bombs, Very
    pistols, and a few other odds and ends, which we loaded into the
    tender.

    “I am bringing some of these home.

    “Orders have just come through for us to go on another balloon
    strafe, so I will finish this when we come back if old Fritz
    doesn’t stop me.

       *       *       *       *       *

    “(_Two hours later_)

    “Here I am back again, with a Hun and a ‘sausage’[9] added to my
    bag. I am fearfully bucked with life, as the Major has just told me
    that I have been made a ‘flight commander.’ No time for any more,
    as I am just off to have a cheery time with the other lads, who
    seem to have done pretty well too.”

That the enemy knew that the British intended to attack was evident,
because the numbers of the aforementioned V-strut Albatros scouts had
obviously increased on this front. The performance of these machines
was considerably better than the Nieuport, and they had two Spandau
guns firing through the propeller; and, moreover, the circus of red
machines led, so they said, by Richthofen, was functioning freely
throughout the month of March 1917. It is perhaps unnecessary to repeat
that the offensive in the air commences always before the push on the
ground, and though the latter was timed to commence on April 10, 60 had
a hard month to go through before this date arrived. We were short of
scout squadrons at this time, and though 48, the first Bristol fighter
squadron, and 56, another new squadron equipped with the S.E.5s, had
arrived from England, these were to be kept as a surprise for the
Boche, and were not to cross the line until “zero day,” as the day
fixed for the first assault was called. With 56 Ball had come out again
from England, and it was during this battle that he was killed, on May
7, 1917, after a severe engagement in which Meintjies, who also had
been posted to 56 after a period of rest at home, was badly wounded;
the latter is one of the best pilots, and almost the most popular
officer, 60 ever had.

The flight commanders at this time, mid-March 1917, were: K. L.
Caldwell, who when on leave fell sick and did not return till June. He
was a New Zealander, a great friend of Meintjies, and was beloved by
everyone. He was a curious instance of a fine and fearless fighter,
but a bad shot at this time, who in consequence did not get many Huns;
he afterwards remedied this defect and made a great reputation both
in 60 and when commanding 74 in 1918. The other two were Alan Binnie,
an Australian who had fought with the 9th Division in Gallipoli, and
Black, who went sick and was subsequently posted away.

At the beginning of this month (on the day before Graves’s death, to be
exact) W. A. Bishop joined. The son of a well-known family in Montreal,
he had passed through the Royal Military College and had joined the
Canadian Cavalry, coming over with his regiment with the first Canadian
contingent. On arrival in England he very soon applied to join the
Flying Corps, and was posted as an observer to No. 7 Squadron. After a
tour of duty in France in this capacity he went home to learn to fly,
and was posted to us almost as soon as he had got his wings.

[Illustration: MOLESWORTH, BISHOP, AND CALDWELL, APRIL 1917.]

[Illustration: BISHOP, CALDWELL, AND YOUNG, APRIL 1917.]

It was curious to notice how quick the mechanics of the squadron were
to recognise Bishop’s quality. Only a few days after his arrival at the
squadron the sergeants gave a musical evening to which the officers
were invited, and it was observed that one of the very few toasts
which were proposed by them was that of Bishop’s health, although at
this time he had only destroyed one enemy machine, and none of his
fellow-officers had, as yet, any idea of the brilliant career that was
in store for him. This occasion, on which he got his first Hun, was
remarkable for the fact that his engine failed, and forced him to land
very near the front-line trenches. He only, in fact, just succeeded in
scraping over. The failure of the engine was due to his inexperience in
allowing it to choke while diving. Having landed in a very unhealthy
spot, he got rapidly into a dugout occupied by some field gunners,
and, with their help, moved his machine every half-hour to prevent the
German artillery shelling it. During the night he borrowed a toothbrush
from the gunner officer, and with this contrived to clean the sparking
plugs of his engine. Having heard nothing of him, the squadron had
already reported him missing, when he succeeded in getting a telephone
message through to say that he was safe.

Our Corps machines, the eyes of the artillery, were being shot down
every day in the valley of the Scarpe, despite our efforts and those
of 29 (also with Nieuports) and 11, an F.E.2B. squadron. The ground
on both sides of the river was littered with B.E.s. The scouts, whose
losses were much heavier, fell usually far over the lines in hostile
territory.

The work at this time still consisted mainly of offensive patrols
(whose business it was to operate east of the artillery machines and to
keep the air clear of hostile scouts), reconnaissances, and sometimes
escorts to bombing and photographic patrols. On April 7 M. B. Knowles,
C. S. Hall, and G. O. Smart--the latter was originally an N.C.O. pilot
who had but lately been commissioned for gallantry in the Field--all
failed to return after an engagement with a much superior force of the
enemy. At this time it was very hard to get all the photographs wanted
by the army owing to the enemy’s activity in the air, and when special
information about some point was required, 60 was sometimes given the
job of taking the photographs. It was thought that the Huns would not
expect a scout to be doing photography, and they were not over-keen,
even at that time, on attacking a scout formation. It was no easy task
this, to fly a sensitive single-seater, look out for Huns, and expose
plates at the same time, but it was done with some measure of success.
Here follows Molesworth’s description of a fight:

            “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,
              “B.E.F., FRANCE.
                “_April 1917._

    “A Hun at last!

    “We started out this morning, led by our new squadron commander,
    who seems one of the best. Our late C.O. was brought down in
    flames, this side of the lines, in a scrap. He was a very great
    loss to the squadron, and we buried him, with full military
    honours, in a little village cemetery near-by.

    “There were five of us on the patrol, my position being the rear
    one on the left. We got to the lines at about 10,000 feet, and
    crossed them, making towards Douai. Soon we sighted a small patrol
    of Sopwith[10] two-seaters, north-east of Arras, flying towards the
    lines as hard as they could go, with a large pack of Huns chasing
    them. The latter managed to get the last machine in flames, the
    poor devils going down burning like a furnace.

    “The Major immediately dived for the Huns, and I knew that I was in
    for my first real big scrap. The leader saw us coming, and turned
    east with his nose well down; however, we soon caught him up and
    started scrapping. Then ensued the usual dog-fight.[11] I managed
    to get well behind a Hun two-seater which was a little way out of
    the scrap. He didn’t seem to mind me plugging him a bit, and went
    calmly on. In my excitement I lost my head, and started spinning
    madly to the ground. Coming out, I saw an Albatros scout[12] about
    50 yards ahead, so loosed off at him and saw him spin[13] and crash
    on the ground, much to my delight.

    “Having lost the rest of the formation[14] I headed for home,
    and found out, on landing, that we had accounted for three Huns.
    The two-seater which I had been trying to worry was known as the
    ‘Flying Pig,’ owing to the likeness of the observer to that rotund
    animal.

    “Talking about casualties, we have had a pretty hot time the last
    few days. However, twenty Huns have been accounted for during this
    time, and many more sent down out of control,[15] so we hope to put
    up a record in the R.F.C.”

From the last week in March to the last week in May our losses were
very severe (see Appendix II); in fact, counting those who went
sick and those injured in crashes on our side of the line, we lost
thirty-five officers during these eight weeks, almost twice the
strength of the squadron, which consisted of eighteen pilots and
the squadron commander. One week-end in April, the 14th, 15th, and
16th, was especially unlucky, as on Saturday “A” Flight went out six
machines strong (full strength) and only one returned. Binnie was
leading, and was hit in the shoulder when trying to extricate two of
his patrol from a cloud of enemies. The blood from his wound spurted
all over the nacelle, obscuring the instruments, and in addition his
machine caught fire. He extinguished the flames and then fainted when
gliding homeward. The machine must have turned west after this, for he
woke up in a little park in Lens, having hit the ground while still
unconscious, without further serious injuries. He lost his arm at the
shoulder, and was a prisoner till the spring of 1918, when he was
repatriated, and immediately commenced flying again. He was a very
great loss to the squadron, as he was a first-class flight commander,
who had already destroyed several Huns and would have got a lot more.
On the next day, Sunday, “B” Flight, five strong, lost two pilots: one,
Milot, a French-Canadian Major, who was killed; the other, Hervey, who
had already gained two Military Crosses as an observer and promised
very well, was forced to land on the other side by anti-aircraft fire.
On this patrol Bishop, who had just been promoted captain, got two Huns
and a balloon, having had five or six combats. On Monday “C” Flight
(Bishop’s) went out without the flight commander, and only one, Young,
returned; this meant that in three days ten out of eighteen pilots
were lost, and had to be replaced from England by officers who had
never flown this particular type of machine, because there were none in
England. Our new machines were collected from Paris, and the chance of
a trip to fly one back was eagerly looked forward to by every pilot.
Some of these new machines were not well built, and began--to add to
our troubles--to break up in the air. Lieut. Grandin’s fell to bits
while diving on a hostile two-seater, though this may have been due to
injury from machine-gun fire. Caffyn’s and Brackenbury’s collapsed
when practising firing at ground targets on the aerodrome, and the
former was killed; while Ross’s wings folded upwards when pulling out
of a dive after firing a burst; he was badly injured, but has since
recovered. A good show was that put up by Penny, who, when his left
lower plane came off while diving on a Hun, contrived to fly the
machine back and to land at one of our aerodromes, and quietly reported
to the squadron commander as follows: “My lower plane came off, so I
thought I had better land. Sorry I left the patrol, sir.” The reason
for these accidents was that badly seasoned wood was being used by the
French manufacturers, who also allowed a lot of little screws to be
inserted in the main spars, thus weakening them considerably. H.Q. were
informed and the matter was put right.

During this battle the R.F.C. began to take a hand in the ground
operations by machine-gunning support troops during an attack. “C”
Flight led by Fry, who was given an M.C. for this, did well on May
11, by shooting up the enemy in a cutting east of the chemical works
at Roeux, in the valley of the Scarpe. These pilots came back, having
exhausted their ammunition, refilled with petrol and 300 rounds, and
dashed off again to the chemical works without waiting for orders. One
of them, E. S. Howard, who was killed seven days later on an escort to
machines doing photography, thus described this adventure:

            “_May 13, 1917._

    “On Friday night the infantry made an attack east of Fampoux and we
    were told off to assist them. When they went over the top, we dived
    down and emptied our machine guns into the Hun trenches. Our people
    put up a wonderful barrage; it was good to see, but not at all
    nice to fly over, as the bursts from the shells threw the machines
    about. We have just come back from a show, chased four Huns away
    over their lines, and then flew round keeping our eye on them so
    they could not come back.”

This “low flying,” as it was called, became more popular with the
higher command, though not with the pilots, as the war went on, and in
fact, during the German offensive of March 1918, it was said to have
very materially helped to stop the Boche advance on the 5th and 3rd
Army fronts.

Hostile balloons also were constantly attacked during April and May,
and Bishop, Ross, Molesworth, and Penny did considerable execution.
Others who were doing well at this time were Langwill, Hall, J.
Elliott, Smart, and F. Bower; the last-named on April 2 pursued, with
his patrol, six hostile scouts a long way east of Douai in a very
strong westerly wind, and though shot through the stomach and with
his intestines hanging out, he flew west and landed his machine near
Chipilly, completely undamaged except from enemy bullets. He died next
day, and his machine was flown back to the squadron without having had
to be repaired by another pilot. A fight as a result of which R. B.
Clark, an Australian, was killed on April 30 is well described below:

            “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,
              “B.E.F., FRANCE.
                “_April 1917._

    “We are all feeling rather down in our luck to-day, as news has
    come through that one of our chaps has ‘gone west’ in hospital. He
    put up an awfully ‘stout’ show against the Hun.

    “It was on one of our big balloon shows. He was attacked by three
    Hun scouts just after firing at the ‘gas-bag.’ He scrapped them all
    the way back to the lines, crashing one of them, and holding the
    other two off. As he crossed the trenches, one of them plugged him
    in the petrol tank, and his grid caught on fire. As he was only
    about 50 feet up, he managed to get her down in the shell-holes,
    or rather a strip of ground between them, without burning himself
    badly. Luck was all against him, however, as he just tippled over
    into a trench at the end of his run. A few men who were in an
    advanced dressing-station near-by quickly came to his rescue, and
    hauled him clear of the burning wreckage, but the poor devil was by
    this time badly singed about the legs. He insisted on giving his
    report before allowing the doctor to attend to his burns, and the
    men told me afterwards that he was extremely plucky.

    “The day after this occurred, I was detailed to find the machine
    and see if it could be salved. The weather was absolutely vile. We
    started for Arras with a tender and trailer,[16] got there about
    noon, and commenced making inquiries as to where the machine had
    crashed. One place was pointed out to us where there was an old
    ‘quirk,’[17] which had obviously been brought down doing artillery
    work. Then we were sent off in another direction, only to find the
    remains of an old Boche two-seater. At last, after an hour’s wading
    in trenches with mud up to our knees and shells bursting near us,
    we arrived at the advanced dressing-station. Here we were given a
    full description of the fine way in which our pilot had fought.

    “The machine, needless to say, was a total wreck, and so, after
    a cup of tea with a drop of gin in it to warm us up, we pushed
    off home, followed by some heavy shells which we knew meant the
    commencement of the ‘evening hate.’”[18]

Hardly a day passed during April and May without Bishop destroying
at least one Hun machine, and on June 2, 1917, he visited an enemy
aerodrome near Cambrai--a long way over--by himself at dawn and found
seven machines on the ground with their engines running. They began
to take off and he destroyed four, returning safely with his machine
considerably shot about by machine-gun fire from the ground. For this
exploit, after three months of remarkably fine work, he was awarded
the Victoria Cross. Others who were prominent during the battles of
Arras and Vimy Ridge were: Pidcock, “Red” Lloyd and “Black” Lloyd (the
latter, a fine officer, was unfortunately shot down and killed), and
Fry (who drove down a Hun on our side and found in the pilot’s pocket a
ticket for a box in Cambrai theatre dated the day before). Molesworth
also was doing well; he afterwards went to 29 on a second tour of duty
with the R.F.C. in France (he had already seen service overseas with
the infantry), where he did most brilliantly during the winter of
1917-18. His account of a successful balloon attack is given here in
full:

            “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,
              “B.E.F., FRANCE.
                “_April 1917._

    “Still more excitement! I tackled my first balloon yesterday, and
    consider it even more difficult than going for a Hun; at least, I
    think one gets a hotter time. We had received orders a week ago
    that all balloons _had_ be to driven down or destroyed, as they
    were worrying our infantry and gunners during the advance.

    “We had been practising firing the Le Prieur rockets[19] for some
    time--a most weird performance. One dives at a target on the
    ground, and when within about fifty yards of it presses a button
    on the instrument boards Immediately there is a most awful hissing
    noise, which can be heard above the roar of the engine, and six
    huge rockets shoot forward from the struts each side towards the
    target.

    “We did not think these were much of a success, owing to the
    difficulty of hitting anything, so decided to use tracer[20] and
    Buckingham bullets instead. These are filled with a compound of
    phosphorus and leave a long trail of smoke behind them.

    “On the morning we were detailed to attack the balloons the weather
    was so ‘dud’ that none of them were up, although we went across
    twice to have a look. We got a pretty hot time from Archie, as
    we had to fly below the clouds, which were about 2,000 feet, and
    dodge about all over the shop. Next day the weather cleared and we
    decided to carry out our strafe.

    “We all went off individually to the various balloons which had
    been allotted us. I am glad to say most of us managed to do them
    down. I personally crossed the trenches at about 10,000 feet,
    dropping all the time towards my sausage, which was five or six
    miles away. It was floating in company with another at about 3,000
    feet, and reminded me of that little song, ‘Two Little Sausages.’

    “I started a straight dive towards them, and then the fun began.
    Archie got quite annoyed, following me down to about 5,000 feet,
    where I was met by two or three strings of flaming onions,[21]
    luckily too far off to do any damage. Then came thousands of
    machine-gun bullets from the ground--evidently I was not going
    to get them without some trouble. I zigzagged about a bit, still
    heading for the balloons, and when within two hundred yards opened
    fire. The old Huns in the basket got wind up and jumped out in
    their parachute. Not bothering about them, I kept my sight on one
    of the balloons and saw the tracer going right into it and causing
    it to smoke.

    “As our armament consists of a Lewis gun,[22] I had to now change
    drums. This is a pretty ticklish job when you have about ten
    machine guns loosing off at you, not to mention all the other
    small trifles! However, I managed to do it without getting more
    than half a dozen or so bullet-holes in my grid.

    “By this time the second balloon was almost on the floor. I gave it
    a burst, which I don’t think did any damage. The first sausage was
    in flames, so I buzzed off home without meeting any Huns. On the
    way back a good shot from Archie exploded very near my tail, and
    carried away part of the elevator.[23] Don’t you think this is the
    limit for anyone who wants excitement? I must say I prefer it to
    the infantry, as one gets decent food and a comfortable bed every
    night, if you are lucky enough to get back.

    “I am afraid these letters are awfully full of my own ‘shows,’
    but none of the other chaps will tell me about theirs, so I can’t
    describe them to you; however, it’s much the same for all of us.
    Please forgive me, and don’t think it’s swank!

    “There are rumours that leave is going to start again soon, so I
    hope to see you in a few weeks.”

One day in early June General Allenby, then commanding the 3rd Army,
was to inspect the squadron at nine o’clock in the morning. The
squadron commander had gone out by himself in his Nieuport at dawn,
unshaved, in pyjamas, a Burberry, bedroom slippers and snowboots, a
costume which many of us used to affect on the dawn patrol. The line
was unusually quiet that morning, so he ventured almost to Douai,
and on turning west saw a formation of eight or nine machines over
Vis-en-Artois, near the front line, well below him at about 8,000 feet.
They turned, and the sun glinting on the fuselage showed a bright flash
of red. This meant that they were Huns, and not only Huns but “the
Circus.” Having the advantage of height, and as the formation was very
near the line, he determined to try and do a little damage. He flew
towards them from the east and from the sun, and diving on the top
machine, fired a burst and pulled sharply up, being careful to retain
his height. After a few dives of this kind without doing much apparent
damage, an S.E.5 patrol of 56, which had seen the scrap, bustled up,
and a very pretty “dog-fight” ensued, in the course of which one of
the Huns detached himself from the mêlée and appeared to be going
home. This was the Nieuport’s opportunity, so, hardening his heart, he
dived right in, making good shooting. The Albatros appeared to take no
notice, but flew straight on. (In parenthesis it may be observed that
this is a good sign, as it usually means the pilot is dead, for if the
opposing machine begins to perform frantic evolutions, the pilot is as
a rule very much alive, and not in the least “out of control.”) Flushed
with excitement, the Nieuport man put the stick (control column)
between his knees, and going down on the tail of the Albatros, began
to put a fresh drum of ammunition on to his Lewis gun, with which alone
this type of machine was armed. While thus busily engaged something
made him turn his head to see about twenty yards behind him the white
nose of a grim-looking Albatros. Swifter than thought the Nieuport was
wrenched to the right, and even as she turned the Albatros’s Spandau
guns spat out a burst, which riddled the engine and cut the bottom
out of the petrol tank, allowing all the remaining petrol to pour
on to the pilot’s feet. The height of both machines at this moment
was about 5,000 feet, the locality just east of Monchy-le-Preux,
and but for the attentions of the Boche machine it would have been
comparatively easy for the Nieuport to glide back to Arras and perch
on one of our advanced landing grounds, or on the race-course; but
with a bloodthirsty Hun on one’s tail and a dead engine, the problem,
however, was not such a simple one. Twisting and turning like a snipe,
the Nieuport began to descend, taking care to make his turns as much
as possible towards our side of the line. Mercifully the wind was from
the east. Close behind followed the Albatros, firing short bursts at
frequent intervals, but always wide, because it is not easy to hit a
machine whose pilot knows you are there. It was a stout Hun, however,
who would not be denied, but continued the chase down to 300 feet, a
few hundred yards west of Monchy-le-Preux, when he suddenly turned and
flew home to report, no doubt, a British machine destroyed. With a
gasp of relief the Nieuport pilot turned his attention to the ground,
and, seeing nothing but shell-holes beneath him, made up his mind that
a crash was inevitable. Suddenly a strip of ground about a hundred
yards long and very narrow, but free from shell-holes, caught his eye,
and, putting in a couple of “S” turns, he made a good slow landing. The
machine ran on and had almost stopped when a shell-hole appeared, and
she ran very gently into it without doing any damage whatever.

A couple of dusty gunners walked up and before speaking produced a
packet of Woodbines, one of which the Nieuport pilot greedily took
and lit. Inquiries showed that an advanced anti-aircraft section was
near-by, where the officer-in-charge gave the airman breakfast and,
better still, produced a telephone, with the help of which he got into
communication with his squadron, and ordered a car to come straight
through Arras and up the Cambrai road. It was getting late, and an Army
Commander’s inspection was not a thing to be treated lightly. Further
inquiries disclosed an Artillery Ammunition Column in a little valley
who lent him a horse and an orderly. There was no saddle, but the pilot
climbed gratefully on to the animal, which had very rough paces and a
hard mouth, and set out towards the road. In a short time he met the
car and drove furiously through Arras and back to Le Hameau, only to
see Allenby, the R.F.C. Brigade Commander (General J. R. Higgins), and
George Pretyman arriving at the station. His costume being hardly that
prescribed for inspections, the wretched officer dived into his hut,
did the quickest shave on record, and timidly approached the glittering
cortège.

Everyone was furious with him except General Allenby, who was rather
amused and very kind. He got, however, a well-deserved and proper
“telling-off” from the Brigadier and Wing Commander, and saw the troupe
depart with a feeling of profound relief.

The account of this scrap has been given at some length, but it should
not be assumed that it was in any way exceptional. It should be
remembered that during the squadron’s history there have been about
1,500 distinct combats in the air, all of which deserve a detailed
description. Within the limits of a book of this kind, however, it
cannot be done.

[Illustration: THE HARD TENNIS-COURT AT FILESCAMP FARM, MAY 1917.]

[Illustration: 60 SQUADRON’S NIEUPORT SCOUTS LINED UP IN THE SNOW AT LE
HAMEAU AERODROME, NEAR ARRAS JANUARY 1917.]

We made a hard tennis-court in Tetus’s orchard with red _pierre de
fosse_ from the Bruay mines, and discovered that Caldwell, Molesworth,
Horn, and both Lloyds were all good tennis players. With the beginning
of June things quietened down on the 3rd Army front. Colonel Pretyman,
O.C. 13th Wing, put the squadron on to wireless interception. This term
needs, perhaps, a little explanation. Everyone knows, of course, that
both German and British artillery observation machines were fitted with
wireless sets, by means of which the pilots corrected the shooting of
the gunners for whom they were observing.

These wireless messages were “tapped” by our compass stations, and it
was discovered that two of these stations could get a cross-bearing
on any machines registering for the enemy artillery. By linking up
the compass station with an aerodrome by telephone, it was possible
to send off a patrol of scouts to chase off or destroy the artillery
machine as soon as he began to send down fire signals, i.e. as soon as
he was actually directing the fire of the enemy batteries. This was
useful, though exhausting work for pilots; for the Hun, who did his
registration chiefly in the morning, when the sun was behind him in the
east, usually saw the scouts coming before they saw him, and turned and
dived three or four miles back behind his own lines, where it was very
difficult to attack him, even if he was visible, which usually he was
not, as our scouts were looking for a machine at five or six thousand
feet in a certain place, whereas it was probably at that moment at a
height of 1,500 feet some five miles east of the bearing given. As
soon, therefore, as the scouts, seeing nothing, turned back to return
to the aerodrome, the Hun swung up again and resumed his registration.
The British pilots, on returning to their aerodrome, would find an
irate squadron commander who had just got a telephone message from the
compass station to say that V.K., or whatever the call sign used by
that particular machine might be, was working again quite happily, and,
“What the devil was 60’s patrol doing, anyhow?” Off the wretched patrol
had to go again, only to go through the same performance. It is only
fair to say, however, that they did get a good many two-seaters in this
way, though the main result was, perhaps, seen rather in the enormously
decreased amount of artillery observation the Germans were enabled to
do, than in hostile artillery machines shot down by us.

This work, however, was genuinely exhausting, as in order efficiently
to answer the compass calls, as they were termed, three or four pilots
always had to be standing by to leap into their machines and be off the
ground, in formation, inside of two minutes. Nevertheless, they became
extraordinarily smart at this manœuvre, and answered to the hunting
horn--doubled blasts of which were the signal at that time--as keenly
as a fashionable pack of foxhounds. Only those who know how irritating
a thing an aero engine can be when you are in a hurry to start can
appreciate the high standard of efficiency attained by 60’s mechanics,
which made it almost a certainty that the 120 seconds limit would not
be exceeded.

The next few paragraphs will show how this manœuvre struck one of the
pilots at this time:

            “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,
              “B.E.F., FRANCE.
                “_July 1917_.

    “The tennis-court we made three months ago is now in topping
    condition, so we decided to get up a tournament amongst ourselves.
    Yesterday we drew lots for partners. The unlucky lad who drew me
    is a ‘coloured troop,’ that is he hails from South Africa. He is
    quite good at the ‘Willies,’[24] and so I think we have got a fair
    chance. I expect you wonder where all these weird names come from.
    They are invented by one of our flight commanders, who is also a
    ‘coloured troop’ and one of the leading lights of the squadron. All
    jobs are washed out to-day as the weather is ‘dud,’ so two of us
    are going over this afternoon to the village near-by to purchase
    articles of furniture for the ‘Hôtel de Commerce.’

    “You will be pleased to hear that we are getting a new kind of
    grid. It is supposed to be a good deal faster than the Hun, and
    can dive to 300 miles an hour, so I’m told. We shall probably have
    a quiet time while we are getting used to them, and only do ‘line
    patrols’ for the first fortnight or so. A French ‘Ace’[25] landed
    here to-day; he says the Huns are getting a pretty bad time down
    south. Jolly glad I’m not a Hun airman these days, with men up
    against me like some of our chaps. Most of them are fairly old
    hands at the game now, and we are really beginning to properly
    annoy our friends across the way. The work has been fairly hard
    lately: two patrols in the morning, one generally at dawn and the
    other about noon, with ‘wireless interruption’ in the afternoon.
    The latter is rather a strenuous job. This is how we work it: When
    a Hun two-seater begins to register on any part of our front, a
    telephone message, giving his height and locality, is immediately
    sent through to the wireless squadron. Each scout squadron in
    the wing takes it in turn. As soon as the Recording Officer[26]
    receives the message, he sounds a horn. Three of us who are
    standing by in readiness immediately jump into our machines, and
    the leader gets hold of the position and height of the Hun. Then
    we push off as quickly as possible to the lines, and a sort of
    ‘hide-and-seek’ begins. We try if possible to hide in the clouds
    and approach the Hun when he is off his guard. He, on the other
    hand, departs hurriedly into Hunland when he spots us, and as soon
    as we go he comes back to carry on his job. We then turn on him
    again, but he is off like a flash, and so it goes on until the next
    three machines relieve us. It is really quite amusing at times,
    and, although we do not often bring our man down, we give him
    such a devil of a time that he hasn’t much of it to spare for his
    companions on the ground. Our ‘stunt merchant’[27] is good at this
    game, and continues to add to his score, seldom coming back without
    firing his red light. He works by himself a lot now, preferring to
    surprise the Hun by hiding rather than by trying to get him in a
    scrap. Wish I could do the same. I always feel so fagged after a
    patrol, that I haven’t got the energy or the patience to sit up in
    the clouds waiting for a chance to bag a ‘lone Hun.’

    “You remember the petrol tank which was so shot up the time I was
    brought down? Well, I am having it made into a topping inkstand.
    The souvenirs are coming in in fine style, and I hope to have quite
    a good collection by the time I see dear old ‘Blighty’ again.”

After the battle had died down the sorely tried pilots were given,
whenever possible, one day’s rest in three, and the following letter
shows that the device was appreciated:

            “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,
              “B.E.F., FRANCE.
                “_June 1917._

    “It is funny hearing the war again after being on leave so long. We
    had quite a good crossing, although I had a deuce of a time getting
    on to the boat at Folkestone. The silly ass of a porter had carted
    all my baggage on board, including the leave warrant, which was
    in my British-warm pocket. I had to persuade the A.M.L.O.[28] I
    wasn’t a Hun spy, and, after a long discussion, he let me on.

    “The Major seemed pleased to have me back, and they all had great
    stories to tell about our ‘stunt merchant,’[29] who had been
    putting up a jolly good show by bringing down umpteen[30] Huns. His
    star turn was the shooting up of an aerodrome. He started off at
    dawn by himself and arrived over the aerodrome he had planned to
    attack. Finding that there was nothing doing here, he pushed off to
    look for trouble elsewhere. Suddenly he saw the hangars of another
    aerodrome. He attacked these with much gusto, and when the Huns
    came up to do him down, he crashed two of them and drove another
    into the trees. He also managed to flatten out a large number of
    mechanics and put pukka wind up the rest. You can imagine how the
    fat old Huns ran, as nothing like this had ever happened to them
    before. I believe his name has been put in for something big in the
    decoration line.

    “It has been arranged that we get one day off in every three,
    which gives us a bit of spare time. We had ours off to-day. Four
    of us aviated over to Paris-Plage, near Etaples, this afternoon
    and tested our grids by firing into the sea. Afterwards we landed
    opposite the Hôtel Continental and left our machines there under a
    guard. We wandered about the village for a bit, and then started
    for home, stunting[31] about to amuse the populace, which had
    collected on the front to see us off. We all got home safely just
    as it was getting dark.”




CHAPTER IV

PASSCHENDALE AND THE NORTHERN BATTLES


The centre of interest had now (June 1917) shifted to the North. The
Messines Ridge had been taken, though we heard nothing of it till it
was over, and many of the Hun _Jagdstaffeln_, as their scout squadrons
were called, had moved up to Flanders.

On July 22, Scott, who had been wounded in the arm a few days before,
was promoted wing commander and sent to the XI or Army Wing of the
2nd Brigade allotted to the 2nd Army in the Ypres sector. C. K.
Cochrane-Patrick, D.S.O., M.C., who had been doing brilliantly in 23
Squadron on Spads, succeeded to the command of 60, who were at that
time being re-equipped with 150 h.p. S.E.5s, this being the newest type
of scouts, as the Nieuports were by then rather out of date.

Not quite so much fighting was done during July and August, as the
change of machines from an air-cooled rotary engine (the 110 h.p.
Le Rhone which had served us so well) to a 150 h.p. water-cooled
stationary (the Hispano Suisa) naturally took some getting used to.
These machines were again replaced in late August with 200 h.p.
Hispano Suisa S.E.5s, which, though a more powerful engine than the
150 h.p., was much more difficult to keep serviceable. Nevertheless,
Bishop (who was soon posted to Home Establishment--H.E., as the R.F.C.
called it), Caldwell, Rutherford, W. Jenkins (afterwards killed in a
collision with West-Thompson over Poperinghe), Molesworth, M.C. and
bar, Hall, S. B. Horn, M.C. (whose dog Lobo was a squadron pet), and
G. Lloyd, M.C. (who was promoted to captain and sent to 40 Squadron as
flight commander), were all distinguishing themselves and adding to the
squadron’s laurels.

In the following extract Molesworth again graphically describes a fight
in which he was very nearly killed:

            “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,
              “B.E.F., FRANCE.
                “_June 1917._

    “Yesterday I had the narrowest shave I’ve ever had since I first
    started Boche-strafing. I was properly caught out this time, and
    really thought things were all up.

    “We were just over the Drocourt Switch,[32] near Vitry, when a
    dozen Huns got what you might call ‘uppish.’ We tumbled into a
    proper mix-up and, as there were only five of us, the Huns managed
    to break up our formation. We had arranged that, should this
    happen, we were to return to the line independently and re-form,
    so I started towards Arras, following the Scarpe.[33]

    “Just as I was passing over Gavrelle I espied three fat Hun
    two-seaters making south-east.

    “‘Here we are, my son,’ says I to myself. ‘We’ll just hop down and
    put the gust[34] up one of these Huns.’

    “No sooner said than done. I pushed my nose down and, when within
    range, opened fire. The next thing I knew was a perfect hail
    of bullets pouring round me. Here is a rough description of my
    thoughts during the few minutes that followed:

    “Crackle! crackle! crackle!

    “‘My cheery aunt! There’s a Hun on my tail.’

    “‘By jove! The blighter is making my grid into a sieve. Confound
    him!’

    “‘Let’s pull her up in a good climbing turn and have a look at him.’

    “‘Heavens! It’s “the Circus.”’[35]

    “‘I wonder if old Richthof is the leader. The dirty dog nearly
    caught me out this time. Silly ass! didn’t hold his fire long
    enough, or he’d have made me into cold meat by now.’

    “‘Let’s give him a dose and see how he likes it.’

    “‘Here he comes straight at me, loosing off with both guns.’

    “‘I hope we aren’t going to collide.’

    “‘Missed! Bon! Everything’s A1. Wish I’d hit him, though!’

    “‘I must pull her round quick or he will be on my tail.’

    “‘Hang! I can’t shoot for toffee, but he’s pretty “dud,” too, thank
    heavens!’

    “‘Once again, boys, round with her. Let him have it hot.’

    “‘No good. Try again.’

    “‘Confound it! There’s my beastly drum empty. I must spin and
    change it.’

    “‘Good enough! Now where’s the blighter?’

    “‘My Harry! He has got me stiff this time; here he comes down on me
    from the right.’

    “Crack! crack! crack! bang! zip! zip!

    “‘There goes my petrol tank; now for the flames.’

    “‘Cheero! No luck this time, you old swine. Wait till I get you
    next show.’

    “‘Here goes for the ground.’

    “Luckily for me, my friend and his pals, who had been watching the
    scrap, thought I was done for. They therefore chucked up the sponge
    and departed.

    “I managed to pull the machine out, just scraping over the
    trenches. The engine was still running, although the petrol was
    pouring out all over my legs. A few minutes afterwards the
    engine conked out altogether, and I had to land in a field. I was
    immediately surrounded by a crowd of men, who had seen the fight.
    Amongst them were some artillery officers, who took me off to their
    mess and offered me a ‘tot,’ which was very thankfully received,
    while they sent off a message to the squadron. The following is the
    official list of damage done to my machine:

    “Six bullet holes in propeller.

    “Cowling[36] shot away.

    “Large holes in bottom of petrol tank and sides.

    “Main spar[37] right-hand top plane broken.

    “Rear right-hand under-carriage strut badly damaged.

    “Twenty-eight holes in fuselage[38] and ten in the planes--two
        or three missing the pilot’s seat by less than an inch.”

During the 3rd Corps’ attack on August 19, 1917, Lieuts. Jenkins,
Steele, Thompson, Rutherford, and Sergt. Bancroft did good work
shooting up infantry in trenches and by harassing the troops assembling
for counter-attacks.

On September 7, 1917, the squadron was moved up to the XI Wing to
help in the battles for the Passchendale Ridge, which were already
in full swing. Leaving the comfortable Filescamp station and the
hard tennis-court with great regret, they were moved into tents on
Marie Capelle aerodrome, near Cassel, where 20 Squadron was already
stationed. The 2nd and 5th Armies were then attacking almost every
day, and 60, in addition to their ordinary work of offensive patrols,
wireless interception, etc., co-operated by low flying and firing at
troops and transport on the ground. Twenty-five-pound Cooper bombs were
carried at this time and dropped on suitable targets.

Capt. Chidlaw-Roberts, Lieuts. Rutherford, Whiting, and I. Macgregor
were now prominent, while Patrick, himself a brilliant fighter, was
always ready to give his squadron a lead.

Chidlaw-Roberts got a lot of Huns during September, and Caldwell and
W. Jenkins continued their successes of the summer, while J. Crompton,
Young, Capt. Hammersley, Lieut. W. Sherwood, and 2/Lieut. Carter were
others who were conspicuous during the October fighting.

It was in September that Capt. J. K. Law, one of the sons of Mr. Bonar
Law (another of whose sons had already been killed in Mesopotamia),
joined at Marie Capelle. He was a tiger to fight, and, had he come
through his first month, would probably have made a great name for
himself. He did several “shows” over the line, and his machine was shot
about badly in every one of them. On September 21, a patrol operating
in the neighbourhood of Roulers, led by Hammersley and including
Whiting and Macgregor and Law, saw twenty-four hostile machines and
engaged eight of them. A general engagement took place, in the course
of which Law was shot down and killed. He had absolutely refused to
stay any longer at home, where he was doing most useful work training
pilots, but insisted on being sent to France.

Life was less easy during the autumn, as the Boche had begun
continually to send over night-bombing machines. Our scouts were not
very successful in dealing with them, for it is very difficult to see
another machine in the air at night even though it may be visible from
the ground; and, although several attempts were made at this time by
70 and 29 Squadrons, stationed at Poperinghe, to attack these night
bombers, they never succeeded in engaging one. The chief difficulty was
that one could not ask pilots and mechanics to work all night as well
as all day. If it had been possible to take a scout squadron or two
off day work and set them to deal only with the German night bombers,
there is little doubt but that they would have achieved some measure
of success in spite of the shortage of searchlights. The authorities,
however, would not hear of this, as there was too much to be done by
day to spare one of our none too numerous fighter squadrons for night
work. Much later in the war, July 1918 to be exact, 151 Squadron
was sent out equipped with Camels fitted for night flying, and this
squadron alone very nearly exterminated the Boche night bombers
on the 1st and 3rd Army fronts. It was in this squadron that D. V.
Armstrong added so greatly to the reputation he had already gained,
and it was with them that he was killed. As things were, however, in
1917 the enemy dropped their bombs nightly almost with impunity, as
anti-aircraft fire was not very effective at night, and machine-gun
fire from the ground was useless against machines which rarely flew
lower than 5,000 feet.

During this autumn series of battles a somewhat novel system of
message-dropping was tried. All scout pilots were ordered to carry
cards conveniently fixed in the nacelle, on which they wrote such
information as they had secured during low-flying patrols; special
attention was to be given to the massing of enemy supporting troops
and to the development of counter-attacks, the symptoms of which were
the approach to the “debussing”[39] points of motor transport vehicles
or trains from which troops could be seen disembarking and forming up.
These cards were slipped into a message bag and dropped in a field
marked with a white cross, near Locre Château, not far from the line,
which was the 2nd Army report centre. The information thus given
occasionally enabled our heavy artillery to direct their fire on to the
targets indicated. On one occasion, in October, a pilot reported a big
gun being moved along a road near Menin; the Corps heavies opened on
it within ten minutes of the message being dropped, and another pilot
of another squadron reported, half an hour later, a heavy gun at the
same place to have been destroyed by a direct hit. Information of this
kind was very necessary, as the German policy at that time was to hold
their front line positions lightly against our initial assaults, but to
counter-attack very strongly and swiftly about two hours or so after
our first attack had been delivered.

Lieuts. F. Soden, W. Rutherford, and W. Duncan all distinguished
themselves by giving accurate information during these battles, while
Selous, a son of the big-game hunter, was also proving himself to be a
fine patrol leader and Hun-getter.

The last-named--the worthy son of a famous father--was killed on
January 4, 1918, while leading his patrol. He dived at some enemy
machines several thousand feet below, and in the middle of his dive,
the speed of which the other members of the patrol estimated at not
less than 300 miles per hour, the wings of his S.E.5 came right off.

As good a flight commander as ever we had, he was a very great loss
to the squadron. Without, perhaps, the brilliance of Ball or Bishop
he, like Caldwell, Summers, Armstrong, Hammersley, Chidlaw-Roberts,
Belgrave, and Scholte, to name a few only of the best, played always
for the squadron, and not for his own hand. He took endless pains to
enter young pilots to the game, watching them on their first patrols as
a good and patient huntsman watches his young hounds.

The character of Selous, like those whom I have mentioned, not to speak
of many others whom their comrades will remember, attained very nearly
to the ideal of a gentleman’s character as described by Burke, Newman,
and Cavendish in the extracts given below, for which I am indebted
to a report by Lord Hugh Cecil on the education of the future R.A.F.
officer. These noble sentiments so fully describe the kind of man the
British love and admire that it is perhaps not inappropriate to quote
them:

    “_Character of a Gentleman_

    “But the age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists,
    and calculators has succeeded; and the glory of Europe is
    extinguished for ever. Never, never more shall we behold that
    generous loyalty to rank and sex, that proud submission, that
    dignified obedience, that subordination of the heart, which kept
    alive, even in servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted freedom.
    The unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations, the nurse
    of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise is gone! It is gone, that
    sensibility of principle, that chastity of honour, which felt a
    stain like a wound, which inspired courage whilst it mitigated
    ferocity, which ennobled whatever it touched, and under which vice
    itself lost half its evil, by losing all its grossness.

    “This mixed system of opinion and sentiment had its origin in
    the ancient chivalry; and the principle, though varied in its
    appearance by the varying state of human affairs, subsisted and
    influenced through a long succession of generations, even to
    the time we live in. If it should ever be totally extinguished,
    the loss, I fear, will be great. It is this which has given its
    character to modern Europe. It is this which has distinguished it
    under all its forms of government, and distinguished it to its
    advantage, from the states of Asia, and possibly from those states
    which flourished in the most brilliant periods of the antique
    world. It was this which, without confounding ranks, had produced
    a noble equality, and handed it down through all the gradations
    of social life. It was this opinion which mitigated kings into
    companions, and raised private men to be fellows with kings.
    Without force or opposition, it subdued the fierceness of pride and
    power; it obliged sovereigns to submit to the soft collar of social
    esteem, compelled stern authority to submit to elegance, and gave a
    dominating vanquisher of laws to be subdued by manners.”

    (BURKE: _Reflections on the Revolution in France_.)

       *       *       *       *       *

    “Hence it is that it is almost a definition of a gentleman to
    say that he is one who never inflicts pain. This description
    is both refined and, as far as it goes, accurate. He is mainly
    occupied in merely removing the obstacles which hinder the free
    and unembarrassed action of those about him; and he concurs with
    their movements rather than takes the initiative himself. His
    benefits may be considered as parallel to what are called comforts
    or conveniences in arrangements of a personal nature: like an
    easy-chair or a good fire, which do their part in dispelling cold
    and fatigue, though nature provides both means of rest and animal
    heat without them. The true gentleman in like manner carefully
    avoids whatever may cause a jar or a jolt in the minds of those
    with whom he is cast--all clashing of opinion or collision of
    feeling, all restraint or suspicion, or gloom, or resentment;
    his great concern being to make everyone at their ease and at
    home. He has his eyes on all his company; he is tender towards
    the bashful, gentle towards the distant, and merciful towards the
    absurd; he can recollect to whom he is speaking; he guards against
    unseasonable allusions, or topics which may irritate; he is seldom
    prominent in conversation and never wearisome. He makes light of
    favours when he does them, and seems to be receiving when he is
    conferring. He never speaks of himself except when compelled, never
    defends himself by a mere retort; he has no ears for slander or
    gossip, is scrupulous in imputing motives to those who interfere
    with him, and interprets everything for the best. He is never
    mean or little in his disputes, never takes unfair advantage,
    never mistakes personalities or sharp sayings for arguments, or
    insinuates evil which he dare not say out. From a long-sighted
    prudence he observes the maxim of the ancient sage, that we should
    ever conduct ourselves towards our enemy as if he were one day
    to be our friend. He has too much good sense to be affronted at
    insults, he is too well employed to remember injuries, and too
    indolent to bear malice. He is patient, forbearing, and resigned,
    on philosophical principles; he submits to pain, because it is
    inevitable, to bereavement, because it is irreparable, and to
    death, because it is his destiny. If he engages in controversy
    of any kind, his disciplined intellect preserves him from the
    blundering discourtesy of better, perhaps, but less educated minds;
    who, like blunt weapons, tear and hack instead of cutting clean,
    who mistake the point in argument, waste their strength on trifles,
    misconceive their adversary, and leave the question more involved
    than they find it. He may be right or wrong in his opinion, but
    he is too clear-headed to be unjust; he is as simple as he is
    forcible, and as brief as he is decisive. Nowhere shall we find
    greater candour, consideration, indulgence: he throws himself into
    the minds of his opponents, he accounts for their mistakes. He
    knows the weakness of human reason as well as its strength, its
    province, and its limits. If he be an unbeliever, he will be too
    profound and large-minded to ridicule religion or to act against
    it; he is too wise to be a dogmatist or fanatic in his infidelity.
    He respects piety and devotion; he even supports institutions as
    venerable, beautiful, or useful, to which he does not assent; he
    honours the ministers of religion, and it contents him to decline
    its mysteries without assailing or denouncing them. He is a friend
    of religious toleration, and that, not only because his philosophy
    has taught him to look on all forms of faith with an impartial eye,
    but also from the gentleness and effeminacy of feeling which is the
    attendant on civilisation.”

    (NEWMAN: _Idea of a University_, Discourse VIII, Section 10.)

       *       *       *       *       *

    “He has besides the principle of common honesty, which would
    prevent him from doing wrong, a principle of nice honour, which
    will always urge him to do right. By honour I do not mean a
    fashionable mistaken principle which would only lead a man to court
    popular reputation and avoid popular disgrace, whether the opinion
    upon which they are founded is false or true; whether the conduct
    which they require is in itself just or unjust, or its consequences
    hurtful or beneficial to mankind. I mean a quality which is not
    satisfied with doing right when it is merely the alternative
    of wrong; which prompts a man to do what he might lawfully and
    honestly leave undone; which distinguishes a thousand different
    shades in what is generally denominated the same colour, and is as
    much superior to a mere conformity to prescribed rules as forgiving
    a debt is to paying what we owe.”

    (LORD JOHN CAVENDISH: From speech proposing Mr. Thos. Tounshend
        for Speaker, 1770. _Parliamentary History_, vol. xvi, col.
        737, A.D. 1770.)

On November 8, Pope, an old member of the squadron, who had come
through the Arras battle with us, destroyed two hostile two-seaters
in one day. This was a good pilot and a popular officer, who for some
reason was a long time before he began to get Huns, but, having once
found his form, became a very useful and formidable fighter. He went
home soon after this, and showed himself to be an exceptionally gifted
trainer of pilots, both in flying and fighting.

On November 20 the Cambrai attack was launched by the 1st and 3rd
Armies, and the pressure in the air on the Passchendale sector became
sensibly less. This meant that the low-flying patrols, which were extra
to the ordinary O.P. work, ceased for the time being, a relief which
was very welcome because low flying was never popular, the pilot being
not only exposed to very severe fire from the ground, but also, being
so low, was at a disadvantage when meeting enemy machines, who could
dive upon him at their leisure, and frequently availed themselves of
this privilege.

By this time they had made themselves quite comfortable at Marie
Capelle, and the necessary precautions had been taken to give
protection against bombs. It is really remarkable how soon a good
squadron will make itself at home in a new station, and how, if all
ranks work together, messes, recreation rooms, and a theatre rise up
like pumpkins. Sixty could always make themselves comfortable, as
the following extracts from the letters of 2/Lieut. R. W. Maclennan
will show. These letters have been collected and published, after
Maclennan’s death from wounds on December 23, 1917, by his father, a
well-known Toronto barrister, who has courteously allowed them to be
reprinted. They describe his arrival at the squadron from the base:

            “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,
              “B.E.F., FRANCE.
                “_November 28, 1917._

    “When the tender came we collected our kit and started on a long
    cold ride to the aerodrome, which we reached in three-quarters of
    an hour. The first thing was to report to the squadron commander, a
    captain who last summer had been one of my instructors. He was in
    temporary command in the absence of the Major, who was on leave,
    but has since returned. When we went to the mess we ran into a
    lot more of Central Flying School boys, who had been there in our
    time. There are about twenty-four officers in the squadron, and
    more than half of these are Canadians, so I feel quite at home. As
    a new-comer I shall not get much flying during the first fortnight.
    I shall do all I can round the aerodrome for practice, so that when
    the time comes for me to go over the line I shall know something
    about it.

    “Of all the S.E.5 squadrons in France, we seem to have struck the
    best. It is one which has done exceedingly well in the past. Both
    the late Captain Ball and Major Bishop belonged to it, and there
    have been fewer casualties than in any other similar squadron.[40]
    Having had so few, the chaps have been in the game a long time, and
    so have had wide experience, and this is bound to be of inestimable
    benefit to new people. The aerodrome is a good twenty miles behind
    the line, and is practically immune from shell fire. None have
    landed anywhere near for months.

    “You ought to see our quarters. I share a hut with three others and
    we have lots of room. The huts are like half a barrel laid on the
    ground; the curved roof is corrugated iron and the ends are wood.
    We have several tables, comfortable chairs, our camp beds, and
    innumerable rugs on the floor. A coal stove and an oil stove give
    plenty of heat, and petrol lamps give excellent light. I have not
    had such comfortable permanent quarters since leaving Canada, and
    yet we are within sound range of the guns, which never cease. I was
    able to bring over practically every article of kit I possessed. An
    infantry officer would have had to leave nine-tenths of it behind.

    “One great comfort is that here we can wear just exactly what we
    like. We can come to breakfast in pyjamas and wear comfortable
    old clothes all day long. Puttees I am discarding for good, and
    in their place will wear long stockings. They have always been an
    abomination, as their tightness stops circulation and induces cold.
    We do not wear belts and can fly in sweaters. In fact, it will be a
    long summer holiday with lots of excitement thrown in. Leave comes
    round every three months, and lasts for fourteen days.”

       *       *       *       *       *

            “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,
              “B.E.F., FRANCE.
                “_December 2, 1917_.

    “To add to the comfort of the mess, besides dogs, we have a fairly
    good piano and a gramophone. Every time anyone goes on leave he
    brings back a few records, and the collection is now quite large.

    “The hours for actual flying are of necessity short on account of
    the shortness of daylight. Consequently we get lots of time for
    exercise, most of which consists in kicking a Rugby ball around
    the aerodrome. It is about the best way of keeping warm in these
    cold days.

    “Our tenders frequently run to St. Omer and even as far as
    Boulogne, so when not flying there are chances of seeing these
    places. It does seem funny to be able to go from practically the
    trenches to Boulogne (within sight of England) almost any time we
    want to. We in the R.F.C. are about the only people who can do this.

    “When artillery horses are in need of rest, they are sent back from
    the front line. We have two or three at the squadron, and I shall
    probably get some riding if I can pluck up courage enough to try.

    “It is bound to be muddy here before the winter is over; at present
    everything is dry. In preparation for later we have ‘duck-boards,’
    or wooden slat-walks, laid down between all the huts, the mess, the
    hangars, etc. On a dark night it is rather a problem to keep on
    these boards. This reminds me that my little pocket flash lamp is
    almost indispensable out here.

    “All the heavy labour in this part of France is now being done by
    Chinese coolies, brought specially from China for this purpose.
    They are enlisted as soldiers and wear a peculiar blue padded
    uniform. They are employed around the aerodrome levelling ground,
    putting sand-bags about the huts as a protection against bombs,
    making roads and paths, etc. They are terribly interested in our
    phonograph, and if we leave the door open they almost come in. To
    keep them out, the interpreter has painted a large sign in Chinese
    characters, and it sticks up in front of the mess and gives it
    quite an Oriental appearance.

    “Moving picture shows are given every night or so in a Church Army
    hut in the camp. We had several good films last night. It hardly
    seems at all like war yet.”

       *       *       *       *       *

            “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.”

       *       *       *       *       *

            “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.

    Hammersley was still doing very well, while J. A. Duncan, H. D.
    Crompton, and J. S. Griffiths were all prominent during March. H.
    H. Balfour, now commanding a flight in 43, but an original member
    of 60, was adequately maintaining the high standard which was
    expected of one who had served in the squadron.

    The S.E.5A., with which the squadron was equipped from July 1917
    till the Armistice, deserves some description. A single-seater
    fighting scout, it was armed with a Lewis gun mounted on the top
    plane like the Nieuport, but carried, in addition, a Vicker’s
    firing through the propeller. Its speed, with the 200 h.p. Hispano
    engine, would reach 130 miles per hour near the ground and was, in
    consequence, at least 25 miles per hour faster than the Nieuport.
    This increase of speed made a great difference, as it meant that
    the enemy could not run away, and, further, that the S.E.5, if
    caught at a disadvantage, could outdistance its adversaries.
    Against the advantage gained in speed by this change must be set
    off a certain loss in respect of power to manœuvre quickly, but,
    in spite of this, the change was very greatly to the pilot’s
    advantage.

    Every machine has its strong and its weak points, and though at
    first we found the S.E. heavy on the controls and sluggish on
    her turns, and though some were inclined to regret the silver
    Nieuports, yet we soon found that the former was a far better
    fighting instrument. In actual weight the S.E., when fully
    loaded (including the pilot), was about 700 lb. heavier than the
    Nieuport--roughly 2,000 lb. as against 1,300 lb. The new machine,
    too, was distinctly more difficult to land, as the under-carriage
    was relatively a good deal weaker, and, owing to the extra weight,
    she would run on much farther on the ground.

    During the first few months, therefore, a great many machines were
    crashed on the aerodrome, more particularly after leaving Izel le
    Hameau, which was a beautiful landing ground, and moving to Marie
    Capelle, where there was not nearly so much room. There were more
    crashes in this period than we had had since the days of the Morane
    “bullets,” and from this point of view we often regretted the
    little Nieuport, which a good pilot could put down on a postage
    stamp anywhere.




    CHAPTER V

    THE MARCH OFFENSIVE (1918)


    Although this chapter treats of the events of March 1918 and after,
    the following letters, which were written some months earlier,
    and are all by Molesworth, are reprinted below because they give
    an accurate picture at first hand of the feelings and emotions of
    a scout pilot. It must be remembered that these, as well as the
    preceding letters by the same hand, were all written in the Field,
    and that they have not been altered or touched up in any way.

    The author, who is a regular soldier, has now returned to his
    regiment, the Royal Munster Fusiliers, but all who knew him in 60
    hope that the future expansion of the Air Force will draw him back
    before long to the service in which he fought so well.

            “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,
              “B.E.F., FRANCE.
                “_June 1917._

    “There is no doubt that scout pilots have the most exciting
    experiences while flying over Hunland, and it sometimes happens
    that these experiences may be their last. Always they are face
    to face with death in one form or another, always the thread
    suspending the ‘sword of Damocles’ may break and they may be hurled
    into eternity. However, we do not think of these sort of things in
    the air, but instead, we are filled with the spirit of confidence
    in our machines, and the ever-present thought that the best way to
    defend is to attack.

    “There is the feeling of joy about it all which is sometimes mixed
    with loneliness. You are flying between a huge expanse of earth or
    sea below, merging into the vast spaces of the heavens above. The
    continuous drone of the engine in front of you and the whistling
    of the wind through the wires all add to this sense of loneliness,
    while the bracing air, and the knowledge that you have some of the
    finest machines and companions in the patrol, make you feel that
    flying is absolute perfection.

    “Sometimes, however, you have a rude awakening, either in the form
    of a ‘wop’ from Archie, or the ‘rat-tat-tat-tat’ of a watchful
    enemy’s machine gun, or again a sickening check in the rhythmic
    beat of your engine.

    “This last experience happened to me a few days ago when I was
    leading a patrol of five machines about three miles over Hunland,
    at 12,000 feet. No Huns seemed to be about. Either Archie had
    forgotten our existence, or there was too much ground mist for him
    to see us. It was a perfect day up top, with a few light clouds
    floating about. Away to the north-east we could just distinguish
    the town of Douai, while far below us the intricate system of the
    Hindenburg Line, with its Drocourt-Quéant Switch, stretched like a
    great ‘T’ over the shell-marked country.

    “We were cruising along quietly, doing about 1,050 revolutions,
    when suddenly there was a shattering noise in front of me, and
    I saw my cowling break away in bits. Parts of it went through
    the planes, luckily doing no vital damage. Of course the engine
    stopped dead, and so I had to put her nose down for home. It was
    quite impossible to reach any of our aerodromes, so I made towards
    Bapaume, keeping my eyes open for a good landing ground all the
    time. The needle on my altitude dial began to drop--11,000, 10,000,
    9,000--with corresponding wind-up on my part, until we were about
    2,000 feet from the ground. I knew it meant a crash if I didn’t
    make a good landing, as the engine was absolutely _hors de combat_.
    Suddenly I caught sight of a Bessoneau hangar,[43] and near it an
    F.E. Bird perched on the ground. I did a side-slip,[44] and landed
    into wind, putting the machine down with rather a bump; however,
    there was nothing seriously damaged. Luckily the wind was blowing
    from the north, otherwise I don’t think I could ever have got
    across the lines.

    “It turned out that the place where I had landed was an advanced
    F.E.8 landing ground.

    “After going over my engine, I found that a tappet rod had broken
    and stripped the cowling. I telephoned over to the aerodrome and
    told them to bring out a spare engine and cowl. They soon arrived,
    and had the machine ready for me by the afternoon, so I pushed off
    home and arrived safely back soon after.”

       *       *       *       *       *

            “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.”

       *       *       *       *       *

To return to the squadron which we left at Marie Capelle. On March 8,
1918, orders arrived to move up to Bailleul--a good deal nearer the
line--where they remained for over a fortnight. This aerodrome was
shelled every day that they were there, and on the last two nights was
heavily bombed. On March 27 they were rushed down to Bellevue, near
Doullens, to cope with the offensive which, as few will have forgotten,
began on the 21st. This move brought the squadron back into the 13th
Wing, in which it served, except for the winter of 1917-18, during the
whole of its career on the Western Front. After three days at Bellevue
another move was ordered to Fienvilliers.

On March 30, in the course of one patrol, Hammersley, the leader,
destroyed two Hun scouts, putting one on to the roof of a house in
Hem, where it burst into flames; while Copeland, Hegarty, Duncan, and
Griffiths all shot down hostile machines, the destruction of which was
officially confirmed. Bartlett also shot down one out of control. Both
Copeland and Duncan were now piling up good scores.

On April 12 there was yet another move, this time to Boffles, where
they stayed until September. For some time past they had been in tents,
ready to move at a moment’s notice, and by now all the household goods
which a squadron accumulated during the period of stationary warfare
had disappeared: the bronze figures and silver basins, brought back
as mementoes (on payment) after celebrations in Amiens and elsewhere;
the original of Fleming Williams’ picture of a Nieuport scout; the
cut-glass reproductions of two of his father’s valuable decanters,
presented to the squadron by Lord Dalmeny on his departure for Egypt
with General Allenby; the German signboards, shell-cases, and other
trophies; all had been left behind or were lost long before the March
retreat and the subsequent victorious advance were over. This was a
pity, but could not be helped.

The losses of the Air Force during this retreat were very heavy
indeed. Usually we used to calculate that the Germans lost twice as
many machines as the British, according to the reports issued by our
Headquarters. This thought was a comforting one. Under the head of
hostile machines destroyed are not included, for the purpose of this
calculation, those shown as driven down out of control. It should be
remembered that Headquarters required very clear confirmation before
officially recognising the destruction of an enemy machine, and that
many Huns must have been destroyed which were not counted. If one set
fire to a Boche machine in the air there was no difficulty, as the
whole sky saw it and confirmation was readily forthcoming; but where
this was not done, it was not at all easy to watch the victim glide
down from fifteen or sixteen thousand feet, and to mark the spot at
which he crashed. It takes a long time to reach the ground from nearly
three miles up, and there were always plenty of watchful enemies in the
sky waiting to swoop on to the overkeen pilot who forgot everything
but his presumably vanquished foe. Once a pilot took his eyes off a
machine, it was by no means always easy to pick it up again. The best
type was always careful not to claim a doubtful Hun, and, though there
were plenty who would like to have done so, the other officers of the
flight generally knew pretty well when a doubtful claim was put in,
and soon gave the offender a hint that such conduct did the squadron
no good. It may, therefore, fairly be assumed that we had destroyed
the full number of machines claimed. The German method of calculation
was somewhat different, as they counted a two-seater machine as two
“victories,” which made their star pilots appear to be more successful
than ours.

Throughout the war, on the Western Front, the policy of the R.F.C., as
directed by General Sir Hugh Trenchard, was that our fighters should
engage the enemy over his territory and never allow him to cross our
lines. These orders were never executed with complete success, as it
is not possible to erect and maintain an aerial barrage, so to speak,
which can completely prevent a resolute pilot from penetrating it if
he really means to do so, nor can it be said that our patrols kept, in
every case, always on the other side of the line. Broadly speaking,
however, we fought over alien territory, the Germans over their own.
The effect of this was that many a British machine was forced to land,
disabled by gunfire or through engine failure, and the occupants, even
though unwounded, were lost to their own side till the end of the war.
The German pilot, on the other hand, whose engine was put out of action
in a fight might land safely, get another machine, and be fighting
again the same day.

Another circumstance which, in fairness to the Air Force, should always
be borne in mind when the conditions of fighting in the air are under
discussion, is that on the Western Front the wind entered very much
into all questions of aerial strategy or tactics. The prevailing wind
was that west wind which Conrad thus describes in a brilliant passage,
and which, though it deals with the sea, is equally true of the air on
the Western Front:

    “The narrow seas around these isles, where British admirals keep
    watch and ward upon the marches of the Atlantic Ocean, are subject
    to the turbulent sway of the west wind.

    “Call it north-west or south-west, it is all one--a different phase
    of the same character, a changed expression of the same face. In
    the orientation of the winds that rule the seas, the north and
    south directions are of no importance. The north and the south
    winds are but small princes in the dynasties that make peace and
    war upon the sea. In the polity of the winds, as among the tribes
    of the earth, the real struggle lies between east and west. The end
    of the day is the time to gaze at the kingly face of the westerly
    weather, who is the arbiter of ships’ destinies.

    “Benignant and splendid, or splendid and sinister, the western sky
    reflects the hidden purpose of the royal wind.

    “Clothed in a mantle of dazzling gold or draped in rags of black
    cloud like a beggar, the might of the westerly wind sits enthroned
    upon the western horizon, with the whole North Atlantic as a
    foot-stool for his feet and the first twinkling stars making a
    diadem for his brow.”

It was this powerful sovereign, this pitiless potentate who, five
days out of seven, fought with our enemies against us, and it is to
be hoped that he is properly humiliated by the result of the war. How
many curses have been levelled at his careless head by pilots who, with
trailing wires, with labouring, failing engines, and with tattered
planes have tried, and often tried in vain, to reach that brown, smoky
strip of battered terrain which marked the lines and safety, after a
bitter fight? How often has a patrol, on a day with the wind at fifty
to sixty miles an hour, at 10,000 feet fought batch after batch of Huns
when on the Mons-Maubeuge or some other “long reconnaissance,” only
to find that, though every enemy may have been shot down in flames,
though no black-crossed machines remained to smirch the sky, inexorable
Zephyrus had swept them during the fight so far towards the Rhine that
lack of petrol must force them to land on hostile ground? Who has not
felt, when turning homewards on a stormy day, that the machine could
make no progress at all against the wind, but seemed for minutes that
were like hours to stand still over some town or village? Actually
headway was as a rule being made, but the change in ground speed from
flying down-wind to struggling against it produced this very powerful
illusion, and pilots have often thrown their guns, ammunition, and
even field-glasses overboard with the frantic hope of lightening the
machine and thus increasing her speed.

No! Zephyrus, who should have been a Teuton god, and who beyond
question wears the Iron Cross, was no friend to the Air Force. We
should perhaps have poured out libations to his eastern brothers--Eurus
and Aquilus--or at very least have recommended them for the immediate
award of the Distinguished Flying Cross in recognition of their
invaluable services throughout the war.

The struggle wore on through May, and during the middle of this month
the fighting in the air was terrific.

One hundred and thirty E.A. (enemy aircraft) were brought down by the
Air Force in France between the 13th and 19th of the month. Belgrave
and Scholte were, perhaps, the most successful, but I. M. Davies, A.
W. Saunders, Hegarty, V. S. Griffith, W. A. Duncan, were also very
prominent. During one patrol, led by Belgrave on June 12, in which
he shot down a two-seater, R. G. Lewis, whose engine presumably had
failed, went down and landed, breaking his under-carriage. H. A.
Gordon, a Canadian whose first trip over the lines this was, landed
beside him and got out of his own machine. At this point some soldiers
appeared and opened fire. Gordon ran back to his S.E., calling to
Lewis to get in with him, but the latter, apparently mistaking the
troops for friends, walked towards them. Gordon then took off and
circled round, meaning to fire, but, seeing Lewis in the midst of them,
refrained, and returned home with his machine very badly shot about. He
was killed two months later.

An S.E.5 has carried two before now, but it is an unpleasant experience
for the passenger, who has to sit with his legs on each side of the
pilot’s shoulders and to hold on to the top gun-mounting.

By this time, Bishop was back in France commanding No. 85 Squadron and
was doing wonders. Much of his success was due now, as always, to his
extremely accurate shooting, the importance of which in aerial fighting
it is almost impossible to exaggerate.

W. H. Saunders did a very good show on July 2, fighting continuously
for forty-five minutes, destroying two Pfalz scouts and engaging five
other hostile machines.

At the beginning of July, Barry Moore was promoted to command No. 1
Aeroplane Supply Depot at Marquise, and J. B. McCudden, V.C., D.S.O.,
M.C., was appointed to succeed him in the command of the squadron.
While flying down to take over from Moore, he got his machine into a
spin near the ground, crashed, and was killed. Though he never actually
joined 60, and though this history is concerned only to describe the
exploits of that squadron, a paragraph must, nevertheless, be devoted
to McCudden’s achievements. He joined the R.F.C. as an air mechanic
before the war, fought as an N.C.O. pilot with 29 Squadron during
1916-17, was then given a commission and was posted to 56 Squadron,
where he specialised in two-seaters, that variety of two-seater which
the Germans would send over very high at 20,000 feet or more on clear
days to photograph our back areas, and which were not easy to bring
down. The difficulty was that they were first seen, as a rule, at
a great height, and our fighting machines had to climb up to them,
which would take fifteen minutes at least. During this interval which
necessarily elapsed before the attacking machines could get their
height, the Rumpler or L.V.G., which would be flying level, could
usually outdistance the pursuers; if, however, the British machine
contrived, by flying the inside of the circle, to keep between the
Hun and the lines, the latter, if he was as cunning as they usually
were, would calmly continue his photography while his adversary was
climbing until the latter was about 1,500 feet below him, and, when his
pursuer was getting close enough to be dangerous, would put his nose
down slightly, open up his engine and disappear into Hunland, leaving a
streak of blue smoke, but nothing more tangible, behind him.

McCudden, however, with great resolution and infinite patience, studied
the habits of these folk and shot down dozens of them. In addition,
he was a brilliant and successful patrol leader and one whom the Air
Force could ill spare. After his death, C. M. Crowe, M.C., who also had
a fine record both in 56 Squadron and, earlier in the war, with other
units, was given the command. After a few weeks, Crowe had a serious
motor accident and was “struck off” the strength, to be posted later
to 85 Squadron. He was succeeded by A. C. Clarke, an old Etonian, who
remained in charge till the end of the war.

On August 1, 60, together with 3, 56, and 11 Squadrons, carried out an
extremely successful raid on Epinoy Aerodrome. Sixteen machines were
believed to have been destroyed as a result of this operation and two
large fires were started, the smoke of which ascended to a height of
over 10,000 feet. 60 and 11 did the “upper guard,” escorting 3 and 56,
who went down and actually shot up the aerodrome, whilst the two former
squadrons kept off hostile machines who might have attacked the raiders
from above.

Raids of this kind were most successful, but had only lately become
possible on account of the much larger number of squadrons which were
now available. Up to this time, the number of machines had been only
just sufficient to get through the ordinary routine work, i.e. low
flying on battle days, offensive patrols for the indirect protection
of the artillery machine, by the destruction of the enemy scouts who
would have interfered with them, and escorts to bombing raids and
photographic reconnaissances. These last two duties the improved
types of two-seater fighters now carried out without escorts--the De
Havilland 4s, 9s, and Bristol fighters being quite capable of operating
without protection by scouts.

During August, R. K. Whitney (who had had a great month in July),
Doyle, G. M. Duncan, Buckley, and A. W. Saunders (who was now a flight
commander), were all fighting well. One patrol led by the last-named on
August 9 accounted for four enemy aircraft.

Lieut. A. Beck now rejoined the squadron: he had been with us in June
1917, but was sent home on the representation of his parents, who
complained that he was only seventeen. Returning a year later, he
speedily showed that his youth was no disqualification. He remained
with the squadron till the end, was promoted flight commander, and did
extraordinarily good work.

On August 8 we assumed the offensive east of Amiens. 60 did a great
deal of low flying and low bombing, as well as the usual “scrapping”
up above. The Fokker biplane D.7 first appeared in numbers at this
time. This was an original type of machine without any external wiring
but with a very thick wing section, which was braced internally. Its
performance was very good, alike as regards speed, climb, and power to
manœuvre. Their pilots were usually provided with parachutes, which
quite often failed to open. From all along the line reports now came
in showing that the use of the parachute was becoming fairly general
among German pilots.

In October, while our advance was proceeding, squadrons of the Air
Force dropped some thousands of boxes of rations and ammunition for
Belgian troops, whose supplies had been held up owing to the speed of
the advance. 60, however, took no part in this.

The map opposite is reproduced by permission of Field-Marshal Earl
Haig, and is published, I believe, for the first time. It shows the
situation on September 25, 1918, and makes it clear that the enemy
feared the Amiens sector more than any other part of their line.

H. C. M. Orpen, I. W. Rayner, S. V. Mason, M. D. Sinclair, O. P.
Johnson, G. M. Duncan, and McEntegart were, perhaps, the most prominent
and successful pilots during the British advance, which was a time
of continuous and sustained effort on the part of every officer,
N.C.O., and man in the whole squadron. The strain of sending at least
two full-strength squadron patrols daily over the line, while moving
continually, severely taxed the endurance of all ranks. They left
Boffles for Baisieux on September 17, Baisieux for Beugnatre on October
14, and finally moved from the latter station to Quievy, an old German
aerodrome, on October 31.

[Illustration: Situation on Sept. 25^{th}, 1918.

    _On this date, the 25^{th} Sept., General Pershing was in direct
    command of the American Armies. Early in October the command of the
    3^{rd} American Army was entrusted to L^{t} Gen. Hunter Liggett and
    command of the 2^{nd} American Army to Major Gen. R. L. Bullard._
]

By October the Air Force mechanical transport had begun to wear out,
nor is this surprising when the work it had done is remembered;
the men were always working hard to keep the lorries and light
tenders on the road. Moreover, the new aerodromes were always pitted
with shell-holes, which had to be filled up, and scarcely was this
task completed before orders would arrive to move again. In spite of
these difficulties, the supplies of rations, ammunition, etc., were
maintained with wonderful regularity by the H.Q. staffs.

The German Flying Corps continued to fight hard and well up to the
very last day of the war, and, though their armies on the ground were
retreating fast, no signs of demoralisation in the air were observed.

During these last days, throughout September and October, a great
deal of work was done with 148--an American Camel squadron--most of
whose pilots had been trained in England. This unit was also in the
13th Wing, and the two squadrons moved forward together to the various
aerodromes mentioned above. They did several good shows together,
notably between September 14 and 17, during the attack on Havrincourt
Wood, when 60 twice a day did the “upper guard,” while 148 flew low,
bombing troops and attacking low-flying Fokkers. A considerable amount
of damage was done during the progress of these operations. For
example, on September 26 one patrol of each squadron, working in the
same manner, gave a good exhibition of combined work: 60’s patrol, led
by Rayner, drove down a flight of Fokkers into the jaws of 148, who
tackled them with such effect that three were “crashed” and one driven
down out of control. Again, on the next day, during the Bourlon Wood
attack, 148, protected as before by 60, crashed two enemy two-seaters,
the destruction of which was observed and confirmed by the latter unit.

During the whole of the advance towards Cambrai and beyond, the two
squadrons did at least one “show” a day together until October 30,
when the Americans left Beugnatre, near Bapaume, to go south to join
their own army near Nancy, a very long and tiresome journey. On the day
before leaving, their last patrol with us “crashed” either four or five
Huns.

Their pilots were many of them trained at London Colney, in
Hertfordshire, and Lieuts. Springs (who accounted for nine enemy
machines), L. K. Callaghan (whose score when they left for Nancy
was eight), and J. O. Creech (who had got six Huns), were all good
advertisements for the methods adopted at that training station.

Other pilots conspicuous in this squadron were two of their flight
commanders (T. Clay and F. E. Kindley) and also Lieut. C. T. McLean,
all of whom will no doubt remember a dinner in Amiens, on October 18,
in which 201 Squadron also joined with 60 in celebrating the turn of
the tide in the Allied fortunes, a change which 148 and 17 American
(this latter squadron was also in the 13th Wing) had certainly done
their share to bring about.

There was great regret on the part of all their British comrades in
arms when these two American units went away.

One of the pilots of 148, who had been taken prisoner, told a
remarkable story on his return just after the Armistice. This pilot,
who had served with 56 Squadron, also in the 13th Wing, some months
earlier, was shot down and, after having landed more or less safely
in “Hunland,” was taken before a German intelligence officer and
asked his name and squadron. Having given his name and rank only,
his examiner said to him, “But you were in 56--I dined with you in
December last,” and followed this up by asking the astonished prisoner
if he did not remember a French Breguet (two-seater) landing at 56’s
aerodrome one day with an officer pilot and a mechanic on board. The
American did remember, and recollected, too, that the pilot announced
that he was coming up from the south to join a French squadron north
of our 2nd Army near Dixmude, but that his engine was running badly
and he had landed to make some adjustments. No one in 56 at this
time knew very much about the French Flying Corps, but everyone knew
that their machines had often passed over the intervening British
armies in this manner, particularly during the summer of 1917, prior
to the Passchendale battles, and again in April 1918, when Foch’s
strategical schemes involved the introduction into the middle of our
2nd Army area of a French division, which defended Kemmel Hill after
the German break-through on the Lys. The story, therefore, appeared
to be quite a natural one, and no one suspected for an instant that
anything was wrong. The “repairs” to the 200 h.p. Renault engine, a
type with which none of our mechanics were very familiar, took longer
than was expected, and the “Frenchman” dined and stayed the night with
the squadron, making himself most agreeable but refusing to drink much.
Not only did he stay one night, but, the weather next day proving
unfavourable, he remained a second, and on the third day flew off, it
is believed, to another British aerodrome. There was no question of
the truth of the story because the hero of it showed, when talking
to his prisoner, a knowledge of the officers in 56, their appearance
and nicknames, together with the details of the camp and aerodrome,
which could only have been obtained at first-hand. Moreover, the
American pilot remembered the visit quite well, and even recognised
his interrogator. The German also told him that he had played the same
game with the French Flying Corps, pretending, on a captured British
machine, to be an English pilot making his way down to our Independent
Air Force, which, under General Trenchard, was stationed opposite Metz,
a long way from the nearest British unit.

It was easier for the Germans to do this kind of thing than it would
have been for the Allies, owing to the duality of language on our
side of the line; but, nevertheless, it must be reckoned a very fine
performance. Presumably, he left the German aerodrome before dawn and
flew about on our side of the line until it was light enough to land,
but, even so, he was lucky not to have been attacked on his return by
German machines and anti-aircraft guns when flying an aeroplane with
Allied markings, as it must have been impossible to warn the German
aviators that one particular Breguet was not to be molested, mainly
because of the impossibility of distinguishing one machine from another
of the same type in the air, but also because to circulate general
instructions of this kind would almost certainly have given the whole
plan away to some of the Allied agents who, on the whole, were much
more efficient than the German spies.

After the Armistice, when the question of demobilisation began to
be considered in the Air Force and particulars of the terms of each
officer’s engagement were scrutinised, it was surprising to find how
many Americans were serving in English scout squadrons. There seemed
to be at least three or four American citizens in each single-seater
squadron in France, out of a total in such a squadron of twenty-five
officers. Moreover, the majority of these wore at least one medal for
gallantry, the reason being, no doubt, that these young men were the
very flower of the American fighting stock, who felt unable to wait
until their country came into the war, but represented themselves
to be Canadian citizens in order to join in the contest. Had the war
lasted a little longer, most of them would, no doubt, have transferred
to their own squadrons, as some few had already done, but at the end of
1918 their own air effort had not yet developed sufficiently to absorb
them all.

To return, however, to 60. The squadron’s last “confirmed Hun” of
the war was secured on November 1 by Capt. A. Beck, who had lately
destroyed, when flying low, a number of enemy artillery observation
machines (two-seaters).

The arrival at Quievy, halfway between Cambrai and Le Cateau, where the
squadron remained until after the signing of the Armistice, was most
interesting. Here remained some of the German semi-permanent hangars,
the machine-gun emplacements on the roofs of the houses surrounding
the aerodrome, and here, too, were people who for four and a half long
years had lived with the pilots and observers of the German Flying
Corps. The questions asked by our officers--usually in extremely
moderate French--were endless. “How many jobs a day did they do?” “Were
their casualties heavy?” “Were the pilots usually officers or N.C.O.s?”
“How many machines did they have in a flight?” are only a few examples.
The answers in most cases were disappointing, as the Boche seemed to
have taken good care to keep all civilians off his aerodromes.

The plight of the inhabitants of the occupied territory was wretched;
the retreating enemy had driven off every single head of livestock,
taking even the poultry away over the Belgian border, and the British
forces had to feed them for many weeks until the French lorry services
began to work and until the railways were restored.

Delay-action mines were left everywhere in this part of the world,
though there were not, perhaps, as many booby traps as were found after
the Boche retreat of March 1917 to the Hindenburg or Wotan Line. The
bridge at Caudry station, the railhead from which the squadron drew
rations, went up on November 1, killing and wounding twenty or thirty
men.

The uncultivated state of the land was very noticeable in this
district; for though some poor root and winter cabbage crops showed
here and there, grown by the inhabitants under German direction, most
of the fields did not appear to have been tilled at all, though this
particular tract had been a long way behind the line until August 1918.

The last few days’ fighting were marked by no unusual incidents so far
as 60 itself was concerned, though it was thrilling to be forming part
of the army which was retaking Valenciennes, Le Quesnoy, Maubeuge, and
other towns immediately in front of us. Thrilling, too, to see the long
dingy columns, already in Belgium, marching east at last.

On Armistice night, Clarke hurriedly organised a dinner, to which such
old members as were in the neighbourhood were bidden. It was a good
evening, ending with the invasion of the officers’ mess by the N.C.O.s
and men, who drank each other’s healths--not that there was overmuch
alcohol available--and sang over and over again those very ordinary
music-hall songs which our people always seem to employ as a medium for
expression in moments of emotional stress. Officers and men bellowed
together “The good ship Yacki Hicki Doola” and similar classics.

60 was always remarkable for the cordial relations between the
officers and men, due, perhaps, to the fact that an Air Force scout
squadron during the war was, in Lord Hugh Cecil’s words, “a natural
aristocracy,” in that the officers flew and fought twice daily while
the men remained on the ground in comparative security.




CHAPTER VI

DEMOBILISATION


The latter half of November and the first week of December was a period
of suspense. No one quite knew what was to happen, nor did the first
circulars on the subject, even the famous one beginning, “And Joshua
bade the people disperse every man to his own place,” clear up the
situation very much. It was not, in fact, until Mr. Churchill had been
appointed Secretary of State for War and Air, and had laid down the
broad principle that men over thirty-five and those who had enlisted
before January 1, 1916, were to be allowed to go and that the rest
must stay, that we knew where we were at all. It was difficult, also,
to find employment from day to day for the men. Association football,
however, was always popular, concerts and boxing contests were
frequently held, while horses and dogs were borrowed and hare-hunting
was attempted.

One form of hare-hunting became very popular: the idea--which
originated with Louis Strange, then commanding a wing--was to proceed
as follows: All officers and men in the wing who wished to take part
assembled, to the number of two or three hundred, at “the meet,” and
filed away in opposite directions, the leaders of each file turning
gradually inwards until a circle nearly a mile in diameter was enclosed
by men about twenty yards apart. The circle being completed, they
began to walk towards the centre. Usually three or four hares, and
sometimes many more, got up within the cordon and ran frantically round
until they either broke through or were knocked over with sticks. The
shouting and noise arising during the proceedings testified to the
popularity of this form of sport. Despite these diversions, time hung
rather heavily on their hands until, at last, by the end of February
1919, all the demobilisable officers and men had gone, and those who
remained were sent up by train as reinforcements to the R.A.F. with the
Army of the Rhine. On a bitterly cold evening this remnant entrained in
covered trucks, under sad skies with snow falling heavily, to commence
their eastward journey, in typically military fashion, by travelling
due west to Etaples. After this nothing remained but to dispatch the
cadre with the records back to England, and the two officers and ten
men remaining accordingly departed on February 28, bound for Sedgeford,
in Norfolk.

The squadron remained dormant for a time, but was re-formed towards
the end of the year, and is now equipped with De Havilland 10s, large
twin-engined machines, and is stationed in India.

[Illustration: BRITISH BATTLES DURING 1918

8^{TH} AUG. TO 11^{TH} NOV.

    The following diary will help to elucidate the map, which shows
    the ground gained by the British Allied Armies, and the series of
    battles from July to November, 1918.

    THE BATTLES AND THEIR EFFECTS.

    [Sidenote: _8th Aug.--12th Aug._ 13 Inf. and 3 Cav. Divs. defeated
        20 German Divs.]

    THE BATTLE OF AMIENS disengaged Amiens, until then in range of the
    German guns, and freed the Paris-Amiens railway. Our attack was
    then transferred to the north in

    [Sidenote: _21st Aug.-31st Aug._ 23 Divs. defeated 35 German Divs.]

    THE BATTLE OF BAPAUME which, turning the flank of the German
    positions on the Somme, compelled the enemy to withdraw to the east
    bank of the river. His new positions were then turned from the
    north by

    [Sidenote: _26th Aug.-3rd Sept._ 7 Divs. defeated 13 German Divs.]

    THE BATTLE OF ARRAS by which the Drocourt-Quéant line was broken
    and the enemy was forced to fall back on the outer defences of the
    Hindenburg line. As the direct result of these battles

    The LYS Salient was evacuated by the enemy and we regained
    Lens-Merville-Bailleul-Kemmel Hill and freed Hazebrouck and the
    important railways there. Then came

    [Sidenote: _18th Sept.-19th Sept._ 14 Divs. defeated 15 German
        Divs.]

    THE BATTLE OF EPEHY which broke through the outer Hindenburg
    defences and brought us into position for attack on the main line in

    [Sidenote: _27th Sept.-10th Oct._ 35 Inf., 3 Cav. and 2 American
        Divs. defeated 45 German Divs.]

    THE BATTLE OF CAMBRAI-ST. QUENTIN which in ten days of victorious
    fighting broke through the last and strongest of the enemy’s fully
    prepared positions, opening the way to a war of movement and an
    advance on the German main lines of communication. These great
    assaults fell into three main phases:--

    1. The storming of the Canal du Nord on the left of our attack and
    the advance on Cambrai, followed immediately by

    2. THE GREAT BLOW WHICH SHATTERED THE HINDENBURG LINE AND TURNED
    THE DEFENCES OF ST. QUENTIN.

    3. The development of these successes by a general attack on the
    whole front which broke through the last of the German defences
    in the rear of the Hindenburg Line, forcing the enemy to evacuate
    Cambrai and St. Quentin and fall back on the line of the River
    Selle. These battles, striking at vital enemy communications,
    created a huge salient in his lines. Meanwhile further north in

    [Sidenote: _28th Sept.-29th Sept._ 9 Divs. defeated 5 German Divs.]

    THE BATTLE OF YPRES British and Belgians forced the enemy back
    from Ypres and drove a salient into his lines which endangered his
    positions on the Belgian Coast. This success was extended by

    [Sidenote: _14th Oct.-31st Oct._ 7 British Divs. defeated 6 German
        Divs.]

    THE BATTLE OF COURTRAI which widened and deepened this salient and
    resulted in the capture of Halluin, Menin and Courtrai. This series
    of battles north and south had as their immediate result, in the
    south,

    THE EVACUATION OF LAON and the retreat of the enemy to the line of
    the Aisne, and, in the centre,

    THE WITHDRAWAL TO THE SCHELDT in which Lille and the great
    industrial district of France were freed there, and in the north.

    THE CLEARING OF THE BELGIAN COAST, whereby the enemy was deprived
    of his important submarine bases at Ostend, Zeebrugge and Bruges.
    The enemy was now back on the line of the Selle and Scheldt rivers.

    [Sidenote: _17th Oct.-25th Oct._ 26 British Divs. defeated 31
    German Divs.]

    THE BATTLE OF THE SELLE forced him from the line of that river and
    drove still another salient into his defences. It was followed by
    the final blow--

    [Sidenote: _1st Nov.-11th Nov._ 26 British Divs. defeated 32 German
        Divs.]

    THE BATTLE OF MAUBEUGE, which struck at and broke the enemy’s
    last important lateral communications, turned his positions on
    the Scheldt and forced him to retreat rapidly from Courtrai. This
    victory completed the great strategical aim of the whole series of
    battles by dividing, in effect, the enemy’s forces into two parts,
    one on each side of the great natural barrier of the Ardennes. The
    pursuit of the beaten enemy all along the Allied line was only
    stopped by the Armistice.
]

Most of the officers and men are new, but such veterans as are
available will be drafted back when circumstances allow, and there
is no old member of the squadron who is not confident that the new
formation will add to that high reputation which 60 has enjoyed from
the day of its birth, and which we, who served in it, have helped to
build, or, at all events, have tried our hardest not to damage.

Though the records, owing to a fire in the squadron office in November
1916, may perhaps be not quite complete, yet the destruction of 274
enemy aircraft can be traced.

The honours gained by officers or men, whilst serving in the squadron,
are:

   1 V.C.
   5 D.S.O.s.
   1 Bar to D.S.O.
  37 Military Crosses.
   5 Distinguished Flying Crosses.

The map which will be found at the end of this chapter is published
by permission of Field-Marshal Earl Haig, and shows very clearly the
ground gained and the prisoners taken by the victorious British armies
during the last three months of the war.




APPENDIX I

LIST OF OFFICERS WHO HAVE SERVED IN 60 SQUADRON

  TOGETHER WITH THE DECORATIONS GAINED BY THEM, NOT NECESSARILY IN
      THE SQUADRON; ALL OFFICERS ARE SHOWN IN THE HIGHEST RANK TO
      WHICH THEY ATTAINED DURING THE WAR.


  ----------------------------------------------+----------+-----------
                      Name.                     | Casualty.|   Date.
  ----------------------------------------------+----------+-----------
  2/Lieut. A. R. Adam                           | Missing  | July  1917
  Lieut. J. R. Anderson                         | Killed   | Aug.  1918
  Capt. D. V. Armstrong, D.F.C. (151 Sqdn.)     | Killed   | May   1916
  Lieut. J. L. Armstrong.                       |   --     | Jan.  1918
  Lieut. (A/Capt.) F. L. Atkinson               | Injured  | April 1917
  2/Lieut. W. R. Ayling                         |   --     | Nov.  1918
  Lieut. J. Baalman                             |   --     | Aug.  1917
  Lieut. D. H. Bacon                            | Missing  | Nov.  1916
  Lieut. C. G. Baker                            |   --     | Jan.  1917
  Major H. H. Balfour, M.C. and Bar, Croix de   |          |
      Guerre (French)                           |   --     | May   1916
  Capt. A. Ball, V.C., D.S.O. and 2 Bars, M.C., |          |
      Order of St. George (Russian, 4th Class), |          |
      Croix de Chevalier (French)               | Killed   | Sept  1916
  Lieut. A. C. Ball                             | Missing  | Feb.  1918
  Lieut. H. J. O. Barnett                       |   --     | Jan.  1918
  Lieut. J. N. Bartlett                         |   --     | June  1918
  F/Officer H. F. V. Battle                     | Wounded  | Sept. 1918
  Capt. A. Beck, D.F.C.                         |   --     | June  1918
  Capt. J. D. Belgrave, M.C. and Bar            | Missing  | April 1918
  Major A. D. Bell-Irving, M.C. and Bar,        |          |
      Croix de Guerre                           | Wounded  | May   1916
  2/Lieut. I. Bigood                            |   --     | May   1916
  Capt. A. Binnie, M.C.                         | Missing  | April 1917
  Lieut.-Col. W. A. Bishop, V.C., D.S.O. and    |          |
      Bar, M.C., D.F.C., Croix de Chevalier,    |          |
      Legion of Honour, Croix de Guerre with    |          |
      Palm (French)                             |   --     | April 1917
  Capt. C. T. Black                             |   --     | March 1917
  Capt. C. L. Blake                             |   --     | June  1917
  Lieut. R. C. W. Blessley (U.S. Air Service)   | Wounded  | Sept. 1918
  2/Lieut. F. Bower                             | Killed   | April 1917
  Lieut. H. S. Brackenbury                      | Injured  | March 1917
  Capt. N. A. Browning-Paterson                 | Killed   | May   1916
  Capt. W. E. G. Bryant, M.B.E.                 | Wounded  | May   1916
  Lieut. H. E. W. Bryning                       |   --     | June  1918
  2/Lieut. H. Buckley                           | Wounded  | Aug.  1918
  2/Lieut. E. A. Burbidge                       |   --     | Sept. 1918
  2/Lieut. C. M. H. M. Caffyn                   | Killed   | March 1917
  Major K. L. Caldwell, M.C., D.F.C. and Bar,   |          |
      Croix de Guerre (Belgian)                 |   --     | Jan.  1917
  Lieut. K. T. Campbell                         | Died     | June  1918
  Lieut. L. H. T. Capel                         |   --     | Feb.  1918
  Capt. C. W. Carleton, A.F.C.                  |   --     | Dec.  1916
  2/Lieut. W. M. Carlyle                        | Missing  | Oct.  1916
  Lieut. A. Carter, M.M.                        |   --     | Sept. 1917
  2/Lieut. W. E. Cass                           | Died     | Aug.  1916
  Lieut. G. F. Caswell                          | Missing  | Sept. 1918
  Capt. J. C. A. Caunter                        | Missing  | Oct.  1917
  2/Lieut. L. C. Chapman                        | Missing  | April 1917
  Capt. L. S. Charles                           | Missing  | July  1916
  Capt. R. L. Chidlaw-Roberts, M.C.             |   --     | Sept. 1917
  2/Lieut. E. W. Christie                       | Missing  | April 1918
  Capt. S. Clare, M.B.E.                        |   --     | Jan.  1918
  Capt. F. W. Clark, A.F.C.                     |   --     | Jan.  1918
  2/Lieut. L. L. Clark                          | Killed   | May   1916
  2/Lieut. R. B. Clark                          | Died of  |
                                                |   Wounds | April 1917
  Major A. C. Clarke                            |   --     | Aug.  1918
  Lieut. J. H. Cock                             | Missing  | April 1917
  A/Capt. E. S. T. Cole, M. C.                  |   --     | Sept. 1916
  Capt. J. Collier, D.F.C. (80 Sqdn.)           |   --     | July  1917
  Capt. W. H. K. Copeland                       |   --     | March 1918
  Lieut. G. F. Court                            |   --     | Nov.  1917
  2/Lieut. G. B. Craig                          | Missing  | Feb.  1918
  Lieut. F. D. Crane                            |   --     | Jan.  1918
  Capt. K. Crawford                             | Missing  | April 1918
  Lieut. H. D. Crompton                         |   --     | Sept. 1917
  Lieut. (A/Capt.) J. B. Crompton               |   --     | Sept. 1917
  Major C. M. Crowe, M.C., D.F.C.               |   --     | July  1918
  Lieut. C. F. Cunningham                       |   --     | Jan.  1918
  F/Lieut. A. P. V. Daly                        |   --     | Nov.  1916
  Capt. I. Meredyth Davies                      |   --     | April 1918
  Lieut. W. B. Day                              |   --     | Oct.  1918
  Capt. G. C. Dell-Clarke, M.C.                 | Killed   | July  1918
  2/Lieut. E. W. C. Densham                     |   --     | Sept. 1918
  F/Lieut. G. W. Dobson, O.B.E.                 |   --     | Oct.  1916
  Capt. J. E. Doyle, D.F.C.                     | Missing  | Sept. 1918
  Lieut. L. Drummond                            |   --     | Aug.  1916
  Capt. J. M. Drysdale                          | Wounded  | Aug.  1916
  Lieut. G. L. Du Cros                          |   --     | June  1918
  Capt. G. M. Duncan, D.F.C.                    |   --     | Aug.  1918
  Capt. W. J. A. Duncan, M.C. and Bar           |   --     | Nov.  1917
  2/Lieut. (Hon. Lieut.) J. Elgood              |   --     | July  1916
  Lieut. G. F. Elliott                          |   --     | Sept. 1917
  Lieut. J. McC. Elliott                        | Missing  | April 1917
  Lieut. C. D. Evans                            |    --    | Jan.  1918
  2/Lieut. J. J. Fitzgerald                     | Missing  | Oct.  1917
  2/Lieut. H. T. Flintoft                       |    --    | July  1918
  2/Lieut. J. H. Flynn                          | Killed   | Sept. 1917
  Major E. L. Foot, M.C.                        |    --    | Oct.  1916
  2/Lieut. C. V. Forsyth                        |    --    | Nov.  1918
  Lieut. C. W. France                           |    --    | Aug.  1918
  Capt. W. M. Fry, M.C.                         |    --    | Jan.  1917
  Capt. P. E. M. Le Gallais, A.F.C.             |    --    | Aug.  1916
  Lieut. W. P. Garnett                          | Missing  | March 1917
  Lieut. F. O. Gibbon                           |    --    | July  1917
  Major E. J. L. W. Gilchrist, M.C., D.F.C.     | Wounded  | Dec.  1916
  Lieut. W. Gilchrist                           | Missing  | May   1917
  Capt. G. A. Giles                             |    --    | Jan.  1917
  Lieut. H. Good                                |    --    | May   1916
  Capt. F. E. Goodrich, M.C.                    | Killed   | Sept. 1916
  Lieut. H. A. Gordon                           | Missing  | July  1918
  2/Lieut. R. J. Grandin                        | Missing  | July  1917
  Major E. P. Graves                            | Killed   | March 1917
  Hon. Capt. D. B. Gray, M.C.                   |    --    | May   1916
  F/Lieut. E. O. Grenfell, M.C., A.F.C.         | Wounded  | Dec.  1916
  F/Officer J. S. Griffith, D.F.C. and Bar,     |          |
      Order of St. Vladimir, 4th Class          | Wounded  | July  1918
  2/Lieut. W. H. Gunner, M.C.                   | Missing  | July  1917
  Capt. H. W. Guy, Croix de Guerre (Belgian)    |    --    | June  1917
  Lieut. C. S. Hall                             | Missing  | April 1917
  Lieut. J. G. Hall                             | Missing  | Nov.  1918
  Lieut. H. Hamer, A.F.C.                       |    --    | Feb.  1917
  Capt. H. A. Hamersley, M.C.                   |    --    | Sept. 1917
  Lieut. H. T. Hammond                          | Missing  | Sept. 1917
  2/Lieut. L. P. Harlow                         |    --    | Nov.  1918
  Lieut. H. Harris                              |    --    | May   1916
  2/Lieut. R. M. Harris                         | Killed   | June  1917
  2/Lieut. J. J. A. Hawtrey                     | Missing  | Sept. 1917
  Lieut. J. Headlam                             | Killed   | May   1918
  Major J. N. D. Heenan                         |    --    | June  1916
  Capt. H. G. Hegarty, M.C.                     |    --    | Jan.  1918
  Lieut. G. W. Hemsworth                        |    --    | Jan.  1918
  Lieut. C. R. Henderson                        |    --    | March 1918
  Lieut. N. P. Henderson                        | Wounded  | April 1917
  Capt. E. G. Herbert                           | Wounded  | Jan.  1917
  Lieut. H. E. Hervey, M.C. and Bar             | Missing  | April 1917
  2/Lieut. F. A. Hickson                        |    --    | Sept. 1918
  Sqdn.-Ldr. R. M. Hill, M.C., A.F.C.           |    --    | Aug.  1916
  Capt. C. Holland, M.C.                        |    --    | Dec.  1916
  2/Lieut. R. Hopper                            | Killed   | Jan.  1917
  F/Lieut. S. B. Horn, M.C.                     |    --    | Sept. 1917
  2/Lieut. E. S. Howard                         | Killed   | May   1917
  2/Lieut. G. D. Hunter                         | Missing  | May   1917
  2/Lieut. W. E. Jenkins                        | Killed   | Nov.  1917
  Lieut. O. P. Johnson                          |    --    | July  1918
  Lieut. B. S. Johnston                         |    --    | Aug.  1918
  Lieut. R. N. K. Jones, M.C.                   |    --    | July  1916
  Lieut. P. S. Joyce                            | Missing  | March 1917
  Capt. R. C. Kean                              |   --     | Jan.  1917
  Capt. G. D. F. Keddie                         |   --     | May   1916
  Lieut. S. W. Keen, M.C.                       | Died of  |
                                                |   Wounds | Aug.  1916
  Lieut C. M. Kelly                             |   --     | Aug.  1916
  2/Lieut. W. M. Kent                           | Missing  | Feb.  1918
  Lieut. J. F. M. Kerr                          |   --     | Aug.  1918
  2/Lieut. J. L. Kight                          |   --     | Aug.  1916
  2/Lieut. R. E. Kimbell                        | Missing  | April 1917
  2/Lieut. C. H. M. King                        | Killed   | Sept. 1916
  Capt. A. N. Kingwill                          |   --     | Feb.  1917
  Lieut. R. A. Kirkpatrick                      |   --     | April 1918
  Capt. H. Kirton                               |   --     | Jan.  1917
  Capt. M. B. Knowles                           | Missing  | April 1917
  Lieut. R. H. Knowles                          |   --     |     --
  Lieut. T. Langwill                            | Missing  | April 1917
  Capt. J. D. Latta, M.C.                       |   --     | Nov.  1916
  2/Lieut. J. Laurie-Reid                       |   --     | May   1916
  Lieut. (Hon. Capt.) J. K. Law                 | Missing  | Sept. 1917
  2/Lieut. L. H. Leckie                         |   --     | April 1917
  Lieut. H. M. Lewis                            |   --     | July  1917
  Lieut. R. G. Lewis                            | Missing  | March 1918
  Lieut. D. R. C. Lloyd                         | Missing  | June  1917
  Capt. E. A. Lloyd                             |   --     | Jan.  1917
  Major G. L. Lloyd, M.C., A.F.C.               |   --     | June  1917
  Lieut. L. B. Loughran, American Air Service   | Killed   | July  1918
  2/Lieut. J. C. Louw                           |   --     | March 1918
  Lieut. (Hon. Capt.) R. J. S. Lund             |   --     | Sept. 1918
  Capt. J. D. McCall                            |   --     | Nov.  1917
  Lieut. W. F. McCarthy                         | Wounded  | Nov.  1918
  Lieut. E. J. C. McCracken                     | Missing  | Aug.  1918
  Major J. B. McCudden, V.C., D.S.O. and Bar,   |          |
      M.C. and Bar, Croix de Guerre, Mil. Medal | Killed   | July  1918
  F/Lieut. B. McEntegart                        |   --     | Aug.  1918
  Lieut. I. C. MacGregor                        | Injured  | Sept. 1917
  2/Lieut. N. C. Mackey                         |   --     | Sept. 1918
  2/Lieut. C. W. McKissock                      | Missing  | May   1917
  2/Lieut. R. D. McLennan                       | Killed   | Dec.  1917
  Lieut. J. E. C. MacVicker                     | Killed   | June  1918
  2/Lieut. H. E. Martin                         | Killed   | Nov.  1916
  F/Officer S. J. Mason                         |   --     | Sept. 1918
  Major H. Meintjies, M.C., A.F.C.              |   --     | May   1916
  Capt. P. Middlemas, M.B.E.                    |   --     | Feb.  1917
  2/Lieut. S. C. Millar                         |   --     | July  1918
  Major J. A. Milot                             | Missing  | April 1917
  Capt. W. E. Molesworth, M.C. and Bar, Italian |          |
      Medal (Silver) for Military Valour        |   --     | March 1917
  Capt. H. A. S. Molyneux, D.F.C.               |   --     | March 1918
  Lieut.-Col. B. F. Moore                       |   --     | Jan.  1918
  Lieut. A. W. Morey, M.C.                      | Killed   | Jan.  1918
  Lieut. D. H. Morris                           |   --     | Oct.  1917
  Capt. F. J. Morse, Croix de Guerre (French)   |   --     | Dec.  1918
  Lieut. A. W. M. Mowle                         | Injured  | July  1917
  Lieut. D. C. G. Murray                        | Missing  | June  1917
  2/Lieut. W. B. Newth                          | Killed   | Sept. 1918
  2/Lieut. H. J. Newton                         | Missing  | May   1916
  Lieut. B. Nicholson                           |   --     | Sept. 1917
  Lieut. J. I. M. O’Beirne                      |   --     | May   1916
  Lieut. A. R. Oliver                           |   --     | Aug.  1918
  Lieut. J. A. N. Ormsby                        | Missing  | July  1916
  Lieut. H. C. M. Orpen                         |   --     | Sept. 1918
  Lieut. E. R. Ortner                           |   --     | March 1918
  Lieut. F. H. Osborne                          |   --     | Sept. 1918
  Lieut. G. E. Osmond                           |   --     | March 1917
  Lieut. C. F. Overy                            |   --     | May   1916
  Capt. G. A. Parker, M.C., D.S.O.              | Missing  | Nov.  1916
  Major S. E. Parker, M.B.E., A.F.C.            |   --     | Aug.  1916
  2/Lieut. F. C. Parkes                         |   --     | June  1917
  Lieut. G. A. H. Parkes                        | Missing  | July  1917
  Capt. C. Parry, D.F.C.                        | Wounded  | July  1918
  Major C. K. C. Patrick, D.S.O., M.C. and Bar  |   --     | Aug.  1917
  Major C. Patteson, M.C., A.F.C., Croix de     |          |
      Guerre (French)                           |   --     | May   1917
  Capt. A. R. Penny, M.C.                       |   --     | June  1917
  Lieut. E. W. Percival                         |   --     | May   1917
  2/Lieut. R. M. Phalen                         | Missing  | May   1917
  Capt. G. Phillippi, M.C.                      | Wounded  | Sept  1916
  F/Officer G. A. H. Pidcock, Croix de Guerre   |          |
      (French)                                  |   --     | Jan.  1917
  F/Officer S. L. Pope                          |   --     | May   1917
  Sqdn.-Ldr. C. F. A. Portal, M.C., D.S.O. and  |          |
      Bar                                       |   --     | May   1916
  2/Lieut. O. Price                             |   --     | June  1918
  Lieut. J. O. Priestley                        |   --     | Nov.  1917
  Lieut. H. N. J. Proctor                       |   --     | March 1918
  Capt. E. B. A. Rayner                         |   --     | Jan.  1917
  Capt. J. W. Rayner                            |   --     | Aug.  1918
  Lieut. F. K. Read, American Air Service       |   --     | June  1918
  2/Lieut. D. M. Robertson                      | Missing  | April 1917
  Lieut. N. McL. Robertson                      | Killed   | Oct.  1916
  Lieut. H. G. Ross                             | Injured  | May   1917
  Lieut. J. A. Roth, United States Air Service  |   --     | Oct.  1918
  Capt. B. Roxburgh-Smith, D.F.C. and Bar,      |          |
      Croix de Guerre (Belgian)                 | Injured  | Feb.  1917
  Lieut. N. C. Roystan                          | Injured  | Feb.  1918
  Lieut. W. O. Russell                          | Missing  | April 1917
  Capt. W. J. Rutherford                        |   --     | May   1917
  Lieut. A. W. Saunders, D.F.C.                 |   --     | Feb.  1918
  Capt. O. J. F. Scholte, M.C.                  | Killed   | July  1918
  Grp.-Capt. A. J. L. Scott, C.B., M.C., A.F.C. | Wounded  | April 1917
  Capt. J. Seabrook, A.F.C.                     |   --     | Oct.  1916
  Capt. F. H. B. Selous, M.C., Italian Silver   |          |
      Medal                                     | Killed   | Sept. 1917
  Lieut. W. B. Sherwood                         | Missing  | Oct.  1917
  Lieut. R. G. Sillars                          |   --     | May   1917
  F/Lieut. J. H. Simpson                        |   --     | May   1916
  2/Lieut. M. D. Sinclair                       |   --     | June  1918
  2/Lieut. G. O. Smart                          | Missing  | April 1917
  Sqdn.-Ldr. H. G. Smart                        |   --     | May   1916
  Lieut. J. E. Smith                            | Missing  | Sept. 1918
  2/Lieut. L. H. Smith                          | Missing  | Oct.  1918
  Lieut. R. H. Smith                            |   --     | Sept. 1918
  Lieut.-Col. R. R. Smith-Barry, A.F.C.,        |          |
      Chevalier de l’Ordre de Leopold           |   --     | May   1916
  F/Lieut. F. O. Soden, D.F.C.                  |   --     | July  1917
  2/Lieut. L. V. Southwell                      | Injured  | March 1918
  Sqdn.-Ldr. W. Sowrey, A.F.C.                  |   --     | Nov.  1916
  Lieut. J. M. J. Spencer                       | Missing  | Oct.  1916
  Lieut. F. Stedman                             | Missing  | April 1917
  2/Lieut. R. B. Steele                         | Injured  | Sept. 1917
  2/Lieut. L. G. Stockwell                      | Missing  | Oct.  1918
  T/Capt. V. A. Stookes, M.C.                   |  --      | Oct.  1916
  2/Lieut. H. S. Stuart-Smith                   | Missing  | Sept. 1918
  Lieut. E. A. Sullock, A.F.C.                  |  --      | March 1918
  Capt. A. S. M. Summers                        | Missing  | Sept. 1916
  2/Lieut. H. E. Talbot                         |  --      | Dec.  1918
  Capt. H. S. Taylor                            |  --      | Aug.  1916
  Capt. G. J. Temperley                         | Injured  | Oct.  1917
  Lieut. G. E. Tennant                          |  --      | Sept. 1918
  Lieut. O. Thamer                              | Missing  | Jan.  1918
  2/Lieut. S. A. Thomson                        | Missing  | Sept. 1918
  F/Officer E. Thornton                         |  --      | Jan.  1918
  Capt. H. C. Tower                             | Missing  | May   1916
  F/Lieut. E. J. D. Townesend                   | Missing  | April 1917
  Lieut. J. W. Trusler                          |  --      | Feb.  1918
  2/Lieut. F. E. Upton-Smith                    |  --      | Feb.  1918
  Capt. S. F. Vincent, A.F.C.                   |  --      | July  1916
  Lieut. B. M. Wainwright                       | Missing  | July  1916
  Major F. F. Waldron                           | Killed   | May   1916
  Lieut. Walker                                 |  --      | Aug.  1916
  Lieut. A. M. Walters                          |  --      | Sept. 1916
  Capt. L. S. Weedon                            |  --      | Sept. 1916
  2/Lieut. A. N. Westergaard                    |  --      | June  1918
  2/Lieut. M. West-Thompson                     | Killed   | Sept. 1917
  Lieut. A. D. Whitehead                        | Missing  | March 1917
  Capt. L. E. Whitehead                         | Wounded  | June  1916
  Lieut. J. O. Whiting                          | Missing  | Sept. 1917
  Lieut. R. K. Whitney, D.F.C.                  | Wounded  | Aug.  1918
  2/Lieut. R. C. R. Wilde                       |  --      | Oct.  1918
  Lieut. C. Williams                            | Missing  | May   1916
  2/Lieut. V. F. Williams                       | Missing  | April 1917
  2/Lieut. J. Winslow                           |  --      | Oct.  1918
  Lieut. C. O. Wright                           |  --      | Aug.  1917
  Lieut. G. C. Young                            |  --      | May   1917




APPENDIX II

BATTLE CASUALTIES


In this list each officer is given in the rank which he held at the
time he was wounded or missing. It is very apparent that it was during
April 1917 that the squadron went through the bitterest fighting. There
were 20 casualties in this month alone. The worst month after this was
September 1917, with 8 casualties, while in July and again in September
1918, 6 pilots “went west.”

These figures show clearly the increase in the intensity of air
fighting as the contest wore on. In August 1916, when 60 was still a
two-seater squadron with only one scout flight, we lost 5 pilots and 2
observers; this was thought at the time to be high, as indeed it was
according to the standard of those days, though several other squadrons
lost more heavily during the Somme. Nevertheless, the figures show only
too clearly that the Arras fighting was far the severest trial 60 ever
had, for during April 1917 the losses were 105 per cent. The total
number of Battle Casualties is 115, sustained during 29 months of war
flying, giving an average of just under 4 per month, or nearly one a
week.

An analysis of the figures shows that 76 of these 115 were killed,
while 39 are alive, unless, indeed, they were killed with another
squadron later in the war: but this could only have happened to the 21
wounded who got back to their own side of the lines.

Of the 72 missing, 54 are dead, 17 were repatriated from Germany, while
one, Ridley, escaped.

Though it was true to say that roughly half of our missing in the Air
Force were alive, it will be seen that in 60’s case the average was
much smaller, only 25 per cent. instead of 50 per cent.

  --------------------------+---------+----------+----------------------
            Name.           |Casualty.|   Date.  |         Details.
  --------------------------+---------+----------+----------------------
  Major F. F. Waldron       | Killed  |  3.7.16  | Died whilst Prisoner
                            |         |          |   of War.
  Lieut. N. A.              | Missing | 21.7.16  | Officially reported
    Browning-Paterson       |         |          |   killed.
  Lieut. L. E. Whitehead    | Wounded | 30.7.16  | (Missing 20.5.18--65
                            |         |          |   Sqdn.) Death
                            |         |          |   presumed.
  Lieut. W. E. G. Bryant    | Wounded | 30.7.16  |
  Capt. L. S. Charles       | Missing | 30.7.16  | Died whilst P. of W.
  Lieut. C. Williams        | Killed  | 30.7.16  |
  2/Lieut. L. L. Clark      | Missing |  2.8.16  | Death accepted.
  Lieut. J. A. N. Ormsby    | Missing |  2.8.16  | Officially reported
                            |         |          |   killed.
  2/Lieut. H. J. Newton     | Missing |  2.8.16  | Death accepted
                            |         |          |   2.8.16.
  F/Lieut. C. A. Ridley     | Missing |  3.8.16  | Escaped from Germany
                            |         |          |   13.10.16.
  2/Lieut. J. M. Drysdale   | Wounded | 25.8.16  |
  2/Lieut. B. M. Wainwright | Missing | 28.8.16  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   1.1.19.
  Capt. A. S. M. Summers    | Missing | 15.9.16  | Killed.
  Capt. H. C. Tower         | Missing | 19.9.16  | Death accepted.
  2/Lieut. G. Phillippi     | Wounded | 26.9.16  |
  Lieut. N. McL. Robertson  | Killed  | 17.10.16 | Died of wounds.
  2260 Sergt. A. Walker     | Killed  | 25.10.16 |
  Lieut. W. M. Carlyle      | Missing | 26.10.16 | Death accepted.
  Lieut. J. M. J. Spencer   | Missing |  3.11.16 | Killed.
  Lieut. A. D. Bell-Irving  | Wounded |  9.11.16 |
  2/Lieut. H. E. Martin     | Killed  | 16.11.16 |
  Lieut. D. H. Bacon        | Missing | 16.11.16 | Death accepted.
  Capt. G. A. Parker        | Missing | 27.11.16 | Death accepted.
  Capt. E. D. Grenfell      | Wounded | 11.12.16 |
  2/Lieut. E. J. L. W.      |         |          |
    Gilchrist               | Wounded | 11.12.16 |
  2/Lieut. R. Hopper        | Killed  | 11.1.17  | Savy.
  2/Lieut. E. G. Herbert    | Wounded | 28.1.17  | While salving a
                            |         |          |   wrecked machine.
  Major E. P. Graves        | Killed  |  6.3.17  | Rivière.
  2/Lieut. P. S. Joyce      | Missing |  6.3.17  |
  Lieut. A. D. Whitehead    | Missing | 11.3.17  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   20.1.18.
  Lieut. C. McH. M. Caffyn  | Killed  | 28.3.17  | Le Hameau.
  Lieut. W. P. Garnett      | Missing | 30.3.17  | Death accepted.
  2/Lieut. F. Bower         | Died of | 31.3.17  | Died of wounds.
                            |  wounds |          |
  2/Lieut. V. F. Williams   | Missing |  2.4.17  | Death accepted.
  Lieut. E. J. D. Townesend | Missing |  5.4.17  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   20.1.18.
  2/Lieut. G. O. Smart      | Missing |  7.4.17  | Killed.
  2/Lieut. C. S. Hall       | Missing |  7.4.17  | Killed.
  Capt. M. B. Knowles       | Missing |  7.4.17  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   14.12.18.
  Lieut. W. O. Russell      | Missing | 14.4.17  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   2.1.19.
  2/Lieut. L. C. Chapman    | Missing | 14.4.17  | Died of wounds.
  Capt. A. Binnie           | Missing | 14.4.17  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   7.1.18.
  2/Lieut. J. H. Cock       | Missing | 14.4.17  | Death accepted.
  2/Lieut. H. E. Hervey     | Missing | 15.4.17  | Repatriated P. of W.
  Major J. A. Milot         | Missing | 15.4.17  | Reported dead (German
                            |         |          |   source).
  Lieut. J. McC. Elliott    | Killed  | 16.4.17  |
  2/Lieut. D. N. Robertson  | Missing | 16.4.17  | Death accepted.
  Lieut. T. Langwill        | Missing | 16.4.17  | Death accepted.
  2/Lieut. R. E. Kimbell    | Missing | 16.4.17  | Killed in action.
  Lieut. T. L. Atkinson     | Wounded | 20.4.17  |
  2/Lieut. N. P. Henderson  | Wounded | 26.4.17  |
  2/Lieut. F. Stedman       | Missing | 27.4.17  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   31.12.18.
  2/Lieut. H. G. Ross       | Wounded | 28.4.17  |
  2/Lieut. R. B. Clark      | Died of |          |
                            |  wounds | 30.4.17  | Died of wounds
                            |         |          |   1.5.17.
  2/Lieut. C. W. McKissock  | Missing |  6.5.17  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   14.12.18.
  Lieut. G. D. Hunter       | Missing |  6.5.17  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   20.1.18.
  2/Lieut. E. S. Howard     | Killed  | 18.5.17  | Tilloy-les-Hemaville.
  2/Lieut. R. J. Grandin    | Killed  | 18.5.17  | N. Rémy.
  2/Lieut. W. Gilchrist     | Missing | 25.5.17  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   17.11.18.
  2/Lieut. R. M. Phalen     | Missing | 28.5.17  | Killed.
  2/Lieut. R. M. Harris     | Killed  |  7.6.17  | Le Hameau.
  Lieut. D. R. C. Lloyd     | Missing | 16.6.17  | Reported dead (German
                            |         |          |   source).
  Lieut. D. C. G. Murray    | Missing | 27.6.17  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   9.12.18.
  Lieut. A. R. Adam         | Missing |  3.7.17  | Killed.
  Major A. J. L. Scott      | Wounded | 10.7.17  |
  2/Lieut. G. A. H. Parkes  | Missing | 15.7.17  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   23.12.18.
  Lieut. A. W. M. Mowle     | Wounded | 22.7.17  |
  2/Lieut. W. H. Gunner     | Missing | 29.7.17  | Death accepted.
  Lieut. H. T. Hammond      | Missing | 14.9.17  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   18.12.18.
  2/Lieut. J. J. A. Hawtrey | Missing | 16.9.17  | Reported died (German
                            |         |          |   source).
  19130 Sergt. J. W.        |         |          |
    Bancroft                | Missing | 20.9.17  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   19.12.18.
  Capt. J. K. Law           | Missing | 21.9.17  | Death accepted.
  Lieut. J. O. Whiting      | Missing | 22.9.17  | Death accepted.
  Lieut. I. C. MacGregor    | Wounded | 22.9.17  |
  89279 2/A.M. H. H. Bright | Missing | 23.9.17  | Reported killed
                            |         |          |   19.10.17.
  2/Lieut. J. H. Flynn      | Killed  | 30.9.17  |
  2/Lieut. J. J. Fitzgerald | Missing |  5.10.17 | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   18.12.18.
  Lieut. W. B. Sherwood     | Missing | 27.10.17 | Death accepted.
  Capt. J. C. A. Caunter    | Missing | 28.10.17 | Killed.
  Lieut. W. E. Jenkins      | Killed  | 23.11.17 |
  2/Lieut. M. West-Thompson | Killed  | 23.11.17 |
  2/Lieut. R. W. McLennan   | Killed  | 23.12.17 |
  Capt. F. H. B. Selous     | Killed  |  4.1.18  | Collision in the air.
  2/Lieut. O. Thamer        | Missing |  6.1.18  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   22.11.18.
  Lieut. A. W. Morey, M.C.  | Killed  | 24.1.18  |
  2/Lieut. A. C. Ball       | Missing |  5.2.18  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   14.12.18.
  2/Lieut. N. C. Roystan    | Wounded | 18.2.18  |
  2/Lieut. C. B. Craig      | Missing | 21.2.18  | Death accepted.
  2/Lieut. W. M. Kent       | Missing | 21.2.18  | Death accepted.
  Lieut. L. V. Southwell    | Wounded |  6.3.18  | Died of wounds
                            |         |          |   14.3.18.
  2/Lieut. E. W. Christie   | Missing |  2.4.18  | Presumed dead.
  Capt. K. Crawford         | Missing | 11.4.18  | Presumed dead.
  2/Lieut. H. N. J. Proctor | Missing | 16.5.18  | Presumed dead.
  Lieut. J. Headlam         | Killed  | 30.5.18  |
  Capt. J. D. Belgrave      | Missing | 13.6.18  | Presumed dead.
  Lieut. R. G. Lewis        | Missing | 13.6.18  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   13.12.18.
  Lieut. H. A. Gordon       | Missing |  7.7.18  | Presumed dead.
  Capt. G. C. Dell-Clarke   | Killed  | 16.7.18  |
  Lieut. J. S. Griffith     | Wounded | 18.7.18  |
  Lieut. J. E. C. MacVicker | Missing | 22.7.18  | Presumed dead.
  Lieut. L. B. Loughram     | Killed  | 28.7.18  |
  Capt. C. Parry            | Wounded | 29.7.18  | Wounded.
  2/Lieut. J. G. Hall       | Missing |  8.8.18  | Presumed dead.
  2/Lieut. H. Buckley       | Wounded | 10.8.18  |
  2/Lieut. R. K. Whitney    | Wounded | 11.8.18  |
  Lieut. J. R. Anderson     | Killed  | 13.8.18  |
  Lieut. E. C. J. McCracken | Missing | 13.8.18  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   14.12.18.
  Lieut. S. W. Keen         | Killed  | 21.8.18  | Died of wounds at 3rd
                            |         |          |   Can. C.C.S.
  2/Lieut. S. A. Thomson    | Missing |  5.9.18  | Presumed dead.
  Capt. J. E. Doyle         | Missing |  5.9.18  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   30.12.18.
  Lieut. J. E. Smith        | Missing | 17.9.18  | Reported killed in
                            |         |          |   action.
  2/Lieut. H. S. Smith      | Missing | 15.9.18  | Killed in action.
  Lieut. G. F. C. Caswell   | Missing | 20.9.18  | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   9.12.18
  2/Lieut. H. F. V. Battle  | Wounded | 20.9.18  |
  Lieut. L. H. Smith        | Missing | 26.10.18 | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   9.12.18.
  2/Lieut. L. G. Stockwell  | Missing | 28.10.18 | Repatriated P. of W.
                            |         |          |   9.12.18.
  --------------------------+---------+----------+----------------------




FOOTNOTES


[1] By means of which the machine is tilted sideways.

[2] Anti-aircraft or high-angle guns on the ground.

[3] All flying machines were known as “grids” in the squadron.

[4] The F.E.8 was a “pusher” machine, that is with the engine and
propeller behind the pilot. It was used for reconnaissance work at this
time, but later became one of our night-bombing aeroplanes.

[5] Used for signals. It fired a kind of cartridge from which a flaming
ball was discharged of red, green, or white lights.

[6] The weekly official record of work done by the R.F.C., including
all scraps in which the Hun “crashed” or “went down out of control.”

[7] Anti-aircraft guns or shells.

[8] It is very difficult to fly by compass in clouds for any length of
time.

[9] Kite balloon.

[10] These machines were some of the first to be used for
reconnaissance purposes. They did about ninety miles an hour “all out,”
and were therefore difficult to handle against the faster Albatros. It
is very often the duty of reconnaissance machines not to engage in a
fight, as their news may be lost.

[11] When every machine gets mixed up in a sort of mêlée.

[12] Either of the D3 or D5 type, which was generally used by the enemy
at this time. It was an efficient machine for speed, but could not
climb as well as our scouts.

[13] A machine is spinning when it is diving towards the ground turning
in a corkscrew fashion.

[14] Most fighting is now done in “formation,” that is in an organised
pack. Either the machines fly in the shape of a wedge or a diamond, or
in some order which is most convenient to the “leader.”

[15] It is very often impossible to watch a machine after it has been
hit until it “crashes.” It is, therefore, counted as out of control.
Sometimes this was used as a “blind” by some pilots to escape. They
simply let the machine do what it liked, and when near the ground took
control again.

[16] A vehicle used for moving dismantled aeroplanes by road.

[17] A pet name used for artillery machines of the B.E. type.

[18] The Huns always used to bombard certain areas in the morning and
evening. These bombardments were known as the morning and evening hate.

[19] These rockets were invented by a Frenchman and used for balloon
strafing. They were placed in cases on the struts, and were fired by
electricity. The rocket was about 1½ feet long and the stick about 3
feet.

[20] These are used, generally in the ratio of one to four ordinary
or armour-piercing bullets, to show the general direction in which
the burst of fire is going. Instead of being filled with lead like
the ordinary bullet, they contain phosphorus, which commences to burn
as soon as the bullet is discharged from the machine gun, and leaves
behind it a trail of smoke and fire to mark its course.

[21] A number of balls of fire fastened together and shot up into the
air in order to fall over the attacking machine and bring it down in
flames.

[22] A type of machine gun. The bullets are fed from a “drum” which is
automatically turned when the gun fires.

[23] The tail plane which is used to direct the machine up or down.

[24] Tennis.

[25] A pilot who has brought down five or more enemy machines.

[26] Corresponds to an Adjutant in an infantry battalion.

[27] Bishop.

[28] _A.M.L.O._: Assistant Military Landing Officer.

[29] Bishop, who got his V.C. for this.

[30] An indefinitely large number.

[31] Trick flying.

[32] A formidable line of trenches branching off from the main
Hindenburg line of Quéant and defending Douai.

[33] A stream flowing north of Arras.

[34] Same as wind up, or fright.

[35] One of the most famous formations of enemy scouts, composed of the
“crack” German pilots. Their machines generally had red bodies.

[36] A piece of aluminium shaped so as to cover the engine.

[37] A main plane is made up of two spars on which the ribs are fixed.

[38] Body of the machine.

[39] A barbarous word invented by the Army, and which means “alighting
from an omnibus.”

[40] This, I am afraid, is not quite accurate, as a glance at Appendix
II will show.

[41] Ypres.

[42] Cassel.

[43] A type of hangar invented by a Frenchman and generally used on our
aerodromes in France.

[44] A method used to bring a machine down quickly without gaining
speed.

[45] Air mechanics.

[46] Bishop.

[47] Scott.

[48] Scott.

[49] G. L. Lloyd.

[50] Penny.

[51] The S.E.5s.

[52] Bishop.

[53] Bishop.

[54] Home Establishment.




INDEX


  “Ace,” a French, 60 _and note_[25]

  Adam, Lieut. A. R., 128, 136

  Adinfer Wood, 35;
    German trenches, 37-8

  Aeroplane Supply Depot, No. 1, 112

  Air Board Training Division, 87

  Air Force Mechanical Transport, work of, 116-17

  Albatros machines, 29-30, 31-2, 38, 42 _note_[10], 43 _and
           note_[12], 54, 55, 88, 103

  Albert, 30

  Allenby, General, inspection of 60 Squadron, 53, 56-7;
    sent to Egypt, 106

  Americans, the, at Beugnatre, 118;
    men serving in English scout squadrons, 121-2

  Amiens, 13, 106, 115-16;
    a dinner in, 118

  Anderson, Lieut. J. R., 128, 137

  “Archie” gunners, 8, 22, 34 _and note_[7], 35, 51-3

  Armistice, the, 90, 122-4

  Armstrong, Capt. D. V., 3, 8, 11, 15, 17-19;
    death, 72-3, 128

  -- Lieut. J. L., 128

  Army of the Rhine, 126

  Arras, 26, 56, 67;
    battle of, 22, 30-64

  Arras-Albert Sector, the German retreat, 32-3

  Arras-Cambrai road, 11-12

  Artillery horses, 83

  Artillery registration, German, 58-9, 61-2

  Aspinall, Sergt.-Major, 4-5, 23

  Atkinson, Lieut. F. L., 128, 136

  Ayling, 2/Lieut. W. R., 128


  B.E. machines, 9, 41

  B.E.2C. machines, 2

  Baalman, Lieut. J., 128

  Bacon, Lieut. D. H., 128, 135

  Bailleul aerodrome, 105

  Baisieux, 116

  Baker, Lieut. C. G., 128

  Balfour, Major H. H., 3, 90, 128;
    description of a flight, 11-13

  Ball, Captain A., 15-17, 39, 73, 81, 128

  -- Lieut. A. C., 88-9, 128, 137

  “Balloon strafing,” 20-1, 38, 47-48;
    account by Captain Molesworth, 50-3

  Bancroft, Sergt., 69, 136

  Bapaume, 15, 17, 18, 36, 94, 118

  Barnaby, Capt. H. O., of the “archie” gunners, 22

  Barnett, Lieut. H. J. O., 128

  Barrington-Kennet, Basil, 4

  Bartlett, Lieut. J. N., 106, 128

  Baths, camp, 95, 96

  Battle, F/Officer H. F. V., 128, 138

  Beck, Capt. A., 115, 122, 128

  Belgian troops, rations and ammunitions for, 116

  Belgrave, Capt. J. D., 73, 111, 128, 137

  Bellevue, 105-6

  Bell-Irving, Major A. D., 3, 15, 17, 21, 23, 128, 135

  Bessoneau hangars, 94 _and note_[43]

  Beugnatre, 116, 118

  Bigood, 2/Lieut. J., 3, 128

  Binnie, Capt. A., 39, 44-5, 128, 136

  Biplanes, Morane, 5, 6

  Bishop, Lieut.-Col. W. A., 40, 45, 47, 49, 61-3, 66, 73, 81, 90, 97,
          101-2, 104, 112, 128

  Black Boy, dog, 96

  Black, Capt. C. T., 39, 128

  Blake, Capt. C. L., 128

  Blessley, Lieut. R. C. W., 128

  Boffles, 60 Squadron at, 106, 116

  Boisdinghem, 60 Squadron moved to, 8

  Booby traps, 36, 38, 123

  Boulogne, 83

  Bourlon Wood, 118

  Bower, 2/Lieut. F., 47-8, 129, 135

  Brackenbury, Lieut. H. S., 45, 129

  Breguet machine, 119-21

  Bright, 89279 2/A.M. H. H., 137

  Bristol machines, 2, 39, 115

  Browning-Paterson, Capt. H. A., 3, 129, 135

  Bruay mines, 57

  Brussels, 9

  Bryant, Capt. W. E. G., 3, 129, 135

  Bryning, Lieut. H. E. W., 129

  Buckingham bullets, 21, 51

  Buckley, 2/Lieut. H., 115, 129, 137

  “Bullets,” Morane, 5, 6-8, 11

  Burbidge, 2/Lieut. E. A., 129

  Burke, _Reflections on the Revolution in France_, _quoted_,
          74-5

  Burning machine, a, described, 102-3

  Busigny, 15


  Caffyn, Lieut. C. McH. M., 45-6, 129, 135

  Caldwell, Major K. L., 28, 31, 39, 57, 66, 70, 73, 129

  Callaghan, Lieut. L. K., 118

  Cambrai, 15, 50, 56, 118, 122;
    attack November 20, 79

  Camel machines on the Somme, 18;
    for 151 Squadron, 71;
    for 148 Squadron, 117

  Campbell, Lieut. K. T., 129

  Canada, the elections, 84

  Canadian cavalry, 40

  Canadians, first contingent, 40;
    in the R.A.F., 81

  Capel, Lieut. L. H. T., 129

  Carleton, Capt. C. W., 129

  Carlyle, Lieut. W. M., 129, 135

  Carter, Lieut. A., 70, 129

  Cass, 2/Lieut. W. E., 129

  Cassel, 70, 86

  Casualties, the first Flying Corps, 13;
    list of, 134-8

  Caswell, Lieut. G. F., 129, 138

  Caudry Station blown up, 123

  Caunter, Capt. J. C. A., 129, 137

  Cavendish, Lord John, ideal of a gentleman’s character, 74, 78-9

  Cecil, Lord Hugh, on the education of the future R.A.F. officer, 74,
          124

  Cemeteries, German, 36

  Central Flying School, Uphaven, 3, 81

  Chapman, 2/Lieut. L. C., 129, 136

  “Character of a gentleman,” 74-9

  Charles, Capt. L. S., 129, 135

  Chidlaw-Roberts, Capt. R. L., 70, 73, 129

  Chinese coolies, 83-4

  Chipilly, 47

  Christie, 2/Lieut. E. W., 129, 137

  Church Army huts, 84

  Churchill, Mr., 125

  Cinema, the, 101

  “Circus,” the, red-painted German machines, 30, 38, 54, 67 _and
           note_[35]

  Cizancourt Bridge, 19

  Clare, Capt. S., 129

  Clark, Capt. F. W., 89, 129

  -- 2/Lieut. L. L., 3, 129, 135

  -- 2/Lieut. R. B., 48-9, 129, 136

  Clarke, Major A. C., 114, 129;
    Armistice dinner, 123-4

  Clay, T., Flight Commander, 118

  Clouds, difficulties of flying in, 34-5

  Cock, Lieut. J. H., 129, 136

  Cole, A/Capt. E. S. T., 129

  Collier, Capt. J., 129

  _Comic Cuts_, 27 _and note_[6]

  Compass, use in clouds, 34 _and note_[8]

  Compass stations, 58-9

  Conrad, on the west wind, 109-10

  Cooper bombs, 18, 19, 70

  Copeland, Capt. W. H. K., 106, 129

  Courcelette, 15

  Court, Lieut. G. F., 129

  Craig, 2/Lieut. G. B., 129, 137

  Crane, Lieut. F. D., 129

  Crashes, 91

  Crawford, Capt. K., 129, 137

  Creech, Lieut. J. O., 118

  Croisille, 34

  Crompton, Lieut. H. D., 89, 90, 129

  -- Lieut. J. B., 70, 129

  Cros, Lieut. G. L. Du, 129

  Crowe, Major C. M., 114, 129

  Cunningham, Lieut. C. F., 129


  Dainville, 32

  Dalmeny, Lord, 106

  Daly, F/Lieut. A. P. V., 31, 129

  Davies, Capt. I. Meredyth, 111, 129

  Day, Lieut. W. B., 129

  De Havilland machines, 115;
    60 Squadron equipped with, 126

  “Debussing,” term, 72 _and note_[39]

  Delay-action mines, 36, 123

  Dell-Clarke, Capt. G. C., 129, 137

  Demobilisation, 125-7

  Densham, 2/Lieut. E. W. C., 129

  Devastation by the enemy, 35-6

  Dixmude, 119

  Dobson, F/Lieut. G. W., 24-5, 129

  Doby, batman, 14

  “Dog-fights,” 43 _and note_[11], 54

  Dogs of 60 Squadron, 84, 96

  “Dope” treatment for aeroplane fabric, 28

  Douai, 9, 42, 47, 54, 66 _note_[32], 88, 94

  Doullens, 105

  Doullens-Amiens road, 8

  Doyle, Capt. J. E., 115, 129, 137

  Drocourt Switch, 66 _and note_[32]

  Drocourt-Quéant Switch, 94

  Drummond, Lieut. L., 129

  Drysdale, Capt. J. M., 129, 135

  Duck-boards, 83

  Dug-outs, German, 36-8

  Duncan, Capt. G. M., 115, 116, 129

  -- Capt. W. J. A., 73, 89, 90, 106, 111, 129

  Dutch frontier escapes, 9


  Eleventh Wing, the, 60 Squadron moved to, 65, 69

  Elgood, 2/Lieut. J., 129

  Elliott, Lieut. G. F., 129

  -- Lieut. J. McC., 47, 130, 136

  Engines, air-cooled rotaries, 25, 65;
    water-cooled stationaries, 25, 65-6

  Epinoy aerodrome, 114

  Estrées-en-Chaussée, attacks on, 18-20

  Etaples, 63, 126

  Evans, Lieut. C. D., 89, 130

  “Evening hate,” 49 _and note_[18]


  F.E.8 machines, 26 _and note_[4], 94, 95

  Fampoux, 47

  Fienvilliers, 106

  Fifth Army, 70

  Fighting in the air, conditions, 108-9

  Filescamp Farm, 60 Squadron established at, 24, 57, 69-70

  First Army front, night-bombing, 72;
    the Cambrai attack, 79

  Fitzgerald, 2/Lieut. J. J., 130, 137

  Flintoft, 2/Lieut. H. T., 130

  “Flying Pig,” the, 43

  Flynn, 2/Lieut. J. H., 130, 137

  Foch, Maréchal, 119-20

  Fokkers, produced autumn 1915, 2;
    not distinguishable from the “bullets,” 8;
    on the Somme, 12;
    the D7, 115;
    low-flying, 117-18

  Folkestone, 62

  Foot, Major E. L., 8, 15, 130

  Football teams, 23, 82-3, 125

  Formation, fighting in, 43 _and note_[14]

  Forsyth, 2/Lieut. C. V., 130

  France, Lieut. C. W., 130

  French Flying Corps, 119-20

  Frost, effect on Hun flying, 25, 31

  Fry, Capt. W. M., 46, 50, 130


  Gallais, Capt. P. E. M. Le, 130

  Gallipoli, 39

  Garnett, Lieut. W. P., 130, 135

  Gavrelle, 67

  German Flying Corps, 117, 122

  German retreat, March 1917, 33, 34;
    prisoners at Cassel, 86-7;
    courtesy, 88

  Gibbon, Lieut. F. O., 130

  Gilchrist, Lieut. W., 130, 136

  -- Major E. J. L. W., 8, 15, 17, 21, 31, 130, 135

  Giles, Capt. G. A., 23, 130

  Gnome Martinsyde scout, 23

  Good, Lieut. H., 3, 130

  Goodrich, Capt. F. E., 130

  Gordon, Lieut. H. A., 111-12, 130, 137

  Gosport School of Special Flying, 2, 14, 17

  Gotha biplanes, 18

  Gramophone Company factory at Hayes, 5

  Grandin, 2/Lieut. R. J., 45, 130, 136

  Graves, Major E. P., command of 60 Squadron, 23, 24;
    death of, 30, 31, 130, 135

  Gray, Capt. D. B., 3, 130

  Grenfell, Capt. E. O., 8, 15, 31-2, 130, 135

  “Grids,” the term, 26 _and note_[3], 28

  Griffith, Lieut. J. S., 90, 106, 111, 130, 137

  Gunner, 2/Lieut. W. H., 130, 136

  Gun-oil, non-freezing, 31

  Guy, Capt. H. W., 130


  Haig, Field-Marshal Earl, 116, 127

  Hall, Lieut. C. S., 41, 47, 66, 130, 136

  -- Lieut. J. G., 130, 137

  Hamer, Lieut. H., 130

  Hammersley, Capt. H. A., 70, 73, 89, 90, 106, 130

  Hammond, Lieut. H. T., 130, 136

  Hare-hunting, 125-6

  Harlow, 2/Lieut. L. P., 130

  Harris, Lieut. H., 3, 130

  -- 2/Lieut. R. M., 130, 136

  Havrincourt Wood, 15, 117

  Hawtrey, 2/Lieut. J. J. A., 130, 136

  Hayes, 5

  Headlam, Lieut. J., 130, 137

  Heenan, Major J. N. O., 3, 130

  Hegarty, Capt. H. G., 89, 106, 111, 130

  Hem, 106

  Hemsworth, Lieut. G. W., 84-6, 130

  Henderson, Lieut. C. R., 130

  -- Lieut. N. P., 130, 136

  Herbert, Capt. E. G., 31, 130, 135

  Hervey, Lieut. H. E., 45, 130, 136

  Hickson, 2/Lieut. F. A., 130

  Higgins, Brig.-Gen. J. F. A., 22, 23, 57;
    account of Ball’s feats, 16-17

  Hill, Sqdn.-Leader R. M., 8, 15, 17, 21, 130

  Hindenburg Line, 34, 94, 99;
    German retreat to, 123

  Hispano Suisa engine, 65, 66, 90

  Holland, Capt. C., 130

  Honours gained by 60 Squadron, 127

  Hopper, 2/Lieut. R., 31, 130, 135

  Horn, F/Lieut. S. B., 57, 66, 130

  Hôtel Continental at Paris-Plage, 63

  Howard, 2/Lieut. E. S., 130, 136;
    an adventure at Roeux, 46-7

  Hun _Jagdstaffeln_, 65

  Hunter, Lieut. G. D., 130, 136

  Hussars, the 19th, 3, 24


  Incendiary bombs, 19, 21

  Independent Air Force, 120

  India, 60 Squadron stationed in, 126

  Iron Cross, 27

  Izel le Hameau aerodrome, 21-4, 91


  Jenkins, Lieut. W. E., 66, 69, 70, 130, 137

  Johnson, Lieut. O. P., 116, 130

  Johnston, Lieut. B. S., 130

  Jones, Lieut. R. N. K., 130

  Joyce, Lieut. P. S., 131, 135


  Kate, dog, 96

  Kean, Capt. R. C., 131

  Keddie, Capt. G. D. F., 3, 131

  Keen, Lieut. S. W., 131, 137

  Kelly, Lieut. C. M., 131

  Kemmel Hill, 120

  Kent, 2/Lieut. W. M., 89-90, 131, 137

  Kerr, Lieut. J. F. M., 131

  Kight, 2/Lieut. J. L., 131

  Kimbell, 2/Lieut. R. E., 131, 136

  Kindley, F. E., 18

  King, 2/Lieut. C. H. M., 131

  Kingwill, Capt. A. N., 131

  Kirkpatrick, Lieut. R. A., 131

  Kirton, Capt. H., 131

  Kite balloons, hostile, firing of, 20-21, 38

  “Kite,” name applied to the Morane biplane, 6

  Knowles, Capt. M. B., 41, 131, 136

  -- Lieut. R. H., 3, 131


  Langwill, Lieut. T., 47, 131, 136

  Latta, Capt. J. D., 15, 17, 131

  Laurie-Reid, 2/Lieut. J., 3, 131

  Laurier, election of, 84

  Law, Capt. J. K., 70-1, 131, 137

  -- Mr. Bonar, 70

  Le Cateau, 122

  Le Hameau, 56

  Le Prieur rockets, 20, 21, 51 _and note_[19]

  Le Quesnoy, 123

  Le Rhone engine, 6, 7, 28, 65

  Leckie, 2/Lieut. L. H., 131

  Lens, 44

  Lewis, Col., 22

  -- Lieut. H. M., 131

  -- Lieut. R. G., 111-12, 131, 137

  Lewis guns, 7, 28, 52 _and note_[22], 55, 90

  Lille, 14

  Lloyd, Capt. E. A., 131

  -- Lieut. D. R. C., 50, 57, 131, 136

  -- Major G. L., 50, 57, 66, 98-9, 131

  Lobo, dog, 66

  Locre Château, 72

  London Colney, in Herts, 118

  London, defence of, 19

  Loraine, Robert, 22

  Losses, calculation of, 107-8;
    German method, 108

  Loughram, Lieut. L. B., 131, 137

  Louw, 2/Lieut. J. C., 131

  Low flying, 47

  Lucheux, Château of, 98

  Lund, Lieut. R. J. S., 131

  Lys, the, 120


  McCall, Capt. J. D., 131

  McCarthy, Lieut. W. F., 131

  McCracken, Lieut. E. J. C., 131, 137

  McCudden, Major J. B., 112-4, 131

  McEntegart, F/Lieut. B., 116, 131

  MacGregor, Lieut. I. C., 70, 131, 137

  Machines, faulty, 45-6

  Mackey, 2/Lieut. N. C., 131

  McKissock, 2/Lieut. C. D., 131, 136

  McLean, Lieut. C. T., 118

  Maclennan, 2/Lieut. R. D., 131, 137;
    his letters _quoted_, 80-7

  MacVicker, Lieut. J. E. C., 131, 137

  Marie Capelle aerodrome, 70, 80, 88, 91;
    described by 2/Lieut. R. W. Maclennan, 81-7

  Marlborough in Flanders, 98

  Marquise, 112

  Martin, 2/Lieut. H. E., 131, 135

  Martinpuich, 15

  Mason, F/Officer S. J., 116, 131

  Maubeuge, 123

  Meintjies, Major H., 3, 8, 15, 17, 23, 31, 39, 131

  Menin, 73

  Mesopotamia, 70

  Message-dropping, novel system, 72-3

  Messines Ridge, 65

  Metz, 120

  Middlemas, Capt. P., 23, 131

  Millar, 2/Lieut. S. C., 131

  Milot, Major J. A., 45, 131, 136

  Moislans, 19

  Molesworth, Capt. W. E., 38, 47, 57, 131;
    letters of, describing fights, _quoted_, 25-7, 35-8, 42-4,
          50-3, 66-9;
    on the feelings and emotions of a scout pilot, 92-105;
    honours for, 66, 105

  Molyneux, Capt. H. A. S., 131

  Monchy-au-Bois, 35

  Monchy-le-Preux, 55

  Mons, 13, 14

  Moore, Major B. F., 88, 112, 131

  Moranes (French machine) supplied to 60 Squadron, 3, 5, 6-8, 11, 91

  Morey, Lieut. A. W., 88, 131, 137

  Morris, Lieut. D. H., 131

  Morse, Capt. F. J., 131

  Mowle, Lieut. A. W. M., 132, 136

  Murray, Lieut. D. C. G., 132, 136


  Nancy, 118

  Netheravon, 23

  Newman, “Idea of a University” _quoted_, 74, 76-8

  Newth, 2/Lieut. W. B., 132

  Newton, 2/Lieut. H. J., 3, 132, 135

  Nicholson, Lieut. B., 14, 132

  Nicod, Sergt., 22

  Nieuport machines, given to 1 Squadron, 2;
    60 Squadron equipped with, 21-2, 54-5;
    description, 27-9, 65, 91;
    the Albatros and, compared, 38;
    given to 29 Squadron, 41

  Night bombing, Hun, 71-2

  Night Flying Squadron 151, 17

  Ninth Division in Gallipoli, 39

  Nissen huts, 24, 96


  O’Beirne, Lieut. J. I. M., 3, 132

  Offensive, March 1918, 92-124

  Oliver, Lieut. A. R., 132

  “Onions, flaming,” 52 _and note_[21]

  Ormsby, Lieut. J. A. N., 132, 135

  Orpen, Lieut. H. C. M., 116, 132

  Ortner, Lieut. E. R., 132

  Osborne, Lieut. F. H., 132

  Osmond, Lieut. G. E., 132

  Overy, Lieut. C. F., 3, 132

  Oxford, 85


  Painting the “grids,” 97

  Parachutes, 115-16

  “Parasols,” Morane, for 60 Squadron, 5-6

  Paris, machines from, 45

  Paris-Plage, 63

  Parker, Capt. G. A., 132, 135

  -- Major S. E., 132

  Parkes, Lieut. F. C., 132

  -- Lieut. G. A. H., 132, 136

  Parry, Capt. C., 132, 137

  Passchendale, 65-91, 119

  Patrick, Major C. K. Cochrane, 65, 70, 87, 132

  Patterson, Major C., 132

  Penny, Capt. A. R., 46, 47, 100, 132

  Percival, Lieut. E. W., 132

  Pfalz scouts, 112

  Phalen, 2/Lieut. R. M., 132, 136

  Phillippi, Capt. G., 15, 21, 132, 135

  Photographs taken by 60 Squadron, 42

  Pidcock, F/Officer G. A. H., 50, 132

  “Pink Lady,” the, 30

  Pope, F/Officer S. L., 79, 132

  Poperinghe, 66, 71

  Portal, Lieut. C. F. A., 3, 132

  Pretyman, Col., 22, 57

  Price, 2/Lieut. O., 132

  Priestley, Lieut. J. O., 89, 132

  Proctor, Lieut. H. N. J., 132, 137


  Quéant, 66 _note_[32]

  Quievy, 116, 122


  R.A.S., No. 1, 3

  Radford (Basil Hallam), 11

  Ransart, 35

  Rayner, Capt. E. B. A., 132

  -- Capt. J. W., 116-18, 132

  Read, Lieut. F. K., 132

  Recording Officer, work of the, 66 _and note_[32]

  Richthofen, 38

  -- Freiherr von, 30

  Ridley, 2/Lieut. C. A., 3, 9-10, 132, 134, 135

  Robertson, Lieut. N. McL., 132, 135

  -- 2/Lieut. D. M., 132, 136

  Roeux, attack on, 46-7

  Ross, 2/Lieut. H. G., 46, 47, 132, 136

  Roth, Lieut. J. A., 132

  Roulers, 70

  Roxburgh-Smith, Capt. B., 132

  Royal Air Force, official formation, 88

  Royal Flying Corps, number of squadrons, 2;
    ground operations, 46;
    amalgamation with the R.N.A.S., 88

  Royal Military College, 40

  Royal Munster Fusiliers, 92

  Royal Naval Air Force, 2

  Royal Naval Air Service, 88

  Royal Warwickshire Regiment, 88

  Roystan, Lieut. N. C., 132, 137

  Rumpler or L.V.G., 113

  Russell, Lieut. W. O., 132, 136

  Rutherford, Capt., 66, 69, 70, 73, 132


  S. E. 5s, 39, 54, 112;
    60 Squadron equipped with, 65-6, 73, 81, 90-1, 101

  St. André, 21

  St. Omer, 3, 5, 83

  St. Pol, 22, 88

  St. Quentin, 15

  Salmond, Gen. Sir J., 14, 88

  Saunders, Lieut. A. W., 111, 112, 115, 132

  Savy aerodrome and village, 22, 23

  Scarpe, the, 67;
    valley, 41, 46

  Scholte, Capt. O. J. F., 73, 111, 132

  Scott, Major A. J. L., 132, 136;
    commander 60 Squadron, 30-1;
    wing commander, 65;
    honour for, 97-8;
    wounded, 98-101

  Scouts, method of work in 1916, 8-9

  Seabrook, Capt. J., 132

  Second Army in Ypres Sector, 65;
    report centre, 70, 72

  Sedgeford in Norfolk, 126

  Seely, Gen., 14

  Selous, Capt. F. H. B., 73-4, 132, 137

  Sergt.-Major, technical work, 5

  Sherwood, Lieut., 70, 132, 137

  Sillars, Lieut. R. G., 132

  Simpson, Lieut. J. H., 3, 11, 133

  Sinclair, 2/Lieut. M. D., 116, 133

  Small, Lieut.-Col. B. C. D., account of Capt. Armstrong, 17-20

  Smart, 2/Lieut. G. O., 41, 133, 136

  -- Sqdn.-Leader H. G., 3, 133

  Smith, Lieut. J. E., 133, 137

  -- Lieut. L. H., 133, 138

  -- Lieut. R. H., 133

  -- 2/Lieut. H. S., 137

  Smith-Barry, Lieut.-Col. R. R., 133;
    flight commander, 3, 8, 11-13, 13-15;
    at Gosport, 17;
    a farewell dinner, 22-3

  Smyrk, 5

  Soden, Lieut. F. O., 73, 89, 133

  Somers, Capt. A. S. M., 3

  Somme, the, work of 60 Squadron, 11-29

  Sopwith two-seaters, 30, 42 _and note_[10]

  Southwell, Lieut. L. V., 133, 137

  Sowrey, Sqdn.-Leader W., 133

  “Spad,” a, given to Major Foot, 15

  Spandau guns, 38, 55

  Spencer, Lieut. J. M. J., 133, 135

  Spies, method of landing, 9-10

  Springs, Lieut., 118

  Squadron, No. 1 Reserve Aeroplane, 2;
      3 Squadron, 114;
      7 Squadron, 40;
     11 Squadron, 41, 114;
     17 American Squadron, 118-9;
     20 Squadron, 23, 70;
     23 Squadron, 65;
     29 Squadron, 41, 50, 71, 113;
     40 Squadron, 66;
     43 Squadron, 30, 90;
     48 Squadron, 39;
     56 Squadron, 39, 54, 113, 114, 119-20;
     70 Squadron, 71;
     74 Squadron, 39;
     85 Squadron, 112, 114;
    148 American Squadron, 117-119;
    151 Squadron, 17-20, 71-2;
    201 Squadron, 118

  Squadron, 60, formation, 1-10;
    inspection by Gen. Allenby, 53, 56-7;
    honours gained by, 127

  Stedman, Lieut. F., 133, 136

  Steele, 2/Lieut. R. B., 69, 133

  Stockwell, 2/Lieut. L. G., 133, 138

  Stookes, T/Capt. V. A., 133

  Strange, Louis, 125

  Stuart-Smith, 2/Lieut. H. S., 133

  Sullock, Lieut. E. A., 133

  Summers, Capt. A. S. M., 15, 21, 73, 133, 135

  Sussex Yeomanry, 30

  Synchronising gear, none on the Moranes, 7


  Talbot, 2/Lieut. H. E., 133

  Taylor, Capt. H. S., 133

  Temperley, Capt. G. J., 133

  Tennant, Lieut. G. E., 133

  Tennis at Files Camp Farm, 57

  Tetus, M., demesne of, 24, 57

  Thamer, Lieut. O., 133, 137

  Third Army Front, Arras, 30, 31;
    night bombing on, 72;
    the Cambrai attack, 79

  Third Corps attack, Aug. 1917, 69

  Thirteenth Wing, 105, 117, 119

  Thomson, 2/Lieut. S. A., 133, 137

  Thornton, F/Officer E., 133

  Tounshend, Mr. Thos., 79

  Tower, Capt. H. C., 3, 15, 133, 135

  Townesend, F/Lieut. E. J. D., 133, 135

  Tracer bullets, 51 _and note_[22], 52

  Trailers, 49 _and note_[16]

  Trenchard, General, 2, 88, 120;
    orders of, 108

  Trenches, German, 36-8

  Triplanes, German, 89

  Trusler, Lieut. J. W., 133

  Two-seater fighters, 115


  Uphaven Central Flying School, 3

  Upton-Smith, 2/Lieut. F. E., 133


  Valenciennes, 123

  Vert Galant, 60 Squadron at, 8, 12, 21

  Very lights, 104;
    pistols, 27 _and note_[5], 35, 38

  Vickers gun, 90

  Vimy Ridge, 50

  Vincent, Capt. S. F., 15, 22, 133

  Vis-en-Artois, 54

  Vitry, 66


  Wainwright, Lieut. B. M., 133, 135

  Waldron, Major F. F., 2-4, 11-13, 133, 135

  Walker, Lieut., 133

  -- Sergt. A., 135

  Walters, Lieut. A. M., 15, 133

  Weedon, Capt. L. S., 31, 133

  West Wind, Conrad on the, 109-10

  Westergaard, 2/Lieut. A. N., 133

  West-Thompson, 2/Lieut. M., 66, 69, 133, 137

  Whitehead, Capt. L. E., 133, 135

  -- Lieut. A. D., 31, 133, 135

  Whiting, Lieut. J. O., 70, 133, 137

  Whitney, Lieut. R. K., 115, 133, 137

  Wilde, 2/Lieut. R. C. R., 133

  Williams, Fleming, 106

  -- Lieut. C., 133, 135

  -- Lieut. G., 3

  -- 2/Lieut. V. F., 133, 135

  Winslow, 2/Lieut. J., 133

  Wireless interception, work of 60 Squadron, 57-62

  Wotan line, 123

  Wright, Lieut. C. O., 133


  Young, Lieut. G. C., 45, 70, 133

  Ypres Sector, 65;
    desolation of, 85


  PRINTED BY
  HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,
  LONDON AND AYLESBURY.




Transcribers’ Notes


Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not
changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced
quotation marks retained.

Superscrpts are represented as ^{superscript}.

Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.

Index not checked for proper alphabetization or correct page references.

Page xviii: The five illustrations listed as being on pages 100, 112,
and 118 were missing from this book.

Page 50: “_had_ be to” was printed that way.

Page 125: For clarity, Transcriber added a colon after “One form of
hare-hunting became very popular”.

Page 126 (comments about map): Some “3”s and “8”s were
indistinguishable.

Page 133: “Lieut. E. A. Sullock, A.F.C.” may be “Sulleck”.

Footnotes, originally at the bottoms of pages, have been renumbered,
collected, and positioned just before the Index.

The Index references to footnotes have been renumbered to match the
renumbering of the eBook’s footnotes.