Fullofit – I love your sparing use of ammunition. You’ll be sorry when you have to leave the Strutter.
Harry – congratulations on Laszlo’s promotion.
MFair – poor Drogo. It’s always so dangerous when you first fly after a long break. But good luck with your new man.
Hasse – I’ve really enjoyed the stories of Julius at Johannisthal. Too bad that the transfer mechanics did not work quickly and that you had to start a new career to effect your move Jasta 2.
Carrick – I suspect that René will be getting rather OCD about cleaning his room. “Oh Claudette, is that a dust bunny under there?”
Wulfe – so very relieved to see Fullard back in action, especially now that he has the new Nieuports to play with. And congratulations on the new gong.
Lou – great move, adding the second palm to Fullard’s Croix de Guerre.

Here is the latest from Collins…

An Airman’s Odyssey – by Capt James Arthur Collins, VC, DSO, MC

Part Seventy-Four: In which I receive a fine present

Three days of rain was like manna from heaven. Before my promotion to captain, it had always seemed certain that I should be tagged as orderly officer whenever there was a chance to get away and have a day on the town. But in my present exalted rank freedom was assured. Our Nissen hut was very cosy, but I had not yet added a personal touch to the decor. So I gathered together Tidwell, Child, and Orlebar, and we arranged a tender to bring us into Doullens. I bought a very fine glass-fronted liquor cabinet and a small oval table with four chairs. In a used furniture shop, I found a slightly threadbare Persian rug from under a table. We all pitched in for a case of good claret and a few bottles of port to go with a selection of really excellent cheeses. If the rain held, we planned to enjoy ourselves. Before heading back, we found a café and pastry shop called “A La Source,” where a striking young woman by the name of Marianne served us the best coffee I’d had since I lost Jericho.

Tidwell, Henderson, and I spent most of Thursday, 19 October 1916, playing whist and getting camembert all over the cards. That night, after dinner, I invited all of C Flight to polish off the half round of blue cheese and two boxes of crackers that I had had sent from England.

But best of all, on Friday Major Rodwell informed me that as soon as the weather broke I was to walk over to Candas and take delivery of a new Spad. As it turned out, the weather did not break that day. So, on the morning of Saturday, 21 October 1916, I headed across the fields to the depot and settled myself into the spacious cockpit of a freshly built Spad 7. This machine was quite unlike anything I had flown before. It was well fitted out with an array of instruments, some French, some English, all nestled into some fine coachwork. But best of all was the single Vickers in front of me. One had only to lean slightly to the right in order to use the ring and ball gunsight. Visibility up, down, and to the rear was excellent. The wings were closely spaced, lacking dihedral. Visibility to the front and upward was impaired, which would be a problem in a turning fight. By all accounts, however, one should avoid getting into a turning fight with a Spad. The machine would do 120 miles per hour, and far more in a dive. Better yet, it would hold together in a power drive like no other machine. With this, one could choose when to fight and when to run.

The mechanics at 2 AD ran it up and I climbed into my new office. A captain (whose name I didn’t catch) went over the controls with me and in a couple of minutes the lead Ack Emma gave the prop a pull. The 150 hp Hispano-Suiza gave out a pleasant rumbling roar. I turned into the wind and opened the throttle fully. Very quickly the tail came up and I eased the stick back. Nothing happened. The tail continued to rise. Now, the stick was pulled back into my stomach, but still the tail came up and with a sickening crunch. The propeller dug into the muddy clay and my brand-new Spad cartwheeled “arse over teakettle.” I hung from the straps, unheard in body but devastated in spirit.

It took a bit of work to get me free, and even more work to get the Spad upright. I soon learned that a control cable had not been tensioned, and that the poor mechanics would be the subject of an inquiry. The damage was less than I had feared, though, and by noon I was able to take off without incident and circle our field before landing again. The machine had to be landed at a much higher speed than a BE12. It would take some getting used to.

I limped to the mass for lunch, and shortly before one-thirty I took my new craft aloft for its first patrol. As Tidwell had already departed with C Flight, I flew alone. I headed straight for the lines north of Albert, arriving at 8000 feet. The sky was completely cloudless. Looking into Hunland, I could see clearly as far as Mossy Face Wood, but incredibly there was no other machine in the sky. I patrolled well south of the Somme River, then turned about and headed north past Delville Wood, past Bapaume, past Courcelles, all the way to Monchy. There I turned south again, by now up to 10,000 feet. Often the distance a single black speck headed eastward. Scenting prey, I open the throttle fully and began a long high-speed dive. The speck took shape and acquired a shade – British khaki. The machine was a lone BE2 heading into Hunland. I bank to show my roundels as the Spad was still not a familiar sight in this part of the front. The two men in the BE waved. I did a loop for them and began circling a thousand feet above them. What courage it must take to fly alone in a BE2 so far into enemy territory.


"The machine was a lone BE2 heading into Hunland."


I watched as their machine paraded up and down a line north of Bapaume while the pilot operated the camera mounted beside his cockpit. After an eternity, they headed west. Now for the first time I saw enemy aircraft – two plodding Aviatiks heading north. I attempted a beam attack on the nearest but closed two quickly to aim well. Coming about. I tried approaching from under its tail, but the speed with which my machine closed on the Hun surprised me and I did not shoot well. I turned about and approached a second time. This time, however, the Hun’s partner was ready for me and I took some rounds in return. Not wanting to write off my machine for the second time that day, I headed home. There was much to learn.