A longer catch up in this part. Fair warning.

À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 8 of many


26 June 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Bray Dunes, France

0630 hrs. Line Patrol from the Lys to a point just north of Loos. The full six again, with Pope, Meissner, Foster, Mac and Hyde. Finally some decent flying weather.

Heading toward the lines we spotted a DFW, low heading toward Ypres. Trying to perfect Stewpot’s high astern method I once again buggered it up and got too flat. Fortunately I was fast and closed rapidly so I wasn’t hanging there for the Observer. One high speed pass and some strong bursts landed near the forward cockpit. Hyde followed in after me.



The Hun rolled to the right and began a long spiraling descent. I could see the observer firing away. No sign of the pilot. The DFW crashed 3 miles south of Ypres.

Gathering the flight we headed to the lines and the completion of our patrol time without further disturbance.

I had no idea if I’d hit the pilot and neither did Hyde. In the end we filed our two claims for the DFW and let Wing decide.


1420 hrs. The daily Air Raid! We scrambled and catching sight of the Huns gave chase, grabbing for all we were worth. We crossed the lines at 10000 ft still chasing. We wouldn’t catch them, but I led B flight 3 miles over to determine where the Huns were going. As I suspected they were heading for the “Zerkegem Triangle.” Ghistelles, Jabbeke and Aertrykcke, the three aerodromes arrayed around Zerkegem. There was a pattern here. We’d never catch the Huns after a raid, but knowing where they based gave me ideas about setting an ambush.

Wing rejected both our claims on the DFW. We’d be watching for any staff cars driving out of Wing HQ just up the road. Neither Hyde nor I had done any contour chasing lately but that was going to change. These Staff Wallahs needed a little excitement in their dreary, claim-denying lives.



27 June 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Bray Dunes, France


0645 hrs. More hate for the Roulers Rail junction. A gorgeous morning, barely a cloud in the sky. My complaints about coastal weather may have been premature. With Pope, Mac and Charley we gave the rail yard a sound thrashing.



1230 hrs. Just sitting down to lunch when the klaxon sounded. Air Raid!! This was becoming a daily occurrence here on the coast. No damage. Couldn’t even see the Hun bombers. We'd need some additional sandbagging around our tent, in case they returned at night.

Major Horn is going on convalescent leave. I don’t think the surgery worked as desired. It must be killing him to be grounded like this. Strugnell has the squadron for now.

Ackers is back from Hospital. Something felt off these past few days with him gone. I must admit I’ve gotten used to Ackers’ friendly presence as a tentmate, and not just because he doesn’t snore. I needled him relentlessly about flirting with the nurses when he has the divine Madame waiting in Corbie.

A new man, Bennett arrived today.

All France is aflame with the news. The American Expeditionary Force is here! General Pershing and 14,000 men landed at St. Nazaire yesterday.






28 June 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Bray Dunes, France


0700 hrs. Line Patrol between Menen and the Lys with Foster, Pope, and Ackers.

Over the river Lys a low DFW! I led the attack but again, after 20 rounds the Vickers jammed! Something was wrong. I felt slow, like my reactions were at half speed.


Everything happened so quickly. I didn’t understand why.

Pope roared past and blew the Hun to pieces. The madman! I barely avoided a collision with the bits of aeroplane littering the sky.

I didn’t think I drank that much last night. What was going on, I had no idea.

1530 hrs. Defensive Patrol over Teteghem aerodrome. No e/a sighted.


29 June 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Bray Dunes, France


0600 hrs. Offensive Patrol over Houplin aerodrome, south of Loos. A grey, rainy, windswept morning. No e/a sighted in the patrol area, so we took the long way home, heading due north and hoping to catch Hun observation machines returning to the Zerkegem aerodromes. Empty skies this morning.

1450 hrs. Heading out on another Line Patrol of Menen and points south, the Le Rhone spewed two huge clots of oil and started shaking violently. I had enough altitude to shut off the engine and glide back to Bray Dunes.



Mac is in hospital with a shattered jaw. Going up at lunch for a gun test, he broke a tappet rod on take off and went straight in from 40 feet.

A new pilot in today, M. E. Gonne. Another young one, not yet 19 years of age.





30 June 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Bray Dunes, France

0445 hrs. Balloon strafe on the northern outskirts of Lens. Goodbehere’s first combat patrol, along with Foster, Hyde and Charley. I had Goodbehere fly as Hyde’s wingman to keep him out of trouble.

Another bout of filthy weather. Rain stinging the face as we flew higher. I went in first followed by Charley. Vickers spewed Buckingham all the way down and this time I remembered to think of England! The balloon lit beautifully.


Charley’s rocket salvo flew right through the fireball.

All returned safe and sound to Bray Dunes. Goodbehere’s landing was better than I expected. A good sign.

1530 hrs Line Patrol Menen to Loos. 15 miles of the lines to cover. A tall order. I was on edge this afternoon. Both Gonne and Goodbehere were with B-flight and we were almost certain to run into Huns. Gonne turned back with a dud engine shortly after takeoff. I was relieved. That left Ackers, Hyde, Charley and Pope to look after each other and Goodbehere.

Our patrol passed without incident or e/a sighted.

Wing, with some prodding from the forward observers confirmed the balloon. Twenty-four.




1 July 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Bray Dunes, France

One year ago today, the balloon went up on the Somme. Milford and Uncle were there with the infantry, Strugnell with No. 1 Squadron.

0545 hrs. I could feel the glass rising. The weather, still heavy would clear soon. The morning show was a Line Patrol from Dadizale, or what was left of it, to the river Lys. I was itching for a fight, alas the patrol area was clear of Huns. After our allotted time we took the long way home again and sat high above the Zerkegem triangle. Not a Hun to be found. Very frustrating.

1530 hrs. An afternoon visit to Bisseghem aerodrome, there to knock the Huns about. B-flight was Pope, Ackers, Goodbehere and Foster. We never reached the airfield.


Over the De Blankaart eight candy cane-striped Albs came down.



One with a red spinner caught me with a deflection shot. I couldn’t see any tracers but I heard the deadly ripping patter of his bullets holing canvas. We began a rolling scissors. These were new Albatri, incredibly fast and frighteningly well flown. I managed a few snapshots but couldn’t keep him in the sight long enough to do much of anything.



After a minute or two of inconclusive maneuvering, the Hun dove away, like a child abandoning a toy and moving on to a new one. He vanished through the clouds. I stayed high looking for the rest of B-flight to no avail. Found Pope on the return to Bray Dunes. The others all returned safely. Goodbehere had some holes in his top planes but had otherwise emerged unscathed. He’d fired his gun and was all smiles having survived his first encounter with the Hun. I still don’t believe he’s four years older than me.

I hadn’t done enough for Channing, Kantell or Chalmers. They were dead. Goodbehere would be different. I’d take a more active role in his training and see if I could keep him alive.



2 July 1917
54 Squadron RFC
Bray Dunes, France


0645 hrs. Off to finish the job on Bisseghem aerodrome after yesterday’s distraction. Charley, Goodbehere, Ackers and Foster. The Huns were fully awake and threw up a curtain of anti-aircraft fire as B-flight rolled in on target.

A sharp clank forward and a painful blow to my left calf arrived together. I couldn’t flex my foot and worked the left turn to the lines pulling the rudder bar with the strap over my right. My tank was holed. Looking back, the stream of petrol and oil corkscrewed their way into a long grey tail behind me. I’d never make the lines if I shut off the engine now.

You might burn if you don’t, Oliver.

I took the chance and kept the Le Rhone running, grabbing height. I could see the fuel descending in the glass. It wouldn’t be long.



When the tank ran dry and the engine quit, I was a thousand feet higher and a mile closer to the lines. Was it enough? There was a sea of mud between me and safety.

Kaiser Bill’s Varsity manned the guns this morning. Archied mercilessly, I could hear the splinters ripping through 7331. Descending now over the blood-churned ground, I couldn’t make out the lines exactly. I thought I was clear of NML and safely home when more bullets tore through the Pup. Our own PBI were shooting at me!



Time to land. How are there still trees here?!

I felt for the D-Ring release on Sutton’s harness, reminding my hands of its location. If the Pup caught fire on landing, I’d need to get out fast. The ground was craters and trees and … there, a flat spot, strangely untouched by shells. I’d done this before, that day behind the Hindenburg Line.



Holding the Pup level on the edge of a stall I waited until the last minute, then released her down to land on the smooth mud. My hand was on the D-ring in a trice and I was over the side and in the mud before I realized I’d forgotten the clock. The Tommies were shouting at me to get clear. Their language did not improve as I clambered back into the cockpit to pry the clock from its case. Stupid thing to do! Prize in hand, I limped my way to the nearby support trench, scooting over the edge on my backside. Not very dignified, but I kept my feet as I landed on my good leg. The infantry frog-marched me into a dugout as the shells started falling on poor A7331.