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#4390442 - 11/19/17 02:12 PM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: Fullofit]  
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Originally Posted by Fullofit
Originally Posted by Robert_Wiggins
Marker ball


Heh heh, Robert! That darn autocorrecting!

Raine, another one of your well developed and detailed stories. I've enjoyed the read. I'm rooting for your pilot to get one of the Gothas, maybe even a Zep! Just don't lose any more of your kneecap.

MadKerbal, looking forward to more of your stories. Perhaps we can read more about the sheep?


You said it mate!!


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#4390443 - 11/19/17 02:18 PM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
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L'Etoile du Nord
.

Just spent a most enjoyable hour catching up on everyone's adventures, super stuff as always gents. MadKerbal, welcome to the WOFF skies and to the DID Campaign, keep up with the great reports. Raine, as noted by Carrick and others, the details you continually add to your stories are really outstanding. I see that Banjoman will be away for a while longer so I'll hold off on the hours medals until he returns and posts the updated stats. Watch your six everyone!

.


[Linked Image]

Three RFC Brass Hats were strolling down a street in London. Two walked into a bar, the third one ducked.
_________________________________________________________________________

Former Cold War Warrior, USAF Security Service 1974-1978, E-4, Morse Systems Intercept, England, Europe, and points above.
"pippy-pahpah-pippy pah-pip-pah"

#4390464 - 11/19/17 05:10 PM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
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Welcome back. RAF Louvert.

#4390466 - 11/19/17 05:17 PM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
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Jeffery Vickers
Sgt, Rfc
55 Sqn, Tantonville A.F.
Verdun, France.


Nov 19, 1917.


I did a solo Recon this morn. Bertie's machine took a header and broke its Prop trying to stand on its tail. The flight went smoothly and upon landing ( 2 tries ,but got down ok ) The X.O. said to pack, I was Posted to an SE 5a Sqn over at Lealvillers and my peaceful life is over.

Attached Files CFS3 2017-11-19 08-54-00-68.jpg
#4390532 - 11/20/17 03:37 AM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
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Thanks for the encouraging comments, guys. Lou, I'm particularly happy you've dropped in and enjoyed this stuff. And Mad Kerbal, that was a great first report. Loved the sepia toned photos! Dark Canuck, let me know when you're back in Canada. I haven't forgotten our plans to go for some funny pops.

My pilot, Geoffrey Corderoy, has had ridiculously bad luck, so the poor fellow is in for a change...

Diary of 2/Lieut. Geoffrey Corderoy, RFC
Part 13: 15-22 July 1917


17 July 1917 – Sutton’s Farm, Hornchurch, Essex

Still no Huns have appeared over England to disturb our idyll. We fly as much as possible and Major Babington is often us leading us. He is very keen. Over the past few days we have worked on close formation flying. The idea is that we will be able to present a concentrated assault on enemy formations. I have suggested using Le Prieurs to break up the Hun formations, but everyone seems to make fun of the idea. I am determined to press the point. I know that for my own part, if I were flying a machine the size of a church in a pack with a few other flying churches and some idiot fired a volley of rockets at me, I’d flinch more than a little!

I am not fond of the close-in formation work, although the chaps seem to put on a bluff front about how topping it is. My stiff leg makes the needed rudder work difficult, which renders the whole business a bit dodgy. More than once I have found myself within a foot or two of disaster.
Today I was assigned the lead again. That did not happen before we were at Sutton’s Farm, but this is the fourth time. Perhaps the chaps find it better to form on me than the other way around...

Rain today. Still, we did a cross-country jaunt, occasionally diving on objects as if they were a formation of Huns. Just as we neared our aerodrome we came screaming out of the clouds onto a column of army lorries. One ended in a ditch. The chaps we buzzed noted our squadron markings and I spent fifteen difficult minutes in front of the major while he entertained me with asservations of mental inferiority and low birth.

Colonel Higgins, OC Home Defence Group, visited today and dined with us. Seems like a good man, but he’s under a great deal of pressure from the political types. Also, my father has invited me to visit him in London Thursday. I shall try to get permission to leave. The Times reports that Churchill is back in Cabinet, now in charge of munitions. It’s a good place for a pushy sort like him. [1]

[Linked Image]
"Just as we neared our aerodrome we came screaming out of the clouds onto a column of army lorries."

18 July 1917

More training today, and back in the leader’s role with Joske as 2 I/C. Some touchy formation work, but particularly proud of my navigation is worsening weather.
Rain this afternoon and evening. Have a pass for London tomorrow after all, so telegram to Daddy.

19 July 1917

Wonderful day! Left Romford at 11 this morning and had lunch on the train, although by the time it arrived at my table I needed to bolt the food down before we pulled into Fenchurch Street. I met father after his work was done and we walked about for an hour until I could walk no more. At seven we dined on roast beef at Simpson’s-in-the-Strand. Only the smaller than normal portions said there was a war on. He went on about his work, which he thoroughly enjoys. My uncle is looking after the sheep back home in South Moreton. Daddy promised to pay for a new uniform as he was embarrassed to be seen with me in my everyday RBR tunic with its castor oil stains. He went back to work and I headed joyfully for Hawkes.[2] Daddy is staying at the Royal Automobile Club on Pall Mall [3], so we said farewell outside the restaurant. I took my life in my hands by navigating the pitch dark streets in the rain, trying to weave my way on foot across intersections through the streams of motor taxis and buses that raced past without benefit of headlamps. I arrived back at Fenchurch Street just in time for the last train.

[Linked Image]
Simpson's-in-the-Strand

22 July 1917

At 8 this morning the triple klaxon outside the squadron office sounded and we raced for our hangars. As we struggled into our flying kit the major announced that we were to leave our usual beat and fly direct to Felixstowe. Gothas had been spotted by one of our lightships and, by means of wireless, Home Defence Group had plotted that they would make landfall close to that town.

Although I was to lead our group I took off nearly a minute behind the others because I could not climb into my Pup unaided. It did not take them long to form up on me. We climbed steadily as we followed the north bank of the Thames for nearly fifty miles. Arriving over Colchester at 14,000 feet, we spotted Archie in the distance over Harwich. A few minutes later I noticed movement below and made out five immense white machines flying directly towards us, about two thousand feet below. I waggled my wings and led the flight down – Gullah, Joske, Hughes, Lee, and Dimmock. The wires sung and the engines screamed. I picked the Hun on the right of the formation as it seemed nearest, and I levelled off behind the big bomber, firing long bursts all the way in from 250 yards.

Suddenly I found myself in crossfire. My Hun was a little ahead of the leftmost Gotha, one of whose gunners opened up from abeam. The rear gunner of my target Hun then found his mark and my poor little Pup began to take hits from two directions. But this was an attack I was determined to press home. I kept firing and saw my tracer hit around the main compartment of the bomber and then saw rounds hit its right engine. Suddenly my head was thrown back as if I’d been holding it over a wasps’ nest. Everything burned and I couldn’t see. I kicked the rudder to the right and dived away, and must have avoided a collision by only a few feet, for I’d continued the attack far too long. I pulled my glove off with my knees and held a bare hand to my face. I could feel several small splinters protruding from my forehead and cheeks, and wiped the blood from my eyes. A glance over my shoulder told me I’d scored. A very large fireball was streaming a trail of smoke downwards. Up above, my comrades were swarming about the other Gothas.

[Linked Image]
"A glance over my shoulder told me I’d scored."

The engine sounded rough, so I set course for the nearest field at Rochford. Every few minutes I needed to wipe away the blood. The engine suddenly stopped. For nearly ten minutes I drifted silently to the southwest. Faint hammering of distant machine gun fire was audible over the whistling of the wind, but I could make out nothing. My Pup settled gently onto the grass of the aerodrome.

I was given a drive to a nearby hospital where a doctors and nurses treated me as a hero when I told them the flamer was mine. It seems that a round had struck the cabane strut and shattered. Fragments of the strut and bullet found their way to my face and neck. I was ordered not to fly for a week or two because the whale grease we coated ourselves with was likely to cause infection. The Pup was too badly damaged to repair quickly, so the good fellows from No 37 at Rochford arranged a car to take me back to Sutton’s farm.[4]

I got back around four in the afternoon and made my report to Lieut. McNeil. I’d no sooner washed up and examined my cut-about face than McNeil came to my hut and told me the CO wanted me in his office.

Major Babington began abruptly as I stood to attention before him. “How many Huns have you claimed, Corderoy?”

“Ten, sir,” I said.

“And how many have been confirmed?”

“One sir, although I’m confident about today’s Gotha.”

The major gave me a look – a look like Nero contemplating whether Saturday’s playbill should involve Christians and lions or Christians and leopards.

“Today’s Gotha,” he said, “really?” Then, in a voice so low and so even as to be bone-chilling, he murmured “It may interest you to know, Corderoy, that you lost Mr. Gullah from your flight today. He fell in flames. No Gotha fell. Just Gullah.”

There was nothing to be said. Tears welled up in my eyes. Major Babington continued: “Captain Joske tells me you are quite unable to control your machine well enough for close formation work. Further, I am told you are scrubbed from flying duties for yet another week – the third such medical restriction in a month.” He stared at me for what seemed like a full minute. Then he said “You, sir, are a bloody ornament here and I need air fighters.”

My chin was quivering uncontrollably now. A tear traced its way down my cheek, stinging when it got to one of the iodine-stained holes made by today’s splinters.

“Captain Joske has spoken for you. He thinks your claims might generally be founded. I lack his faith, Corderoy, but I shall give you a chance to prove yourself.” There was a long pause before he went on. “60 Squadron’s RO is on leave. You will take his place until you are fit for flying. After that whether you fly or not will be up to Major Patrick, the squadron commander. Mr. McNeil has your travel papers. Be gone before dinner. Dismissed.”

An hour later I was sitting in Rumford station in front of a mug of cold tea, wondering how I would tell my father what had just happened. The manila envelope with my travel papers lay in front of me. Number 60 was at Filescamp Farm, near Arras. I was to make my way directly there by way of Southampton and Boulogne. I’d need to have my new uniform sent there, I realised. I would have to go to Hawkes in the morning first thing before catching the train. I wondered what the new squadron would have been told.

The train arrived.



NOTES:


[1] Winston Churchill had been sacked as First Lord of the Admiralty after Gallipoli and spent early 1916 in France as a battalion commander with 6th Bn, Royal Scots Fusiliers. He returned to Parliament later that year and was appointed Minister of Munitions on July 1917.

[2] Hawkes & Co. was established as a military tailor in 1771, and has been at its current location at No 1 Savile Row since 1912. Following a 1974 merger with Gieves & Co., another renowned tailoring firm. The establishment is today known as Gieves & Hawkes.

[3] The Royal Automobile Club was established in 1897 as the Automobile Club of Great Britain and Ireland. It is the second oldest motoring society in the world. In 1907 the Club received a Royal Charter from King Edward VII. The RAC was by 1917 one of London’s finer private clubs.

[4] One flight of 37 Sqn operated from Rochford in the summer of 1917. Also at Rochford was No 11 Reserve Squadron, training for night operations.

Attached Files Buzzing a convoy.jpgFlaming Gotha.jpgSimpsons.png
#4390616 - 11/20/17 08:20 PM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
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Jeffery Vickers
Sgt, Rfc
41 Sqn, B Flight
Lealvillers, Flanders.
France


Nov 20, 1917.

A Flight was just returning from the Dawn Patrol and I was introduced to the C.O.

https://giphy.com/gifs/airplanes-wwi-xUOxforQRuzpFTFIY0/fullscreen

He said that I was to be shown the taps then go on the afternoon Patrol with B flight as a spare. Off the ground at 1305 we were above the lines near Loos and ran into a Flight of Albatross Scouts. I couldnt get in position,but fired off 58rds from long range ( No Hits) I did see 3 Huns go down 2 Flamers and a Green Tailed machine without part of his top wing. Bloody marvelous ! no one was lost.

Attached Files CFS3 2017-11-20 11-25-58-19.jpgCFS3 2017-11-20 11-35-13-13.jpgCFS3 2017-11-20 11-36-59-24.jpgCFS3 2017-11-20 11-37-23-22.jpg
#4390646 - 11/21/17 12:14 AM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
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Raine, that's preposterous! Who's your witness? I'd like a word with him. I could feel the guts of that Hun on your goggles. If I were you, I'd ask for a refund. I mean ... tough luck!

Dick Greyson in 48 RFC on the other hand was promoted to 2nd Lt., had gotten cocky in his Brisfit, took on two Ketten of D.Vs all by himself with the rest of his flight watching on, picked up at least one entire German flight on his tail, got shredded to pieces and exploded mid-air.


"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys,
The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain,
From out of my arse take the camshaft,
And assemble the engine again."
#4390677 - 11/21/17 02:32 AM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
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Second Entry
20 November 1917
Journal of Arthur Edwards
57 Squadron RFC

So much to write about since last time, so I'll start with the flight on the 18th.
It went wrong.
Escorts never showed and for some reason the CO decided to let me lead, so I dumped the bombs in no mans land and headed for the nearest airfield, Geoffrey, the chap who was flying with me lost his engine in the circuit and had to plant the kite down in a field, Wrecked the Kite and got himself a few days off for his trouble.
The flight on the 19th should have been easy, a simple scouting job they said, Bah, simple I wish, while the escorts did show up (Same squadron, I'll make a note that Escadrille 3 is F***ing useless.) they proved of no assistance whatsoever and hightailed it out of there when a pair of Albatrosses showed up.
[Linked Image]
We tried to make it to the nearest airfield but I found one of the Kraut's targeting me, so I yanked the DH4 around and gave him a taste of the Vickers gun, we danced our way down to about 1000ft, and I got a good burst in, he spiralled into the ground just next to a forest and the kite spread itself across the grass.
As I turned for home I ran into the second, whipped my plane around and closed to a few yards and let him have it, he did the same as his 'Kamraden' and spiralled into the ground, hopefully the claims office will give me the victories, imagine that! 5 missions and I've already shot down a hun!
[Linked Image]
Anyway, I'm bombing an Airfield Today, flights at 11:00, after I get back I'm going to see if I can hitch a ride to the crash sites,
I'm thinking that a Kraut rudder would make a nice decoration in the mess hall.





The roar of aero engines and the chatter of machine gun fire roared above No Mans Land, an extremely one sided fight took place above, 6 Albatross against a pair of DH4s, one remained steady, throwing back defensive fire, the other shook about, like the pilot hadn't made up his mind, it curved left, a Hun machine up close and firing, a number of bullets lancing there way across the machine, a bullet cracked through the observer's shoulder, another through the Pilots thigh, and a brace smashed through the Oil line, spraying hot oil across the engine and windscreen. Fire. the young Kiwi made his first good decision of the fight, and hit the magnetos, the engine shuddering to a stop, one propeller blade hanging broken in the airflow, He flung the machine into a spiral dive, throwing off the aim of the Ace behind him, who closed to get a shot....
Closer...
Closer...
Too Close.
The Albatross smashed through the top of the DH4, collapsing the top wing onto the cockpit and its occupant and shattering the Tailplane, The DH4 burst into flames again and fell to pieces, a figure leaping clear from the back, and like the aircraft he had departed, dropped away from view, falling like a stone.


Sergeant Arthur Edwards
28/10/1898 - 20/11/1917.

Captain Ronald Stephans
?/?/? - 20/11/1917.

Soon
[Linked Image]
(After a day or 2's break to actually simulate the mentioned Transfer.)

Thanks for making me feel so welcome guys, Think I'll try to survive more then 5 missions this time.

Last edited by MadKerbal; 11/21/17 05:34 AM.
#4390719 - 11/21/17 12:42 PM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
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Raine

Sorry your fellow is having such a time of it. 60 Sqn has a few good Aces so hopefully better support for kill confirmations. Really enjoyed your report. I see good old Winston has got himself into it.

MadKerbal- Very nice report and capital pictures sir! I'm enjoying your efforts!


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#4390753 - 11/21/17 04:48 PM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
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Jeffery Vickers
Sgt, Rfc
41 Sqn, B Flight
Lealvillers, Flanders.
France

Nov 21, 1917.


Frightful time this morning. On Dawn Patrol mixed it up with 7 Scouts. 5 of them came down to fight while 2 stayed high. I got off a few rounds ,but barley managed to keep them off me. Heard later B flight got 1 Albatross for 3 of ours damaged. ( my a/c had a lot of holes. ) Afternoon flight, Went off to intercept some Hun 2 Seat types by Menen. Spotted them down low so dived. I made 1 pass then lost him in the clouds. While looking around, saw an E/a in flames. Our 5 a/c flight claimed 1 e/a + 1 damaged out of 3 spotted. Losses were 1 destroyed + 1 pilot wnd.

Attached Files CFS3 2017-11-21 07-53-28-30.jpgCFS3 2017-11-21 07-51-56-51.jpgCFS3 2017-11-21 08-21-22-79.jpg
#4390808 - 11/21/17 08:35 PM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
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R.I.P. Arthur Edwards. We hardly knew ye.

Welcome to the fray, MadKerbal. Nice opening story, if a little short. winkngrin


“With Major Lawrence, mercy is a passion. With me it is merely good manners. You may judge which motive is the more reliable.”
#4390827 - 11/21/17 10:38 PM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: BuckeyeBob]  
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Worst part was that both claims were rejected due to 'lack of visual corroboration' despite the fact there was an observation balloon a few Miles away, if only they could confirm victories instead of trusting a flight lead who's already landing.
Then again it wouldn't really matter to Arthur anyway, poor lad, he was so excited to get his first kill.

Last edited by MadKerbal; 11/21/17 10:38 PM.
#4390912 - 11/22/17 05:44 PM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
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Jeffery Vickers
Sgt, Rfc
41 Sqn, B Flight
Lealvillers, Flanders.
France


Nov 21, 1917.

Up with B Flight in the rain over Bapaume and dove on some Albatross Types coming head on at our 5 a/c. The 7 came straight at us then one cut to the left in front of me. I fired off 102 rds. The e/a went into a while spin. I had to keep a heads up as the other Huns were around. I damage one other e/a then the fight was over. The Flight claimed 2 e/a's for the Loss of 1 + 1 damaged.

Attached Files CFS3 2017-11-22 09-20-39-76.jpgCFS3 2017-11-22 14-13-39-43.jpgCFS3 2017-11-22 14-14-12-13.jpg
Last edited by carrick58; 11/22/17 10:16 PM.
#4390960 - 11/22/17 10:54 PM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
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J. Vickers

2nd flight Late afternoon over Loos.

The Sqn had 8 machines up for Patrol and we got into a fight over a Hun A.F. with 5 of them ( they were the Black Tailed Bunch ) Dive zoom Twist and Turn. I couldn't hit a sausage, but the flight would later claim 2 for the loss of 1 + everyone had a few holes. It got so dark at Dusk that I had to put into Gorgue Aerodrome and spent the night. Thank goodness they had Sprites and a Truck because we headed into town to sample the local culture.

https://giphy.com/gifs/dancers-burlesque-l2QDXLRlp2GxTI9a0/fullscreen

Attached Files CFS3 2017-11-22 14-33-32-32.jpgCFS3 2017-11-22 14-34-16-43.jpg
Last edited by carrick58; 11/22/17 11:02 PM.
#4390978 - 11/23/17 01:04 AM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
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Looking good Carrick!


"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys,
The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain,
From out of my arse take the camshaft,
And assemble the engine again."
#4391042 - 11/23/17 04:51 PM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
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Fullofit: I keep huming that song Staying Alive.

#4391047 - 11/23/17 04:56 PM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
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Jeffery Vickers
Sgt, Rfc
41 Sqn, B Flight
Lealvillers, Flanders.
France

Nov 23 1917.

Morning flight: Balloon attack A flight got the gas bag ,but lost a machine.

Afternoon: B Flight 's 5 machines on a Railyard Target. We did some damage in the light rain. One problem was that supply only had enough 25 lb bombs for 2 a/c so we went low. No losses ,but 2 damaged.

Attached Files CFS3 2017-11-23 08-23-32-13.jpgCFS3 2017-11-23 08-23-38-93.jpg
#4391107 - 11/24/17 01:04 AM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
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Raine Online content
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Carrick -- Nice bombing pics!

Mad Kerbal -- Best of luck with your next fellow. I hope it's another New Zealander.

Here's the next installment. I am anxious to get back in the air. Geoffrey Corderoy meets the successor to Albert Ball...

Diary of 2/Lieut. Geoffrey Corderoy, RFC
Part 14: 23-27 July 1917

27 July 1917 – Filescamp Farm, Izel-lès-Hameau, Artois, France


These have been full and emotion-filled days. I have never been in such a funk as I was on Tuesday whilst sitting in the London and Southwestern Pullman to Southampton.[1] It felt my flying career were as good as done. So many of the chaps at 46 had reported Huns as “driven down,” only to have someone at Wing later phone to say some ack-ack chaps had seen an enemy machine fall around the right time and place. Then voilà, the thing was confirmed as a kill. In my case it had been the opposite. I alone knew that I’d bagged at least eight, probably nine Huns with that squadron. I’d downed Huns in flames or seen them break up in the air or crash into the ground, yet without a witness my claims remained just that, claims. Only once had I claimed a “driven down out of control.” Then a few days ago I’d pressed my attack on a Gotha over Felixstowe, been hit by splinters, and pulled away. My glance back showed me a fiercely burning machine falling from the Hun formation. I claimed the Gotha, only to learn that the burning machine was one of our own. And now here I was, dropped from 46 Squadron as a fellow whose claims were suspect and whose physical ability to fly close formation with the others was under question. It wasn’t bloody fair!

The countryside paraded past in a blur as I sat with my forehead against the glass of the carriage window. I should have savoured this remaining time in England, but I was thinking of my uncertain future.

I slept on the Channel crossing, the first sleep in two days, and was awakened by the ship’s horn as we approached quayside. Boulogne had changed since I last saw it in the spring of 1915. Then it had still the air of a French fishing and holiday town, albeit one awash with bellowing NCOs. But now – my God – it was a bit of England. The signs, the voices in the streets, the books in the shop windows were all English. It was the beating heart of our war effort.

My orders were to take the train from the Gare Central at midnight. It was mainly a goods train and the officers’ carriages were full, so I joined some New Zealanders in an “Omms an’ Chevoos” [2]. We arrived at Abbeville before six and had a day to wait in the Officers’ Rest Club before a 5:30 pm train to No 2 Aircraft Depot at Candas. Arrived Candas at 10 pm to find the officers’ accommodations full. I paid my own hotel in the village and returned for breakfast. The food at 2 AD pilots’ pool was in short supply and the little left when I went to the mess at 9:30 am was horrendous, matching the overall bleak atmosphere of the place. To make matters more annoying, the orderly room insisted I pay for messing and accommodations when I cleared out!

It was nearly noon when I was informed by the mess steward that a vehicle was outside to take me to my squadron. Bundling up my kitbag and stick, I stumped down the stairs looking for the usual tender. Instead I saw a fine Crossley 20/25 staff car. A young, smooth-faced major stepped out from behind the wheel and extended his hand. On his tunic he wore the ribbons of the DSO and the MC, with a rosette signifying a second award of the MC.

“You must be Mr. Corderoy. My name is Patrick, OC Sixty Squadron. Climb aboard.”

William Charles Kennedy-Cochrane-Patrick is a well-known character in the RFC, although I’d never met him in person before. He has been flying in France since 1915 and has a reputation as perhaps the finest pilot in the Corps. I was not expecting this encounter, as I’d been told that the commander of 60 Squadron was Major Scott.

Patrick explained that Scott had been recently wounded and invaded out.[3] Patrick had just left as a flight commander at 23 Squadron to take command of 60. “Mr. Guy, our RO, is on leave and you’re my new factotum until he’s back and you’re cleared for duty.” He drove like he flew: quickly, precisely, freely. It was up to others to move out of the way. En route, Major Patrick gave me his précis of the new organisation.

“Good crowd, a little wild. Of course we had Ball, poor chap. But now there’s Captain Bishop, the Canadian. He’s striving to be the new Ball. The jury is out on that. There’s Captain Caldwell and Captain Molesworth. You’ll meet the others.”

The Crossley swerved to avoid a farm cart and nearly sideswiped an oncoming ambulance. “The jury’s out? Why do you say that, sir, if I may ask?”

“Oh he’s good, Bish,” said Patrick. “A bit intense, though. Major Scott was quite keen on him. He up for a VC, you know.” This was the first I’d heard of it and I asked about the award. “You’re the RO, Corduroy,” said the Major. “You can read the file for yourself.”

The rest of the way, the Major questioned me about me. I told him as accurately as I could about my trouble with my knee and with holding extremely close formation, and I recounted as well as memory permitted my round of denied claims and the rocket I’d got about the mistaken Gotha claim. Patrick said only that he’d fly alongside me as soon as I was fit again and judge things for himself. As for claims, he suggested that it was a run of bad luck, and then said that some of the chaps at sixty had seen the “other side of the coin.”

We had tea and cheese sandwiches in Doullens and arrived at Filescamp at one o’clock. The aerodrome was wonderfully fitted out, more like a holiday camp than the typical RFC utilitarian cluster. Filescamp itself was a large white manor house with the walled enclosure and substantial outbuildings typical of good French farms. It stood in a large rectangular area of woods, ponds, barns and trails, at the northwest corner of which stood an orchard. The squadron’s officers and NCO were housed in neat Nissan huts and the men in long, well-tended barrack buildings along the north side of this rectangle. Hangars lined the west side. All around the farms were wide-open fields for the aircraft.

[Linked Image]

I claimed a vacant bed-space in one of the huts, introducing myself to a fellow named Rutherford, and then made my way to the squadron office to start work. There was a mass of correspondence to plough through. After an hour I went in search of the disciplinary sergeant-major, whom I should need as a bit of a mentor.

Sergeant-Major Aspinall was a former Guardsman and the very image of his type. Everything about the man was crisp and shiny, from his hair and trim moustache to his gleaming Sam Browne and boots. He brought me on a tour of the squadron and introduced me to so many men that my head ached trying to remember the names.

I returned to my correspondence until five, when I made my way to the mess. Scarcely had I ordered a drink when some silly bugger jumped on my back and covered my eyes, shouting “Debag the new boy!” Although two others reached under my tunic to snap off my braces, my knee collapsed painfully and the four of us fell to the floor. The fellow on my back cracked his head on the bar as we fell and knocked himself out cold. My walking stick rattled across the anteroom floor.

I shouted in pain, holding my knee. The two conscious types sized up the situation and quickly apologized. Captain Molesworth and Lieut. Beck then introduced themselves and bought me a new drink. The slight, wiry fellow on the floor was still out cold. “That’s Bishop,” said Molesworth, and poured his drink on the chap’s nether regions. “I say, Watson,” said Molesworth as the stain spread across Bishop’s trousers, “I do believe it’s an inside job.”

NOTES:

[1] The London and Southampton Railroad operated between London Victoria Station and Southampton from 1838 to 1922, when it was bundled into the Southern Railway. It operated with rather luxurious Pullman carriages.

[2] Standard “40 and 8” French carriage marked “Hommes: 40, Chevaux: 8”.

[3] Maj Scott was wounded in combat on 10 July 1917.

Attached Files Filescamp.png
#4391200 - 11/24/17 06:01 PM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
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carrick58 Offline
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Thanks, normally I take them too late, but these did workout fine.

#4391201 - 11/24/17 06:03 PM Re: DiD Centenary Challenge [Re: CatKnight]  
Joined: Aug 2010
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carrick58 Offline
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Jeffery Vickers
Sgt, Rfc
41 Sqn, B Flight
Lealvillers, Flanders.
France.

1 Victory


Nov 24, 1917.


Up and down twice in the rain today. No contact

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