Now THAT was a crackerjack tale, Raine. Simply marvelous! I had a palpable feeling of anxiety as I read your fine story. So many times have I managed to guide a crippled plane down to just before landing for it to suddenly turn turtle. How were you able to avoid that?
I think this fellow Corderoy has a fine future as an author, assuming he survives the war! Well done, sir.
“With Major Lawrence, mercy is a passion. With me it is merely good manners. You may judge which motive is the more reliable.”
Balloon Attack: The bag was up near Arras. The 9 of us went up to put it down. Lt Victor was in the 2nd a/c and got too close. The balloon went up in a fiery gas explosion . The Fokker machine was caught in the fire. Flames bellowed and he arched into the ground below. Perhaps, he was too keen on getting the kill ?
Line Patrol: My machine went racing down the field only to have its motor stop. Luckily, I avoided the Fence at the end.
Excellent story telling as always Raine, very exciting, great detail. Geoffrey has some good survival skills, I would have most likely frozen to death.
Hey all, Ive been catching up on a couple weeks of fine writing and amazing storytelling with my morning coffee. I've been unable to fly for weeks due to work and travel and have just found out I will be away from my rig until September. It seems old Collin Sitwell may survive the war by default!
Please keep up the fine work so I can fly vicariously through you this Summer!
On escort for a lone Rumpler, I spotted an SE on the down low coming fast. Dropping down , I waved off the 2 seat and attacked leaving my other 2 wing-mates to look after her. My 1 SE turned into 2 and as the fight progressed it became 3 e/a's I took fleeting shots till I could Fake a Spin then run . Made it back with only 5 holes in the Fokker. All a/c in the flight made it back. No damage or claims.
Raining. Epiez is about 12 kilometers from Toul, on the side of a hill. The name for this place on the map is Amanty.. The camp is hidden in a forest, with wooden barracks and 12 big hangars built for a French Bombing Squadron. The buildings are all scattered around, with plenty of space between them so that no bomber will ever get more than one building with one bomb. The Adran barracks are long shacks made of pin boards and tar paper. They have shuttered windows with no glass or screens. Dewey and I have set ourselves up in a double room on the end, so we have two windows. The Front Lines are a good distance away but the boom of the guns can be heard when the wind is right. Listening to them in the night really brings home the reality that there IS a war going on.
Found out that Davey and the 95th Aero just left this place about 10 days ago for Toul. Hope we'll be joining them soon.
Some of our Nieuports were waiting for us and the mechanics, who do all the work while we have all the fun, were busy tinkering, testing and polishing our little birds till they gleamed in the sun like Birds of Paradise. At every spare moment, we sneak down to hangars, just to look at them and gloat.
The Anti-Aircraft Artillery woke us up this morning. A German was circling at a high altitude over the aerodrome like a big buzzard. A few pilots took off to chase him but the Hun was too high and was long gone before most of them could even get off the ground. It laid it's eggs on some unfortunates in a nearby camp.
May 17th 1918
Weather was good for flying. The Chinese Aces(1) from Orly were flying in more of our birds all day, cracking up 2 of every 3. The planes are rather fragile and when they wash out they're usually a total loss. We should have been flying them in instead of taking a train from Paris, It's frustrating to see so much waste, especially at $18.500 apiece, which I am told is cheap but that's a lot of taxpayer dough and more than Daddy has ever earned in a year, even after he got that big church.
Took my first jazz(2) in a Nieuport 28! Greatest thing with wings you ever saw! Lovely lines, wonderfully wired, very elegant long tail, a real doozy! Cockpit is cramped but tolerable. The rudder bars are a little close for me and any attempt to stretch my legs is rewarded with scorched feet from the engine, which gives off heat like a cast iron stove. The rest of me may freeze but I'l have toasty warm feet.
I climbed the ladder and squeezed into the office (3), the ground crew checked the pants leg (4), turned the ship into the wind and chocked the wheels. A crewman yelled "SWITCH ON" as he pulled the prop. I repeated "SWITCH ON" and the engine roared to life, and I do mean roared. The noise was deafening. It left me in no doubt about the power of a 165 hp Gnome Monosoupape Rotary, 2 hp for every pound of plane. The thing was like a plow horse pulling for all it was worth. I held back on the stick and the mechanics were holding the wings, but even then, the little thoroughbred was straining at the chocks. We have a signal worked out with the crew, you run up the RPMs, nod your head for them to pull the chocks with long ropes, then your off like a shot. The tail is up within 15-20 feet and the next thing you know you're airborne. It has a strong tendency to nose up on takeoff but the torque is not nearly so strong as on the Clergets we flew with at Issoudun. RPM is controlled by a selector switch to increase or decrease the spark interval, so it's not just full on or full off, there are three settings and off. There is, of course the blip switch on the stick too. It burns almost as much castor oil as gas.
These things maneuver like a bird in flight, you almost feel as if they're responding to your thoughts, as if it were an extension of yourself. They whip around on a dime, with no vibration in a turn.
A couple of complaints, like everything else, Forward vision is very limited and the windshield is too far forward for me so I had little protection from the wind and castor oil flying back in my face, got the trots from that. When I get my own bird I'll have it moved back. And the rudder bars, of course.
They're a little tricky to land, the tail is so light that if you bounce too much or hit soft ground, there's nothing to stop the machine from going over on it's back. We've had two mishaps, Wolf Healy ground looped, but he's Okay. Abe crashed a bird coming in for a landing, getting a nasty cut on his chin. The Major chewed him up and spit him our, threatened to send him back to Issoudun. Really put the fear on God into him!
At dinner, the Major announced that Ken Porter will be Acting Squadron Commander while he works on getting things in order for our next move, to Toul. Pip Porter was made temporary Flight Commander for A Flight, Alk will lead B and Whitey will take charge of C Flight. I'm in Alk's Flight. He introduced three new officers, Lt. Rosenblum will be our pill roller, Lt. Walker is Operations Officer and a Lt. Roberts, an Ordinance man on loan from the 103rd Aero, is here to supervise installation and Synchronization of our Vickers.
We are now officially assigned to he 1st Pursuit Group along with the 94th, 95th, both now at Gengoult Field near Toul, and 27th Squadrons.
After the meal we challenged the mechanics to a baseball game. Pip got a hit with bases loaded and two outs. His was the only outfield hit of the game. That hit snatched victory from the jaws of defeat for us, 8 to 7.
(1) Chinese Ace - slang, poor pilot (2) Jazz - ride (3) Office -slang, cockpit (4) Pants leg - slang, windsock
Friday, continuing to familiarize ourselves with the Nieuports. Abe had another incident but it wasn't his fault. A wire snapped in the undercarriage while he was landing and bent the axle. The machine was damaged but not destroyed. Frenchy wiped out a machine but came out unharmed. Mechs overpainting the French cockades with American, red, blue and white center. m In the afternoon, went to Neufchateau. We loaded up in the Fiat and Packard with the Major and stopped along the way to visit Domremy, saw the house where Joan of Arc was born. Bought several souvenirs to send home. At Neufchateau we went to the Lafayette Club where the featured attraction was an American dance band. There were a number of American nurses, some very good looking, from the hospital in the city there. Danced with one of them, she was very hard to talk to, didn't do any more dancing, played darts and billiards. Stayed until the wee hours.
May 20th 1918
The Majors invited a number of HQ guests for a 'Gala Event." A lot of brass hats came, among them Col. Boom Trenchard of RAF #55 Squadron.
It began with a baseball game between us and the officers of the 27th. We won, 9-7. After the game, Snake and Alk gave a flying exhibition with Fred Norton and Jerry Vasconcells of the 27th. They put on a good show, handled their birds like champs.
There was a barbecue in the hollow back behind the aerodrome. Col. Tenchard gave a short talk about the successes of his daylight bombing squadrons. The group had bombed the rail yards at Cologne early that morning and would be bombing Frankfurt next. He introduced some of his officers who had participated in the raid. Everyone cheered and a toast was raised to the Colonel and the Independent Force of the RAF.
The event concluded with drinks, singing and more cheers. LeRoy Prinz of the 27th danced for us, backed by an orchestra from Neufchateau, quite a hoofer. I allowed myself two light beers to be sociable.
Another Rock- em and Sock em -day at the Front. The Schwarn took out another Arty Balloon then a section of Camels came down to play as we re-formed. A lot of wild turning and twisting a/c with chatting machine guns . Score 0 for 0.
Just caught up with the wonderful stories. Glad I had time to read them all. Great read Raine, very edge of the seat stuff, and Corderoy wasn’t even flying. While reading, I was thinking to myself: wouldn’t it be great if after landing behind enemy lines you’d have to actually get back home on foot a la FPS? Avoid enemy patrols or get caught, instead of the usual WOFF dice roll. Probably would take 2 days to finish the mission. Maeran, another great tale. Glad your boy survived with just a scratch. Looked like that Albatros gave him a run for his money. To me, the AI that is able to surprise you (and best you) is the star of this show. Jerbear, I like how detailed your reports are. It looks like Johnny is almost ready for combat and I see he’s already flirting with the nurses even without getting wounded. Carrick should be more worried than ever. Carrick, every time I read your reports and see your pics of the Dreidecker I get jealous. Aldi is stuck with the bloody Pfalz until at least May (or at least until OBD fixes plane assignments in Jasta 18 - fat chance of that). Once again, great stories Gentlemen. Keep ‘em coming!
"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."
Some great reading here of late! Jerbear, your tales of Mr. Goode have a really authentic ring. What are you using for source material? I love the American terms and really American feel of the way Goode writes! Fullofit, thanks for the feedback. I had forgotten the one claim per mission rule! Was that made before the claims became harder a year or two back? I'm not sure it's needed anymore. Anyway, I had two really likely kills (witnessed and over friendly territory) that I let pass in order to put things right.
Maeran, can't wait for the next installment. Has your book on 40 Squadron come through. You'll have to keep Stanley in one piece, though. That last flight was cutting it a bit fine.
BuckeyeBob, thanks for the comments. I'm not sure how I avoided a fatal crash. My left wing was down about 40 degrees just until I landed. At the last second it came up and the machine bounced and came to a quick stop without the slightest injury. Just very, very lucky.
Carrick, you seem to be having a great time with the Triplane!
Geoffrey Corderoy has finally caught up with his nemesis, Bishop. Here he meets two remarkable women I learned about only recently...
Diary of Maj. Geoffrey Corderoy, 70 Squadron RFC Part 51: 16 to 21 January 1918
16 January 1918 – Poperinghe aerodrome
Offensive patrol down towards Neuve Chapelle and Provin this morning. Gossinge and Quigley have both made captain, and it was Quigley’s show. He didn’t mind me tagging along. I think he knew I had to get back in the saddle after my last journey.
We were scarcely over the lines when we encountered a group of Pfalz scouts heading SW over the Lys. We were at 8000 feet and they were well below, so we were on them before they saw us. Quigley bagged the leader and I closed on a white machine with a red tail and a black spiral around the fuselage and some sort of drawing on the side of the grid near the cockpit. My opening burst shattered its left lower wing and the thing flipped over and went straight down into the ground – another Hun they won’t need to dig a grave for! I had a new boy named Rankin on my wing and he was able to confirm this as my 43rd victory.
"My opening burst shattered its left lower wing and the thing flipped over and went straight down into the ground..."
18 January 1918
We have had two days of snow, so I took Gossinge to Pops to buy two large casks of local beer, some champagne, and a box of cigars. I threw these in my Standard along with some tins of bully and a couple of jars from my parcel from home, and the two of us made our made across treacherous and crowded roads up to Bray Dunes, where we had lunch with the chaps from Naval 3. Gossinge was in his glory as many of them were Canadians.
After lunch we picked our way east as far as we could. I was looking for the village of Pervijze, for that is where the Belgians who rescued me five days ago were centred. The village is really non-existent, but I had hoped the road would be passable, but the deep frozen ruts threatened to finish the car. I pulled over in front of a ruined farm. We did not want to leave the car with its precious cargo here and walk, but our dilemma was solved when an ambulance came crashing and skidding down the road, heading in the right direction. Gossinge stood in the road and flagged it down.
“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” shouted the driver, who to my amazement was a pert-looking female. I approached the vehicle and asked if she would mind awfully helping us move some gifts up to the Belgians. She scanned me with a wary eye and asked why I was so bloody interested in Belgians, so I explained my journey of the past week. She had a polished Scots accent, and was clearly not a woman to be taken lightly.
“Ah, I think I know you,” she said. To my astonishment, she described how I was brought into her basement aid station and how my feet were bathed in warm water. “Cried like a baby, you did.” Gossinge had a good chuckle at my expense.
And so we made a deal. I would contribute a cask of beer and the cigars to the aid station she was headed for in Pervijze, and she would get me there.
“My name is Mairi Chisholm,” she said. We introduced ourselves and she directed us to sit in the back. The drive was utterly terrifying. She seemed to balance the ambulance on the narrow high spots in the road and made full use of the verges. I doubt if we dropped under fifty miles an hour the whole way. At length we skidded to a stop outside a cellar. There was a bit of brick wall with a sign: “Poste de Secours Anglais.”
“This is home,” said Miss Chisholm. “Bring your things in.” The steps from the street led to a steel door, and inside, rows of injured men were tended under good lighting, protected by reinforced concrete walls. “This is my good friend, Elsie T’Serclaes.” Despite her Flemish name, Mrs. (or rather Baroness) T’Serclaes was English, married to a Belgian flyer! And here in the warmth of the cellar, Miss Chisholm removed her greatcoat and I noted that she wore the ribbons of the Military Medal and the Order of Saint John. In addition they wore a foreign decoration I did not know. The Baroness wore the same ribbons.
“How are your feet?” asked Baroness T’Serclaes.
“Perfect,” I replied. “No problems at all.”
She told me to take extra care as I might find myself a little more vulnerable. “Your case was superficial, but another two or three hours and you’d be without your feet.”
I replied that I was thankful for the aid I’d received, and thankful again for the drive into the village. “Miss Chisholm missed her calling. She should be racing at Brooklands.” Miss Chisholm laughed and said the she would already have raced there but for the war. The Baroness explained that they met before the war because both of them raced motorcycles! I stole admiring glances at Miss Chisholm and once caught her looking back. It was probably my imagination. I learned she’d been engaged to a pilot for a short while, but he’d been killed.
We never did meet up with my Belgian rescuers, because their company was still in the front line, but our two astounding nurses made us tea and promised to get the beer and preserves to the men who had rescued me. I asked them to ensure the company commander got the champagne and gave them the second bottle for themselves.
We left a cheerier scene than we found, as every injured man able to do so was drinking a beer and smoking a cigar. Miss Chisholm drove us back to the Standard, and Gossinge rode in the back. This time I managed to sit beside our chauffeuse, who permitted me to call her Mairi. I asked if I could pay her a visit again, and she said I should have to bring something for the aid station if I did.[1]
Mairi Chisholm [L] and Elsie Knocker, Baroness T'Serclaes [R]
19 January 1918
The Huns were raiding our aerodromes aggressively of late, so we flew a defensive patrol. Over Proven we met some Albatri who were escorting two Rumplers. We mixed it with them and I send one down in a spin but was not able to follow it.
20 January 1918
Flew another defensive patrol to St-Omer. Again we found a raid in progress. The two-seaters were too high to reach, but an Albatros dived at me and nearly caught me. The Camel is more nimble and it took only seconds to get behind the EA. After a burst, it dived under me and disappeared. Hobson later reported seeing my Hun struggling for control and diving shallowly into the ground. This was quite a surprise to me, but it was confirmed as number 44!
21 January 1918
I was nervous about going up this morning – orders were for a long DOP deep to the south of Douai. Something didn’t feel right. Gorringe led his flight, C Flight, and I joined and brought along Rankin for some experience.
We were only about ten miles into Hunland when Gorringe waggled his wings and turned due south a group of four or five Albatri were circling slowly, either preparing to land or engaging in some form of training exercise. We fell on them like wolves and the poor Huns scattered. I picked out one diving for the ground and caught him just above treetop height. I fired three or four bursts before the poor chap’s machine began to show smoke and drift into a slow curve to the right. It crashed and tumbled across a ploughed field, catching fire.
Bishop had left No 60 for Canada with 45 kills. I had caught him at last. Bishop would be back at the front soon, as he was pegged for a new squadron. I needed to add to my score, because I was due for leave fairly soon.
"I fired three or four bursts before the poor chap’s machine began to show smoke and drift into a slow curve to the right."
NOTES
[1] Mairi Chisholm and Elsie Knocker, Baroness T’Serclaes, were widely feted and photographed during the war. They were accomplished pre-war motorcyclists, appearing in rallies and trials. Knocker was orphaned at an early age but adopted by an academic who sent her to an exclusive Swiss school. She married but it ended in divorce, a fact she concealed, even from her second husband, the Belgian Baron T’Serclaes, a pilot in the Belgian Flying Corps. Mairi Chisholm was the daughter of a wealthy Scottish family. Raised in Devon, she became an ardent motorcycle racer and mechanic, and it was their love of motorcycles that brought Mairi and Elsie together.
When the war broke out, they both volunteered as dispatch riders for the Women’s Emergency Corps. Soon they recruited as ambulance drivers and nurses with the Flying Ambulance Corps in Flanders. After months of service, the two decided they could help more by setting up their own aid station, and contrived to be attached to the Belgian Army. Their work in running an independent aid station earned them the name “The Madonnas of Pervyse.” They became media darlings and were highly decorated by both Belgium and the United Kingdom.
Late in the war, both women joined the Women’s Royal Air Force. Post-war, Knocker became divorced again when her staunchly Catholic husband learned of her divorced status. The news affected Knocker’s friendship with Chisholm, too, and they grew apart. Chisholm was twice engaged but never married. She died as a successful poultry breeder in Jersey in 1981. Knocker lived to the age of 93, dying in 1978.
A well done and researched story. I found it very good reading.
I am having fun with the DR I ( although I am not using full DiD ) She flies on the edge and gets me out of a lot of trouble, Turning on diving attack , circles, flat turns. The only problem is SE's and rear climbing SE's on attack Shooting up under U in a climb.
On escort 1 Rumpler + 5 of us as close escort. The flight got spanked by the Englanders. We had just finished one Photo pass of the lines when I spotted a Flight ,6 a/c, engaging our cover flight of 4 machines. I broke right to help as a flight of e/a dove on us . Turning twisting they drove us down or into another Flight of SE's. Mein Gott a mess and surrounded by e/a. I took hits and got wounded,but manged to hide in a cloud then dove for a rough landing near a farm. Hospital for at least 5 days The Jasta lost 2 Tri planes for 0 e/a. with both pilots KIA + mine forced down and Wnd.
Raine - Well blended story with your Geoffrey and the two motorcycling nurses, very believable.
Carrick - That 3rd picture is excellent, looks like the cover for a "You are there" type novel from the 50s or 60s.
Source material, as requested
The 147th Aero Squadron in World War 1 - Jack stokes Ballard and James John Parks The Hat in the Ring Gang: The Combat History of the 94th Aero Squadron in World War 1 - Charles Woolley First to the Front: The Aerial Adventures of 1st Lt. Waldo Heinricks and the 95th Aero Squadron 1917-1918 - Charles Woolley Nieuport 28: America's First Fighter - Theodore Hamady The 1st Pursuit Group - Osprey Books - John Guttman Terror of the Autumn Skies: The True Story of Frank Luke, America's Rogue Ace of WW1 - Blaine Pardoe and John McLain Up and At em - Harold E. Hartney ( Commander of 27th Aero and later 1st Pursuit Group) An Explorer in the Air Service - Hiram Bingham (instructor at 3rd AIC, Issoudun) Stars and Stripes - The American Soliders Newspaper in WW1 - Library of Congress Online The Slang of the American Expeditionary Forces in Europe 1917-1919, Johnathan Lighter - American Speech (Magazine) Duke Univ Press Cross and Cockade International Summer 2015 Vol 46 #2 "Alkali Ike - The Life of Lieutenant Arthur Hast Jones" Some of my own life experiences in the US Army (not at a pilot) Dogs and other animals I have known in civilian and military life I'm sure there are a few things here in there that I just can't think of right now but this is the main list
I arrived back in time for the last mission of the day a Patrol of the lines. We had 2 flights of 4 lined up and ready. We ran into Spads and Breguets. No joy for me i just couldn't get in position without the spay and pray. I did spot Visefeldwebel 's Knoch get a flamer on a 2 seat. The Jasta claimed 2 for 1 damaged Tri-plane.
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