Diary of 2/Lieut. Geoffrey Corderoy, RFC
Part 22: 19-20 August 1917

19 Aug 1917 – Filescamp Farm

Early patrol – southern offensive patrol, down along the lines towards Cambrai. It is drizzling as I walk along the well-beaten path through the orchard to our hangar. There is time for a quick smoke and a cup of tea proffered by Corporal McGlashon, my trusty rigger. We chat for a few minutes while Sgt Nicod runs up the SE. Caldwell is leading today and lets me know the news that Molesworth’s transfer to HE has come through. He is leaving this afternoon, so there will not be time for a proper binge. I’m feeling well binged-out in any event. I wonder who will get Moley’s flight.

We are off: Jenkins, Caldwell, Chidwell-Roberts (along for the fun, apparently), Crompton, and Young. We passed over Monchy-le-Preux and continued, dodging muddy grey cloudbanks, southeast through seas of Archie puffs. There is a Hun aerodrome at Riencourt-lès-Cagnicourt. I am leaning over the side looking for it when I see out of the corner of my eye Caldwell’s grid climbing away. Seven Albatros scouts have emerged from the overcast and are on us, and it is a hot time. Two approach me head on and the bullets snap past. I skid sideways and fire. Some small debris flutters in the air as the Hun flashes past. Now it’s time to gain some height. The SE is a bit sluggish and I adjust the mixture, nearly stalling out of a turn. The two Huns are firing again. This time a couple of rounds punch into my left upper plane. Everything holds together. Good on you, Farnborough! Snap left and get behind one of the Huns. A quick burst causes him to spin away and down, looking for an escape.

My hands are full with the other Hun for a minute or two until Crompton jumps on his tail. At that very moment, an unseen Hun hits my machine. There is a hole in the fabric a foot from my right shoulder! I spin and dive away, not levelling out until I am at 3000 feet. About 600 yards off is a lone Albatros, perhaps the one that dived away from me earlier. He is heading towards a low wall of cloud. In a few seconds I am on his tail, firing until he pitches over and tumbles towards the earth, streaming smoke. I climb away westward and return home alone, low on ammunition.


"In a few seconds I am on his tail, firing until he pitches over and tumbles towards the earth, streaming smoke."

At lunch we toast Molesworth and I wish him all the best. He’s a stout fellow, but we never really got to know one another well. Then we are off on our afternoon patrol. We are to escort some Fees over the lines to Vitry to bother some Hun reserves. Major Patrick is leading. In the hangar, he notices that I am not longer using a ladder to climb into my machine and asks me to take station on his left wing. “Bring it in a bit closer this time,” he says. “I want to see whether the leg is still affecting your formation work. It looks much better.”

Patrick is an all-too-uncommon leader who knows that pride and trust are his best tools. He makes me want to give peak effort all the time. Over the lines, Soden signals a wash-out and leaves us. Then Young turns back too. Now we are only three SE5s and two Fees. We approach the objective and a large group of Albatri dive on us. We see them late and are badly outnumbered. I have three of the buggers on me at once and, while I hand out some punishment, my grid starts to take hits. When the right moment comes, I dive away at full throttle and head for our lines. Two Albatri follow, but I am drawing away. As I cross the lines and pass the first of our captive balloons, one of the Huns turns back. I wait a minute and then turn on the remaining EA. The fight is short and furious. After several head-on passes I hit him and, as his machine staggers, I zoom and turn onto his tail. He dashes eastward, but I close on him just as we reach enemy lines and the ground fire begins to worry me. A long burst from my Vickers and Lewis sends the machine tumbling down. A thousand rifles and machine guns are now pointed my way and I am lucky to get out without serious damage. Caldwell and Crompton each return with claims as well.

It has been a good day’s work, two EA claimed. Unfortunately neither is witnessed and therefore my official bag remains at five. The Major has given Lieut Guy directions to note all unwitnessed claims as such, and Wing is responding with a more conservative view about crediting kills, or so it seems. On the other hand, I have good news. The CO is pleased with my station-keeping on his wing today, and I learn that he sent in a W3121 recommending me for an MC for my two-kill performance on the 17th inst., and it has already been approved through Wing and Brigade. I shall remain hopeful.

20 Aug 1917

I get to lead a patrol today when Caldwell’s grid goes wonky on him shortly after take-off. We are carrying bombs to our Hunnish friends at Menin aerodrome. I lead us in and get out quickly, leaving several shops and hangars in ruin and flames.

Afternoon is a northern offensive patrol, and I am hopeful for more Huns. There is too much cloud to see anything, though, and we return after two hours of pointless flying.

Off to the bath house in Izel with Caldwell and Chidwell-Roberts, then to dinner in town.