Been hors de combat for several days, but will be back by week's end. Jerbear, I have been enthusiastically reading Goode's memoir. Congratulations on the first kill! Carrick, you have be the lifeblood of this thread!

Diary of Maj. Geoffrey Corderoy, 70 Squadron RFC
Part 55: 7-18 February 1918

7 February 1918 – Poperinghe aerodrome

I have been making it a practice to add a flight every day, subject to orders, in order to exercise our new flight commanders under my direct command. It is, of course, also an excuse not to become desk-bound.

Weather has been filthy of late but still we fly. Today it was a line patrol to the south, where we met a large formation of Albatros scouts of the latest type high over Loos. It was a wonderful scrap, although several times I came within a whisker of colliding with another Camel. After about five minutes of taking snap shots at fleeting Huns and split-arsing about to keep other Huns off my tail, I spotted a lone Albatros diving shallowly eastward. I banked about and dived steeply so that I gained on the yellow and black machine. At 200 yards I began firing long bursts until the Hun burst into flames and its wings folded back. It was in the very same instant that Captain Howsam’s Camel appeared mere inches from my left wingtips and I threw my grid about to avoid a dreadful tangle. The Hun went tumbling away, trailing flame and smoke. Upon return to Pops, Howsam and I compared notes and it was clear that his last burst was the coup de grâce. Rather than share the kill, I insisted that Howsam get the credit.

8 February 1918

Sheeting rain, followed by sleet and snow cancelled all flights. Two Bessoneaus collapsed, with the complete loss of one Camel and damage to two others.

18 February 1918 – Folkstone, England

I have just picked up my journal for the first time in several days. Let me fill in the gap. On Sunday 10 February I took Gorringe and Quigley, along with Rankin, Todd, and Koch, up to intercept some Huns which had been spotted over Neuve Chapelle. We had pounded a beat up and down the sector for 45 minutes, when a large formation emerged out of the haze in the south. We were at 13000 feet, but the approaching aircraft were at least 2000 feet higher. I tried to climb towards the west and slip around them to put the sun behind us, but they saw us and dived all together.

They were Pfalz scouts, at least eight of them against our six. I turned and fired a full-deflection shot at one of them and then climbed to take stock of the situation. But the fight was over before it started, for a rattle of rounds hit my grid. Holes appeared in the fabric of my wings on both sides of the fuselage and there was a loud metallic bang followed by only the sound of wind. The Clerget had cut out completely.

It was nose down time. I kicked the Camel into a right-hand spin and plunged into a vertical dive. I looked all about, but never saw the Hun or Huns that had hit me – obviously from directly beneath. There were two holes between my feet. Those rounds must have passed between my legs. There was little thought of safety in this dive. Fabric tore away and the wind ripped at the stricken Camel. I was down to less than 3000 feet before I was able to ease out of the maddened dive. The trenches passed beneath, the woof and crack of Archie shook me about. I could see Bethune in the distance and spotted a space on a rutted road where the stumps of trees thinned out enough that I could land. The propeller stopped its windmilling as I skimmed over a sea of upturned faces – turbaned Sikhs lined the country lane. With a bump I stalled the Camel onto the road, trying to stay between the ruts. The machine bounced once and settled down after a few yards, close by an abandoned brickyard.


"The machine bounced once and settled down after a few yards, close by an abandoned brickyard."

It was only later that I realised my ears were ringing madly and a blinding pain overtook me. It was like a needle through my brain. Apparently the loss of altitude has affected my middle ear. I returned to Poperinghe that evening, but felt sick to my stomach with pain and was nearly deaf. I was dispatched to a CCS, then to the hospital at Calais. Within a couple of days I was back in England at this place, the Canadian Westcliffe Eye and Ear Specialist Hospital in Folkestone. They have kept me under observation and half-drugged, but the good news is that the eardrum has not ruptured. The liquid that collected in the middle ear has now begun to drain and I should soon be released, although they are unsure how the ear will react to flying at high altitudes. I had hoped to go back to SE5As, but working at lower level in Camels might be the only ticket I have.