Fullofit - Not only am I a lumberjack and I'm OK, but I have performed that very number on stage to thunderous applause. In both cases, many decades apart, I was wearing a red and black checked flannel shirt so I felt especially Canadian, if that's even possible for an Yank. And on the subject of applause, three cheers/ huzzahs for Ziggy cracking 100 and regaining his rank. H & B!
Holy Poachathon, Batman! How very disappointing that the German translation is the same. I was hoping for Der Fliedermensch or something of that ilk. Such teamwork on that Breguet, and to bring it down intact. Hopefully this feat will get Ziggy out of the Hund Haus permanently.

Carrick - Green Tails, eh? Tough outfit. Watch out for that All-Green machine. Most wily, those Boche. Balloon defense? Is that even a thing for the Entente? Never got those orders, just lucky, I guess. Thorpe continues to get the feel for the SE. Keep up the good flying. The kills will come.

Lou - Very relieved that Freddy is on the correct side of the lines, even if his arse is literally hanging in the wind. What luck that Nurse Lizzie is here! Will they play fantasy Wargames this evening? I'd suggest a LOTR Appendices reenactment, like Naughty nurses of Numenor, but Tolkein hasn't written that yet. Too bad. Ar-Pharazôn the Golden seizing the sceptre will have to wait, or will it?
There are a number of those Great war interviews from that same series. I think Cecil Lewis is the only other aviator.

Raine - Good show, Mac! Congrats of the well-deserved Gong.

Robert - Hope you are well. We await your triumphant return to the Campaign.

KK- Good to see you dropping by, even if you're just browsing the pictures popcorn
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À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 51 of many



26 November 1917
56 Squadron RFC
Laviéville, France


8.00 Allyn and Moody looked positively green this morning. Even Flight Sergeant Pickett moved unsteadily about his duties. By all appearances, the NCOs and men of A Flight had christened my century with vigor. They had full-on bragging rights for the present and I was happy for them.

Morning escort of 2 R.E.8s from RFC-13 to bomb installations 2 miles east of Fontaine-Uterte aerodrome. A Flight was Maybery, Harmon, Dodds, Cawson and Roy. Good old F-U, scene of so much drama during my time with 54. Lost one Harry Tate to engine trouble before crossing the mud, the other bombed the target successfully then headed for home.

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Over the German support trenches, three Pfalz attacked. Yellow tails! Jasta 10

I immediately latched onto one but after a short burst, nearly collided with Woodman. Got onto another and almost collided with Maybery. Enough! I broke off and went high with Roy in trail. At that point, a loud clank sounded in the engine which immediately began dropping revs. I suspected a broken rod. Firing off a green flare I dropped out and made haste for the lines.

Curse you, Rainsford Balcombe-Brown!


My sweet purring B511... and now this steam shovel of an aeroplane.

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Over No Man’s Land the Hispano breathed its last.

Steering toward the Advanced Landing Ground at Hervilly/Montigny-Ferme I realized I wouldn’t make it and landed instead next to a nearby balloon battery.

The salvage crew didn’t arrive until 2 o’clock. I spent the intervening time with the battery commander, Lt. Markham who, in keeping with the highest traditions of the Kite Balloon Section, proved a most affable host. I declined his offer of liquid refreshment still hoping to make the afternoon show, which was scheduled as a Distant Offensive Patrol but accepted his hospitality for lunch. In the end I missed the patrol. Richard led and after several indecisive fights, brought everyone home.



27 November 1917
56 Squadron RFC
Laviéville, France

The plane lay crumpled. I found myself strangely fixated on the blue and white quartered wheels of B Flight sticking up from the inverted undercarriage that was the only recognizable part of the wreck.
Arthur’s head and shoulders lay visible peeking out from under the wreckage, facing me. His eyes suddenly opened. He was alive! I tried to move but unseen hands held me fast.
“Help me Ripper! Help me!” his voice rose to a panicked cry. He squirmed in pain and terror as if something were attacking him from below. “Ripper! Please, for God’s sake help me!” he screamed.


“Ripper, it’s all right, Old Man. It’s just a dream.” Richard stood over me, torch in one hand, and the other on my shoulder. His calm smiling presence brought me fully awake. When I nodded in acknowledgement he returned to his cubicle.


9.00 Barrier Patrol between the Bois de Robermont and our aerodrome at Boiry St. Martin. An easy, uneventful morning. Just as well as I was flying a spare. Moody and Allyn were in the middle of a complete overhaul of B54’s temperamental engine.

Weather closed in with heavy winds and rain washing out the afternoon patrol. The desperate fight for Bourlon Wood rages on and we can do nothing to support our infantry. Bloody Hell!

Long talk with the CO this afternoon. Yet another possible posting in England, which I refused as I had with the previous two.

"Remind me, Winningstad, how long have you been out?” asked Major Balcombe-Brown, knowing full well what the answer would be.

“Since April 1st, sir.” I replied. “Eight months come this Saturday.”

“Remarkable innings, Winningstad. You’ve batted a Century, and for a country not your own I might add. Only that naval chap Mulberry had more. VC and a rainbow of ribbons on your tunic. Brilliant. Might be time for a rest. Every man has his limit.”

Is he trying to get rid of me?

“I’ve got a bit left, sir. My place is here, leading a flight and training the new men. Work to do, yet.”

“Yes. We’ll discuss the matter another time. Thank you, Flight Commander.”



28 November 1917
56 Squadron RFC
Laviéville, France


9.00 Life in the Spare continued. Escort of two R.E.8s from RFC-59 on a recce of Hun trenches from the Arras-Cambrai road to a point 6 miles north. The Harry Tate’s were exactly on time and we crossed into Hunland at 10,500 feet. Four circuits, no e/a sighted. With our friends from RFC-59 safely back to Allied territory we returned east on a free hunt. Running the length of the Arras-Cambrai we patrolled over Bourlon wood. Oddly, no e/a in sight. We retraced our path back to the northwest through a sky mysteriously devoid of enemy aircraft.

Just east of Brayelles, a single Pfalz attacked.

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One vs five. The end was never in doubt.

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It was done. Drawing closer I could see the pilot struggling to hold the Pfalz in flight.

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The flames advanced but he fought grimly to control the machine, protecting his face with his left arm. On he flew, even as the flames licked tantalizing about him and prepared for their final embrace.

He turned to me as I drew alongside. Trick of the light or no, I could see his eyes clearly through his goggles. His expression showed no fear or anger, only sorrow. Grief for the life ending and those he would leave behind. He would never ground the machine before the flames took him and he knew it.

Slipping behind and taking careful aim, I made no vain cast. As the pitiless bronze, so too the guns shore through him.

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“And the mist mantled over his eyes, and the life left him”

I hope for the same kindness if the time comes.



29 November 1917
56 Squadron RFC
Laviéville, France


Mr. Right hung on the wrought iron fence making his piteous gargling noises. Lifting his face to me he spoke, mouthing words, but no sound escaped his lips. I leaned in closer straining to hear...

“8 o’clock, sir,” whispered Harris. “Some tea and a biscuit for you.”

A Flight were on standby most of the morning. At 10.30 we scrambled to clear intruding Huns near Old Mossy Face. The full flight, less Woodman, this morning: Maybery, Turnbull, Harmon, Dodds, Cawson and Roy.

Over Bapaume at 13,000 feet we saw Archie buffs 2000 feet above bracketing a pair of Hun two-seaters. We chased them for 15 minutes and finally caught them just south of Riencourt.

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Instead of diving away, the two Huns reversed and flew into the trailing elements of the Flight.

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By the time I closed it was already over.

Returned to patrol the space over Havrincourt Wood.

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Five Periwinkle Albatri come down to play. Their blue noses shining in the sun...

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Dodds in trouble! It was a baited Hun trap, and I knew it...

Dammit man, reverse your turn!

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I cleared Dodds' tail, but not without cost.

The trailing Hun’s fusillade tore thru canvas and struck an aileron cable. Controls answered but the SE wanted to go over to the left. I lost sight of Dodds and skidded right to avoid the attack. Dragged the offending Albatros to Maybery who sent it down out of control.

Two Rumplers and three Albatri accounted for, but Dodds did not return. Cawson had seen him going down through a cloud with a Hun following.

Engine test of B54 this afternoon. Adequate response and power but a pale shadow of my departed B511.

Wing sent confirmation of yesterday’s Pfalz. Poor b@stard. He was too keen. 102.

No news tonight of Dodds. He is down and missing in Hunland. Six weeks, that’s how long he lasted. I flew into an obvious trap to try and save him and barely escaped myself. This was how it will happen. In my SE, I can outfly or outrun any German man or machine currently flying, but the time will come again when I must knowingly fly into ambush to save one of my men.

"But when the sun god stood bestriding the middle heaven,
then the father balanced his golden scales and in them
he set two fateful portions of death which lays men prostrate...
and balanced it by the middle."


When would my death day prove the heavier?



30 November 1917
56 Squadron RFC
Laviéville, France

I woke on my own. First night’s sleep in a week without nightmare but the ghosts continue restless. I see them in the day now, lingering at the edge of my vision or walking with a group of men.

8.45 Winter dawn patrol of our lines in front of Cambrai. Early reports this morning of a massive German counterattack on the flanks of the Cambrai push. Maybery, Turnbull, Harmon, Woodman and Cawson.

Clarissa's handiwork kept my head from freezing as we climbed past 15,000 feet. Over Old Mossy Face, high Albatri attacked. Pushing the throttle wide open, the Hispano responded with a high pitched *ping* followed by a chugging noise as it dropped revs and vomited oil onto the windscreen.

Blast your clumsy hands, Rainsford Balcombe-Brown!

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I broke away, fled west and nursed B54 to the Advanced Landing Ground at Lechelle.

I rode back on the tender with the salvage crew. B54 had exploded two plugs and burst an oil line. When I saw Richard waiting for me, I knew what was coming. George Cawson was dead. The flight attacked a DFW and his SE was hit and broke apart in midair. Barely 6 weeks. That’s how long he lasted.


2.45 Afternoon show was an escort of 3 R.E.8s from RFC-12 to bomb Epinoy aerodrome. In the wretched spare again. Over the target Periwinkle Albatri, once again. I caught onto one at the first merge and put a 40-round burst into his engine. He fell out of control and smoking but as I watched him fall, he leveled at the last and landed very neatly at Epinoy aerodrome. Wily B@stard!

One of his comrades was less fortunate. Over the field another Albatros chased an SE. I dove to attack.

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In the twilight he fell, thunderously, and darkness closed over both eyes.

I never saw who the SE was. When the Hun crashed, I was alone. Another unconfirmed kill. I climbed toward the setting sun. The men of A Flight slotted into place as we flew west.

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We chased the sun home to Laviéville

C Flight landed just before we did. Beery’s engine faltered on takeoff and he’d failed to get off with the flight. Captain Robert Townsend took command. C Flight scrapped with a pair of two seaters and then a flock of Green Tails. Three of the Huns attacked Townsend and shot him down in flames.

Bloody November! 56 Squadron was much depleted. Ten pilots lost this month, four to HE and six to the enemy.
Mac saw my silent distress and tried to offer consolation. He holds himself to an even higher standard and feels responsible when his pilots get shot at much less killed, but Mac is a professional soldier and exhibits powers of detachment I have yet to master. The weight of failure sits heavily upon me. I’ve lost two men in as many days and I was powerless to save either one.

Reports are sketchy but it’s clear the German counterattack has achieved complete surprise. The Huns have retaken Bourlon Ridge and are driving the PBI back toward their jumping off points. No news about the Albatros.


Last edited by epower; 12/20/20 05:01 AM.