Lou, Nice work on that Rumpler. They can be very dangerous but they fall apart so nicely when you hit them!

Fullofit, the French must be very relieved that weather is keeping you on the ground.

McAlister has had a good week and a short break from the war…

War Journal of Flight Commander George Ewan MacAlister, DSO, DSC

8 Squadron, RNAS
Mont-St-Eloi, France

Part 24


"I dived on another that I saw heading for his home."


On 22 February, I lead a stalk against two Rumplers. These observation machines are high flyers, quite comfortable up to 20,000 feet and more. So when we found a pair of them at a mere 14,000 feet, we set out in pursuit. The trick is to get under the tail where the gunner can’t see you. But when there are two of them, each gun-layer covers the other’s tail and it makes for a difficult job. I fired fifty rounds from 200 yards but then came under effective fire from my target’s partner. I circled back and let McDonald take over. The Canadian shot our man down and received the credit, as well he should. The other Hun had his nose down and headed east to quickly to catch.

We have lost Guy Price. I neglected to mention that he was wounded last week and has since died in hospital. It has been some time since we lost a veteran. Fowler is out of action right now with ear problems and we may not see him back for several weeks. We are awaiting a new pilot or two. On a brighter note, Bob Compston has been awarded the DSO. He richly deserves the honour as he has at least 25 Huns to his credit and has been out here a long time. We had a fine binge to celebrate and the skipper sang all his signature tunes.

We had a few days of bad weather and I was able to get leave. The skipper gave us a loan of his car and I went with White all the way to Amiens. We had two full days to enjoy ourselves in a city not completely smashed by fighting. It was rather overpopulated with staff wallahs. We were, it seems, the sole representatives of the Royal Navy and attracted a bit of attention wherever we went. We toured the great cathedral and wandered through the shops. I bought some fine lacework for my mother and sisters and a new pipe for my father. I will hold onto them until I see where we are going to in the move that I expect is coming.

White is a good travelling mate. He has studied more French than I and speaks it horribly but without shame or caution. He is teaching me how they swear in French Canada. All their swear words are religious. They curse by the sacraments, by the Blessed Virgin, by the chalice, by the Eucharist, and so forth. It is quite bizarre and totally unlike the French here in France. White says that the French-Canadian and English ways of cursing are reflective of national characteristics. “People swear by what scares them,” he said to me. “For the French Canadians, it’s God. For the English, it’s sex.”

We shared a bottle of wine with two Royal Engineers subalterns, who steered us toward a wonderful spot for dinner. “Forget Godbout’s and the hotel restaurants. The places are good but rotten with red tabs. You’ll want to be going to the Rue Cornu sans tête and looking for Chez Josephine. The seafood is fine but don’t mess her chicken. She must have a farm on the side but the things are marvellous and the supply endless." We took him up at his word and found the place. Josephine herself served us, a tidy woman approaching middle-age and obviously doing quite well by the war. Her roast chicken was frankly breathtaking and the frites were the best I have enjoyed. We watched the goings-on at other tables and decided to order a couple of dozen oysters for pudding, and washed them down with fine coffee and brandy!

White was not an inveterate womaniser so I was glad to join him in a visit to the pictures. There was a cinema near the train station where we caught a Charlie Chaplin film. Unlike some parts of France, hot water was not rationed here and I took a hot bath before bed on Friday night and White did the same on Saturday morning. We returned to Chez Josephine for lunch and more chicken and took a leisurely drive back towards the Arras front. I should say it was leisurely for me because White did all the driving and worked very hard to keep us from skidding into ditches with the snow.

The weather broke on 25 February. We flew a line patrol east and north of Arras. A large formation of Pfalz scouts approached from the north and turned over us. We climbed towards them but they saw us before we got in range and came down upon us like hawks. Fortunately, B Flight was only about a mile off and came to our aid. We fought for nearly twenty minutes. I got behind one Hun but he gave me the slip. I dived on another that I saw heading for his home. This one I downed on the far side of Vimy Ridge. I have put in the claim but not yet heard whether it has been witnessed.