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#4328685 - 01/15/17 03:13 PM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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Banjoman Offline
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Here is the latest status report. Everybody give a hearty welcome to Dark_Canuck who has joined us. Dark_Canuck, I've added your name to the weekly status report so you are now official. biggrin



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#4328690 - 01/15/17 03:46 PM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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Welcome Dark_Canuck. I'm glad our circle is growing.
Thanks for the stats Banjoman!


"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."
#4328695 - 01/15/17 03:58 PM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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Thanks for the warm welcome. Almost as warm as the Germans gave me ar15 Writeup coming soon.

Last edited by Dark_Canuck; 01/15/17 03:59 PM.
#4328788 - 01/16/17 01:33 AM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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Flt Sub-Lt Albert Barleigh

13 Jan 17
Furnes
I arrived at Furnes bright and early, practically shaking with anticipation and nerves. I immediately reported to my new CO. He cast a withering glance over my frail form and sighed wearily.

"You'll do. Canadian right?"

"Oh yes Sir!" I replied. "From out west."

He didn't reply as he motioned me out of his office and towards the hangers. "That there is Samuel. Terrific Chap, already has 5 victories. He will be your wingman. Get up in the air, get familiarized and then steel yourself. You will be up on patrol before the morning is out."

Samuel just shook his head as he saw me. "Another one along eh? Well, there is yours over there. No, not the Tripehound you fool. The N11 behind it. Just remember, if you see a Hun...Run."

I stared at him blankly, trying to absorb it all.

........

The famil flights went okay, but the patrol was another matter entirely. We made our way down South over Ypres and then turned East over the remains of Polygon Wood. My N11 struggled mightily to keep up with the Tripes.I struggled with keeping formation, map reading, scanning my sectors and praying for some warmth.

Then out of nowhere a gaggle of Huns were among us. I heard nothing but the sound of bullets hitting my kite. Panic overtook me and I dove for the deck as fast as possible. I was pretty sure I was on the wrong side of the lines, but the only thing that mattered was getting to ground.

I recovered my wits enough to point west and resumed the prayers that had so far kept me from receiving bullets. I pressed lower and lower until I was able to see trenches. Machine Gun bullets whizzed passed. I kept my eyes glued on the horizon, searching for a decent landing site. I could see nothing but shell holes and trees.

I passed our lines at about 200 feet. Nothing for it now. I aimed for a blank spot among the shattered terrain and managed to avoid a stall. Luck was with me today. As I sat frozen with fear in the cockpit I came to the horrific realization that I will not survive this war.



The riggers counted over 60 holes. How none found me is a mystery.

14 Jan 17
Another bloody patrol. The thought of getting into the Nupe makes me physically ill. Thank God the engine gave up over De Blankaart. I happily signaled engine trouble to the lead and turned back toward Furnes. Unfortunately, I had to put it down on the road to Dunkirk. The only bad news about this whole affair is that Samuel was shot down and killed. He seemed like he might have even been a decent sort.

15 Jan 17
A long patrol South along the lines. Nothing seen. No frostbite either, which was a minor miracle. I am beginning to regret enlisting.

#4328796 - 01/16/17 02:42 AM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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Dark_Canuck, welcome to the meat grinder. It sounds like Albert is getting a good introduction to life at the front. biggrin


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#4328933 - 01/16/17 09:38 PM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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Nice work, Dark Canuck. I'll look forward to reading a lot more.

#4328990 - 01/17/17 02:25 AM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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St John-Cottingham is out of action for nearly two weeks...

16 January 2017, No 60 Sqn RFC, Savy

The miserable weather continued into the new year. New Years Day 1917 saw us dine well in the mayors house in Savy while the wind and sleet rattled the window panes and wispy strands of snow swirled over the frozen field across the road.

We flew on the second, when I was attached to Caldwells C Flight for a close offensive patrol" to the lines east of Bapaume. Caldwell turned back with a dud engine while I struggled to keep up with my old Type 16. My machines engine was no bon, as the troops would say. Flying into a headwind it was difficult to gain altitude without stalling. We saw nothing amidst the dark clouds and headed home.

The new fug boots Id got before Christmas kept my feet warm, at least, and Id also received a lovely grey highland sweater from my Auntie Flora. I wore it over a high-necked fleece cardigan. The parents sent me a paisley blue silk scarf which shut out the draughts when I buttoned up my leather flying coat. The issue mitts did a good job. Mine were a very nice lambskin lined with felt with a separate place for the index finger. I had a local woman sew a square of lambswool on the back of each mitt, so that I could rub my face or wipe my nose as the need came. The whole was capped off, quite literally, with a white balaclava worn under a leather helmet. All in all, I felt wonderfully kitted out.

We flew on the fifth, a defensive patrol up to Auchel. En route we spotted a Roland and engaged it. The gunner was a keen chap who put several rounds into my machine, cutting a fuel line. I glided down and landed in a field near Bthune, glad to be out of it. Im not fond of well-handled Rolands.

On 6 January 1917 we flew another defensive patrol, this one south to Bertangles, but saw nothing. Then on the 7 January the major decided to lead a patrol to tour the lines near Loos. He is not really supposed to cross the lines, being the CO, but being mad about shooting at Huns, he had himself lifted into Sowreys Nieuport 17 and led Caldwells flight. I was ordered to join the show in my ailing 16.

There was fairly heavy cloud and it was difficult to keep station in the winds at altitude. Major Paget-Graves led us up to 13,000 feet. My machine was barely able to hold the altitude and was not giving anything like full revs. The CO suddenly fired the dud engine signal and turned away. We formed on Captain Caldwells grid, as he insisted on calling it. It was Caldwell, Fry, Pidders (2/Lieut Geoffrey Pidcock), and I. Within a very few minutes Caldwell waggled his wings and rolled over, diving on some unseen prey. I followed as best I could, fiddling with the mixture all the time. Without warning the engine roared to full revs and I heard or perhaps felt an ominous crackling from the lower planes. It was not unknown for Nieuports to fold up in a dive, and as my machine was a particular pig, I blipped the engine and levelled out with great care.

Below me a swirling dogfight had begun. Ever keen, Caldwell had fallen on a formation of six Albatri with our three and a half Nieuports. One of the Huns, a machine with a red nose, quickly climbed onto my tail. My Le Rhne chose that moment to revert to its half-hearted efforts. I got one brief crack at the Hun, a full deflection shot that seemed to do no harm. The Hun, however, was very good and began stitching my machine with his Spandaus. In a very short time we were low over the front and I took yet more hits from ground fire. The engine began to miss badly so I picked out some pockmarked but apparently level ground just past our trenches and tried to settle down onto it. The damned machine caught a gust and floated over the level spot into a line of crump holes. The undercarriage cracked on the rim of one hole and the whole bloody arrangement went arse over teakettle.

I must have broken free of my lap belt on the Nieuports first flip, for the machine was shattered and I, relatively unharmed except for a couple of cracked ribs, ended up fifty yards away in a frozen depression with half of a dead man for companionship.

Soon I was dragged into a dugout where I was plied with whiskey by the company commander of the York & Lancaster Regiment, and then given some painkillers by their battalion MO. The combination meant I had only fragmentary recollections of how I spent the next day. I ended up in a Canadian CCS near Bethune, from which I called the squadron to arrange transport back. The doctors said flying is out of the picture for me for at least a week, so I am hoping for a Type 17 by then.

Major Paget-Graves expressed satisfaction that I was back, especially as I will now be free to fill in for Lieutenant Alders, our equipment officer, who is up for leave. And, of course, I will be able to begin recruiting ORs for his damned cricket match. It seems ridiculous to be thinking of cricket in ten degrees of frost, but orders are well, you know.

First on my agenda was to consult with the Great Man, Sgt-Maj Aspinall. Unbeknownst to me he is a keen batsman and a self-avowed fine bowler to boot. He advised that I spend time in the hangars and shops to get to know the men personally, and suggested that one might find more talent than one expects if one approaches things right. Approaching things right, where the men are concerned, involves drink. I resolved to get to know some of the men and then set up the team office in a village estaminet where one might share a pint if necessary.


Squadron Christmas card, drawn by Roderic Hill

#4329116 - 01/17/17 04:28 PM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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MFair Offline
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Dark Canuck, it seems we have another story teller in our crowd! Nice work.

Raine, nice to see your flyer back in action, I have missed your stories. Now we all look forward to the pretty nurse story!


Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end.
BOC Member since....I can't remember!
#4329557 - 01/19/17 04:12 AM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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St John-Cottingham is still out of action, but 60 Squadron moves to Filescamp and he starts on his appointed task of fielding a squadron cricket team for the Easter brigade tournament.

On 17 January 1917, orders came to leave Savy and move to the large field at le Hameaul, at the end named after the large farming estate of Filescamp. The farm itself was sprawling, with a small chateau and a number of ancient outbuildings and high grey walls. The proprietors were Monsieur and Madame Tetus, and the squadron immediately adopted their small children.

The Royal Engineers had been hard at work. Our accommodations were rows of wooden-flanked Nissen huts built close by the farms orchard, with another row of hangers, sheds, and small buildings perpendicular to the accommodations huts. The billet was a step down from the cozy bedroom I shared with Bill Sowrey, but at least we were in hard standings and not freezing in tents. The mess was a particularly fine place, with a brick fireplace and plenty of room for our growing collection of lewd prints and Hunnish trophies.

The first night was miserable, as our kit and bedding did not arrive until the early hours and we huddled on a bare floor around the iron stove in the middle of the hut. But by morning we were able to take advantage of the continuing poor weather to start to put the place in order. I was heavily bound up due to the broken ribs, so I was thankfully spared some of the heavier work, which suited me fine.

In my role of Equipment Officer (temporary, acting, unpaid), I made proper acquaintance of Sgt-Maj Smyrk, the technical sergeant-major and a wizard with all things motorific. We discussed my mandate to work up an ORs cricket team, and he called the air mechanics, clerical, and general duty personnel together in A Flight hangar that evening. Sgt-Maj Aspinall presided. As the men gathered, the Great Man whispered some advice. He said not to sound either demanding or pleading, simply confident that we would produce the finest ORs eleven in the brigade and that it was important to speak up if you had cricketing experience. Oh, and your idea of interviewing candidates in a village pub is a good one, although you should expect a few to show up just for the drink.

All right, you lot, the Great Man began. Gather about. You may smoke if you have them. If you dont have them, beg from a friend. And if you dont have a friend, pay someone. Right. This, as you may know, is Mr. St John-Cottingham. The CO has appointed him player and coach of the squadron mens eleven for a brigade cricket tournament to be held at Easter. There will also be an officers eleven, but Mr. St John-Cottingham will play for your team. Up to three NCOs may play on the team as well. He will brief you. SAH! He stepped back, turned about, and snapped off a pukka Guardsmans salute, the smartness of which Id never before experienced. I tried to return it, nearly putting out an eye in the process.

Now Im sure we have some fine cricketer is the ranks, I said. I was met with stony silenced and hollow stares. And Im sure well be the best ORs team in the tournament. I shall be setting up interviews in the village starting tomorrow after dinner. Sergeant-Major Aspinall will post a sign-up sheet for all those interested, and I shall post a roster for interview times and locations. We have a spare hangar for a winter practice site, and practices will begin next week. Are there any questions?
Sir? said an Irish voice.

The Great Man whispered in my ear, Corporal OConnor, a Sinn Feiner and the squadron Boshevik. Be careful, sir.

I looked about and the voice called out again. Yes, that man. Corporal OConnor, isnt it?

If thats what the sergeant-major told you, sir, hes roight.

Mind yourself, corporal, interjected the Great Man.

Roight. And now sir, will the mens team be playing the officers then?

This one had me. As far as Id understood, the officers would play the officers and the ORs would play the ORs, as it should be. I frowned, and said I wasnt certain.

Well, sir, if the men arent good enough to play the officers then why should they play at all?

Why for the honour of the squadron, of course, I said.

Cpl OConnor came back directly. Why sure, if we would honour the squadron by beating the men of the other squadrons in the brigade, then certainly it would be an even greater honour to beat their officers? There were murmurs of agreement, and I said Id take it up with the commanding officer.

Are there any immediate volunteers? I asked.

Me sir, came an enthusiastic voice. I looked about. A grinning dark face bobbed up behind the first ranks. My heart sank.

Name?

Private Harjit Singh Samra, sir! The fellow was damned keen, but likely better as a batman than a batsman, I thought.

Very good, Samra. Anyone else?

Silence reigned until a broad Scots voice thundered out. Creekits a daft game. Fu o numpties and bloody Sassanachs sippin tea an wolfin doon crumpets. Can we no play fitba, surr?

Not at this time, Donat, said the Sergeant-Major from over my shoulder. And keep your insights on the world of sport to yourself.

Och, but its no a mans game.

DONAT!

Aye, surr.

It would be a bigger challenge than Id thought.

#4329559 - 01/19/17 04:24 AM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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Raine, you are a genius. I really love your stories and to think we get them for free. biggrin


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#4329862 - 01/20/17 10:29 AM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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19 Jan 1917

A Tripe of my own. Words cannot describe the joy I felt at getting to fly a kite that can compete in the air. I was not longer just a target, I could be a hunter, just like my mates! I would fly up and down the front, downing all enemies who dared to challenge me!

I looked over at Samuel's empty bunk. A cold feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. Maybe it might be best to save the heroics for the heros. I should probably just try to stay alive and keep my kite in one peace. At the very least the boys in the shop will be happy with me.

I sighed and pulled on my frigid boots. Bundling up, I walked over the few meters to the HQ hut and checked the roster for today. B flight is to RV with some bombers and lay some pain down upon some German supplies. Seemed easy enough. If we were lucky we wouldn't even see the enemy. If we were really lucky we wouldn't even see our bombers and could come home without ever crossing the lines.

We met the bombers without incident, sadly. We chugged towards the lines, literally flying circles around the two BE2cs that were carrying their little bombs towards the unsuspecting Germans. A strange whistling sound told me they had layed their eggs over the target. Just as I was swinging my nose around for home I noticed a glint on the horizon.

HUNS!

I motioned to my Flight Commander and charged headlong at the foe. My eyes were drawn tight to the growing specs on the horizon. As I came closer I realized these were two seaters. ROLANDS. I sighed relief. No quick death at the hands of some Hun ace for me today.

We closed rapidly, and I chose my dancing partner. As we came into contact,he flipped his craft around, showing me the tail. I stayed low, heeding the advice of some of my squadmates.

"Now Barleigh," they would say patronizingly between drinks, "When you come up on a two-seater what do you do? No, no, no Albert, not like that, you have to stay low. Come up under her skirt and give it to her hard and fast."

I slowly made my way closer, careful to stay out of the arcs of the rear gunner. Finally I popped up my nose and fired. As I did I drifted up into the range of the rear guns.

Nothing. No return fire. I smiled inwardly. Now this should be easy. I drifted in closer, ready to finish my pray when all of a sudden I heard bullets snapping past. Oh bother, that rear gunner was awake!

I fired another long burst into the cockpit area and spiraled down out of range. I became coldly aware of the fact I was all alone, miles behind the lines. Looking behind me I saw a faint trail of vapour. Bugger it. A slow leak of petrol. I should have enough to get back over the lines. I sighed and resigned myself to another landing far from an aerodrome.

I looked at my map and determined that La Lavoie was the closest parking spot. I decided to head in that direction and hope I could make it.

My petrol reserves survived the trip and I lined up my approach. I drifted in slowly, determined to make a graceful landing in front of the airmen here. At about 200 ft my engine coughed and died. No worries I thought. Ill just touch down a few meters in front of the field proper. Hey, what is that line there? FENCE! FENCE FENCE FENCE BUGGER PULL UP! I grunted at the effort, but it was no use. I smashed into the fence.

The Tripe was a write off. I fared a little better fortunately. Four days in a nice hospital with some pretty nurses. The whole time I couldn't help but think who in their right mind puts a fence 50 yards from a runway?

#4330318 - 01/22/17 02:54 AM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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Dudley Nightshade
Flt, Lt.
6 RNAS
Petit Snythe, France.


20 Jan 1917.

Returned to Flight Status, most of the chaps are new. The C.O. posted me to a Cracker Jack of a Security Patrol late in the day. Our 9 a/c ran into and engaged 2 Rolands. The Flights got 1 ea. I was the Flight Commanders wing man so got some 40 rds off at a 2 seat then watched as he got in the killing bust while I reloaded. A flamer that took a header into the soil of France. We didn't get away unscathed. 2 damaged plus 1 heavy damage fit for junk.





Last edited by carrick58; 01/22/17 02:56 AM.
#4330442 - 01/22/17 05:33 PM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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Dudley Nightshade
Flt, Lt.
6 RNAS
Petit Snythe, France.

21 Jan 1917.


We got batted around by the Huns. The Sqn,s eight machines engaged a flight of 3 Roland 2 seat types over our Aerodromes. Wild show,the Pilots were Vets puling around ,diving and spinning all the time the guns were banging away. I got off 9 rds then jammed as another Hun got on my tail so I spun out of it then went home.
Sgn losses: 1 N-10 destroyed + 3 N-11's damaged. Claims: 0.


#4330753 - 01/23/17 07:45 PM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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Banjoman Offline
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Antigua, Guatemala
Guys, I having internet problems so the status report will be late. I'm sorry for inconvenience this has caused anyone. I love Guatemala, but I don't love how bad the internet is here.


Member and provider of banjo music for the Illustrious BOC
#4330790 - 01/23/17 09:22 PM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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wave

No problem, we appreciate your work.

#4330792 - 01/23/17 09:25 PM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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Dudley Nightshade
Flt, Lt.
6 RNAS
Petit Snythe, France.

Jan 22, 1917.

B flight went Balloon hunting this morning. Not good situation, we got the gas bag However, it cost us 2 machines not a good trade.

#4330796 - 01/23/17 09:42 PM Re: Black Sunday [Re: Banjoman]  
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Fullofit Online content
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Originally Posted By: Banjoman
Guys, I having internet problems so the status report will be late. I'm sorry for inconvenience this has caused anyone. I love Guatemala, but I don't love how bad the internet is here.

No worries Banjoman.


"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."
#4330802 - 01/23/17 10:03 PM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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Dudley Nightshade
Flt, Lt.
6 RNAS
Petit Snythe, France.

Mission: Security Patrol.
B Flt: 3 N-11's + 1 N-10.
ALT: 2300 meters
Engaged: 2 DFW Types.
Results: B flt loss 1 Pilot Mortally wnd + 2 damage. Claims: 0
Bugger ! I just got in a good position and was firing off my 1st Drum when a loud Ripping Noise was heard. Then came a thunderous Flapping sound. All I could do was cut power and very slowly descend to a friendly Aerodrome.


#4330846 - 01/24/17 12:37 AM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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Carrick, at least your pilot lived to tell the tale. Mine parked himself behind a 2-seater, received a single bullet to the head and ended up eating the dirt. RIP Cesar Turtellotte.



"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."
#4330857 - 01/24/17 01:47 AM Re: Black Sunday [Re: CatKnight]  
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Raine Offline
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Fullofit, I feel your pain! 23 January 1917 was Blaise St John-Cottingham's last flight. Finally back in the air but still cursed with an Np16 that was totally outclassed I flew three flights this weekend and today. Basically I ran away from Albatros scouts. Then tonight we ran into Halberstadts and I finally had a chance to mix it up, but I must have been rusty. Had a spot of target fixation and collided with the Hun. Well, there goes a good cricket match story!

Next fellow will be a Canadian, I think.



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