homepage Forums Air Combat & Civil Aviation Wings: Over Flanders Fields DiD Centenary Challenge

you know what ..... the older, other forum looks way better than this one now.
perhaps we should move the whole WOFF over there

Carrick58, keep Dudley just start over with the flight hours and stuff. Are you using Robert's pilot backup utility? Lederhosen, I agree we should move.

No , Just getting all the games together re- installing ect

A journal of the Great War – By an Anonymous Aviator (Colin Urquhart)

Part 10

The little Nieuport scout was as light as a feather and nearly as stable. I found that I needed to have a much lighter touch with the demoiselle than I’d been used to with the Strutter, especially in the wind and rain that seemed constant these days.

I’d written home, and my mother wrote back a short but dear note that accompanied a plum pudding and a blue balaclava cap that I immediately found indispensible. To my delight my father wrote a letter a day or two later that begrudgingly conceded that being commissioned in the Royal Navy was not the most dishonourable thing one could do, although he mentioned a friend in Ottawa who could arrange a transfer to the RCN and a nice desk job for me back in Canada. Perhaps, he suggested, the Navy would even support my medical studies after the war.

Back in reality, however, our new squadron continued to “work up” for service despite the foul weather. All through the first week of November we patrolled over the German lines, from Lens in the north to Péronne in the south. Things seemed to have finally petered out along the Somme after truly horrid losses since July. The weather limited activities on both sides to small demonstations. On 7 November, after a week without seeing a single Hun, we returned from shooting up an enemy rail junction and ran into two Rolands. One made off and the other put up a stiff fight. The cloud was so heavy that I became disoriented as I threw my little machine about. Suddenly the Nieuport made a sickening cracking sound. I could see not obvious damage, although the starboard wires vibrated oddly. I throttled back and planed down to a thousand feet, creeping my way back to Vert Galant.

Our base has become quite comfortable. I share a large hut with five others: Galbraith, Hazard, Simpson, Booker, and Soar. Only Galbraith is a fellow Canadian. Soar and Booker are the most experienced. Both have served out of Dunkirk since early in the year. Soar was in the Dardanelles before that. The fellows here were a little cool towards me for a few days. It was disturbing at first, but I learned from Commander Bromet that we had been sent a few poor pilots from other squadrons, chaps who needed got rid of. Things improved once it leaked out that I’d downed four confirmed Huns with 3 Wing. That made me the lead Hun-getter; Flt Comdr Gobel is next, having bagged three while serving with 1 Wing up on the coast.

On 8 November I got to lead a patrol up to the area near Monchy, where we shot up some Hun railroad carriages in a siding. The weather was still poor and we saw no other aircraft except for a lone Vickers or Airco that passed overhead on our way home.

I got permission to go into Doullens with Galbraith that afternoon. We splurged on baths and shaves, and had some very good white wine with a smashing omelette and roast potatoes in a little café off the market square. The table next to us was occupied by two Canadian doctors, one of whom was a French Canadian fellow who knew my father. They were delighted to know we would be flying overhead and shared a bottle of champagne with us. They were part of the advance party for a hospital that is being set up at the Citadelle just outside the town.

Dudley Nightshade
Flt, Lt.
6 RNAS
Petit-snythe, France.



March 14, 1917.


Never a Dull day around here, They had a fire up at wing. IT seems that the Officer of the Day was shooting at some rats and hit an Oil Lamp and the whole shack went up. The fire took all our Sqn records of Kills, Flight time and Pay records. Hq send word down just to Do Over starting at zero on A/c Time, Pilot Times and Kills along with claims. As for Pay, they be giving us Part Payments till its all put right. I flew with B flight on Patrol this morning in Key's Keedle machine # red 3. Hes on leave in England.

Dudley Nightshade
Flt, Lt.
6 RNAS
Petit-snythe, France.


March 15, 1917.

Mission: Patrol
B Flt: 6 A/C
Alt: 3200 meters
Loc: Just short of the Lines
E/A: 2 Recon Types
Claims: Both E/a
Loss: 3 damaged B flight N-17 Bis's

Remarks: We had a Row with the Huns this morning. By chance, I was the closest machine to attack. I got off 2 10 rd bursts of my Lewis then Jam. My vickers barked 32 rds then I Broke right as his wingmans gunner fired. The flight left 1 smoking and the other in a spin headed down. After landing, we counted 12 holes in my top wing.

A journal of the Great War – By an Anonymous Aviator (Colin Urquhart)

Part 11

Over the next few days the same pattern repeated itself. We’d be off in the morning after the ground mist cleared, typically around 8:30 or 9:00. Each day we’d fly over the lines between Bapaume and Arras, but the weather was too poor to see much. We had heavy cloud, ground mists, and driving rain or sleet nearly every day.

I led a patrol again on the 9 November. We were ordered to attack a Hun aerodrome at Riencourt, about halfway down the old Roman road from Arras to Cambrai. I decided to take Le Prieur rockets to see if they could perhaps hit a fuel storage area.

Or so I told the equipment officer. My real thought was that I could fire them off and get away without expending ammunition from my Lewis gun. I have a deep fear of changing the drum on the gun. I’ve tried it twice on short practice hops near Vert Galant. You need to unfasten your restraining belt, stand up and grip the control stick between your knees, and heave on the empty drum in a 75 knot freezing blast. I’m tall enough that the side of the cockpit is below my knees. If I lose my tenuous grip on the control stick or if a sudden gust or Archie blast causes the little Nieuport to hop about, Flight Lieutenant “Semi” Colin Urquhart goes overboard and becomes a meat bomb! The thought keeps me awake at night. I’ve secretly vowed never to change the drum. I’m hoping that my Pup will arrive before I get in a real fight.

On 11 November the GOC visited us. I was duty officer and accompanied Squadron Commander Bromet with the Great Man. He has a brusque manner. Well, in truth, a terrifying manner. Not that he really talked to me, although he did once haltingly acknowledge my existence, but it left me with the impression that I was something he’d found on his shoe. General Trenchard’s aide was a totally different matter. Captain Baring is an older man, a scion of the famous banking family. He has a reputation as something of a renaissance man and I’m told he is a former diplomat and a published author and poet. Trenchard grunts things to him and he takes notes. Throughout it all he managed to keep up a quiet and humorous commentary for my benefit, mainly on the oddity of naval custom and terminology.

“Gudgeon pins. Make a note of that, Baring,” the GOC would grunt, and Captain Baring would dutifully take out a pencil and scratch down something in a strange hieroglyph which he called Pitman shorthand.

Our Technical Chief PO asked for the same gun oil as 32 Squadron (now installed across the road from us) used in their DH2s. “Far superior to our naval oil, sir,” he said to the OC. Trenchard nodded and Baring wrote. We were somewhat chagrined to learn that an hour later the boys at 32 Squadron were requesting good Royal Navy oil, “not the rubbish they send the army.” On closer examination both oils were found to be the same stuff!

On 12 November, Hazard and I were led by Booker over nearly as far as Cambrai. The cloud was heavy and we climbed to 12000 feet trying to break through. The Nieuport could scarcely hold itself level at that height. Suddenly Booker fired a red flare and dived through the cloud. I tried to follow. For an instant I saw a silvery-blue outline of a two-seater well below us, but I passed through more cloud and saw no other aircraft after that, friend or foe. I circled about for a while and, not fancying my chances alone 20 miles into Hunland, set course for home.

Booker and Hazard landed shortly after me back at Vert Galant. Hazard was whooping. He’d bagged a Roland, his first kill.

Photo: Sqn Cdr Bromet

Dudley Nightshade
Flt, Lt.
6 RNAS
Petit-snythe, France.


March 16, 1917.


Mission: Escort 2 Be2;s from 6 Rfc.
Loc: Zeldemgem Area
Alt: 2300 Meters
A/C 6 N-7;s B Flight
Results Completed.

Remarks: A lot of enemy fire over target . Spotted numerous dots ,patrols, at lower Altitudes. No Joy.

Some very nice reports gentlemen! I am enjoying them when I have some free time. Hope to get into some flying soon.

Robert, come join us, the water is fine.

Jumping in this late begs the question about what changes need to be done if any regarding the rules.

You could probably dispense with flight from the depot to the front if you wanted, but I don't see why the familiarization flights wouldn't need to still be flown. If I remember correctly, all of the other rules should still apply.

I have no problem with the rules per se, just wondered about the starting date. I actually would enjoy flight training in England first and then deploy after arrival at St Omer.

Oh, ok. The Intrepid flyers are on 11/16/1916 and the Warbird flyers are on 3/16/1917. Is that what you were wondering?

Robert, come soon. Bring gramophone records and marmalade.

Dudley Nightshade
Flt, Lt
6 RNAS
Bellevue Aerodrome, France


March 17, 1917.


The Sqn's flyable machines re-located to Bellevue this day. All 8 flyable N-17's landed safely. The Baggage and unit personnel plus spare parts will arrive over the next few days.

Carrick58, Arthur saw a flight of three N.17 bis this morning and I wondered if Dudley was out and about.

Here is the latest status report.



I've also posted this in the CombatAce forum, but I don't think I'll continue double posting since it seems like people have returned back to this forum.

Dudley Nightshade
Flt, Lt
6 RNAS
Bellevue Aerodrome, France


20 March 1917.


On the ground lately, due to pulling Officer of the Guard duty and Bad weather. The Met chaps say the sudden snow storm should let up by the 22nd.

A bad weather tale from Flight Lieutenant Colin Urquhart, 8 (Naval) Squadron's novice French teacher...

A journal of the Great War – By an Anonymous Aviator

Part 12

After a week of flying in foul weather, seeing nothing, we were blessed with three days of sheeting rain and hammering wind. A Flight lost a hangar and the south end of our field became a lake and a Nieuport blew over and fell apart and I slept in until nine. Better this than a sojourn on a South Seas island, says I.

We set our minds to basking in idleness or otherwise amusing ourselves. Reggie Soar practised shuffling cards like a Monte Carlo dealer and Booker and Simpson, having acquired some balsa wood and glue, engaged in a contest to see who could build the oddest model aircraft that would actually fly. Booker’s aircraft looks to take the prize, it being a preposterous five-planed thing with a biplane tail. He says he will find a mouse to be test pilot and set it aloft. Simpson swears he’ll shoot it down with his Webley.

Squadron Commander Bromet surveyed us at lunch on the second washout day, the 18th, asking who could speak French. Several of the lads were proficient. The French I’d learned growing up in Montreal was likely to be unintelligible here, but I suspected that the volunteers might be dispatched to Paris on some mission of interest so I made the mistake of raising my hand. The OC had decided to put on lectures, and basic French was on the curriculum. Grange and Squadron Commander Bromet would prepare lessons for the officers. Compston and I would teach those below decks.

My first lesson was memorable. Twenty sullen Ack Emmas and assorted other ranks gathered in a spare hangar across the way in 32 Squadron territory. Folding chairs were assembled in rows.

“You may smoke,” I began. About a dozen of the men were already on their second cigarette. “Today we’re going to go on about conversational French. What would you like to learn?”

There was a great deal of interest in the proper phrasing of indecent proposals, but my own vocabulary was not up to the task. Nor was my personal experience. I began with basic foodstuffs and counting, the phrases needed for shopping. “What is the French word for beer? I asked.

“Bière,” replied twenty voices in unison. I’d clearly started with familiar terms.

“And how would one ask Madame Bossu for an egg?” I asked next, referring to mistress of Vert Galant farm

Now there was hesitation, except for one bulky, red-faced seaman, obviously from Glasgow. “Och, surr. Yon’s an easy one. Ye ask the missus fer an OOF.”

“Very good...”

“Dalgliesh, surr.”

“Dalgliesh it is. The French for egg is OEUF. Now, Dalgliesh, how might one ask Madame Bossu for TWO eggs?”

The ruddy face wrinkled in thought. “It’s like at hame in Glesga, surr. I allus ask the missus fer TWA oofs.”

“Indeed,” I remarked. "And does that work for you, Dalgliesh?”

“Aye surr,” he said. “But the daft auld wumman aye gies me THREE eggs. I just hand the spare one back.”

I have much to learn.