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#4559240 - 03/09/21 10:37 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) ***** [Re: Raine]  
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War Journal of Flight Commander George Ewan MacAlister, DSO, DSC
8 Squadron, RNAS
Walmer, Kent, England

Part 28


[Linked Image]

Meeting Winningsted was the highlight of the evening. Compston had disappeared with his brunette and Winningsted’s comrade had found his own beauty of the evening. So we left Murray’s Cabaret Club together for the little pub attached to the back of the Regency Palace. There, over a pint of bitter, we chatted for a very pleasant couple of hours. I discovered that Winningsted was more of a mariner than I, despite all my Royal Navy trappings and traditions. He had sailed the Pacific before the war and had tales of the orient to make your hair stand on end. Splendid fellow. Earlier in the day I had chatted with a group of American flyers who were dispatched to Felixstowe to meet the King. They stood about awkwardly in their silly uniforms, their puttees too high and tight and their collars ridiculously rigid. They were all new to the game, still in basic training at Reading. Most were charming young men except for one fellow who went on at length about warm beer. According to Winningsted, the American air service is a bit of a shambles, presided over by military Academy cavalry officers with no knowledge of flying. In fact, he claimed that the men were required to wear spurs while flying! Poor fellow, he felt a duty to serve his country but a reluctance to leave the Royal Flying Corps. We discussed the current plan to unify the military and naval flying services. Winningsted felt things were becoming overly nautical, while I believed we in the RNAS were losing our heritage with the Senior Service. We agreed to disagree. At length I bad him my salaams and retired to my little cubicle in the hotel. The next morning I met Compston, much the worse for wear, and we caught the train for Walmer.

On 7 March I led two others on a navigation exercise toward Ramsgate. It was exhilarating to simply fly without peering into the sun for attacking Albatri. Back at Walmer I filed my report and walked to my cabin. I spotted a young lady walking a bicycle by the fence and waved to her. She waved back shyly. Two paces later, my brain engaged and I turned towards her.

“Good morning,” I said. The girl blushed and muttered the same. “Are you interested in aeroplanes?” She nodded. “Would you like a tour of the place?” The girl nodded her head and smiled.

Five minutes later I had cleared her through the main gate and was escorting her down the line of hangars, praying that she was not a German spy. I rattled on about the Sopwith Camel and about the Naval Air Service. “What is your name?” I ventured.

“Bronwyn,” she said.

“What a remarkable name! Bronwyn. Sounds very Saxon. You should be rallying the men to fight the Viking hordes.” She giggled a little, then caught her composure.

“Don’t be ridiculous, sir,” she said. “If the men needed me to rally them, we should have already lost.”

“My name is George,” I said.

“You’re Scottish,” she observed.

“Yes, I am. Proud of it, too.” We chatted for a long while. She had two brothers in the army and her father was the local doctor. We had that in common. She was bright and observant. She watched a Camel taking off and noted the rudder full over, asking if that was to counteract the gyroscopic pull I had mentioned earlier. We walked back outside and I accompanied her into town where we stopped at a tea room for tea and scones.

“Do you do this often – pick up stray flyers?” I asked.

“You are my first stray,” she said. “This is a great adventure for me.”

I’m sure I blushed. “Me too,” I confessed.

Attached Files bicycle.jpg
Last edited by Raine; 03/09/21 10:37 PM.
#4559297 - 03/10/21 03:38 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Fullofit Offline
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Raine, you forgot to mention it was very unladylike to ride a bike with a crossbar this high.

10 March, 1918 10:45
Toulis, Marne Sector
Jasta 19, JG II
Leutnant Rudolf Emil Fuchs EK1, HHO
42 confirmed kills

Yet another attempt to successfully complete ground forces support mission.
It was another uneventful patrol. Rudi was worried that they would have to do it all over again tomorrow. After Schwarm Eins turned for home, he kept Schwarm Zwei over the Front for a little longer, hoping for an encounter with the enemy, that would satisfy HQ. The skies remained devoid save for a single DFW on its way to bomb some target into enemy territory. Fuchs decided to tag along for two reasons. First, to protect the lone bomber from enemy attacks and second, to attract said enemy planes. The enemy didn’t bite. The two-seater finished his bombing run and turned for home. Rudi decided to do the same before some lucky Flak burst punctures his petrol tank. The empty skies kept his Schwarm company for the duration of the return trip.


"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."
#4559320 - 03/10/21 05:08 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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just Tech question: In that Time period, did the normal population use the word Airplane ?

On the lite side the bike pic reminds me of a story. A man advertised in the paper Wanted Wife and Trailer Send pic of Trailer.

#4559329 - 03/10/21 05:45 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Carrick

Yes, the term was in common use. The British spelling was/is aeroplane.

#4559397 - 03/11/21 12:10 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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War Journal of Flight Commander George Ewan MacAlister, DSO, DSC

8 Squadron, RNAS
Walmer, Kent, England

Part 29


[Linked Image]

We practice formation flying in the morning, north to the Thames and west to Sheerness. We were back and had breakfast by nine. Only eight of us were not on leave and most of the day could pass in idleness. I borrowed a motorcycle and sidecar and drove into town. It was a Sunday morning and the church bells were ringing. I followed the sound until I found a small Norman church whose sign announced it was Old St Mary’s. I wondered how St Mary’s felt about that name. The Eucharist service was about to begin and I parked the motorcycle under a chestnut tree and entered.

The interior was dark and cool, rich with the smell of lavender and pipe tobacco from the local population. I slipped into a pew near the back on the right side and surveyed the congregation, examining them row by row with the precision of a photographic interpreter examining the prints from a line reconnaissance. At the sixth row on the left side I froze. Was it Bronwyn? Her hair was pulled up in a chignon under a fashionable bonnet. She wore a wine coloured shawl over a grey jacket and dress. I examined the brown-blonde hairs at the back of her neck. Certainly it was her. The service was half over before she turned her head and I confirmed it. Now what would I do?

We sang “Morning Has Broken.” I recited the Lord’s Prayer deeply and somewhat loudly. Perhaps my Scottish accent would carry to the front. Alas, it did not. Before long, the service ended, and the vicar receded to the entranceway, there to shake hands with the congregation. I remained in my pew until Bronwyn approached. Finally she noticed me and opened her eyes wide, blinking with a half smile. She continued toward the door. I made my way out wishing a good day to the vicar. I saw Bronwyn speaking with an older couple by the fence next to the churchyard. I waited at a respectful distance until they separated.

“Good to see you in a state of grace,” I said with a wink.

“Is following young women the only way to get your heathen self into church?” she replied.

“Alas, likely so.” Bronwyn was looking about nervously and I asked what the problem was. She explained that she was a schoolteacher and it did not take much to start rumours. I suggested that we solve the problem by getting out of town and that she join me in the sidecar. We could have lunch in Dover, I suggested. She hesitated until I pointed out her shawl and that she could hide herself under it.

She left her bicycle against the back wall of the church and we headed out of town. It was a glorious drive along the clifftops and through several small hamlets. We reached over far too soon and continued to Folkestone, where we found a tearoom near the harbour and enjoyed lobster salad sandwiches and champagne. We exchanged life stories, such as they were. Bronwyn had grown up in Leatherhead, south of London and had attended school there until she began teaching three years ago. I enquired nervously as to whether there was a man in her life. She had written to an old school chum in France, but he was killed in 1915. It was only a friendship, in any event. My story was more boring. I told her about school and playing rugger and fives and somewhat feebly explained my total lack of experience talking with women. Bronwyn was totally unprepared to play the part of the woman of the world that my naivety cast for her, but she took great pleasure in doing it anyway.

“Would you like to come to our squadron dance?” I asked her. She agreed eagerly.

“When is it?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” I said. “No one knows about it yet, but they shall as soon I return. Next Saturday might be possible.” She agreed to hold the date.

Attached Files St Mary's Walmer.jpg
Last edited by Raine; 03/11/21 12:11 AM.
#4559425 - 03/11/21 04:23 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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epower Offline
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Bob - Actually, Oliver's antipathy for the farm life mirrors my own. I do live quite happily in the country, sitting up on a hill like the Grinch overlooking Whoville, but I leave the farming to others. BTW, remember to add the discipline-starved, kohl-eyed Sibylla to the list of femmes fatales.

Lou - Good Show Freddy keeping the DH4 safe and getting #50. I do hope Freddy's Girl didn't get her nose too far out of joint after that landing. Cruel fate to send poor Abbott arse over teakettle without injury only to have him yard sale his way out of the cockpit. Laid up for a week! I think additional radiographs at the base hospital might be necessary.

The No Treating situation was a big deal in Shrewsbury, apparently. A certain Mrs. Sarah Lewis (no relation), landlady of the Brittania Hotel found herself before the judge on more than one occasion. Looks like fighting Germans, Austians and Drink was the mode du jour in counties starting with 'S'. I read of a court case in Southampton where a husband was charged for buying his wife a drink. Mr. and Mrs. were both found guilty and fined.

Fullofit - Boy, it was like shooting peche in a barrel with those Frenchie SPADS. Jasta 19 is thriving. Shame about the unconfirmed kills. Maybe it's time for some additional biographical leverage with the claims officers. Did the Luftstreitkräfte send all the competent planning officers North for the coming Operation? Some serious lack of imagination in these mission orders.

Carrick - Bullet bra my Auntie Mame. Them's some serious French 75s or I've never seen the like. That screenshot was terrifying. 10 Albatri coming down to play?! Blimey! Thorpe did well to escape with his life.

MFair - Oh Hell. I really did like Ackart and the poor bastage had just gotten acquainted with the Les Zepplins too. Tough break and now JJ has lost another pal. Those mud moving assignments are always hair raising. Congrats on the promotion. Did JJ have to buy the drinks?

Raine - Oliver very much enjoyed hanging out with Mac. A couple of pints and some lively conversation at the Regency was just the thing. The Senior service have been Bogarting all the good planes for long enough so it's high time for some leveling. The USAS situation is a bit of a pickle. You laid it out very nicely. We'll see if things change 'Over There' but for now Oliver is staying put in the RFC. Speaking of Cherchez la Femme, look at MacAlister! I suspect there's much more to Bronwyn than meets the eye. Mac better watch out. Those librarian/ schoolmarm types can be pretty wild once they cut loose. Great pictures of the lady and the Church.
I'm pleased to see that Mac's literally willing to go the extra mile to get the girl. Nothing like the open air and the roar of an engine to inflame a lady's passions.

Shredward - Thank goodness somebody here has the maturity, historical perspective, self control and proper adult judgement to correct the juvenile behavior in this thread! Shame about the BWOC spill.

____________________________________________________________


À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 56 of many


25 December 1917
Lion Hotel
Shrewsbury, Shropshire

Christmas Day!

Woke to a cold overcast morning in considerable pain. My right shoulder and back howled in outrage. I thought yesterday’s impact of little consequence and lacking access to a frigidarium I neglected my practice of cold plunge after sparring. Last night’s scalding bath, while relaxing, only aggravated the insult. One livid purple bruise covered the ball of my shoulder and extended halfway down my back and right side. It was gigantic! I looked like I’d been painted with a mop. Did I really hit the wall that hard?

Long walk was just the thing or so I thought. Headed NE from Shrewsbury looking for the ruins of Haughmond Abbey which I found 5 miles out of town per Mr. Morgan’s excellent hand drawn map. As I explored the sprawling ruins, I tried to conjure images of the past but for once my imagination failed. The enthusiasm and sense of wonder I’d always felt in such places was missing, replaced by a lurking dread. I felt alien; a trespasser in some warped landscape, as though I were the ghost. Clearing weather did little to lift my darkening mood.

[Linked Image]

Returned to the Lion early afternoon. Shoulder was really barking now. The idea of submerging myself in ice water didn’t appeal but there was nothing for it. After a word to Mr. Morgan, Llywelyn arrived at my door with two assistants. All three men carried large buckets of ice which they dumped into the vast and curious tub. Unlike any bathtub I’d ever seen, this one rose 3 feet high and more. Shallower on one end and full depth on the other the central spigot gave the option to submerse head or feet in the depths. I ran a cold bath but the ice refused to melt. Relief would have to wait.

I brought the boys’ Christmas present and set it under the tree in the Fireplace room. The place was festooned in a wonderfully Dickensian manner with holiday decorations everywhere. Combined with the smell of the old leather chairs and woodsmoke it was everything I ever envisioned a joyful English Christmas to be, but the dark melancholic cloud remained and Yuletide cheer proved elusive. Tea and sandwiches arrived just as the Lampards returned clad in their Sunday best. Penitent but unbowed the boys looked ready to explode with pent up energy. Confined to Barracks all day and they had just now come from Church. When I directed their attention to the tree, it was Teddy who let his little brother open the package. The mood lifted measurably; unbridled joy writ large on both the young faces.

“May we play mother?” asked Georgie.
Mrs. Lampard’s face was an inscrutable mask.
“Please mother,” said Teddy. “Father played football on Christmas day, in the no man’s land. Captain Winningstad could come with us.”

He was part of Christmas Truce?!


Her eyes were shining now, but she gave no sign. Refusal seemed imminent.
“I fear we are imposing on your generosity, Captain Winningstad.”

“I’m happy to oblige,” I offered.
“Very well,” she replied, “but not until you boys change clothes.”
The lads made to dash off at the full charge but checked their pace at their mother’s command.
“Walk” she ordered in a firm and quiet voice.

“You are a dear,” she said when the boys had gone. “Those two are quite literally climbing the walls.”

Off we went to the playing fields. Teddy and Georgie were like two dogs chasing after a ball. I was a fair punter in my football days and sent them racing downfield in pursuit time and again, only to chase them down as they tried to return against me. When their sanity returned, we played the triangle passing game “The Children” had taught me. Down the field we ran, the frozen grass crunched under my boots, and the boys leapt upon my like pups whenever I scooped up the ball. I laughed uncontrollably as they dog piled upon me, their childlike glee scattering my dark and gloomy thoughts to the winds.

The boys held my hands as we entered the Lion Hotel. Mrs. Lampard started at the sight as they dragged me into the Fireplace Room. Her voice caught as she spoke.

“Conquering heroes returned,” she said at last.

The Hotel offered a special Christmas dinner to be served in the ballroom, I brought my Iliad to beguile the time between courses. I’d barely seated myself when both Teddy and Georgie appeared before me out of the ether.

“Please, Captain Winningstad, will you join us for Christmas dinner.” implored Georgie.
“Please do, sir,” added Teddy.
Such sweet little English voices.
I looked across the room to see the Mother Goddess smiling in welcome.

Over dinner I learned more about the family. Major Lampard was a professional soldier who went to France with the Irish Guards in August of 1914. One of Sir John French’s Old Contemptibles he was ultimately wounded and made prisoner at Loos in 1915. After a year of believing him dead, news of his survival and imprisonment arrived last Christmas. Shrewsbury and the Lion had been a holiday tradition before the war and Mrs. Lampard now thought to reclaim it.

Dinner finished, Georgie piped up, “Will you us read us a story from your book, Captain Winningstad?”
“This is a story for when your older," I said, "and a very old story it is, but if your mother agrees, I think we can find something suitable.”

Georgie took his mother’s hand and led her along into the Fireplace room. She sat on the large sofa near the fire and the boys nestled in beside her, each one leaning closer as she swept her arms round them.

I’d spotted the book yesterday in the Reading room. Thankfully, it was still there. The same 1903 edition that father had read to me, complete the Maurice & Edward Detmold illustrations. I showed the first one to the boys.
In a high wingback chair opposite the sofa, I conjured my father’s dramatic reading voice and began the tale.

[Linked Image]

I remembered Father’s joy when he first read these same lines to me, only now did I realize he’d waited years for that one perfect moment. The boys’ wild-eyed wonder on first reading was the same as my own and they sat beside their mother open-mouthed in rapt attention. Their lips quavered at the end as Mowgli bade tearful farewell to his wolf family.

[Linked Image]

I promised to continue the story tomorrow night as the family retired upstairs.

[Linked Image]

I stayed by the fire reading but when Mrs. Lampard returned unexpectedly, we resumed our dinnertime conversation with ease of old friends. Was I imagining things or was she unburdening herself? All too soon she rose to go.

“Captain Winningstad, I would know your Christian name.” she said.
“Oliver.”
“I am Alice,” she replied taking my hand.

I wasn’t imagining things. By the glow of the firelight, she was the Goddess descended from Olympus.
“Goodnight Oliver. Thank you for a happy Christmas,” So she spoke, her voice like music.

Back in the Dickens Suite, I recovered the use of my reason. I was imagining things. It was a perfectly innocent goodnight. I kept repeating that to myself as all the best parts of Book XIV flashed before my eyes.

“She spoke and from her breasts unbound the girdle,
pierced and alluring, and woven through it all beguilements;
the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper
irresistible—magic to make the sanest man go mad.”


Why exactly did you decline Rosa Lewis’ offer of a clean tart, Oliver?

To compound my torment, the time had come deal with my back and shoulder or the bruise blood would be incapacitating by the morning.
Immersing myself bodily in that glacial liquid did not appeal so I slipped my right arm in, holding it submerged with an effort of will, and mewling cries beyond number. After an age, the appendage went numb but stretch as I might the purpled shoulder remained untouched by the frigid, healing water.

Inspiration struck my Alice-addled brain.

Setting left buttock set on the tub edge, and bracing heels against the wooden soap tray athwart the shallow end to my left, I inverted my person like a Shanghai acrobat and gingerly lowered my wounded right side into the deep frigid water. As the water reached my shoulder my hand slipped and the wooden tray on which my feet balanced shot away, dropping me flat on my back into the frozen slurry. I jackknifed into a seated position which only sent my hips and legs deeper into the icy hell.

Like a shock attack of heavy cavalry, cold I’d never known slammed into my groin, routing the General Officer Commanding and his Aides de Camp, who fled in terror for the safety of abdominal refuge. My open mouth fixed in a mute scream, I sucked in air but couldn’t breathe. Icy daggers of pain flayed every square inch of my extremities. When I forced breath from my lungs, my exhalation was a long piercing soprano shriek. Hands cramped into arthritic claws, defying any attempts to pull myself up as the sharp angle of the tub floor drew me down into the depths.

I’m going to die. In a bathtub.

Slipping feet and elbows eventually found purchase on the tub sides and like a wrestler bridging to avoid a pin I thrust my hips free of the frozen depths. My nose sat above water by the narrowest of margins as did my crab like hands, and in this agonized ridiculous pose I remained as the cold invaded my torso and brain.

Uncounted minutes later I could move my fingers again and crawled forth numbed, ice-gelded and whimpering from my purgatorial bath. I feared frostbite.
Teeth chattered uncontrollably. My robe gave no warmth. I staggered to the bed and burrowed under the blankets like a manic rodent.

It was then I heard the soft knock.

Mother of God! It can’t be her.

I rose and tiptoed to the door. Alice! Why now? I could see the shadow of feet from the light under the door. Again, the soft knock. I tore open the robe and surveyed the wreckage.

I’m ruined

Another soft knock. My panicked mind raced everywhere. The Goddess was offering herself and in my depleted state I would fail her as a man. A humiliation worse than death. I opened my robe one final time then sashed it closed in dismay. This was the end and I must face it. Rally to me!

Trojans, Lykians and Dardanians who fight at close quarters,
be men now, dear friends, remember your furious valor!


Grimly, I pulled open the door.


It was Llywelyn with another bucket of ice.




Last edited by epower; 03/11/21 06:42 PM.
#4559450 - 03/11/21 01:34 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Raine Offline
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Epower,

Another marvellous episode and a sly nod to Donald Jack! Your photo of the fireplace in the lion brought back memories. The Lion, if I recall, was built over an earlier mediaeval inn, and that was built over a Roman building. I was told that the basic structure of that fireplace was Roman!

Let's hope Oliver's GOC rallies and is prepared to engage next battle.

#4559467 - 03/11/21 04:03 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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L'Etoile du Nord
.

Epower - Another superb episode, beautifully written. Mrs. Lampard sounds a fine woman and should her missing husband not return, God forbid, it would appear that Oliver has a ready-made family at his call, should he want one. As for the “frightened turtle” situation, well that is something any man who’s taken the plunge into an icy lake can empathize with completely. To quote George Costanza, “There was shrinkage, significant shrinkage!”

Raine - Aaah, a potential beau for our Mac, how marvelous. Young and naïve the pair of them, let’s hope the fates will be kind. Wonderful stuff!

Fullofit - Rudi has found 42? Why, that’s the answer to life, the universe, and everything. Well done!

MFair - Sad news about Ackert. At least the fellow got to sow a few wild oats before his demise.

Shredward - You started out as the voice of reason there, but then even you were drawn to the BWOC side. “I feel the farce is strong in this one.”

Carrick - To paraphrase Dr. Sheldon Cooper, “Bazongas!” And I agree with Epower on that shot of the massing Albs, terrifying!

.

11 March 1918
65 Squadron R.F.C.
Poperinge, Belgium

Three days of bedrest had been ordered by the squadron medical officer for Captain Abbott, during which time his ankle had been kept elevated as much as possible while cold packs were applied regularly by his bootman. The swelling was now down considerably and late today, after the ankle had been wrapped for support, Frederick was allowed to get up and move about, provided he used a cane and took care not to overdo. He had been sitting at the small desk in his quarters for the last hour composing a letter to Nurse Ellison, and was about to make his way across to the mess for dinner, but was giving the letter a final look through before sending it off.


[Linked Image]

[Linked Image]

[Linked Image]

..

#4559478 - 03/11/21 05:03 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: epower]  
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Shredward Offline
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Lake Louise, AB Canada
Originally Posted by epower

Shredward - Thank goodness somebody here has the maturity, historical perspective, self control and proper adult judgement to correct the juvenile behavior in this thread! Shame about the BWOC spill.


Who you callin old ?


We will remember them.
#4559508 - 03/11/21 07:22 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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Some more great episodes from the gifted ranks here. I’ll be glad when Oliver, Mac, and Abbott get back to fighting the Hun. All these romantic interludes have my head spinning.

2nd Lieutenant Jeremiah Johnson
41RFC
March 11, 1918

Jeremiah had knocked down a Phalz during an intercept mission near Monchy but no one saw it and it fell over the lines so was rejected. He was settling into his new role as an officer. He and Thorpe sat together at mess. Thorpe was a good sort even if he kept insisting Jeremiah was a cowboy. “I’ve been called worse” was his reply.

Today, only 2 days after Ackart went west, “B” Flight was on its way for another ground strike. It was another nice nice day for flying as they crossed the lines on the way to Epinoy Aerodrome. Johnson scanned the skies as they turned south to make their run. They all released their bombs at 8000’ and after a few minutes turned and dove on the field. Jeremiah’s first pass riddled a row of machines outside their hangers. Bullets wizzed by him as he made his pass. The Archie crews had woken up and now the sky was filling with the ugly black puffs. Jeremiah followed another of his flight down again. This time he concentrated on the row of hangers. Halfway over the field, barely 50’ above the ground, an explosion rocked his SE. He felt a searing burn across his back and his body went forward as his harness was cut in to behind him. He pulled up, barely getting control of the SE as he clawed for altitude. Oil was splattering on his windscreen and the engine sounded like the clatter wheels of hell. He leveled out at 3000’ and headed west hoping the engine would hold out. Taking stock of his situation, he realized a hard landing would be worse than usual as he had no harness to keep him from being thrown forward. “First thing first” he thought. “Let’s get this puppy home.” As the long muddy snake came into few he started feeling a bit better of his chances when the engine began coughing and then died. Jeremiah’s mind was racing with what to do and options. “I ain’t spends the rest of my life in prison” he thought as he hoped he had enough altitude to clear the lines. After a minute he decided on a plan. He dove to gain as much speed as he could get and pulled up a few hundred feet off the ground. He raced across the trenches with machine gun fire hitting him from all angles. How it missed him he did not know. The ground was coming up fast and he kept the SE airborne as long as he could and set her down about a hundred yards from friendly trenches on the most level spot he could see. The SE skidded sideways and came to a stop in a crater. Johnson jumped out and went from shell hole to shell hole dodging fire from the enemy trenches. As he tumbled into the friendly trench helped by 3 Tommies the ground around his mangled SE erupted as shellfire finished the job. Once upright and safe he realized he ached from head to toe.


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!
#4559519 - 03/11/21 08:48 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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J.K. Thorpe
2 Lt. Rfc. M.C. MM.
41 Sqn
Lealvillers, Flanders.
4 Victory
6 Unconfirmed

11 Mar 1918.

The mess is filled with a sense of loss about Losing pilots over the last few days Now Cowboy didnt come back from a routine ground attack mission. One of the chaps said that he may have made our side if he had enough speed. We drank to the missing then split up their stuff. I decided to wait a few days,but I put dibs on Cowboy's Flight Coat and his Shoe Spats for the Dress uniform. My mood changed and started wonder why not use the proper a/c for Ground attack instead of a Scout type. Do a better job Wot ?



Attached Files be12b-10.jpg090911-F-1234S-012  se5a.jpg
Last edited by carrick58; 03/11/21 08:53 PM.
#4559542 - 03/12/21 12:43 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Nov 2014
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Fullofit Offline
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Fullofit  Offline
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Posts: 3,409
Ajax, ON
Raine, looks like Bronwyn is moving up. From a bicycle to the sidecar of a motorbike. Next, a ride on George’s lap in the cockpit of a camel to watch the sunset/sunrise. Way to go Mac!

Epower, #%&*$# right! The French are sending their youth to a certain death in those SPADs against the Dr.I’s.
I sure hope that accidental drop into the tub of ice was purely intentional. It would definitely not do to perish from hypothermia especially with the General in full retreat. For once in his life Oliver was thankful it wasn’t a woman knocking at his door. Beautifully written.

Lou, that is a Deep Thought!
Wait a minute ... was that a proposal? Did Freddy in his own peculiar way offer to spend the rest of his life with nurse Ellison? Very unconventional but to be honest, Lizzie isn’t a conventional gal after all. Hoping for a positive response!

MFair, that was s lose! For a moment I was afraid JJ wouldn’t make it and would have to spend the rest of the war with a certain Major Lampard. Well done keeping your head on your shoulders.

Carrick, so the hyenas descend. All it takes is to one missed dinner and the shoes are gone. winkngrin

11 March, 1918
Toulis, Marne Sector
Jasta 19, JG II
Leutnant Rudolf Emil Fuchs EK1, HHO
42 confirmed kills

“- Guten Morgen, sleepy head.” Tybelsky kicked the corner of Rudi’s cot.
Fuchs opened one eye just enough to locate where the voice was coming from: “- Not yet. It’s still too early. Our sortie isn’t until 10:00. Go away!” He turned around and presented his backside to the older pilot.
“- Change of plans. We’re moving again. Get up. Let’s grab some breakfast before the flight.” Albert was already at the door, letting cold air in.
“- Where are they sending us now?” Rudi was sitting on the bed pulling a woollen sweater over his head. “- Close the door, it’s cold!”
Tybelsky opened the door even wider. “- We’re going to Guise. Even further north. It’s Britisher hunting grounds there. Those Fliegers up there are sumthin’ else!”


"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."
#4559549 - 03/12/21 02:04 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: May 2012
Posts: 555
epower Offline
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epower  Offline
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Joined: May 2012
Posts: 555
Fullofit - An interesting point about the top tube on Bronwyn's machine. Definitely might snag her skirts. Zounds! She might take to wearing trousers in consequence! On that subject, who was the sadist who thought a straight top tube on a young boys bike was a good idea? My feet could barely reach the pedals as it was. I can't tell you how may times the Aides de Camp came to grief on that thing when I was a lad.
So Rudi and the boys are coming north for the show. So much the better. Everyone will be attending the festivities.

MFair - A d*mned near run thing for JJ. Interesting technique dumping altitude for a faster crossing of the lines. Very pleased your man made it to safety. Epinoy is 10 miles over. All honor to that Hisso for getting JJ home. Will he be out for any length of time? A wound stripe is as good as a decoration with the ladies.
Nice to see Jeremiah and Thrope becoming pals. Oliver needs to catch up so he can go visit them, as well as his old squaddie Beery.

Carrick - Nice pics there. I'm not sure having will be the same as wanting with regard to Ground attack machines. Are all Yanks classed as 'Cowboy' in Thorpe's world view? Most amusing.

Lou - Sounds like some Bistro math at work if 42 is the answer, especially since the question heads us toward Jasta 54. Mysterious indeed.
I'm with Fullofit, Freddy's missive sure sounded like a veiled proposal to Lizzie. OK, just got back from a second reading. Definitely a proposal, at least that's how Lizzie might see it...or will she? Plot thickens in a big way. The tone of Freddy's letter is very well done. His voice sounds like one speaking from a century ago. Brilliant!
BTW, what font is that? It's one I missed in search for handwriting fonts.

Raine - I've been reading 3 Cheers for me, albeit slowly. The chapter on English plumbing was hilarious and you're correct in thinking Oliver's painful bath was an homage of sorts.

__________________________________________

À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 57 of many



26 December 1917
Lion Hotel
Shrewsbury, Shropshire

No evidence of frostbite. I was greatly relieved. Last night’s catastrophic ablution did prove successful in one respect. Shoulder and back much improved. The great purple swath showed signs of healing yellow.

After a morning game with the boys, I repaired to the Jubilee Baths which lay at the northern end of the great Quarry Park

[Linked Image]

Three pools and numerous bathing facilities. When the pools were built in 1894, they served the double purpose of recreation and bathing as many homes in town lacked bathrooms. No frigidarium but the steam pipes heating one of the pools were down for repair so it served well enough.

Ravenous after my meager breakfast and two hours of exercise I found the perfect lunch back at the Lion. The dining room was crowded and I soon learned why. Today was Wednesday and that meant one thing – pudding. More accurately, Guinness, steak, kidney and oyster pudding, topped with a flaky pastry crust.

“Goes around your heart like a great hairy worm,” said a distinguished looking older fellow from the table to my right. He seemed to recognize me, but we’d never met before. I was sure of it.

[Linked Image]
A few extra oysters and a pint of Guinness were a perfect accompaniment.

Only afterwards, when I sat stuffed and content from my Brobdingnagian repast, did I realize how many people would glance at me then softly converse among themselves as though confirming some item of fact. This behavior among the local populace continued during my postprandial walk about the town.

Returning to the front room after a nap I happened onto the morning edition of the Shrewsbury Chronicle…

Airman Saves Local Lad

I scanned the article in growing horror. “great personal risk…the hero of the hour was none other than Capt. O. A. Winningstad, VC DSO MC, victor of numerous aerial combats…more than 75 Huns have fallen to this intrepid American.” What histrionic bilgewater!

Poseidon’s balls!

I must have spoken my thoughts aloud. One of the older ladies nearby gasped and sputtered a shocked “I never!”

“Your pardon, madam,” I said and quickly left the room.

It got worse. I stormed out of the reading room and directly into Mrs. Samuel Morris, the Mayor’s wife come to invite “our heroic airman” to tea. She spoke with frightful rapidity. I was still in shock from the article and clearly not in full possession of my faculties when I accepted her invitation. I felt like I’d been hit over the head.

Tea was a painful and tedious slog. Well-meaning but inane biddies chattered away, peppering me with the usual questions about “the birds, Captain.” I did learn one fascinating tidbit which nearly redeemed the entire ghastly affair. The original Shrewsbury Wonder coach driven by one Sam Hayward used to travel at speed up Wyle Cop and under the arch into the Lion yard, clearing the walls by inches.

[Linked Image]

The Lion Hotel sat around a central cobbled mews. The archway appeared very narrow to my eye. Guiding a coach through at pace would require a steady hand and steadier nerves.

A message from the Shrewsbury Chronicle requesting an interview greeted me at the hotel. I tore up the paper, handed it to Mr. Morgan for proper burial then fled cravenly to my room where I hid out until dark.

When story time beckoned once again, I made for the Fireplace room, book in hand. Lurking reporters be damned! Alice took up her usual spot on the sofa, flanked by the boys.

The next chapter was Kaa’s Hunting. "Begins now the dance--the Dance of the Hunger of Kaa." Teddy was fascinated. I think Georgie was more than a little frightened once he realized what Kaa was about to do to the Bandar-Log.

“Captain Winningstad, I’m taking the boys to explore both Castle and town tomorrow. May I tempt you to join us?”

You may indeed

“Thank you. I’d be delighted.”



27 December 1917
Lion Hotel
Shrewsbury, Shropshire

No sign of reporters but my thoughts turned to a possible move. Morning game with Teddy and Georgie then afterwards a splendid tour of the Abbey, Shrewsbury Castle and Laura’s tower.

[Linked Image]

I found myself looking at Alice as much as the architecture.

I begged off tea and went shopping. No reporters followed. Found what I was looking for in the second shop visited.

Everything was perfect until I returned to the Lion.

A telegram:

Come 28 December –
Marlet House, Hay-on-Wye, Hereford
– CCC

Impossible woman. What timing! I made for the post office to telegram my regrets. I’d promised the boys a game and they wouldn’t leave until late afternoon tomorrow. Clarissa would be furious, no doubt. Might she come here? Fat chance.

The four of us dined together and afterwards came to the last story. Georgie and Teddy stared in expectation as I resumed. “Now we must go back to the first tale. When Mowgli left the wolf's cave after the fight with the Pack at the Council Rock…”

[Linked Image]

At the end they were excited by Mowgli’s defeat of Shere Khan but also sad. This was the last of the Mowgli stories and the last I would read to them. The Lampards would be leaving tomorrow afternoon, but not before one final game on the playing field.
________________________________

This evening at 9:00, the hotel hosted a dance in their Adams style ballroom

[Linked Image]

I met Alice there. She wore a low-cut gown that stayed just this side of acceptably modest. Her hair she had arranged upwards in the manner of the Greeks.

“May I have this dance, Alice?”
She rose, accepting my extended hand.
“I would like that very much, Oliver,” she said with a radiant smile

Glowing. She was glowing in the soft light of the candles.

Dancing. Champagne. More dancing.

As we moved slowly in the dim light, she suddenly set her cheek against my chest and melted her entire body against me. My hand in the small of her back reflexively drew her closer. The scent of her hair and the ambrosial perfume of her skin, so long consigned to the distant frontiers of my perception, now threatened to overwhelm me.

“There entering she drew shut the leaves of the shining door, then
first from her delicate body washed away all stains
with ambrosia, and next anointed herself with ambrosial
sweet olive oil, which stood there in its fragrance beside her,
and from which, stirred in the house of Zeus by the golden pavement,
a fragrance was shaken forever forth, on earth and in heaven.”


Hers was an unconscious gesture, one of familiarity brought forward by longing and years of separation. I don’t know how long we held each other thus. In that time-blind space an entire life played itself before me. A love of time-worn strength – passionate, spiritual, maturing as ancient oaks entwined over long centuries. Two friends sharing a love forever youthful. I saw Georgie and Teddy grown to honorable manhood along with sons and daughters of our own. Troupes of friends. Comrades old and new. Far journeys.

It was Illusion. A glimpse of a paradise unearned. Another man’s life.

Alice looked up as she caught herself and stepped back, the quick shock of self-consciousness gave way to a blush.
“Forgive me Oliver, I forgot myself.”

Desire. She felt it just as I did. I knew then she was mine if I wished it, and I wished it greatly.
And yet...

“There is nothing to forgive, Alice. You conduct has been blameless.”

“In my fantasy I betrayed my husband a score of times with you.”

“And in mine, also,” I replied.

She had been tested and found her strength again, as I had mine.

“In another life, Captain Winningstad.”
“In another life, Mrs. Lampard.”




Last edited by epower; 03/12/21 02:09 AM.
#4559586 - 03/12/21 12:57 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: May 2012
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RAF_Louvert Offline
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RAF_Louvert  Offline
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Senior Member

Joined: May 2012
Posts: 4,671
L'Etoile du Nord
.

Epower - The classic story of a timeless love and passion denied by devotions to honour, duty, and promises to others. Paradise found, and lost, in a single dance. Bittersweet stuff, wonderfully written.
Thanks for the observation on Freddy’s letter. I must admit that over the years I’ve read so many such letters and diary entries from WWI soldiers and pilots that the style and tone comes almost automatically now when I set myself the task of writing one for my own DID stories. To your question, the font I found for this one is Discipuli Britannica. It’s a keeper and will be the one I continue using for Freddy’s correspondence.

Fullofit - So with no Frenchmen left to shoot down, thanks to Rudi, it’s off to the north to thin the British flying ranks? He and his kette mates may find the Camel a bit more of a challenge than the Spad when it comes to all this turn fighting.

Carrick - Specially designed aircraft for ground attack duty? Now there’s a thought. But hang on a tic, I believe the Hun already have something called the Schlachtflieger that is right along those lines. Late to the party again!

MFair - You had us all worried there, we thought Jeremiah was about to join Ackart in the Choir Invisible. Glad to learn he is still in one piece and breathing, but how long is he out for?

Shredward - Not old. Well-seasoned perhaps, but not old.

.

#4559636 - 03/12/21 07:29 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Jul 2014
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Raine Offline
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Raine  Offline
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Posts: 1,999
New Brunswick, Canada
Fullofit, will this move take you out of the Marne region?
Carrick, it looks like you'll have to wait a little bit longer for that new kit.
MFair, Jeremiah dodged a bullet this time. Please be careful.
Epower, lovely episode again. I stand solidly with that dignified gentleman in drooling over your Guinness and oyster pudding!

#4559644 - 03/12/21 08:04 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: May 2012
Posts: 4,671
RAF_Louvert Offline
BOC President; Pilot Extraordinaire; Humble Man
RAF_Louvert  Offline
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Senior Member

Joined: May 2012
Posts: 4,671
L'Etoile du Nord
.

Well don't I feel slighted. What was Freddy's last entry Raine, chopped liver?










hee hee hee . . . . winkngrin

.

#4559657 - 03/12/21 09:43 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Jul 2014
Posts: 1,999
Raine Offline
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Raine  Offline
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Posts: 1,999
New Brunswick, Canada
Oy vay! Did I screw that up. It was all the fancy script that confused me. Love our Freddie.

Last edited by Raine; 03/12/21 09:44 PM.
#4559667 - 03/12/21 11:22 PM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
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MFair Offline
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MFair  Offline
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Posts: 3,033
Epower, another stellar episode! What will become of this romance not to mention Oliver’s new found celebrity.

Lou, Jeremiah will be back shortly. It’s but a flesh wound! He has to get back quick before Thorpe has all his personals divvied up.

Fullofit, the move may do you some good.

Raine, I usually have to take notes when reading over story. It’s easy to get them mixed.


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!
#4559673 - 03/13/21 12:29 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: May 2012
Posts: 555
epower Offline
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epower  Offline
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Joined: May 2012
Posts: 555
MFair - I'd say the Alice/Oliver romance just got the bullet to the head, at least in the waking world. Dreams are another matter. How many days is JJ out? And yes, that Thorpe fellow bears watching

Lou - Whatever shall Freddy do with all his idle time? Will Freddy require a hospital visit? So much uncertainty.

Carrick - Step away from the Quirk, man! Bombing AND shooting is much more fun

#4559677 - 03/13/21 01:01 AM Re: Deep Immersion DiD campaign -- Player Instructions (UPDATED 28 Nov 2018) [Re: Raine]  
Joined: Nov 2014
Posts: 3,409
Fullofit Offline
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Fullofit  Offline
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Joined: Nov 2014
Posts: 3,409
Ajax, ON
Epower, I don’t know who came up with it, but I do hope they have to ride a bike all the way to Hell ... on a cobblestone road ... without a seat.
Glad to see Oliver came out of the whole ordeal without a scratch. And I am glad I’ve had my dinner before reading, otherwise I’d be drooling like everyone else.
Ah, Alice - the Temptress at work. Poor Oliver, now he will definitely get crushed under her thumb, or Clarissa’s heel.

Lou, haven’t caught a Camel in a Dr. I yet. It may be an interesting challenge.

Raine, yes this move brings Rudi right to the edge of the Flanders map. There will definitely be some British blood spilled.

MFair, I don’t know about the move doing Rudi any good. He was good where he was. Now, he’ll have to contend with more than just SPAD’s. In fact, easy street appears to terminate in a cul de sac.

Epower again, what do you mean? We have no confirmation that Major Lampard is coming back. Not everyone returned from the Hunnish POW camp. There’s still a chance. Oliver just needs to ... ehh, who are we kidding?

12 March, 1918
Guise, Flanders Sector
Jasta 19, JG II
Leutnant Rudolf Emil Fuchs EK1, HHO
42 confirmed kills

Rudi was settling in at the new aerodrome. The new field was located 25 km east of Saint-Quentin.
There used to be a castle here but now it was reduced to rubble by the German artillery. There is nothing to see or to do in the town. Tybelsky’s already announced that all the action is to be found in St-Quentin. It will be their next destination, once there is some downtime to be taken advantage of.


"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."
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