THE CROSS IN THE SKY

Introduction to the Book "The Cross in the Sky"

2011-12-17T10:19:00.000+08:00

An autobiography is usually uninteresting and dull. But at the same time, the story of a life of the generation which has seen two major wars, with the interval between of time and space occupied by travel and adventure, can be of interest to both young and old. In this story the dull periods are omitted and, in accordance with the old slogan that truth may be stranger than fiction, my intention is to give an outline, particularly to the younger generation, of what can happen to all who have inherited a spirit of travel and adventure. (Eaton, 1953)

The Cross in the Sky is a series of episodes about the adventures and personal survival of a man who exemplified his generation in times of war and peace. Charles Eaton, playing both minor and major roles, participated in a number of the most significant historical events of the 20th Century.

In 1994 I was privileged to be invited to the opening of the new Parliament House in Darwin. The historic annex within the building exhibited a memorial display in honour of my late father. On that occasion I was fortunate to view the display together with the Hon Gough Whitlam. I did not know until that day that the former Prime Minister had served in one of his front-line squadrons in the Pacific during World War Two (WWII). After speaking to Mr Whitlam, I realized the depth of respect he and his contemporaries had for Charles Eaton. When at school I was a keen, but frustrated, history student and it was on that afternoon, and at a mature age, I realized that our own family’s history was staring me in the face.

Although a number of articles had been written about my father’s various activities and a book about his connections to the Northern Territory I considered it would be difficult to write a comprehensive biography.* He wrote only 58 pages of frustratingly brief biographical notes, each page raising more questions than answers. For example, he summed up 25 months as a First World War (WWI) front-line soldier participating in the battles of Festubert, Loos and Vimy Ridge in addition to trench reconnaissance on the Somme front in one single sentence. In his personal notes he never wrote a word about his evidence when exonerating an Australia’s hero Charles Kingsford Smith from impropriety, on the post WWII rehabilitation of East Timor or about his initiatives in the deployment of the first United Nation’s military observers. Yet, when commenting about playing “hide and seek” in and out of German prison camps he writes briefly and with subtle humour. However on India, its forest people and wild life, the timber country of north Queensland and the people of Australian’s north the he opened up by writing at length and with empathy.

I remember only a few occasions when he mentioned his army service in WWI. Once he mentioned the dirt, the filth and the mud and that one could never keep clean. Another time when the battle of Loos was mentioned on television he suddenly went blank, leaned back in his arm-chair, stared into the ceiling and said softy but firmly “Loooooooos” like the name had no ending. Fortunately, I received a few tit-bits of his army life from my mother, especially about the trench bombing at Givenchy and Loos. My brother Peter told me that our father had such an abhorrence of barbed wire that when faced with it while fencing on his farm, he simply dropped his fencing tools and walked home. Perhaps the memories of his fellow soldiers hanging dead on the wire, so many years before were still too strong. Father also wrote three short, unpublished articles; the first two The Bear Hunt and Fear, described incidents of my parents’ life in the Indian jungle which have been amalgamated as Episode VI. The third, The Cross in the Sky provides the title for this book. I have adopted this name as it marked an extraordinary occurrence that represented a defining moment of his life, and perhaps more significantly, it is his own words.

I assumed that it would be very complex to track down records of the various incidents over many years and numerous localities. In France during WWI, three prisoner-of-war camps in Germany, India during the high noon of the Raj, Australia during the formative days of the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) and a secret reconnaissance mission to the Netherlands East Indies during WWII. Also on the emergence of Republic of Indonesia, where he played a pivotal role in the establishment of that nation. In the majority of those events, his role was of an exploratory or reconnaissance nature.

While the whereabouts of his log books unfortunately is a mystery, there is a wide range of official reports, published literature and private correspondence, such as the Douglas diaries, that relate to the various incidents in which he participated. This information has been vital in providing an authentic background for all episodes. One blessing was that he bequeathed a comprehensive photograph collection which illustrates the many aircraft he flew and the units and personalities with whom he served. His interest in photography developed during training and service as a reconnaissance pilot in 206 Squadron, Royal Air Force (RAF), in 1918. Although long deceased, my father contributed not only the title but also his unpublished articles on India, personal notes, official correspondence and the majority of the photographs. All formed the nuclei around which all episodes were written; Charles “Moth” Eaton therefore must be designated as the co-author.

In his memoirs, my father praised some but criticized none; if he disapproved of anybody, their names were damned by silence. In recording my father’s life, it would be his wish that it would focus on the activities of the units and images of the personalities he interacted with. My initial hesitancy to write on his life was influenced by his wish to “keep one’s name out of the papers”. My mother told me that the wide media publicity he received in 1929 and 1931 discomfited him. Another reason I was apprehensive was the danger of making judgements of his character and his actions that I had no first hand knowledge. I therefore have focused on known historical facts and avoided any appraisal of his service life except when quoted by a third party. My only exception was to comment on his curious attitude to death together with his somewhat tenacious and impatient nature.

The chance to investigate his life has given me an opportunity to discover both his personality and the conditions he and his compatriots experienced. From the age of seven, I saw my parents only on brief intermittent occasions. This was due to his war service and diplomatic postings between 1941 and 1950, and my own departure overseas in the mid-1950s. As the youngest child I gave my parents no end of worries as verified by one RAAF sergeant “That snowy-headed kid, mischievous little devil, gave us no end of trouble”. Their forbearance and understanding continued when my life-style was at times, non-conventional. Compiling these episodes has given me the opportunity to acknowledge the immense debt I owe both my parents. They migrated to Australia from India with £ 20, knowing virtually no one and having no direct family connections. Yet my father, with my mother’s enduring support, was able to make a contribution to the development of Australian aviation and to his adopted country’s diplomatic ingenuity in south-east Asia.

* Aircraft, 1931; The West Australian, 1979; Tennant Creek Times, 1981; Owers, C. 2000; Thomas, A. 1996; Williamson, M. 2000 and 2002; Lax, M. 2001; Aviation Heritage Vol. 35/4, 2004. Farram, S. 2007.

Fact Sheet - THE CROSS IN THE SKY

2011-11-09T19:07:00.000+08:00

November 2008

THE CROSS IN THE SKY

The Coffee Royal-Kookaburra Affair

Objective: To apply to the Government of the Northern Territory for support and a grant that would cover the cost of employing an empathic script-writer and for promoting The Cross in the Sky: The Coffee Royal-Kookaburra Affair, for either a) a three part TV series or, b) a full length film production for Australian and international distribution.

Synopsis: The search for the Southern Cross in March 1929 in Western Australia, and the subsequent heroic deaths of Anderson and Hitchcock after their aircraft Kookaburra forced landed in the Tanami Desert, is the most compelling drama in Australia’s aviation history (Davis & Smith, 1980). By the amalgamation of three Episodes of The Cross in the Sky, which portrays the life and adventures of Charles Moth Eaton, the core themes of the story are centred on:

The controversial disappearance of Kingsford Smith’s mono-plane the Southern Cross.

The month-long search, commanded by Ft/Lt Charles Eaton with 7 RAAF and civil aircraft, for the missing Kookaburra and its ultimate finding by Capt Lester Brain, 21 April 1929.

The journey of Eaton’s ground party, guided by Daylight Parunja Janama and Brisbane Sambo Jangurra, into the Tanami Desert to locate the stranded Kookaburra and find out the fate of the two missing aviators. The ten-day torturous journey resulted in 11 of the party’s 22 horses perishing of thirst.

The national media hullabaloo over the incident and accusations of conspiracy and fraud.

The Thornycroft Expedition that exhumed the bodies of Anderson and Hitchcock and returned them for a State burial in Sydney and private one in Perth respectively.

The Court of Inquiry that investigated the disappearances of both the Southern Cross and the Kookaburra, the deaths of Anderson and Hitchcock and the loss of 3 out of the 5 RAAF aircraft involved in the search. Eaton’s evidence exonerated Kingsford Smith from any impropriety.

The controversy that continued years after the Coffee Royal-Kookaburra incident. In 1975 the ABC’s Big Country TV series opinions were expressed that Anderson had committed suicide. This allegation sparked an incensed reaction from Eaton it only showed some mud-raking of (a) gallant Australian airman and who, for the first and only time in his life went to the nation media to vigorously refute the accusation.

The successful recovery of the Kookaburra wreckage by the adventurer Dick Smith in 1978.

Profile: Charles Moth Eaton

Born in London 1895, Eaton served in WWI as a trench bomber soldier then as a reconnaissance pilot before being captured in June 1918. He was twice court martialled for escaping and sentenced to solitary confinement in the notorious fortress Festung Neun in Bavaria. In 1919 he ferried delegates to the Paris Peace Conference, and in 1920, carried out the first aerial survey of the Himalayas and India with 28 Squadron RAF. On migrating to Australia in 1923 he joined the RAAF then commanded two air searches in Central Australia; the first for the Kookaburra, and the second in 1931, for the Second Lasseter Expedition’s missing Gypsy Moth aircraft the Golden Quest II.

Eaton led secret missions to the Netherlands East Indies before and during WWII. These missions helped identified targets for 79 Wing RAAF, a bomber unit which he later commanded based in the Northern Territory. In September 1947 he monitored the cease-fire during the Dutch-Indonesia conflict. Eaton’s initiatives assisted to lay the foundations for United Nations peacekeeping; aviation historian Mark Lax wrote Australia’s post-war association with the North and Timor really began with him. Eaton is honored in the Northern Territory with a memorial display in Parliament House Darwin, a National Trust Memorial in Tennant Creek and the naming of the suburb encompassing the Darwin International Airport, Eaton. He died in 1979 and his ashes were dispersed by the RAAF over the Tanami Desert west of Tennant Creek in 1981.

Prime Sources

Eaton Family Trust. Extracts from an unpublished manuscript ‘The Cross in the Sky: The Life of Charles ‘Moth’

1895-1979’.

Davis, Pedr and Smith, Dick. Kookaburra: the most compelling story in Australia's aviation history. Lansdowne

Press, Sydney. 1980.

Farram, Steven. Charles ‘Moth’ Eaton Pioneer Aviator of the Northern Territory. Charles Darwin University

Press, Darwin. 2007

Lax , Mark. Charles Eaton. In Proceedings of Air Force History Conference. RAAF Air Power Development,

Canberra, 2001.

Contact

Dr Charles S Eaton, 62 Nightcliff Rd, Rapid Creek, NT 0810. Tel 08) 89218094

The Cross in the Sky: Contents

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Foreword - Dick Smith
Dedication
Introduction
Family Background
Acknowledgements
Co-Author’s Note
References

EPISODES

I LAMBS TO THE SLAUGHTER
Call to Arms
The Trench Bombers of Givenchy
The Kick-off at Loos

II GREEN FIELDS BEYOND
In and Out of Line
“That Minenwerfer Hour” – Vimy Ridge
Green Fields Beyond
Farewell the Uhlans
Epilogue

III ZEPPELINE EIN FOKKER UNDT EIN ALBATROS
Defending London
Jump or Burn
Back to the Trenches

IV AN UNDESIRABLE IN FESTUNG NEUN
Flakgruppe 49
Court Martial at Stalag Karlsruhe
The Dungeons of Festung Neun
Blue Skies

V FLYING HIGH
Diplomatic Baggage
High in the Himalayas
The Forests of Orissa

VI FEAR
The Jungles of the Khonds
The Bear Fight
A Tiger in the Night

VII AUSTRALIAN PRELUDE
The Kauris of the Tablelands
No 1 Flying Training School
One Royal Salute and a Close Call
A Summons to the Rescue

VIII LOST IN THE TANAMI: The Search for the Kookaburra
The Desert Searches
“A Good Crash”
The Bird is Found

IX THE CROSS IN THE SKY: The Burials of Anderson and Hitchcock
Sand, Spinifex and Flies
Jurntakal Country
Two Heroes

X THE KOOKABURRA SAGA: The Aftermath
The Thornycroft Expedition
The Inquiry: Facts from Fiction
Requiescat
The Searchers
The Recovery

XI THE GREAT AIR RACE
The Aviators
Crossing the Continent
“The Dangerous Last Stage”

XII A MIRACLE: Finding the Golden Quest
Lasseter’s El Dorado
The Quest for the Quest
Possum’s Last Days

XIII FIRST COMMANDS
The Mystery of the Southern Cloud
Squadron Leader (Air)
The Citizen Air Force

XIV “MOTH” EATON’S FLYING CIRCUS
“Aggies” to Darwin
The Court Martial of Dr Clyde Fenton
The Darwin Dock Strike
Commanding Officer: RAAF Darwin

XV WAR GAMES
A Most Secret Mission
Welcoming the United States Army Air Corps
War Games
A Change of Command

XVI TRAINING AND DEFENDING EMPIRE
The Ship from Hell
Training for Empire
High Divide in Dutch New Guinea
On Stand By

XVII A KNIGHT WITH SWORDS
79 Wing vs the Rising Sun
The Netherlands East Indies Air Force
The Mina River Bridge Strike
Operation Potshot
On a Wing, a Prayer and a Broken Pipe
Rockets over Timor
Finale: High Command

XVIII OUR MAN IN TIMOR
The Hitch-Hiking Consul
Deputador Governador
Oil on Troubled Waters
Air Waves
Fronteira Konfrontasi

IXX THE PEACE-KEEPER
The Ultimate Reconnaissance
In the Firing Line

XX A DIPLOMATIC MISSIONARY
The Batavia Consulate
Bea’s Journey
Freedom for the Republic
Chargé d’Affairs

XXI TWILIGHT
Retirement
Controversy 1976
Remembrance Day 1979

“Moth’s” Last Flight - Air Commodore Mark Lax

Corps cyclist battalions and divisional cyclist companies

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Cyclists of the 36th (Ulster) Division in France, 1918

At the same time that divisional cavalry squadrons were transferred to the corps cavalry regiments, divisional cyclist companies were assembled into corps cyclist battalions. As these cyclist battalions had no previous existence, there was no need to return particular companies to particular battalions. Instead, the cyclist companies serving in each army corps in Mayor June 1916 were, in most cases, simply detached from their divisions and formed into a new unit. (In the remaining cases, cyclist companies were either assigned to the cyclist battalions of corps other than their own or broken up in order to reinforce cyclist battalions that were under strength.)

The mission of corps cyclist battalions was similar to that of the divisional cyclist companies. Divisional cyclist companies had been designed to relieve divisional cavalry squadrons of those reconnaissance and security duties that did not require the employment of skilled horsemen. These included patrols in areas that were well provided with roads, and missions that involved a great deal of dismounted work. While all British cavalrymen of World War I were trained to fight on foot as well as on horseback, the act of dismounting deprived a cavalry unit of the services of the men detailed to care for the horses. As one man could only manage four horses or so, the transition from saddle to boot cost a cavalry unit some 25 per cent of its rifle strength. A cyclist unit, however, did not have to worry about its mounts running off on their own accord or being hit by stray small-arms fire. It could thus put everyone of its rifles into the firing line.

Cyclist battalions were relatively small units, with an authorized strength of some 322 officers and men. (A contemporary infantry battalion had an authorized strength of 999 officers and men.) The three companies of each cyclist battalion were, at 98 officers and men, likewise much smaller than either British infantry companies of the day (229 officers and men) or the standard divisional cyclist companies of the first two years of the war (204 officers and men). Because of this, the formation of corps cyclist battalions created a surplus of unassigned men. A few of these found jobs in the headquarters of the new corps cyclist battalions. Most, however, were sent to other units, with a considerable number ending up in military police units and trench mortar batteries.

The standard building block of both divisional cyclist companies and the cyclist companies of corps cyclist battalions was the 31-man cyclist platoon. (A divisional cyclist company had six such platoons. A cyclist company of a corps cyclist battalion had three.) Each of these platoons consisted of a small headquarters and four sections. The headquarters was made up of the platoon commander (a lieutenant or second lieutenant), a sergeant and a batman. Each section consisted of a section leader (who usually ranked as either a corporal or a lance-corporal) and six men.

As long as the Expeditionary Force was locked in positional warfare, most of the reconnaissance and security work carried out on the ground was performed by patrols provided by infantry battalions. As a result, cyclist units spent the middle years of the war in much the same way as their comrades in the divisional cavalry squadrons and the corps cavalry regiments. They trained for the resumption of mobile warfare; patrolled the roads, woods and fields behind the front lines; escorted prisoners of war; and provided working parties for various fatigues and engineering projects.

Royal Flying Corps (RFC) / Royal Naval Air Service (RNAS) / Royal Air Force (RAF)

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British military aviation has its roots in the Royal Engineers, which established a balloon corps in 1908. In May 1912, the Royal Flying Corps was established with a military wing, which worked for the army; a naval wing for operations with the fleet; the Central Flying School for instructional purposes; a repair depot called the Royal Aircraft Factory; and a reserve.

A form of interservice rivalry developed almost at once between the military and naval wings, and shortly before the declaration of war, in the summer of 1914, the naval wing broke away to become the Royal Naval Air Service.

When war was declared, the RFC deployed with the British Expeditionary Force; an aircraft park and four squadrons (Nos. 2, 3, 4, and 5), each equipped with the entire mixed bag of aircraft then in the British inventory. After a series of moves necessitated by the initial British retreat, headquarters in France was established at Saint Omer, where it remained for most of the war. The first field commander of the RFC was Brigadier General David Henderson. Henderson would shortly return to England, though, leaving command in the field to Hugh Montague 'Boom' Trenchard.

Initially, each RFC unit acted as something of a self-contained air force, performing the complete range of activities, which at the time consisted primarily of reconnaissance duties with the occasional bombing mission. As the war progressed, the force grew in number, and by 1916 squadrons began to specialize either as fighter, bombing, or reconnaissance units, the latter role being further divided into photographic and artillery functions. As a consequence of specialization, the practice of units having a multiplicity of types was abandoned, and squadrons started to become known not only by their role but also by what type of equipment they possessed. Balloon companies using tethered observation balloons as artillery spotters began appearing in British service in 1915 and remained a fixture on the Western Front throughout the war.

Technological advances were rapid during the war, and keeping up with the enemy in the design and deployment of new types was a constant problem. The British sometimes suffered severely as a result. When the Germans were first to develop an interrupter gear -- allowing a machine gun to fire through the propeller arc -- the RFC found itself on the receiving end of the 'Fokker scourge.' During the spring of 1917 the problem reached a crisis. During the Battle of the Somme, the previous autumn, the Luftstreitkräfte (Air Service) had organized its single-seat fighter force into heterogeneous jagdstaffeln (fighter squadrons) and reequipped with the Albatros D.I and D.II. The type had been refined over the winter into the D.III.

The RFC, however, had lagged in the introduction of new types and went into the spring with the same complement of tired aircraft,mostly BE 2s that had been in use for the last two years. It paid a high price – the highest number of casualties in a single month it would suffer during its existence – a month that went down in history as 'bloody April.'

Technological advantage was not the only factor in these losses; doctrine also played a part. Throughout the war, Trenchard followed an offensive policy. This action has attracted its share of criticism, but faced with German occupation of the high ground and the insatiable intelligence needs of the army, often only satisfied by aerial reconnaissance, the RFC seems to have had little choice but to press on with what it had.

The situation improved over the summer of 1917 with the introduction of the Sopwith Camel, the SE 5/5a, the de Havilland D.H. 4, and the Bristol Fighter; the SE 5/5a was the best design to emerge from the Royal Aircraft Factory during the war, the other three, of course, being the products of private firms. From that point on, technology remained fairly balanced, and casualties returned to a manageable level until spiking again in September 1918 following the German introduction of the BMW-powered Fokker D.VII.

The Royal Flying Corps did not operate exclusively on the Western Front, however. After some initial jurisdictional feuding with the RNAS, the RFC had assumed responsibility for the aerial home defense of Great Britain, thereafter regularly scrambling a hodgepodge of mostly second-line equipment in response to Zeppelin and Gotha attacks.

Outside of England and France, units also served in Egypt and Palestine, Mesopotamia, and Russia, providing support to British army operations in those theaters.

The Royal Naval Air Service mission was primarily, if not exclusively, the support of British maritime endeavors. This covered a wide range of activities, from antisubmarine patrols and general reconnaissance duties in connection with the fleet, to bombing missions against submarine pens and Zeppelin bases. To fulfill these missions, the RNAS developed a varied inventory that included floatplanes, flying boats, the first experimental torpedo-bombers, and lighter-than-air airships. Ships were also adapted to work with aircraft, leading to the balloon ship (which extended the effective range of vision of the group to which the balloon vessel was attached), the crane-equipped seaplane carrier, and, eventually, to the first flight-deck aircraft carriers.

In addition to new equipment, innovative techniques were also developed for work over the water, one of the most useful to the prosecution of the war being the so-called spider web. The spider web was an invisible grid over the English Channel and North Sea that provided an organized method for aircraft to use in searching for underwater mines and U-boats. Provision for aerial escort as part of the convoy scheme also contributed to the safety of Allied shipping as it crossed the Atlantic to and from North America.

As mentioned, the RNAS did not operate exclusively over the water. Throughout the war, naval units were deployed for land-based operations on the Western Front.And among the Allied forces, the RNAS could take credit for the first tentative attempts at strategic bombing. In the summer of 1916, the RNAS organized No. 3 Wing and equipped the unit with Sopwith 11/2 Strutters and Breguet bombers with the aim of attacking targets inside Germany. The group was stationed at Luxeuil, near Nancy, putting it within reach of manufacturing plants in the Saar River Valley. Bad weather – the perpetual enemy of aerial operations – kept No. 3 Wing grounded throughout much of its life, but its first – and most memorable – raid took place on 12 October 1916 when it attacked the Mauser Works at Oberndorf. The raid was a truly international operation involving not only the British naval unit but also French bombers and an escort of Nieuport fighters provided by the U.S. volunteers of the Lafayette Escadrille. By spring, however, the lackluster results achieved led to the breakup of the group and the reassignment of its crews to other units, many going to the navy's single-seat squadrons up near the channel coast. There, some pilots, such as Canadian ace Raymond Collishaw, would go on to great success flying the Sopwith Pup, Triplane, and later the immortal Camel, supplementing the RFC in support of army operations.

Relations between the two British aviation services were always somewhat tense, accusations of various intrigues going in both directions. The rivalry heightened to the point that a government committee merged the RFC and RNAS into the Royal Air Force on 1 April 1918.

Trenchard was ordered to run the Independent Force and General John Salmond became the RAF's first field commander. There is little evidence to indicate that a true merger of the two services really took place prior to the Armistice, however. There was a new 'RAF blue' uniform issued, but not many people are seen wearing it in wartime photos,most clinging not only to the old uniform but also to the practices and brief traditions of their earlier branch. Previously, naval squadrons were renumbered, each having '200' added to its original designation (e.g.,Naval Eight became No. 208 Squadron,RAF), and a few swaps of personnel were effected, probably the most notable being the transfer of RNAS ace Roderick Dallas to the command of No. 40 Squadron, an old RFC fighter unit. But these changes were largely cosmetic, and the real birth of the Royal Air Force is more likely found in the postwar struggles to remain funded and stay alive, all taking place under the stewardship of Trenchard. The fruits of his labor became apparent in 1940 when the RAF rose to the Nazi threat and achieved its finest hour during the Battle of Britain.

Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF)

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The Royal Australian Air Force had its humble beginnings in September 1912 as the Australian Flying Corps when a flight of four aircraft was authorized for the army. In 1913, its first two pilots went to England and returned with five aircraft and number of maintenance personnel. A total of 2,275 RAAF personnel served with British aviation forces during World War I.

Starting in January 1929, brushfire-spotting became a new mission for the RAAF. This was followed a year later by dusting for pest control.

With World War II looming, two major training expansions were instituted in 1938 and 1939. Plans were made for 32 squadrons with 360 aircraft in June 1940, but this was increased to 73 squadrons in May 1941. The RAAF began combat operations during World War II in the Southwest Pacific alongside U.S. forces. Eventually, the RAAF had squadrons fighting in almost every theater of the war. By the end of World War II, the RAAF comprised 3,187 first-line aircraft dispersed in 52 squadrons. Their missions included fighter, bomber, reconnaissance, antisubmarine, clandestine operations, and transport.

The first jets to enter RAAF service were de Havilland Vampires in May 1946.These were followed by Gloster Meteors and North American Sabres. The RAAF was part of the UN operation in Korea,employing its Meteors.

When the South Vietnamese government asked for assistance through the Southeast Asia Treaty Organization, the Australians joined the anticommunist efforts. During the Vietnam War, RAAF Bell Iroquois helicopters supported Australian ground forces. An RAAF English Electric Canberra squadron served alongside a USAF Martin B-57 Canberra wing for more than four years. Another RAAF squadron provided airlift support operations with de Havilland Caribous between 1964 and 1971.

Maritime patrol operations began in World War II with Avro Lancasters and Consolidated Liberators. Subsequently Avro Lincolns were employed along with a number of large flying boats. This mission was then performed by Lockheed Neptunes and, later, Lockheed Orions.

During the early 1970s, the RAAF leased 24 USAF Mc-Donnell F-4E Phantom IIs until they were replaced by the General Dynamics F-111C. The Lockheed Hercules entered the RAAF inventory in 1958 and has since became the mainstay of RAAF transport units.

Wherever and whenever called upon, the RAAF has served Australia, the British Empire, and the United Nations. A staunch supporter of U.S. interests,RAAF personnel bring professionalism to every operation they undertake.

References Green,William, and John Fricker. The Air Forces of the World. New York: Hanover House, 1958. Parnell,Neville, and Trevor Boughton. Flypast: A Record of Aviation in Australia. A Civil Aviation Authority bicentennial project. Canberra: Australian Government Publishing Service, 1988.

Charles ‘Moth’ Eaton: Pioneer Aviator of the Northern Territory

2009-01-19T10:46:00.000+09:00

Steven Farram

ISBN-13: 9780980384611 PB XXpp 250*175

Group Captain Charles Eaton, OBE, AFC, MID, Knight Commander in the Order of Orange Nassau with Swords, received numerous honours during his lifetime, as his full title illustrates. He is remembered in the Northern Territory in a number of ways as well. There is a Lake Eaton in Central Australia and an Eaton Place in the Darwin suburb of Karama. Charles Eaton Drive leads into the Darwin International Airport, where Eaton’s portrait can be seen hanging in the arrivals hall. Moreover, the location of the airport is soon to be named Eaton also. There is a display dedicated to Eaton in the Northern Territory Parliament, and a National Trust memorial celebrating him at the Tennant Creek Airport, in which town a block of flats was named in his honour as well. But perhaps his favourite memorial would be the Charles ‘Moth’ Eaton Saloon Bar in the Tennant Creek Goldfields Hotel. But who was Charles Eaton and what did he do to be memorialised in such ways? Illustrated with many rare photographs, this book outlines the contributions made to Northern Territory aviation by one of its early prominent figures, Charles ‘Moth’ Eaton.

Steven Farram received his doctorate in history from Charles Darwin University in 2004. He has had a number of articles published about the history and politics of Indonesia, East Timor and the Northern Territory. He works at Charles Darwin University as a research associate.

Buy the Book

Japanese Bombing of Darwin

2008-12-01T22:24:00.001+09:00

Bombs over Darwin - artwork by James Baines

On February 19, 1942, the war-crowded northern Australian harbor of Port Darwin was struck by 198 Japanese bombers. This coordinated land and naval-based air strike surprised the ill-prepared defenders and devastated the port and the shipping concentrated within its harbor. Arriving in two waves, the forty-five minute attack sank eight ships, ran four aground, and severely damaged another eleven. More than 240 people were killed, mostly aboard the ships. Two more ships were destroyed as the planes transited home. They also struck the nearby Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) base, destroying all the aircraft on the ground and downing all but one of the Australian fighters in the air. A follow-up raid finished off the base and inflicted so much wanton destruction that its military personnel fled to the south in panic. Total Japanese losses were only two aircraft. Darwin and its surrounding area endured more than a dozen air raids over the next fifteen months, but none would be as devastating as this first raid nor even approach its psychological impact.

Darwin’s defenses had been neglected during the prewar period, but the most glaring deficiency in the port s defenses was the almost total lack of cooperation among the agencies involved. The resident administrator, Charles Abbott, aloof and ineffectual, had antagonized the local population, including the civil defense and military leaders. Lacking the cooperation of the local population, he had failed to evacuate nonessential personnel, organize the civil defense organization, or establish communications with local military leaders. For their part, the local unions openly thwarted Abbott’s authority, and the civil defense officials blatantly ignored him when he did attempt to organize matters. The local military leaders also made their preparations separately. The Royal Australian Navy (RAN) had established a potentially effective system for protecting shipping offshore and in the port but had not established communications with the RAAF’s warning network. Thus, RAN forces could neither receive early warning of attack nor coordinate their activities with the air force. The RAAF’s only radar set in the area was inoperable on February 19. Moreover, the air force had a policy of withholding air warning until incoming aircraft were indisputably identified as Japanese, which meant that the bombs were practically falling before air-raid alarms could be issued. None of the defense agencies had practiced together or conducted an air-raid drill since the early weeks of December. That left them ill-prepared and confused as the attack developed. Finally, a series of false alarms had worn down local morale, undermined alertness, and led to the RAAF’s tightening its already stringent identification procedures.

Darwin had become a target because of its importance as an Allied forward base and logistics center. It was the only significant port in northern Australia and the only one from which the Allies could support their forces in Java and the southwest Pacific. The Imperial Japanese Navy staff had argued that Australia had to be seized, but the army had resisted, indicating that the continent required more troops to subdue and garrison than Japan had to expend. So Australia’s northern ports had to be neutralized instead, and the islands above it had to be seized as a buffer to prevent Allied counterstrokes against Japan’s intended “inner perimeter” of vital islands and resource centers. Destroying Darwin was the first step in that process and offered the additional advantage of diverting Allied resources to Australia’s defense and away from the fighting in Southeast Asia.

The air strike was planned and led by the same team, Commanders Genda and Fuchida, that had struck Pearl Harbor in Hawaii some two months earlier, using roughly the same methods and enjoying roughly the same results for roughly the same reasons (but the garrison at Darwin did not have the excuse that defenders had no idea they were at war). As far as the Japanese were concerned, the Allies were slow learners, particularly in light of the quite similar near-obliteration of U.S. air power in the Philippines by the Japanese raid on Clark Air Field. But in the Darwin strike the sea-based air wing was supported by a land-based element operating out of the recently captured airfields in the Dutch East Indies. The carrier-based aircraft would strike first, taking out the port, its shipping, and its defenses. They were escorted by thirty-six Zeros— arguably the best fighter aircraft in the Pacific at that time. The land-based horizontal bombers would then launch the second-phase attack, taking out the airfields and supporting facilities. The Japanese hoped to catch the Allied fighters on the ground, being serviced after the first raid. The plan succeeded beyond their fondest hopes.

The carrier aircraft took off at 8:45 A.M. and formed up for their one-hour flight to Darwin. Interestingly, both the carrier- and land-based aircraft were detected and reported by Australian coastwatchers some thirty minutes before they arrived over Darwin (again like the Pearl Harbor raid). Also, the carrier aircraft had struck an Allied convoy north of Darwin the previous day, and its surviving elements had sought refuge in the port. Although the convoy commander expected the Japanese to finish them off in Darwin, he never passed this assessment on to local officials. Instead, he despatched two destroyers and an oiler to refuel east of Darwin, and he placed his crews on alert. Coastwatchers’ reports were ignored pending further verification, and authorities ashore remained unaware of the convoy commander’s assessment. As a result, the raiders arrived unexpectedly and uncontested.

The ferocity and effectiveness of the Japanese attack stunned Australian authorities, but in the long run the surprise may have served them better than it did the Japanese (again as at Pearl Harbor), for it energized the Australians into action. No longer were civil defense officials ignored, Air-raid drills began in earnest throughout the country. Nonessential personnel departed Darwin willingly—indeed, enthusiastically (the exodus was sometimes termed “the Darwin Races”)—and a new, more effective administrator was appointed. A royal commission was formed to study what went wrong, and despite the obstruction and outright falsification of records by local authorities, the commission discovered the problems and made some specific recommendations to prevent similar disasters in the future. The local RAAF commander was replaced, the services were forced to establish a common air-defense reporting network, and warning procedures were liberalized to ensure earlier response. Now false alarms were preferable to further surprises. Although the Japanese continued their sporadic attacks against Port Darwin over the next fifteen months, as time went by the raids inflicted significantly less damage and led to higher losses for the Japanese.

ROYAL AUSTRALIAN AIR FORCE IN THE PACIFIC

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The Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) was established as an independent service in March 1921, but military aviation in Australia predated World War I, and the four squadrons of the Australian Flying Corps had fought on the Western Front and in the Middle East from 1914 to 1918. In the interwar period the air force made do with limited resources; it successfully resisted attempts by the army and the navy to divide it between themselves, and it concentrated on local defense capabilities and the pioneering of civil aviation infrastructure. In 1939 Australia signed the agreement which set up the Empire Air Training Scheme (also known as the Commonwealth Air Training Plan) to provide aircrew for the Royal Air Force (RAF) in Europe, and this was to have severe long-term implications for the RAAF in Australia. Thousands of Australians served in Europe throughout World War II, and the British government demonstrated a marked reluctance to release them for return to Australia even when, in the latter part of the war, many of them were surplus to requirements.

At the beginning of the Pacific war the RAAF was small in size, suffered from a lack of training, and was equipped with obsolescent aircraft. Four squadrons were deployed to Malaya, and these were the first RAAF units to see action against the Japanese. Nos. 1 and 8 Squadrons flew Hudson bombers, while Nos. 21 and 453 Squadrons were equipped with Brewster Buffalos—and both were outclassed by the Japanese in a campaign that established the enemy’s early dominance in the air. In Australia itself there was as yet no integrated air defense system, and when the Japanese bombed Darwin in the first of a series of heavy air raids on February 19, 1942, numerous Australian and U.S. aircraft were destroyed on the ground.

When General Douglas MacArthur arrived in Australia in April 1942, he assumed control over all forces in the Southwest Pacific Command. With the arrival of General George C. Kenney in August to take command of the Allied Air Force (AAF), he established separate command and control systems for the RAAF and the U.S. Army Air Forces (USAAF), creating RAAF Command and the Fifth Air Force. On a personal level Kenney respected his Australian counterparts and generally enjoyed good relations with the senior officers of that service. The great weakness in the RAAF was of the Australians’ own making. At the beginning of the Pacific war the chief of the Air Staff had been a British officer on detached service, Air Chief Marshal Sir Charles Burnett. When he retired in May 1942, he was succeeded by Air Vice Marshal George Jones—not by Air Vice Marshal W. D. Bostock, who had been Burnett’s choice; Jones was junior in rank not only to Bostock but also to seven other senior officers on the air force list. Bostock became air officer commanding RAAF Command and was responsible to Kenney for RAAF operations in the Southwest Pacific Command, while Jones had administrative responsibility for the air force. Relations between the two were poisonous, and the corrosive effect this had on the RAAF as a whole played itself out for the remainder of the war. But ill will among senior officers had been a feature of the interwar air force as well.

As a result of the divisions at the top, the RAAF generally failed to develop a strategic doctrine acceptable to the United States, which in turn prejudiced attempts to acquire frontline aircraft for the RAAF from the Americans, which in its turn meant that Australian squadrons were relegated to lower-priority roles and tasks. Senior command postings to No. 9 Operational Group in 1943 reflected the feuding in the high command and further undermined U.S. confidence in the RAAF’s capabilities.

The Australian government was aware of the problem but lacked sufficient resolve to do anything about it. This high-level rancor and the far smaller size of the RAAF meant that the air service was fated to play a subordinate role in the Pacific war. Nonetheless, the RAAF expanded to impressive size and strength: At its peak in August 1944 it numbered 182,000 personnel, which by war’s end had declined to 132,000 as the government partly demobilized in response to the manpower crisis. In August 1945 the RAAF fielded fifty squadrons and some six thousand aircraft (3,200 operational and the rest trainers).

In June 1944 the air forces in the theater were reorganized, with Kenney announcing the formation of the Far East Air Force comprising the Fifth and Thirteenth Air Forces, both American. This meant that the Allied Air Force, of which he retained command, henceforth comprised only Australian, New Zealand, and Dutch East Indies squadrons, although U.S. squadrons could be attached to the AAF for specific tasks. The AAF, like its army counterparts, was assigned “mopping-up” duties against bypassed enemy forces in the islands to Australia’s north while the U.S. forces proceeded to the reconquest of the Philippines and the contemplated invasion of the Japanese home islands.

First Tactical Air Force (1st TAF) was formed in October 1944 from No. 10 Operational Group and began operations against Japanese positions from bases on Morotai in November. Dissatisfaction with their role grew among the squadrons, and in April 1945 a group of eight senior officers attempted to resign in protest. The “Morotai mutiny” prompted the removal of the commander of the 1st TAF and an inquiry which confirmed that decision. When Jones threatened disciplinary action against the eight, Kenney—who had spoken to the officers concerned and concluded that they had acted in good faith— declared that he would appear in their defense in any court martial.

In June 1945 with a strength of 21,893, of all ranks, the 1st TAF supported the Australian landings in Borneo and continued to fly against Japanese targets elsewhere in the Dutch East Indies until the war’s end. In the war against Japan the RAAF suffered some two thousand casualties—killed, wounded, and prisoners of war.

The performance of the RAAF in the Pacific war was disappointing, in that it failed to conduct a leading role in the Southwest Pacific Command, its primary theater in the defense of Australia. The weakness in senior command explains much of this failure, and blame both for creating and then for sustaining this situation must lie with the government of the day. On the other hand, by 1945 the RAAF had grown into a large and capable organization, with many combat-experienced aircrew and officers who had held senior command and staff positions. Although aircraft acquisition had been a difficult problem in the first half of the war because of competing priorities elsewhere, by 1945 the RAAF possessed large numbers of modern aircraft and the capability to support them. The failures at the top were not matched by a lack of performance elsewhere in the organization.

FURTHER READINGS

Gillison, Douglas. Royal Australian Air Force 1939–1942 (1962).

Odgers, George. Air War against Japan 1943–45 (1957).

Stephens, Alan. Power Plus Attitude: Ideas, Strategy and Doctrine in the Royal Australian Air Force 1921–1991 (1992).

Hythe Gun Camera

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Hythe Gun camera Mk III by Thornton Picard

Used to practice air gunnery in the open cockpit days this Lewis gun shaped camera makes 16 pictures 4.5 x 6cm on 120 roll film on a removable internal carrier (included), f8/30cm lens. The camera-gun is made from heavy gauge brass and aluminium castings presumably the weight was to match the gun it represented on the aircraft. With original heavy wood box, spare gears and mirror. Weight of gun only; 8.75kg

Camera guns have been used as a gunnery training aid since the 1914-1918 war, when in 1916 a sight recording camera was designed at the RFC machine-gun school at Hythe in Kent. This camera gun, made by the Thornton Pickard Co. of Altringham, was similar in shape and weight to the Lewis gun. It proved to be very successful in assessing the standard of gunnery in the air. Known as the Hythe Gun Camera Mk III, it took still exposures on a 120 mm film roll. Provision was made for a multi-ring reticule and the time of exposure. The trigger, cocking action and balance were all identical to the Lewis, and a drum magazine was clipped into place. It was used mainly on Scarff ring mounts, but was also fitted onto the top wing of fighter aircrafts, controlled by a Bowden cable.

The camera gun itself is a very interesting piece of equipment. In form and weight it is modeled after the original Lewis Gun (photo below for reference). The box contains the film and a glass reticule that has a 'target' imprinted on it. When the trainee 'fires' the gun at a target plane the reticule’s grid is imprinted on the film with the photo of the targeted plane. The target plane appears in the developed photo, hopefully within the imprint of the reticule’s target.

In addition, the trainee was supposed to change the magazine (in flight) after each shot. There is a unique pin that pierces the film each time the magazine is changed. If a photo appears without the 'pinhole' it indicates the magazine was not changed. "Can't get away with anything!

At the end of a flight the film is developed and a trainer would review the results with the gunner. There are calculations that determine the angle, range, etc. of the shot.

The Hythe was used for gunnery training until the Williamson camera gun was adopted in 1934.

"British Aircraft Armament Vol 2", R. Wallace Clarke, Patrick Stephens Limited, ISBN 1 85260 402

GOTHA OVER ENGLAND

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Potentially a major, advance in air warfare, the Gotha bomber was Germany's major weapon in her attempt to subdue England's civilian population in World War I. From it arose the misguided belief that terror bombing could win wars.

'How is it, after three years and a half of war, that such raids can be undertaken over London with impunity, and that these Gothas should escape unscathed ?' This question, asked in the British House of Commons and reported in the 'Daily Express' of 30 January 1918, typified the concern felt about the effects of the terrible innovation of 'aerial bombardment by heavier-than-air' machines of a civilian population, wrought by the German Gotha GV, its most formidable exponent to that date. There was also more than a touch of politicking in the question for, in 1918, improved British defenses against the Gotha, coupled with its unreliability, particularly in bad weather, were steadily reducing its effectiveness.

But this was little consolation to the Londoners who, attracted by the uneven throb of aircraft engines, had stared into the mid-morning sky on 13 June 1917. People pointed up towards the 14 gleaming white planes that cruised steadily southwards at a height of 15,000ft. There was even some patriotic cheering to welcome what was assumed to be a British patrol. Then suddenly the harsh bark of anti-aircraft guns reverberated in the warm air—the aircraft were German. Astonished faces showed a realization that the hated enemy could fly above the nation's capital in broad daylight.

High above the city in his twin-engined Gotha, Captain Ernst Brandenburg identified the famous landmarks coming into view below him. Behind Brandenburg's lead ship, his squadron deployed to commence the attack. Then the bombs rained down on the capital. Many of the people in the area of the attack seemed too stupefied even to take cover.

High explosive bombs fell across the eastern dock area at 1135. Five minutes later, 72 bombs landed around Liverpool Street Station, a main rail terminus and the Germans' main target. Their mission complete, and hardly daring to hope that they might get away safely, the Gothas headed east for the North Sea and their bases near Ghent, in Belgium. In London the capital mourned 162 dead. The concept of the long-range strategic bomber attacking major urban centers was born and with it the Gotha legend.

The original Gotha was a clumsy twin-engined biplane, with the fuselage suspended from the upper wing. It was evaluated operationally by the Germans in 1915. Between 12 and 20 GIs (G for Grossflugzeug, or 'large aircraft') were built before the end of 1915, but work was already proceeding on a superior design, the GII.

This new Gotha was a far more elegant biplane than the GI. The fuselage was mounted in orthodox fashion on the lower wing. There were three crew positions—the observer, usually the captain, sat in the nose with a swivelling Parabellum machine-gun, a connecting corridor led to the pilot's cockpit, and the third member of the crew was the rear gunner, whose position was level with the trailing edges of the wings. The 220hp Mercedes DIV engines drove pusher propellers and were installed in bulky nacelles which incorporated fuel and oil tanks.

The GII proved to be gratifyingly fast for its day, with a maximum speed of 82mph, and ten were ordered. Operational units on the Balkan front began using them towards the end of 1916, initially with 14 22lb bombs in an internal bomb bay but later with additional bombs fitted on external racks.

Two major shortcomings were known even before the GII went into action: the straight-8 Mercedes engines suffered from recurrent crankshaft failures and there was no defensive armament to protect the blind spot beneath the tail. Both of these problems were rectified in the GIII. Six-cylinder 260hp Mercedes DIVa power plants were fitted, and a machine-gun was mounted on the floor of the rear cockpit that fired downwards through an aperture in the bottom of the strengthened fuselage.

Both the Gil and the GIII were flown by Kagohl 1 (Kampfgeschwader 1 of the OHL, or Oberste Heeresleitung) in the Balkans. Operating from Hudova, they proved remarkably successful, especially in the bombing of Salonika and the destruction, in September 1916, of a vital railway bridge over the Donau at Cernavoda. The Gothas did not have it all their own way, however, and a Royal Flying Corps scout pilot who encountered a formation of six Gothas over Macedonia in March 1917 shot down two of them before his ammunition ran out. The GIII also served on the western front with Kagohl 2 at Freiburg, and the French ace Guynemer claimed one, shared with another French pilot, as his 31st kill on 8 February 1917.

The next Gotha type, the GIV, differed only in detail from the Gill, the most significant alteration being the incorporation of the famous Gotha 'tunnel'. This was a long opening cut out of the bottom of the fuselage from the rear gunner's position back to the tail: it enabled the upper gun to be directed downwards through a small triangular aperture in the top decking to fire at any hostile fighter attempting to approach the bomber's blind spot. When fully or half loaded, the GIV proved to be a stable aircraft to fly, at the same time retaining a high degree of manoeuvrability; once empty, however, it was difficult to handle, with a pronounced nose-heavy trim—crash landings, as a result, became commonplace.

The GIV was the aircraft that was to undertake Germany's Operation Turk's Cross, the aerial bombardment of Britain by heavier-than-air machines in support of the airship raids that were already in progress. A special squadron, designated Kagohl 3 and soon to be known as the England Geschwader, was formed with this express object.

The Gothas were scheduled for delivery by 1 February 1917, and in the meantime crews went to Heligoland-and Sylt for training in the techniques of navigating over the open ocean. In 1916 the bleak waters of the North Sea were a formidable barrier to aircraft and, as insurance, the GIV's plywood-covered fuselage was designed to enable a ditched plane to remain afloat for several hours.

Production delays held up delivery of the GIV to the England Geschwader until March 1917. The squadron was now commanded by the 34-year-old Captain Brandenburg with six constituent flights of six Gothas located at Mariakerke, St. Denis Westrem and Gontrode.

After two months with the G IV's the England Geschwader was ready to launch Turk's Cross. Brandenburg's first attempt to raid England ended at Nieuwmunster when last-minute storm warnings led to a cancellation of the mission. On Friday, 25 May 1917, at 1700, however, twenty-one Gothas flying at 12,000ft crossed the Essex coast. Their target was London, but as they reached the Thames near Gravesend, only 20 miles from their objective, bad weather forced them to turn south in search of alternative targets. The Gothas scattered bombs haphazardly across Kent until they reached Hythe, where they headed eastwards along the coast. Late in the afternoon they arrived over Folkestone.

The little coastal town had no warning of the impending catastrophe. One moment the sunlit streets were packed with cheerful shoppers, the next they were shattered by German bombs. Amid the smoke, dust, splintered glass and ruined masonry, the dead and dying lay in grotesque, blood-soaked heaps.

One Gotha 95 dead

The Gothas made the best of their escape, harassed out to sea by anti-aircraft fire from Dover and a handful of fighters. A British naval squadron at Dunkirk was sent up to cut off the raiders' retreat and succeeded in bringing down one Gotha, while another was lost near Bruges. These were the only German casualties. In England, 95 people had died and 195 were injured.

Brandenburg had now lost the element of surprise for his first raid on London so another attack on British coastal targets was mounted on the evening of 5 June. Twenty-two Gothas bombed Shoeburyness and Sheerness. Anti-aircraft fire brought down one bomber, but this time the RNAS squadron at Dunkirk was out of luck, for Brandenburg had arranged for German fighters from Flanders bases to cover his withdrawal.

On 13 June 1917 the Gothas first reached London. Of the 20 German bombers that had taken off, only 14 reached the British capital.

Of the 20 German bombers that had taken off, only 14 reached the British capital. The June 13 bombing raid destroyed property and killed civilians and this brought home the idea that England was an island no more, but it would appear that at least one of the most emotional reasons was the death of the 16 kindergarten children at the Upper North Street Schools.

After pounding London, north and south, the Gotha flight reformed and on their way out, dropped the remaining bombs they had for the run home. Tragically, one bomb hit a school building, broke in two, one piece crashed through three floors, killing two students but did not explode until it landed in the basement where 64 infants were being supervised. The 16 were blown apart, many were terribly mutilated. Only two of the 16 were older than five years of age. Not only had the war brought the bombers to England but it was killing the children in the sanctuary of their creches.

It wasn't until a week later that the victims were buried in a common grave in the East End after a very impressive funeral service and procession in which each child had its own horse drawn hearse. Granted this was only part of the reason for bringing back the fighter squadrons (who proved ineffectual for various reasons) but it was no doubt the most powerful emotional response from a society unused to the idea of their homes and families being in such danger. Some of the funeral wreaths (over 500) read "To our children, murdered by German aircraft."

On his return, Brandenburg was flown to Kreuznach to receive the Pour le Merite from the Kaiser. As he took off for the return flight his plane's engine spluttered and he crashed. Brandenburg was dragged from the wreck alive, but the disaster cost him a leg.

At the end of June the new commanding officer of Kagohl 3 arrived, 30-year-old Rudolf Kleine. On 4 July he led his first raid, directed, because of poor weather, against the coastal town of Harwich. Twenty-five Gothas took off, and although seven turned back with engine trouble before they reached the English coast, both Harwich and nearby Felixstowe were successfully attacked.

Valiant but suicidal gesture

Only three days later, on Saturday 7 July, the Gothas appeared over London again, 22 strong. But before the raiders had reached the English coast British fighters were in the air to intercept. Among them, in a Sopwith 14-Strutter, was 19-year-old Lieutenant John E. R. Young with Air Mechanic C. C. Taylor as rear gunner. The Sopwith climbed steadily out to sea until the massed bomber formation was-spotted approaching on a collision course. Lt. Young aimed his aircraft straight at the oncoming Gothas. It was a valiant but suicidal gesture. The frail biplane was bracketed by concentrated fire from the score of German aircraft. Bullets riddled the Sopwith's wings and fuselage, killing both the crew instantly. Lieutenant F. A. D. Grace of 50 Squadron from Dover had better fortune and shot a homeward-bound Gotha into the sea. Four other bombers crashed at their bases trying to land in gusty wind. Bombs fell on widely scattered targets, mostly in the north-eastern parts of the city, killing 57 people and injuring 193.

Gothas raided Harwich on 22 July and for the next raid, on 12 August, Chatham was the objective, with Southend and Margate as secondary targets. British fighters, 109 in all, were up to meet them. Unteroffizier Kurt Delang, flying only his second mission over England, was forced to take violent evasive action in his heavily laden Gotha as a scout flashed by in a firing pass. He frantically rolled the big bomber to left and right as the British fighter came in again from behind. Machine-gun bullets crashed into one of the Gotha's ailerons and threw the plane on its starboard wing tip. The over-confident Englishman closed for an easy kill —and missed I As the scout swooped below the Gotha and climbed for another attack, Delang's gunners found their mark at last, and the British fighter dived away with smoke pouring from it.

Southend and Margate, together with Shoeburyness, were bombed, and all the Gothas escaped though four suffered landing accidents at their Belgian bases, and two aborted from the mission due to engine trouble.

Anxious to redress this setback, Kleine ordered another raid for 18 August. Despite clear skies, his meteorological officer forecast severe winds over England and advised against the mission. Kleine ignored the warning and took off. The result of his impetuosity was the disaster of 'Hollandflug'. Strong south-westerly winds swept the Gothas over neutral Holland, where AA guns opened fire. After three hours of buffeting they finally reached England, some 40 miles north of their intended landfall. With fuel running dangerously low, Kleine was forced to turn back, but the Gothas were swept across the North Sea by a gale that again blew them towards Holland. At least two planes ditched, others were forced down in Holland and Belgium, and many of those which did finally reach Ghent crashed on landing.

What was left of the England Geschwader, a mere 15 planes, made their last daylight attack on Britain only four days later. A third of the force aborted en route, including Kleine himself, and the remainder succeeded only in inflicting minor damage on Ramsgate, Margate and Dover. The raiders were beaten off by unprecedentedly fierce anti-aircraft file, which claimed one Gotha, and well coordinated fighter interceptions, which accounted for two more.

It was now clear that England was too well defended for further daylight raids, and the GIVs were proving increasingly unreliable due to the use of inferior petrol and the declining quality of the materials employed in their construction. In addition, the machines most recently delivered to England Geschwader were licence-built aircraft manufactured by the Siemens-Schuckert and LVG concerns which embodied strengthened—and therefore heavier—airframes. Their performance was markedly inferior to that of the original Gotha-built GIVs, and bombing heights had declined from over 16,000ft on the first England raid to 13,000ft or less. The LVG machines also proved to be tail heavy and had to have the sweepback of the wings increased to counteract this shortcoming.

The answer to the problem of heavy losses in daylight raids and reduced performance was to attack at night. On 3-4 September four volunteer crews, led by Kleine, took off in a hazy night with a full moon. The targets of the trial raid were Chatham, Sheerness and Margate. Anti-aircraft fire was sporadic and British fighter planes were not equipped for night flying. A bomb dropped on Chatham hit a naval barracks and 132 ratings were killed. Of the attack on the naval barracks, the 'Evening News' of Wednesday 5 September stated that 'Reports from the Chatham area all appear to indicate that the damage in that district was the work of only one raider. Eight or ten bombs were dropped, and one fell on a portion of a Royal Naval Barracks, which was fitted with hammocks for sleeping, and 107 blue jackets were killed and 86 wounded. It is feared that two or three of the injured will not recover ... The raiding machine is believed to have been of the Gotha type. All the German planes returned safely from the raid.

The next night nine Gothas set out to attack London. Only five reached the city which was not blacked-out and glittered like a beacon to guide Kleine's crews. The 'Evening News' on 5 September led with 'Invasion by moonlight' and described the effects of the attack in various parts of London. 'Some of the bombs', the newspaper reported, 'as they fell caused a sharp whistling sound ; and when they exploded there was little or no report . . . Other missiles, however, gave very loud reports—louder than those which were remembered in connection with the Zeppelin raids.' The civilian population, having their first taste of night bombardment by heavier-than-air machines, apparently kept calm : 'There was no panic among the inhabitants, but large numbers of women and children living in houses near the Tube rushed for shelter below ground, and were taken down in the lifts to the underground platforms.' The sky was streaked with searchlights and anti-aircraft guns opened fire—but their effect was, according to the 'Evening News', 'not apparent'. The first Gotha night raid on London cost 19 dead and 71 injured. It also caused £46,000 worth of damage.

By this time Kagohl 3 were taking delivery of the Gotha GV. The GV had a lighter but stronger airframe than the GIV, with the fuel tanks removed from the engine nacelles (where they frequently burst in the event of a crash) to the fuselage. As a result of this re-location of the fuel, there was no longer a gangway connecting the rear gunner's position with the cockpit. Despite a gross weight of nearly 9,0001b, the maximum speed had risen to 87mph with a ceiling of 21,000ft.

From 24 September to the night of 1-2 October, a week of bright moonlight, Britain was subjected to a concentrated series of raids in which the Gothas were joined for the first time by some of the huge German R-planes. London suffered six attacks in this period, including one Zeppelin raid, and the resulting chaos was out of all proportion to the damage and casualties sustained by the capital. The Germans did not escape unscathed, however, and for the England Geschwader, it was a costly campaign. Five Gothas were brought down by the defenses, and eight more crashed on their return to Belgium.

Kagohl 3 was now also required to operate against targets on the western front, but another major raid on London was mounted on the night of 31 October-1 November, when 22 Gothas set out carrying incendiary bombs in addition to their usual high explosives. Due to strong winds and low cloud, bombs were scattered haphazardly on Dover, Chatham, Gravesend, Herne Bay, Ramsgate, Margate and Canterbury as well as the eastern environs of London.

One Londoner described the bombing of his house to the 'Star' of 1 November: 'The man said that they heard the raider humming overhead and were looking at the shell bursts through the window', the 'Star' reported. ' "The humming became louder . . . and then I heard a whistling noise. There was a bright green flash and a fearful concussion. The house shook to its foundations, and I thought it was going to crack. The wardrobe in the corner of the room was thrown over, and we were nearly choked with fumes and dust. A mass of plaster from the ceiling crashed down and a large piece just missed the heads of my children. We escaped from the building by the staircase, which was undamaged": His experience was clearly more frightening than that of another Londoner, reported in the 'Star' the same day—he slept through ' "the whole business. He refused to get up while the raid was on".' British casualties in this raid were fairly light as most of the incendiary bombs failed to ignite. Five Gothas, however, crashed in fog when trying to land at their bases.

Bad weather halted operations against Britain until the moon returned at the end of November. On the night of 5-6 December, a total of 19 Gothas plus two R-planes were dispatched to raid London and various Kent coast towns. The losses, however, were becoming prohibitive. Two Gothas were brought down by anti-aircraft fire, one was apparently lost in the sea, two more barely managed to limp back to Belgium, and another crashed on landing.

On 12 December Kleine was killed during a daylight raid on British troop encampments near Ypres. His 17 Gothas were bounced by three Royal Flying Corps Nieuports at 10,000ft over Armentieres. Captain Wendell W. Rogers, a 20-year-old Canadian pilot of No 1 Squadron RFC, closed to within 30ft of the tail of Kleine's Gotha and poured a sustained burst into the huge bomber, which began to glide steeply down towards the trenches below. At 4,000ft it burst into flames: two of the crew jumped without parachutes, the third died as the plane crashed and exploded in No Man's Land near Warneton.

The Gothas appeared again in the night skies above Britain on the evening of 28 January 1918. Because of low-lying mist in Belgium, only 13 bombers were able to take off, and six of these turned back over the North Sea; only three of the remainder reached London, the other four attacking Sheerness, Margate and Ramsgate. German losses comprised one Gotha brought down in flames by two Camels from 44 Squadron Hainault Farm and four lost in crashes at their fog-bound bases.

An alarming casualty rate

Kagohl 3 was still carrying out raids on French ports and over the front, but casualties were mounting at an alarming rate. At the beginning of February, Ernst Brandenburg returned to take command again, but after one look at what remained of the England Geschwader he had the unit taken off operations to re-organize and re-equip. By the spring of 1918, Kagohl 3 was once more flying combat missions over France and the western front, but they did not attack England again until 19 May.

The raid on 19-20 May was the largest to be mounted against Britain during the whole war, 38 Gothas and three R-planes flying the mission. From 2230 until long after midnight the bombers streamed across to London, and destruction was extensive with over a thousand buildings damaged or destroyed. But the Gothas paid a fearful price. Only 28 of those that took off actually attacked England; fighters claimed three victims, anti-aircraft fire accounted for three more, and one crashed on its return flight.

As had happened with the GIV, the performance of the GV deteriorated as loads increased and serviceability declined, and the 19 May raid had been carried out from only about 5,500ft, whereas earlier night missions with GV's had been at over 8,000ft. Bombing at such low levels was bound to be expensive.

By June 1918 new types of Gotha were beginning to arrive at Kagohl 3. The GVa and GVb both had shorter noses than the normal GV, box-tails with twin rudders instead of a single fin and rudder, and auxiliary landing wheels under the nose or at the front of each engine nacelle. The GVb could carry a useful load of 3,520lb, 8031b more than earlier models, but its performance was otherwise no better and in some respects inferior. Since the GIV was now obsolete, these aircraft were being supplied to the Austrians for use on the Italian front, or to training squadrons in Germany.

At the end of May the England Geschwader were switched exclusively to targets in France in support of the German spring offensive, including Paris and Etaples, on the French coast. Later they were diverted to tactical targets near the front as the Allies counter-attacked, and the squadron inevitably suffered catastrophic losses. By November it was all over, however, and grandiose schemes to renew the raids on England in 1919 came to nothing as Germany sued for peace.

The casualties suffered by Kagohl 3 at the end of hostilities totalled 137 dead, 88 missing and over 200 wounded. On raids against England alone, 60 Gothas were lost—almost twice the basic strength of the unit. But the Gotha threat kept two British front line fighter squadrons at home at any one time and thereby indirectly benefited the German Air Force in France and Flanders.

It has been suggested that the Gotha was a copy of the British Handley Page 0/100, an example of which fell into German hands at the beginning of 1917, but this is incorrect. The 0/100 had 275hp Rolls Royce engines giving it an endurance of eight hours with a bomb load of nearly 1,8001b compared with the Gotha's of six hours endurance and about 1,100lb bomb load.

The consequences of the German raids on England during World War I were far reaching, and the symptoms of panic which they invoked in London led to a mistaken belief that bombing attacks could break the morale of civilian populations. The potential of bombers in the '1930s was greatly exaggerated and it was feared in 1938 that the Luftwaffe could pulverize London in a matter of weeks. The bogey of the bomber was certainly an influential factor in persuading the British Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, to sign the notorious Munich agreement of September 1938.

In 1940, however, the Luftwaffe's bombers proved too small to accomplish the destruction of London and the Germans came to regret their neglect of the four-engined heavy bomber.

On the British side, the defensive network evolved in 1917-18 formed a basis for the more sophisticated system used in the Battle of Britain, while belief in the power of the bomber led to the appearance of the four-engined Lancasters, Halifaxes and Stirlings that were used to systematically burn-out the major cities of Germany.

Victory through Airpower WWI

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The Germans first attempted to break British morale by launching a series of Airship raids on Great Britain - (only Airships had the range and bomb capacity to attack Britain in 1915; heavier than air aircraft had not been developed enough to be used). By 1917 it was apparent that the airship raids had failed because they were too vulnerable to AA fire and British fighter aircraft, aided by searchlights. It is an interesting window into the future that the last German Airship to be shot down was shot down by a naval Lt. S D Culley, who took off at sea from a towed lighter flying a Sopwith Camel - the precursor of the aircraft carrier.

Following the failure of airships, the next German attempt to break British morale was to use heavy bombers, 'Gothas' and the very large 'Giants'. These could carry 6 hundredweight (300 kilograms) bombs. Daylight attacks, starting in May 1917, failed due to British Home fighter defence and night attacks were accordingly started, the "Moonlight Raids" . However British defences included AA guns, formed into a barrier some 25 miles from London, were sited to split up the attackers and make them more vulnerable to fighter aircraft. The raids were tracked by Sound Locators and the defences in the path of the attack were alerted. The Sound Locators were very effective for identification of the Gothas but the Giants were so noisy that they initially confused their operators who thought that the Giants were Gothas but were much closer!

The biggest air-raid of the war was to be combined with the German March 1918 Offensive against the British on the Western Front; forty aircraft set out but only 13 reached London and ten crashed during or after the raid.

The statistics of the German aeroplane offensive are instructive, demonstrating how Airpower could not possibly have succeeded in attaining victory, nor indeed in inflicting any significant damage to the Britain's war effort.

1916 - 19 attacks, three tons of bombs dropped - killed 27 and wounded 67.

1917 - 27 attacks, 51 tons of bombs - killed 655 people and wounded 1553.

1918 - 6 raids, 22 tons of bombs- killed 182 people and injured 430.

During the whole war, 9000 bombs, weighing 2890 ton, were dropped by 51 Airship and 52 Aeroplane attacks. London was bombed 12 times by Airship and 192 times by aeroplanes.

Overall, in Britain during WW1, 1413 were killed by the air raids, 3408 were injured and London lost 670 killed and 1962 injured.

Reference; "The German Air Raids on Great Britain - 1914-1918" by Joseph Morris, Sampson Low, & Co. Ltd. Circa 1920

Slightly different figures from THE SKY ON FIRE THE FIRST BATTLE OF BRITAIN 1917 - 1918, Raymond H. Fredette, 1966 (reprinted 1976):

‘Gotha and Giant Raids, 1917 - 1918': 836 killed, 1,1982 injured, 2,818 total'; for London and Environs, 488 killed 1,437 injured, 1,925 total (including 24 killed and 196 by British antiaircraft fire, and 14 killed and 14 injured in air-raid shelter stampedes)

‘Raids by single-engined aeroplanes, 1915 - 1917': 21 killed, 75 wounded, 97 total

‘Airship raids, 1915 - 1918': 557 killed, 1,358 injured, 1,915 total

TOTAL casualties: 1,414 killed, 3,416 injured, 4,830 total (including military casualties of 354 killed and 642 wounded)

No source given for these numbers but the book's bibliography does include Morris's book which is listed with a copyright date of 1920.

Felixstowe F2.A versus Zeppelin

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The Felixstowe F.2A was widely used as a patrol aircraft over the North Sea until the end of the war. Its excellent performance and maneuverability made it an effective and popular type, often fighting enemy patrol and fighter aircraft, as well as hunting U-boats and Zeppelins. The larger F.3, which was less popular with its crews than the more maneuverable F.2a, served in the Mediterranean as well as the North Sea.

The F.5 did not enter service until after the end of World War I, but replaced the earlier Felixstowe boats (together with Curtiss flying boats) to serve as the RAF's standard flying boat until being replaced by the Supermarine Southampton in 1925.

The Felixstowe F series flying boats were a joint British and American development during the First World War. The predecessors of the Felixstowe were the Curtiss boats designed by a former Royal Navy officer and acquaintance of Curtiss, John Cyril Porte.

The H-12 Curtiss hull, and a new production aircraft, powered by 345-horsepower Rolls-Royce Eagle VIII engines, began to be supplied to British naval air units late in 1917. This version was designated the Felixstowe F-2A. The Curtiss-built version of the F-2A was identified as the Curtiss H-16. Fifty H-12s, powered by 275-horsepower Rolls-Royce Eagle engines were delivered to the British. The design was one of the most successful flying boats of the war.

Zeppelins climbed and dove quite quickly compared to airplanes. A good example is the Felixstowe F2.A, which had several early successes in downing Naval Scouting Zeppelins (two in fact). However, once the Germans identified the threat they were able to avoid the Felixstowe by simply out climbing it, which the Zeppelin did readily. This is because 60% of a Zeppelin's cargo was water ballast, which could be dumped via electronic control from the command car, lightening the ship by up to 15 tonnes virtually instantaneously.

The German Zeppelin L-22 was destroyed by an H-12 on May 14, 1917 (the first enemy aircraft to be downed by an American-built airplane) and six days later another H-12 sank the German submarine UC-36.

On May 10th, 1918, an F.2A from Killingholme; flown by Captains T. C. Pattinson and A. H. Munday, engaged the Zeppelin L.62 at 8,000 feet over the Heligoland minefields. Captain Munday opened fire from the bow cockpit and Sergeant H. R. Stubbington, the engineer, also brought his Lewis gun to bear on the target. Many hits appeared to be scored, but the flying boat broke an oil line and had to land on the sea. The Zeppelin made off due east, losing height and emitting smoke, and soon afterwards blew up and fell in flames.

Felixstowe F.1 and F.2
Powerplant: two 257-kW (345 hp) Rolls-Royce Eagle VIII 12-cylinder Vee piston engines
Performance: maximum speed 153 km/h (95mph) at 610m (2,000 ft); service ceiling 2925m (9,600 ft); endurance 6 hours
Weights: empty 3424kg (7,549lb); maximum take-off 4980 (10,978 lb)
Dimensions: span 29.15m (95 ft 7½ in); length 14.10m (46 lf 3 in); height 5.33m (17 ft 6 in ); wing area 105.26 sq. m (1,133.0 sq ft)
Armament: from four to seven free-mounted 7.7mm (0.303 in) Lewis machine-guns, plus two 104-kg (230 lb) bombs on underwing racks.

Felixstowe F.3
Powerplant: two 257 kW (345hp) Rolls-Royce Eagle VIII 12-cylinder Vee piston engines
Performance: maximum speed 146 km/h (91mph) at 610m (2,000 ft); service ceiling 2440m (8,000 ft); endurance 6 hours
Weights: empty 3610 kg (7,958 lb); maximum take-off 6024 kg (13,281 lb)
Dimensions: span 31.09m (102 ft 0 in); length 14.99m (49 ft 2 in); height 5.69m (18 ft 8 in); wing area 133.03 sq m (1,432.0 sq ft)
Armament: four 7.7mm (0.303 in) Lewis Machine-guns on free mountings, plus four 104 kg (230 lb) bombs on underwing racks

Felixstowe F.5
Powerplant: two 261 kW (350hp) Rolls-Royce Eagle VIII 12-cylinder Vee piston engines
Performance: maximum speed 142km/h (88mph); service ceiling 2075m (6,800 ft); endurance 7 hours
Weights: empty 4128 kg (9,100 lb); maximum take-off 5752 kg (12,682 lb)
Dimensions: span 31.60m (103 ft 8 in); length 15.01m (49 ft 3 in); height 5.72m (18 ft 9 in); wing area 130.90 sq m (1,409.0 sq ft)
Armament: four 7.7mm (0.303 in) Lewis Machine-guns, one in bow and three in midship positions, plus up to 417kg (920 lb) of bombs on underwing racks

Did the British ever successfully bomb Berlin in WWI?

2008-10-18T23:47:00.004+08:00

The The Handley Page V/1500, which first entered service in 1918, was the first British bomber with four engines. It was known within the fledging RAF as the ‘Super Handley’. Two squadrons were formed at Bircham Newton (No. 166 Squadron and No. 167 Squadron) with the express purpose of bombing Berlin.

The short answer is no. As to why, that requires a very long answer. Briefly, 27 Group RAF based at Bircham Newton in Norfolk was Trenchard's chosen instrument for raiding Berlin. It was commanded by a Canadian, Col. R.H. Mulock, which was to be equipped with the Handley Page V1500 bombers (the British answer to the German Giants). The RAF planning staff projected a round trip from this base of 1000 miles; the V1500 was supposed to have an endurance of 14 hours cruising at 100 mph, and with a bomb load of about 2 tons. The V1500 had four Rolls Royce Eagle VIII engines of 375 hp each.

Allied plans for 1919 would have bombing Berlin with the Handley-Page V.1500. The RAF had plans in motion to have a 200 Squadron bombing force (Independent Force) by July 1919. The pieces were coming together at war's end, but I doubt that the date would have been met. Think of the logistics to support this force. The HP V1500 were going to bomb Berlin from bases in Scotland!

The RAF had started on the Berlin project much too late: not until 29 August 1918 was 27 Group formed, with two wings, Nos. 86 and 87. Crewing up these giants, and conducting specialized training, occupied September and early October, when the first flight testing of the V1500 took place. After some favourable results, Mulock was put to the question by Trenchard:

"Urgent your definite views as to whether the V 1500 can do the long trip ... and if so the earliest it can be used." To which Mulock replied, "Yes, it is possible under favourable weather with the figures we have at present" (This was shortly after 15 October). Trenchard responded: "I give you freedom to carry out this operation on the lines you propose when you consider you are ready"

Three V1500 were delivered to No. 166 Squadron at RAF Bircham Newton (Norfolk) during October 1918. The squadron commander did not get clear orders for his mission until November 8 due to the above debate at high level. A mission was scheduled for that night (bomb Berlin, fly on to Prague as the Austro-Hungarian forces had surrendered by then, refuel, re-arm, bomb Düsseldorf on the way back). No mission was flown - a technical expert insisted that all the engines on one aircraft be changed. The same happened the following day (but with a different aircraft). The three aircraft were about to taxi out after the second set of engine changes when an excited ground crew member ran out to stop them — the Armistice had just been declared.

So this heavy bomber was never used against Berlin, or against any other target. We do know that later on Armistice Day, one of the V1500s flew over London with 'forty-one on board--ten girls and thirty-one men.'"

LINK

Australian Airmen in Mesopotamia, 1915–16

2008-10-18T23:42:00.003+08:00

By David Wilson

On 8 February 1915, the Government of India sought the assistance of Australia to supply trained airmen, aircraft and transport for service in Mesopotamia (Iraq). The Australian Government replied that men and transport would be provided, but that aircraft could not. The unit (known as the Mesopotamian Half-Flight, Royal Flying Corps) was quickly raised from senior non-commissioned officers serving at the Central Flying School and from volunteer trainee riggers and mechanics from the staff of the motor-engineering shops at the army depot at Broadmeadows. Captain Petre, the commander of the force, departed for Bombay on 14 April to make arrangements for the Half-Flight’s arrival, leaving Captain T.W. White in temporary command. White, Lieutenant W.H. Treloar, an officer from the 72nd Infantry Battalion who had learned to fly in England before the war, and 37 men departed from Melbourne aboard the Morea for Bombay six days later. The premonsoonal heat, oppressive to Australians used to moderate climates, engendered in them an unquenchable thirst. The culture and sights of Bombay took a toll on the Australians’ three months’ advance pay before they boarded the SS Bankura. The vessel was bound for the town of Basra on the Shatt el Arab, downstream from the confluence of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers in south-eastern Mesopotamia.

The Australians arrived at Basra on 26 May, joining two Indian Army officers, Captains P.W.L. Broke-Smith and H.L. Reilly, and nine mechanics from the Indian Flying Corps. A New Zealander, Lieutenant W.W.A. Burn, completed the Dominion nature of the Half-Flight.

An Indian Army pioneer unit had completed a road made of date palm logs from the waterway to an Arab cemetery, the only high ground in the area suitable for an airfield. The surrounding swampland was a breeding ground for mosquitoes, forcing the troops to take quinine twice daily to counter the insidious effects of malaria. The novelty of Basra, its culture unchanged from biblical days, was a marked contrast to the Australian lifestyle. The clay buildings offered little relief for the Half-Flight members toiling in the oppressive summer heat to prepare the aircraft for operations.

Even by the standards of 1915, the aircraft initially supplied to the Half-Flight were not modern. With two Maurice Farman Shorthorn and a single Longhorn aircraft, with a maximum speed of 80 kph on a calm day, the Half-Flight was ordered to fly reconnaissance missions in support of the advance of forces under the command of Major General C.V.F Townshend along the Tigris River to Amara. Operations commenced on 31 May when two crews (Petre and Burn, and Reilly and Broke-Smith) flew from a landing ground south of Kurna and supplied useful intelligence to the force commander. Below them, the infantry force advanced upstream through the saturated landscape by using 500 Arab war canoes, supported by artillery mounted on barges and steamers. They succeeded in forcing the defending Turks to retreat. White and Reilly, who had battled a dust storm for two hours to fly the Shorthorn the 100 kilometres from Basra on 1 June, reported the fact to navy authorities. En route, the airmen attempted to drop three 20-pound bombs on one of the Turkish paddle steamers that was retreating in disarray. Although the bombs missed the intended target, they exploded ahead and astern of one of the smaller ships, the crew of which, having interpreted this action as the aerial equivalent to a naval ‘shot across the bows’, drew into shallow water where they waited and later surrendered to the first British vessel that appeared. Townshend took advantage of the Turkish confusion and, in company with Captain W. Nunn, Royal Navy, and 22 men, accepted the surrender of Amara in the early hours of 3 June.

To guard the left flank of the advance up the Tigris River toward Kut, a force was drawn from the 6th and 12th Divisions to capture Nasiriyah, on the Euphrates River. Reilly, Treloar, Petre and Burn were again instrumental in the capture of this township. They flew Caudron aircraft that had been ordered forward from Basra over the Euphrates marshes. The capture of Nasiriyah paved the way for the advance on Kut.

Although more suitable for training than active service, the Caudron was an improvement on the Shorthorn and Longhorn aircraft. Despite the construction of a brick engine-overhaul workshop (augmented by the repair-shop lorries that had been supplied from Australia) and an iron hangar at Basra that improved maintenance facilities, the unreliability of the aircraft engines had fateful repercussions. During the first reconnaissance flights towards Nasiriyah, Reilly had force landed in the floodwaters near Suk-esh-Sheyukh, where, with the assistance of the garrison, he was able to save the aircraft. Reilly and Merz planned to fly their aircraft back to Basra in company on 30 July to try to overcome engine problems. But the two aircraft became separated, with Reilly and his mechanic being forced to land 40 kilometres from a refilling station established at the island of Abu Salibiq. Merz and his companion, Burn, pressed on alone. They were never seen again.

Eyewitness evidence suggested that Merz and Burn had landed 35 kilometres from Abu Salibiq, where a well-armed force of Arabs attacked them. The two Australians attempted to retreat to Abu Salibiq, using their revolvers in a spirited defence, killing one and wounding five of the Arab assailants, before one of the Australians was wounded. Gallantly, the two officers fought together until the end, showing great personal commitment and devotion to each other. Search parties, sent out from Basra and Abu Salibiq, found that the Caudron had been reduced to matchwood, but discovered no sign of Merz or Burn.

Engine failure was a common occurrence for the Half-Flight with, as will be seen, dramatic and tragic ramifications. For the members of the Half-Flight it was a period of frustration, with tent hangars being destroyed by the ubiquitous hot, sandy winds, leaving frail aircraft subject to the vagaries of an insatiable climate. Moreover, the poor standard of workmanship at the maintenance facilities in Egypt and England meant that the engines required considerable upkeep. And yet it was also a period of innovation—to enable the Half-Flight to operate in the watery maze of the Mesopotamian river system two barges were constructed: one on which two aircraft could be transported and the second to serve as a floating workshop. Given the terrain, floatplanes would have been an asset, but attempts to modify one of the Maurice Farman aircraft to fly with floats proved unsuccessful. In August the nucleus of a seaplane flight, under the command of Major R. Gordon, was transferred from East Africa and proved its worth in the reconnaissance before and after the attack on Kut.

Four Martinsyde single-seat scouts also reinforced the unit, now known as 30 Squadron, Royal Flying Corps (RFC), in August. The first of these aircraft was test flown by Petre on 29 August, who found the performance of the aircraft a disappointment—it took the aircraft 23 minutes to reach an altitude of 2000 metres, and the maximum speed of 80 kph was only a marginal improvement on the Maurice Farman and Caudron types that it supplemented.

Early in September, 30 Squadron concentrated at Ali Gharbi, halfway between Amara and Kut. The squadron, due to aircraft unserviceability, could only deploy a single Maurice Farman, a single Caudron and two Martinsydes to support the Indian 6th Division’s attack on Kut. However, a series of accidents, and the capture of Treloar and Captain B.S. Atkins of the Indian Army after they suffered an engine failure while reconnoitring Es-Sinn on 16 September, reduced the aircraft strength to a single Martinsyde. To reinforce the aerial component four aircraft (all that were available) were ordered upriver from Basra on two seaplane barges. One Maurice Farman was damaged on an overhanging tree after a strong wind blew the barges into the riverbank. This aircraft was repaired in time for battle where, based at Nakhilat, it joined a Martinsyde to participate in the attack on Es-Sinn.

Commencing on 27 September, Townshend instigated a flanking manoeuvre, made possible by air reconnaissance, which discovered a practical route through the marshes for elements of the 17th Infantry Brigade and cavalry to deploy against the left flank of the Turkish position. The action of this force, combined with an infantry bayonet charge, culminated in the rout of the Turkish defenders and the fall of Es-Sinn and Kut. The two 30 Squadron aircraft played a crucial role in these events, maintaining communications between Townshend and Brigadier W.S. Delamain, the commander of the flanking mobile column, before bombing the retreating enemy.

With the fall of Kut, the aircraft sought indications of the enemy strength located at Nasiriyah, on the Shatt el Hai (an ancient waterway linking the Tigris and Euphrates rivers), in the marshes to the north of Kut and along the Tigris river approaches to Baghdad. These operations were hampered by the difficulty of supplying replacement aircraft and supplies from Basra, and by the fragility of the Martinsyde. Difficulties aside, Reilly found that the Turkish defence of Baghdad centred on strong entrenchments at Ctesiphon, with an advanced guard twenty kilometres distant at Zeur. A second force of 2000 cavalry and camel-mounted troops at Kutaniyeh required constant surveillance to warn of any threat to the British position at Aziziyeh, only eight kilometres distant. In addition the enemy defences at Ctesiphon and Seleucia had to be carefully mapped, a task that was undertaken on a daily basis by White and Major E.J. Fulton. These flights, due to a combination of strong winds and the slow speed of the aircraft, took about two and a half hours, and engine failures (despite regular overhauling every 27 hours), were frequent.

White and Captain F.C.C. Yeates-Brown, Indian Army, undertook a photographic reconnaissance of Ctesiphon one early autumn morning. After flying at 1500 metres and evading Turkish anti-aircraft fire, the two airmen completed their mission, and turned for home and breakfast. Then the aircraft engine lost power. White opened the throttle and dived steeply for 60 metres in an attempt to remedy the problem. Initially, engine revolutions increased. White was forced to use a combination of prevailing wind, judicious use of available power and gliding to clear the general Ctesiphon area before landing adjacent to the Turkish redoubt at Zeur. The arrival of the aircraft confused the defenders long enough for White and Yeates-Brown to attempt to seek safety. Yeates-Brown, rifle in hand, stood in the observer’s seat to warn off possible pursuit and to indicate a safe passage through the broken terrain. Taxiing at speed over the cracked earth and aware of the possibility of pursuit, the airmen approached the vicinity of Kutaniyeh with some trepidation—White had dropped bombs on the troops during his previous return flights from Ctesiphon. By continuing in their sputtering aircraft along a roadway over a ridge some distance from the Tigris River, the airmen were able to bypass Kutaniyeh. Jolting overland for a further 25 kilometres, the obstruction to the fuel line or carburettor cleared, and the aircraft became airborne, miraculously enabling the crew to keep its breakfast appointment.

The seaplane flight also had its share of engine failures, one of which also involved White when he flew a Maurice Farman in the search for another flown by Gordon. Gordon’s absence was particularly distressing because with him was the Chief of the General Staff in Mesopotamia, Major General G.V. Kemball. The aircraft they were flying had suffered engine failure en route from Kut to Aziziyeh, and was discovered near the river by White, close to a large Arab camp. Circling the downed Farman, White came under attack by ground fire from the camp. It damaged an aileron rib and the propeller of White’s aircraft before he landed about a thousand metres from the downed seaplane. The Australian pilot ran to the riverbank with a spare rifle, located Kemball and returned to the aircraft to take flight for Aziziyeh. Gordon, who had left the site of the downed Farman, was saved by an Indian cavalry patrol that had noticed the descent of the floatplane.

White was not so fortunate on 13 November. He and Yeates-Brown volunteered to attempt to destroy telephone lines to the north and west of Baghdad before the British attack on Ctesiphon. The task involved the two airmen flying a round trip of 200 kilometres, meaning they had to carry cans of fuel on the aircraft. After bypassing the Turkish defences, White and Yeates-Brown discovered that their target ran parallel to a main thoroughfare used by bodies of soldiers in formation. The two airmen planned to land fourteen kilometres from the city where the telegraph line was within two hundred metres of the road. Locating the site, White circled to land. As he made his final approach he sighted a uniformed Turkish horseman calmly noting the landing of the aircraft, which could indicate the presence of enemy troops. Unfortunately the aircraft landed with the wind astern, forcing White to turn sharply to prevent damage to the front elevator. Despite judicious use of aileron and rudder, the pilot could not prevent the lower left mainplane colliding with a telegraph pole.

White traded shot after shot with the approaching Arabs, while Yeates-Brown successfully cut the wire by igniting several necklaces of gun cotton around two of the telegraph poles. The first explosion gave the Australians a brief respite from the advancing Arabs. Returning to the Maurice Farman under Arab crossfire, the airmen decided to attempt to taxi to safety. As they started the aircraft engine, a second charge exploded, snapping the telegraph wire and causing it to flail about. As they watched in horror, the wire swung around and coiled itself onto the aircraft. The only option for the airmen was to surrender. Both men were roughly handled and only the presence of a body of Turkish gendarmerie prevented them from being severely beaten. Both men became prisoners of war.

After the Turkish first and second defensive lines at Ctesiphon had been captured by Townshend’s force on 21 November, Turkish reinforcements forced the attackers to withdraw down the Tigris to Kut, where 13 000 British and Indian troops were surrounded. Two damaged BE-2C aircraft, half of the squadron reinforcements that had been sent from England, and a damaged Martinsyde remained at Kut. These had been operated and maintained by the British aircrew and the noncommisioned officers and mechanics, who joined their army colleagues in captivity. Nine Australians, of which only Flight Sergeant J.McK. Sloss and Air Mechanic K.L. Hudson subsequently survived captivity, also remained at Kut. Petre made flights from Al Gharabi over the beleaguered township to drop bags of grain (and a millstone to grind it) before he was posted to Egypt and, subsequently, to command a training squadron in England. The eight Australians at Basra were also sent to join the newly formed Australian Flying Corps in Egypt early in 1916.

LINK

Type of aircraft the British used in the campaigns in Mesopotamia under Generals Townsend and Maude in WWI

2008-10-18T23:41:00.003+08:00

Farman Longhorn

Caudron G.3

Mesopotamian Half Flight – Farman Short/Longhorns and Caudron G.3s.

30 Squadron RFC+ - Farman Short/Longhorns, Caudron G.3s, Martinsyde S.1’s, BE’s, Martinsyde G100, Bristol Scout, RE8’s

RNAS* - Short 827, Voison

63 Squadron - RE8’s, Spad VII, Bristol Scout, Martinsyde G100, DH4

72 Squadron - Spad VII, DH4, SE5, Martinsyde G100, Bristol M1C

3 x Balloon Squadrons.

+RFC = Royal Flying Corps, Army air force

*RNAS = Royal Naval Air Service, Navy air force.

THE GERMAN DEFENCES AT THE SOMME 1916

2008-10-18T23:27:00.001+08:00

The Somme region of France is beautiful, undulating farmland. The region takes its name from the Somme River, a pretty, meandering stream, that is known for its fishing and wildlife. The actual river is south of where the battle occurred and never became part of it. The main cities of the countryside are connected by arrow straight Roman roads. A large amount of the fighting took place around the Roman road running along a main ridge connecting the cities of Albert and Bapaume. The countryside is dotted with small French farming villages. In 1916, these villages, such as Thiepval, Mametz, Courcelette and Pozieres, gained infamous reputations. But the villages themselves had long ceased to exist; they had been torn to shreds by the massive military onslaught.

The choice of the Somme as the location from which to launch the first major British offensive of the war is puzzling. It had no particular strategic value and possessed no breakthrough potential. It is an unlikely place to imagine an army could achieve a decisive victory. The question that has perplexed military historians is: why the Somme? Calculating the men lost in this battle, more 1,200,000, only adds emphasis to the debate. There seems to be no answer to this question, other than the Somme was a useful place to launch an attack and start a war of attrition.

As the Somme battlefield lacked any particularly advantageous physical characteristics, the Germans had built a complex series of interconnecting trenches and deep redoubts across the rolling chalk hills. They took full advantage of every contour. To protect themselves from observation, the Germans generally entrenched on the down side of a slope. The trenches were deep and solid, often strategically interconnected with other switch trenches. A warren of communication and support trenches was utilized for transporting supplies, reinforcements and ammunition. The redoubt positions were often connected by tunnels coming from a variety of places in the support lines. In front of the trenches were dense belts of barbed-wire. Farms had been fortified and linked by a maze of underground works. Each position was designed to extract a great price from any attacker.

“The modern battlefield is like a huge, sleeping machine with innumerable eyes and ears and arms, lying hidden and inactive, ambushed for the one moment on which all depends. Then from some hole in the ground a single red light ascends in fiery prelude. A thousand guns roar out on the instant, and at a touch, driven by innumerable levers, the work of annihilation goes pounding on its way.”

Ernst Junger, German Army

The British strategy to capture a trench works was to plaster the German position with high-explosive shells in the hope of collapsing the trench walls, killing or wounding the defenders, and cutting the extensive barbed-wire in front of the trench with shell shrapnel. At the appropriate time, the assault troops would approach the German lines as closely as possible without being hit by their own artillery fire, and at zero hour, rush and take the position. Even if the attack were successful, it did not preclude the Germans digging another trench behind the one just captured or counter-attacking to retake the one lost. In the Battle of the Somme, the Germans did both.

More often than not, the attacks on the strongly fortified German defences on the Somme proved disastrous. The artillery bombardment rarely cut the barbed-wire and the soldiers, trapped in No Man’s Land, would be cut down in swathes by the German machine-guns. Sometimes, the Germans allowed the assault troops to enter their front-line trench. Then the German artillery would blast No Man’s Land to prevent reinforcements or ammunition from reaching the newly captured position. The reinforcements would be decimated by the German barrage when crossing the open ground and the soldiers in the captured trench would be isolated. At this point, the Germans would counter-attack via communication trenches or underground subways. The German stick grenade was the weapon of choice and was a very effective killer with good range and accuracy. These defensive techniques cost the Australians heavily at Pozieres; the Canadians on the Somme learned about these tactics the hard way.

“If you want to find the old battalion,

I know where they are, I know where they are,

If you want to find the old battalion,

I know where they are,

They’re hanging on the old barbed-wire,

I’ve seen em, I’ve seen em,

Hanging on the old barbed-wire.”

First World War Song.

The only flaw in the German method was that the counter-attacker often suffered more casualties than the attacker. Germany could not win a war of attrition.

The Canadians arriving at the Somme could not believe the devastation. Even compared to the horrific standards of Ypres, the sights were shocking. It was their first view of total destruction; villages razed, the battlefield a lunar landscape of interconnected shell holes, destroyed trenches, sandbags spread everywhere, old equipment scattered, and thousands of bodies, decomposing in the summer sun. But they did not have much time to mull over these images of immense destruction. They were immediately put in the line in support of the Australians.

“Through a gap between two sandbags I was shown the village (Pozieres), where smoke was drifting across skeletons of trees on a torn-up mound. An uneven line of sandbags, stretching across piles of bricks and remnants of houses, faced our way… The ground between our trench and the ruins beyond was merely a stretch of craters and burnt-up grass broken up by tangled wire… The dead were lying in all conceivable attitudes; rotting in the sun… with the heat the smell had become very trying.”

Paul Maze, French Army attached British Army.

Despite serving in a secondary role, Canadian losses were considerable. Between September 4th and 7th, the 1st Canadian Division’s 16th Battalion (Canadian Scottish) supported the Australian Infantry attack on Mouquet Farm and other German positions north of Pozieres. The Canadian battalion suffered 349 casualties. On September 9th, the 2nd Battalion (Eastern Ontario) attacked a German trench work south of the Pozieres windmill. The attack was only a local action; one meant to improve the jump-off position for the up-coming major assault.

In this fierce action, Corporal Leo Clarke won the Victoria Cross. Clarke, and a section of bombers, were confronted by 20 Germans. Clarke attacked the attackers, emptied his revolver into them, killed four and captured another. Single-handedly, he had stopped a German attack. Clarke was one of three men from the same street in Winnipeg to win the Victoria Cross in the war. Sadly, two of the three did not survive. Leo Clarke was wounded later in the Battle of the Somme and died of his wounds. He was 24.

The Anglo-French armies had advanced some 10 kilometres (6 miles) at their point of deepest penetration, on a 40-kilometre (25-mile) front. Losses remain controversial. The British suffered nearly 420,000 casualties, their French allies just over 200,000. The German losses were at least 400,000 men, possibly as many as 650,000.

Although the German army did not collapse in 1916, in A.J.P. Taylor’s phrase, at Verdun and the Somme the German army ‘bled to death’. Its 1917 recruits were already in the line by the end of 1916. In spring 1917 it was obliged to withdraw its untenable front in Picardy to the prepared positions of the Hindenburg line, to liberate manpower for a renewal of the attritional struggle. Nor could it compete in the battle of matériel (materialschlacht) which the allies forced it to fight. The allied blockade was starting to impact heavily on productivity and morale on the home front. In December 1916 the new duumvirate at the head of the German army, Paul von Hindenburg and Erich Ludendorff, intensified mobilisation with a new Auxiliary Service Law conscripting labour on the home front into war industries. The year of attrition had cost the already tired French army and nation equally dearly. Only the British emerged from the Somme with credit. The ordinary soldiers had borne the heavy sacrifice with stoicism, and after initial failure the inexperienced army had learned to fight with skill and determination. The expectation of rapid military victory disappeared. After 1916 the war became a struggle to outlast the enemy in a brutal ‘total war’. In this the allies had the upper hand.

AIRCO DH.9

2008-10-12T19:37:00.004+08:00

The Airco DH.9 (from de Havilland 9) also known after 1920 as the de Havilland DH.9 was a British bomber used in the First World War. A single-engined biplane, it was a development of Airco's earlier, highly successful DH.4 and was ordered in very large numbers for Britain's Royal Flying Corps and Royal Air Force.

An unreliable engine which did not deliver the expected power meant, however, that the DH.9 had poorer performance than the aircraft that it was meant to replace. This resulted in heavy losses to squadrons equipped with the DH.9, particularly over the Western Front. It was subsequently developed into the DH.9A with a more powerful and reliable engine.

Design and development

The DH.9 was designed by de Havilland for the Aircraft Manufacturing Company in 1916 as a successor to the DH.4. It used the wings and tail unit of the DH.4 but had a new fuselage. This enabled the pilot to sit closer to the gunner/observer and away from the engine and fuel tank. The other major change from the DH.4 was the choice of the promising new BHP/Galloway Adriatic engine, which was predicted to produce 300 hp and so give the new aircraft an adequate performance to match enemy fighters.

By this time, as a result of attacks by German bombers on London, the decision was made to almost double the size of the Royal Flying Corps, with most of the new squadrons planned to be equipped with bombers.^[1] Based on the performance estimates for the DH.9 (which were expected to surpass those of the DH.4), and the similarity to the DH.4, which meant that it would be easy to convert production over to the new aircraft, massive orders (4,630 aircraft) were placed.

The prototype (a converted DH.4) first flew at Hendon in July 1917.^[2] Unfortunately, the BHP engine proved unable to reliably deliver its expected power, with the engine being de-rated to 230 hp in order to improve reliability. This had a drastic effect on the aircraft's performance, especially at high altitude, with it being inferior to that of the DH.4 it was supposed to replace. This meant that the DH.9 would have to fight its way through enemy fighters, which could easily catch the DH.9 where the DH.4 could avoid many of these attacks.

While attempts were made to provide the DH.9 with an adequate engine, with aircraft being fitted with the Siddeley Puma, a lightened and supposedly more powerful version of the BHP, with the Fiat A12 engine and with a 430 hp Napier Lion engine, these were generally unsuccessful (although the Lion engined aircraft did set a World Altitude Record of 30,500 ft (13,900 m) on 2 January 1919^[3]) and it required redesign into the DH.9A to transform the aircraft.

Operational history

The first deliveries were made in November 1917 to 108 Squadron RFC, with several more squadrons being formed or converted to the DH.9 over the next few months, and with nine squadrons operational over the Western Front by June 1918.

The DH.9's performance in action over the Western front was a disaster, with heavy losses incurred, both due to its low performance, and engine failures (despite the prior de-rating of its engine). For example, between May and November 1918, two squadrons on the Western Front (Nos. 99 and 104) lost 54 shot down, and another 94 written off in accidents.^[4] The DH.9 was however more successful against the Turkish forces in the Middle East, where they faced less opposition, and it was also used extensively for coastal patrols, to try and deter the operations of U-boats.

Following the end of the First World War, DH.9s operated by 47 Squadron and 221 Squadron were sent to southern Russia in 1919 in support of the White Russian Army of General Denikin during the Russian Civil War.^[5] The last combat use by the RAF was in support of the final campaign against Mohammed Abdullah Hassan (known by the British as the "Mad Mullah") in Somalia during January—February 1920.^[5] Surprisingly, production was allowed to continue after the end of the war into 1919, with the DH.9 finally going out of service with the RAF in 1920.^[6]

Following the end of the First World War, large number of surplus DH.9s became available at low prices and the type was widely exported (including aircraft donated to Commonwealth nations as part of the Imperial Gift programme.^[3]

The South African Air Force received 48 DH.9s, and used them extensively, using them against the Rand Revolt in 1922. Several South African aircraft were re-engined with Bristol Jupiter radial engines as the M'pala, serving until 1937.^[7]

Civilian use

Because of the large number of surplus DH.9s available after the war many were used by air transport companies. They provided a useful load carrying capability and were cheap. Early air services between London, Paris and Amsterdam were operated by DH.9s owned by Aircraft Transport and Travel. A number of different conversions for civil use were carried out, both by Airco and its successor the de Havilland Aircraft Company and by other companies, such as the Aircraft Disposal Company.^[8] Some radial powered DH.9Js continued in use until 1936.^[9]

Variants

DH.9 - Revised version of the DH.4 with the pilot and observer/gunner placed closer together (3,024 production aircraft built with others built in Belgium and Spain).
DH.9A - (also referred to as the Nine-Ack) was designed for Airco by Westland Aircraft to take advantage of the American Liberty L-12 400 hp (298 kW) engine. Apart from the new engine and slightly larger wings it was identical to the DH.9. Initially it was hoped to quickly replace the DH.9 with the new version - however a shortage of Liberty engines available to the RAF curtailed the new type's service in the First World War – and it is best known as a standard type in the postwar RAF – serving as a general purpose aircraft for several years. 2,300 DH.9As were built by ten different British companies.
DH.9B - Conversions for civilian use as three-seaters (one pilot and two passengers)
DH.9C - Conversions for civilian use as four-seaters (one pilot and three passengers)
DH.9J - Modernised and re-engined conversions using the 385 hp (287 kW) Armstrong Siddeley Jaguar III radial piston engine. Used by the De Havilland School of Flying.
DH.9J M'pala I - Re-engined conversions carried out by the South African Air Force. Powered by a 450 hp (336 kW) Bristol Jupiter VI radial piston engine.
M'pala II - Re-engined conversions carried out by the South African Air Force, powered by a 480 hp (358 kW) Bristol Jupiter VIII radial piston engine.
Mantis - Re-engined conversions carried out by the South African Air Force, powered by a 200 hp (149 kW) Wolseley Viper piston engine.
Handley Page HP.17 - A DH.9 experimentally fitted with slotted wings ^[10]
USD-9 - DH.9s manufactured in the United States by the US Army's Engineering Division (1,415 built)

Specifications (D.H.9 (Puma Engine))

Data from The British Bomber since 1914^[6]

General characteristics

Crew: 2
Length: 30 ft 5 in (9.27 m)
Wingspan: 42 ft 4⅝ in (19.92 m)
Height: 11 ft 3½ in (3.44 m)
Wing area: 434 ft² (40.3 m²)
Empty weight: 2,360 lb (1,014 kg)
Max takeoff weight: 3,790 lb (1,723 kg)
Powerplant: 1× Armstrong Siddeley Puma piston engine, 230 hp (172 kW)

Performance

Maximum speed: 98 knots (113 mph, 182 km/h)
Service ceiling 15,500 ft (4730 m)
Endurance: 4½ hours

Armament

Forward firing Vickers machine gun
1 or 2 Rear Lewis guns on scarff ring
Up to 460 lb (209 kg) bombs

References

Notes

Bruce 2 April 1956, p.387.
Jackson 1987, p.97.
Jackson 1987, p.100.
Mason 1994, p.84.
Bruce 13 April 1956, p.424.
Mason 1994, p.86.
Jackson 1987, p.102.
Jackson 1973, p.50-52.
Jackson 1973, p.56.
Barnes 1976, p.211-213.

Bibliography

Barnes, C.H. Handley Page Aircraft since 1907. London:Putnam, 1976. ISBN 0 370 00030 7.
Bruce, J.M. "The De Havilland D.H.9: Historic Military Aircraft: No. 12, Part I". Flight, 6 April 1956. Pages 385—388, 392.
Bruce, J.M. "The De Havilland D.H.9: Historic Military Aircraft: No. 12, Part II". Flight, 13 April 1956. Pages 422—426.
Gerdessen, F. "Estonian Air Power 1918 - 1945". Air Enthusiast No 18, April - July 1982. Pages 61-76. ISSN 0143-5450.
Jackson, A.J. British Civil Aircraft since 1919 Volume 2. London:Putnam, Second edition 1973. ISBN 0 370 10010 7.
Jackson, A.J. De Havilland Aircraft since 1909. London: Putnam, Third edition 1987. ISBN 0 85177 802 X.
Mason, Francis K. The British Bomber Since 1914. London: Putnam Aeronautical Books, 1994. ISBN 0-85177-861-5.
Winchester, Jim, ed. Bombers of the 20th Century. London: Airlife Publishing Ltd., 2003. ISBN 1-84037-386-5.

IN THE ROYAL NAVAL AIR SERVICE: BEING THE LETTERS OF THE LATE HAROLD ROSHER TO HIS FAMILY‏.

2008-10-12T18:55:00.007+08:00

In The Royal Naval Air Service: Being the Letters of the Late Harold Rosher to his Family

With an introduction by Arnold Bennett

Chatto & Windus

September 1916

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

I. TRAINING

II. ON HOME SERVICE 23

III. RAIDS ON THE BELGIAN COAST 47

IV. WITH THE B.E.F. 61

V. TAKING A NEW MACHINE TO FRANCE 93

VI. WITH THE B.E.F. AGAIN

VII. ON HOME SERVICE AGAIN 121

VIII. WITH THE B.E.F. ONCE MORE 125

IX. ON HOME SERVICE ONCE MORE 133

ILLUSTRATIONS (not included)

· FLIGHT-LIEUTENANT HAROLD ROSHER, R.N.

· THE LATE FLIGHT-LIEUT. RIGGALL, R.N., ON A GRAHAME-WHITE " BOX-KITE "

· THE FAMOUS 873 AVRO FLOWN BY FLIGHT-COMMANDER S, V. SIPPE, D.S.O., AND BY FLIGHT-LIEUT. ROSHER

· BRINGING THE PILOT ASHORE AFTER A FLIGHT ON A SOPWITH SEAPLANE

· "SHORT" SEAPLANES AT ANCHOR OFF SPITHEAD

· FLIGHT-LIEUT. HAROLD ROSHER, R.N

· SQUADRON-COMMANDER IVOR T. COURTNEY, R.N.

· ONE VICKERS FIGHTING BIPLANE PHOTOGRAPHED FROM ANOTHER A VICKERS FIGHTING BIPLANE

· THE OVERTURNED MORANE

· A SNAPSHOT OF LIEUT. ROSHER

· A ZEPPELIN AIRSHIP

· A ZEPPELIN IN THE DOUBLE SHED AT JOHANNISTHAL

· A TAUBE-TVPE GERMAN MONOPLANE

· LIEUT. ROSHER FLYING A BRISTOL " BULLET "

· A FIRE CAUSED BY LONG-RANGE BOMBARDMENT

· FLIGHT-SUB-LIEUT. WARNEFORD, V.C.

· A BRISTOL SCOUT BIPLANE (OR " BULLET ")

· THE MORANE " PARASOL " MONOPLANE FLOWN BY FLIGHT-SUB-LIEUT. WARNEFORD, V.C.

· A B.E. 2C BIPLANE

· A NIEUPORT BIPLANE

· A BLERIOT MONOPLANE

INTRODUCTION

Harold Rosher was born at Beckenham on the 1 8th November, 1893, and was educated at The Dene, Caterham, and subsequently at Woodbridge. Although as a boy he suffered severely from acute asthma and bronchitis, he did well at school; and the pluck which carried him through the moral distresses of asthma helped him to hold his own in games, despite the fact that up to the age of sixteen he was considerably under the average height. As his health did not cease to give anxiety, he was taken for a holiday to India (being with his father the guest of the Maharajah Ranjitsinhji, Jam Sahib of Nawanagar) in 1909. In 1913, for the same reason, he made a trip to South Africa with his sister. It was his health again which helped to decide his career. An open-air life was considered to be essential, and he became a student at the South Eastern Agricultural College, Wye, remaining there until the outbreak of the war.

One of Harold's greatest chums at the Agricultural College was a young and rich German landowner named K. At the latter's invitation Harold spent the summer vacation of 1913 in Germany, and the two young men toured on motor-cycles through a great part of Germany and Austria. In August 1914 K was to celebrate his majority, and had asked Harold to the festivities. But on August 2nd, when war appeared inevitable, he wrote a letter of farewell to Harold in which he said that he did not expect they would ever meet again. The next day he telephoned from Charing Cross as he was leaving England, and Harold was overheard saying to him on the telephone: “Well, if we meet, mind you don't shoot straight,"

On the day of the declaration of war, Harold applied for a commission in the Royal Naval Air Service, and in order to save time he went immediately as a civilian pupil to Brooklands, where several months previously he had once been taken up in the air as a passenger. In the few days which elapsed before the War Office commandeered the Brooklands Aerodrome and ejected every civilian Harold progressed rapidly in the craft of flying. He was gazetted a Probationary Flight Sub-Lieutenant in the R.N.A.S. on August 18th and reported himself at Hendon. He remained there about six weeks, obtaining his aviator's certificate.

The letters which form this book were written between August 1914 and February 1916. They are spontaneous and utterly unstudied documents, and they have been printed almost exactly as Harold wrote them. Many of them are quite ordinary; most are spiced with slang ; the long ones de scribing his share in the great historic raids are thrillingly dramatic. But it would not be wise to set some letters above others. None should be missed. Each contributes its due realistic share to the complete picture of an airman's life in war.

It is well that we should have every opportunity of estimating what that life is. For the air service is still quite a new service. Its birth lies within the memory of schoolboys. Few outsiders can imaginatively conceive for themselves the conditions of it, conditions in which the hour of greatest danger is precisely the hour of spiritual solitude and separation from all mankind. Further, the air service is now actually engaged in creating those superb precedents which members of the older services find ready for their fortifying and encouragement when the crisis comes, and this fact alone entitles it to a most special sympathetic attention from the laity. So far as my knowledge goes, no other such picture, so full and so convincing, of the air fighters' existence has yet been offered to the public. Here, perhaps, may mention that some organs of the London Press long ago desired to print the principal descriptive letters of Harold Rosher, which in private had aroused the admiration of journalists and literary men ; but it was felt that complete publication of the entire series within the covers of a volume would be more proper and more effective.

Three days after the date of the last letter Harold was killed. On 27th February, Major Risk, the CO. of the Dover Aeroplane Station being away on duty, Harold, as second in command, was in charge. Among other duties he had to train new pilots on fast machines, and he would always personally test a new machine or a newly-repaired machine before allowing anybody else to try it. On that Sunday morning he ordered a number of machines to be brought out of the sheds for practice flights. Among them was one which had just been repaired after a mishap three weeks earlier. The pilot had already got into his machine. Harold told him to get out as the machine was untested, and himself took it up for a trial flight of eight or ten minutes.

Everything seemed to go right until Harold began the descent about a mile away from the Aerodrome. Then, at a height of 300 feet or less, the machine suddenly made a nose-dive and crashed to the ground. Harold was killed instantly. The disaster occupied seven seconds.

At the inquest nothing was ascertained as to the cause of the accident. One theory is that the controls jammed. Harold was buried on the 2nd March at Charlton Cemetery, with full naval honours. The cemetery is on the cliffs within sight of the Aerodrome, and while his body was being lowered into the grave aeroplanes were flying overhead.

It is permissible to quote a few Service opinions about Harold Rosher's attainments and achievements during his short career as an airman. Commodore Murray F. Sueter, C.B.,R.N., wrote to Mr. Frank Rosher, Harold's father : " In my opinion he was one of our best pilots ; always ready for any service he was called upon to perform. Mr. Winston Churchill was very pleased with his work in the early part of the war, and had he been spared I am sure he would have made a great name for himself." Wing Commander Arthur N. Longmore, R.N., under whom Harold had served longest, wrote: " You have the consolation of knowing his splendid record at Dunkirk. He was among the finest pilots I ever had out there, always cheerful and ready for his work. He will be a great loss to the Air Service, which loses not only a first-class pilot, but also an excellent officer." Major Charles E. Risk, Squadron Commander, R.N., wrote: " Harold, or Rosh as we always used to call him, was one of my very best pals and a very fine officer and First Lieutenant. Everyone loved him. He was an absolute * Sahib/ a very good pilot, hard-working, and absolutely trustworthy." And Captain Charles L. Lamb, R.N., wrote : " He returned with some of the others from abroad last autumn for a rest, and very shortly afterwards I selected him from a large number of officers to become the Executive Officer of the Dover Air Station, which was then starting. Although quite young, he immediately displayed great organizing abilities, and also possessed the gift of command of men, which is unusual without previous training, and fully justified my selection. At his own request he was shortly proceeding abroad in command of a Flight, and would undoubtedly have gained his promotion in the near future. I have said little as regards his skill as a pilot, since this was probably well known to you, but he was undoubtedly in the first flight. This skill, however, I consider of secondary importance in life as compared with the far rarer gifts of command and organization which he undoubtedly possessed."

I had the acquaintance of Harold Rosher, and when I met him I was quite extraordinarily impressed by his bearing and his speech. In age and appearance he was a mere boy — a handsome boy, too, in my opinion — but the gestures of youth were restrained. He was very modest, but he was not diffident. In the presence of men older than his father he upheld in the most charming and effective way the dignity of his own generation. He talked quietly, but nobody could escape the conviction that he knew just what he was talking about. All his statements were cautious, and in giving a description or an opinion he seemed to dread superlatives. He had the eye and the voice of one who feared no responsibility, and who, having ruled himself, was thoroughly equal to ruling others. He was twenty-two when he died at work.

TRAINING

To his Father.

The Blue Bird, Brooklands Aerodrome,

Weybridge.

11th August, 1914.

Dear Dad,

Am getting on famously and having a most amusing time. After 1 wrote you yesterday I went out and had my first lesson. Mr. Stutt, our instructor [for the British and Colonial Aeroplane Co.], sits immediately behind you, controls the engine switch and covers your hand

on the stick. He took me straight up two or three hundred feet and then volplaned down. He always does this with new pupils to see how they take it. 1 think 1 managed to pass the ordeal all right. I had two or three flights backwards and forwards, and then another turn later on in the evening. Stutt is an awfully nice fellow, very small but very capable. On all sides one hears him recommended. When in the air, he bawls in your ear, "Now when you push your hand forward, you go down," (and he pushes your hand forward and you make a sudden dive), "and when you pull it back you go up, and when you do this, so and so happens," and so with everything he demonstrates. Then he says, "If you do so and so, you will break your neck, and if you try to climb too quickly you will make a tail slide." It's awfully hard work at first and makes your arm ache like fun. The school machines are very similar to the Grahame-

Whites. You sit right in front, with a clean drop below you. We never strap ourselves in. The machines are the safest known, and never make a clean drop if control is lost, but slide down sideways.

When it got too dark we went in and had dinner, all sitting at the middle table. Could get no one to fetch my luggage, so decided to go myself after dinner. Unfortunately, I attempted a short cut in the dark and lost my way. After stumbling round the beastly aerodrome in the dark for an hour, I eventually got back to my starting point. I was drenched to the knees, and the moon didn't help me much on account of the thick mist. It was about 10.30 p.m., so I gave up my quest; the prospect of the long walk and heavy bag was too discouraging.

1 turned in in my vest and pants and had good night. Was knocked up at 4.30 this morning and crawled gingerly into my still wet clothes. A lovely morning, very cold, and it was not long before I got wetter still, as the grass was sopping. Had two more lessons this morning, of about 15 minutes each, and took both right and left hand turns, part of the time steering by myself. Stutt says I am getting on. The machines are so stable that they will often fly quite a long way by themselves. Am now quite smitten, and if weather continues fine, 1 shall take my ticket in a week or ten days. Hope to be flying solo by Thursday or Friday. Experienced my first bump this morning. While flying at 200 feet, the machine suddenly bumped,* a unique sensation. These bumps are due to the sun's action on the air and are called "sun bumps." It's owing to these that we novices are not allowed to fly during the day. To experienced airmen they offer no difficulty.

There was a slight accident here this morning. One of the Bleriot people (known in our select circle as Blerites) was taxying [running along the ground] in a machine without wings. He got too much speed on, and the machine went head over heels and was utterly wrecked — man unhurt. With the Bleriot machine you first have to learn to steer on the ground, as it's much harder than ours. The men look awful fools going round and round in wee circles. . . .

Very nice lot of fellow pupils here that I am getting to know, one naval man with a whole stock of funny yarns. Nothing to do all day long but sleep. Went into Weybridge this morning and got my suit case. Flora and fauna quite interesting. I live only for the mornings and evenings. More anon. Love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Father.

The Hendon Aerodrome, Hendon.

6th September, 1914.

Dear Dad,

Only a few lines, as it is already late, and I still have plenty to do. The latest excitement down here is a balloon, especially for our use. It is to be up all night, and we have to take turns in keeping watch from it; four hour shifts, starting to-morrow night. She has 4,000 feet of wire cable, but 1 don't suppose we shall be up more than 1,500 feet. It will be frightfully cold work, and in all probability we shall all be sea-sick.

On Saturday night we had a Zeppelin scare from the Admiralty. 1 was on duty and called out the marines, etc., etc. Ammunition was served round and the machines brought out. Porte [J. C. Porte, Wing Commander, R.N.] went up for a short time.

Tons of love.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Grandmother.

The Hendon Aerodrome, Hendon.

7th September, 19 14.

Dearest Granny,

Can only send you a few lines just now as I am so frightfully busy. Thanks so much for your letter received two days back. Am hard at it now from 4.30 a.m. to 11.00p.m.,and one day in five for 24 hours on end. Our latest acquaintance is a captive balloon in which we are to take turns to keep watch in the night. It will be terribly cold work. The watches are 4 hours each, and we shall probably be about 1,500 feet up in the air — the full limit of cable is 4,000 feet. I quite expect we shall all be horribly sea-sick, as the motion is quite different from that in an aeroplane. There is also a rumour that we are going to have an airship down here. We had a Zeppelin scare the other night and had all the marines out, ammunition served round, searchlights manned, and aero-planes brought out in readiness. It was quite exciting for a false alarm.

It's pretty chilly work sleeping in tents now. Unless you cover your clothes up over-night, they are sopping wet in the morning. Also there is a plague of crane flies here, which simply swarm all over one's tent. These are all little troubles, however, which one takes philosophically, and at the same time tries to picture mentally the distress of those at the front. Hope I shall be out there soon; they seem to be having quite good fun.'

Must cut short now, so goodbye, Granny dear. Heaps of love.

Ever your loving grandson,

Harold.

To his Father,

The Hendon Aerodrome, Hendon.

11th September, 1914.

Dear Dad,

Many happy returns. I started writing you last night, so that you might get my letter first thing this morning, but was fated not to finish it.

We had another false alarm and my place was on the 'phones. I didn't get off until 12.30 a.m., so gave it up as a bad job and started afresh this morning.

I expect you will have seen in the papers about the accident last night. Lieut. G went up in the Henri Farman, and on coming down made a bad landing — internal injuries — machine absolutely piled up. Nacelle telescoped and the tail somehow right in front of the nacelle. The accident is expected to have rather a bad effect on the moral of the pupils. Personally it doesn't affect me; and anyhow I didn't see G at all, as I was bound to the ‘phones.

Things are going on much better with me. Yesterday I did five straights [straight flights] alone and managed quite well, having excellent control of the machine, and making good landings, except for the first straights in the morning, when it was rather windy and in consequence the machine was all over the place.

By the way, this is now the third successive night that we have had an alarm. Have not yet been up in the balloon but am looking forward to it. I never thought that we should come down to an old (1902) gas bag.

Heaps of love and don't let Mummie get alarmed. You must bear in mind that night flying is ten times more dangerous than day.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

Note.

An interesting letter written in September is missing. In this the writer described a balloon trip that he made over London in the dark, ultimately coming down near Ashford and having an exciting experience while landing.

Early in October 1914. the aviator went from Hendon to the Royal Naval Air Station Fort Grange, Gosport. A letter of this date is also missing. It described his first cross-country flighty when, owing to engine failure, he had to make three forced landings (from heights of about 6,000 feet), all of which he managed safely without damaging his machine. The engine was afterwards found to be faulty. In this letter he referred to the Commanding Officer s pleasure that he had made so good a beginning.

ON HOME SERVICE

To his Father.

Royal Naval Air Station,

Fort Grange, Gosport.

14th November, 1914.

Dear Dad,

Many thanks for note received this morning. Shall try to get home for inoculation in about a fortnight. From what I can make out, we shall not get our squadron together until the end of January. We were to have gone over at the end of this month. We may, however, go over in pieces, a flight at a time. If the Germans reach Calais, we shall stay here permanently for home defence, but at the rate we are progressing, we shan't be ready until March, and then, maybe, the war will be over.

I must say I want to see some of it, and one would be bound to get a second stripe if one went across.

16th November, 1914.

Have spent quite a successful first day over at Whale Island : — squad drill, Morriss tube and Webley Scott firing practice. I got on famously.

The Morriss tube is particularly easy. It merely becomes a matter of getting all on the bull. It's a grand place to wake one up ; everything is done at the double.

My cold is awfully heavy and I'm feeling pretty rotten.

Best love.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Father,

The Queen's Hotel, Farnborough, Hants.

18th November, 1914.

Dear Dad,

Thanks so much for your birthday letter [his 21st birthday], which I had just time hurriedly to read through this morning. Late last night we had orders to shift, and everything has been a rush ever since. I have left all my luggage at Fort Grange and have only a small dispatch case with me. Am very disappointed. As the C.O.'s machine was not ready to go, he collared mine, and I am travelling as passenger. However, it can't be helped.

We left Fort Grange about ten this morning and arrived here after an hour's run. It was awfully cold and we had to come down here owing to fog. I am afraid I can't tell you where we are going or any other such details. You must rest content with what I have told you at present. We are very comfortably fixed up here for the night. The place is packed with generals and staff officers, as we are practically in Aldershot. It will be very slow here this evening. I thought of trying to get home for the night, but it's out of the question. There is no need to be in the least alarmed as to my safety, as I am probably not going where you expect.

Tons of love.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Father.

Royal Naval Air Station, Kenton Lodge,

Gosforth, Newcastle-on-Tyne.

25th November, 1914.

Dear Dad,

Received letters forwarded from Fort Grange last night. It was much too foggy for my trip to Hartlepool yesterday afternoon, but I went for a short flip [flight] around, and am glad I did so, as I found out the lie of the land.

This morning it was beautifully clear, and I started off soon after 9.0 a.m., with a mechanic, to patrol the coast up north to Alnmouth. It was awfully cold with rather a strong cross wind. I got right above one lot of clouds. It's a wonderful sight too, as in the distance there is a mountain covered with snow. It was simply ripping. My engine was going strong, and after circling round till I was 1,500 feet up, I made straight off for the coast. It was magnificent. Anything I wanted to look at closely I just did graceful spirals round, or zigzagged, banking the machine up to right and left. I have never enjoyed a trip so much before. I was away an hour and twenty minutes; quite long enough, as I could hardly feel my hands or feet on coming down. I think we shall be here another fortnight, with luck.

30th November, 1914.

Have had no time to write at all these last few days. Half my birthday letters are still unanswered. . . . Weather has been far too bad for flying the past two days.

Best love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Aunt.

Royal Naval Air Station, Kenton Lodge,

Gosforth, Newcastle-on-Tyne.

27th November, 1914..

Dear Aunt Ethel,

Thanks so much for your birthday letter. I only received it the night before last and have been unable to answer it until now.

You are right about flying. As soon as one gets well into the air, things seem to take on quite a different aspect. It is the same as when one gets on a high hill, only in a greater degree.

Our work of patrolling the coast is very interesting, but unfortunately Newcastle seems to be either enveloped in a thick fog, or a gale of wind prevails, so that we are not getting as much flying as I should like. It is beginning to get extremely cold work too now, especially on a frosty morning.

Our billet here happens to be the German Consulate, a lovely modern house, so that we are most comfortably settled. I think we are moving again in a fortnight's time.

Please give Granny my best love. As soon as I can get home I shall pop over and look you all up. At present I see no chance of getting off. I tried to get to Hartlepool this morning, but the weather was too bad so I abandoned the attempt.

Heaps of love.

Ever your loving nephew,

Harold.

To his Father.

No. I Naval Aeroplane Squadron,

Kenton Lodge, New\castle-on-Tyne.

8th December, 19 14.

Dear Dad,

Have had a great day. Motored out to Redcar on business and visited Durham Cathedral on the return journey. It's a magnificent spot. The Cathedral is on top of a high hill with the river flowing through a ravine on one side and two fine old bridges. It's one of the finest sights in England, The town itself, too, is very quaint. Have heard no more about going to the front. . . .

10th December, 1914.

The CO. is now in France, and from what I can gather is making preparations for us all to go out immediately after Christmas. I don't think there is much chance of being able to get home for Christmas. However, one can never tell, so we will hope for the best.

I went for a flip around yesterday afternoon for ten minutes, but it was far too thick to see anything, so came down. Best love.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Mother.

Hotel Burlington, Dover.

30th December, 1914.

Dearest Mum,

Another sudden move. Monday night some of us received orders to shift here the following morning. I got all my gear packed and off in the transport first thing, and kept my little hand-bag in the machine. Two went off before me, as I burst a tyre to begin with - rather a bad start. In my second attempt I got well off, but found my air-speed indicator was not working and my compass dud, so came down again. As I could procure no more, I decided to start. I nearly upset getting off, as my foot slipped on the rudder and 1 got a bump at the same moment.

The engine was going none too well, but 1 pushed off towards the coast, and all went well for a time. Then came signs of engine trouble. The revs, [revolutions] dropped suddenly to below 1,000, and she missed badly and back fired. I at once shut off petrol and volplaned down from 4,000 feet. I glided two miles before I could find a field to satisfy me, but having picked it, made a good landing. Some farm hands and two special constables soon turned up and informed me that I was miles from anywhere. My exact position was between two small villages, Ripe and Chalvington, and four fields away from a road (and that not a main one).

The nearest town of any size was Lewes, a matter of seven miles — no motor vehicles, but I might possibly get a trap.

Just then a fellow turned up, and said he had a motor bike and side car, which he put at my disposal. This 1 accepted, and, after trying the engine, left the two special constables in charge, and tramped across the four swamped fields (up to my neck in mud) to the road, and went into Lewes in the side car. There I found a big garage, where they professed to know something about Gnome engines. (I had landed, by the way, at about 12 noon.) I got them to put some tools on a car, and out we went again to Ripe. Then followed much tinkering, and I got the engine going and started off. I had circled round once, when the engine again back fired, bang ! bang 1 and I made another hurried descent two fields away from the last. All this time, of course, quite a crowd had collected, and the vicar of Chalvington had come up and had brought me some sandwiches, for which I was very grateful, it being 3.0 p.m., and I had only a hurried breakfast.

We next ran the engine again, and she at once back fired and caught fire at the carburettor. This burnt out without doing any damage, and we diagnosed the complaint as a broken inlet valve-spring in No. 5 cylinder. By the way, when in Lewes I had 'phoned through to Fort Grange, and they sent me on some mechanics, as the garage men could help me no more.

I once more left the special constables in charge and returned to Lewes.

(The vicar, I should have told you, offered me a bed for the night.) I again 'phoned from Lewes [to Fort Grange] and then returned to the machine, which I had moved behind a hedge out of the wind, and had pegged and roped down and covered up.

By this time it was 5.30 and dark and very cold, and I was greatly cheered by five mechanics and a driver turning up. Two I left in charge of the machine, and then drove round in our service car (in which the mechanics had arrived) to the vicarage, where I had a belated tea and a hearty welcome. Mrs. McEIroy is delightful. Dinner followed almost immediately, and very excellent at that. At 8.0 p.m. my car arrived for me, the mechanics having found a satisfactory billet. I once more set out for Lewes and rattled out the colonel of the territorials, and requested a corporal and three men to guard my machine, as my men had been working the whole of the previous night.

This all took some time, so I sat down and chatted with the other members of the staff, and had a drink and smoke, and also two trunk calls, one to Dover and the other to Fort Grange, where I heard that Riggall had also come down with engine trouble at Hastings, 30 miles further on. This cheered me considerably. 1 didn't get away from Lewes till 1 0.0 p.m. At Ripe I posted my territorials and gave them their orders. It was fortunately a lovely moonlight night, freezing hard, and with no wind. 1 got back to the vicarage at 11.30 p.m. and retired at midnight — a lovely hot bath and beautifully soft bed, with a fire in my room !

I turned out next morning at daylight and drove out to the machine, which is an 80 Avro, brand new (never been flown before, not even been tested), and found my men at work as per instructions. 1 returned for breakfast (the vicarage was a good two miles away), and then rushed back to my machine and found that a C.P.O. [Chief Petty Officer] had turned up from Gosport in another car, on his way to Riggall at Hastings, with a whole new engine. I at once hot-stuffed [requisitioned] one of his inlet valves and set the men to work changing it, while I once more went into Lewes, looked up the colonel and used his 'phone.

On getting back at 12.30 I found my machine all ready, so went on to the vicarage, packed up my things, had a slice of cake, bade them all farewell, and pushed off; The wind had got up considerably and the clouds were very low, but I thought 1 would try and get off". I started up and got well away. It was awfully bumpy, and I got tossed about all over the place. When I got to 1,000 feet it was much steadier, so I headed straight for the coast, and as I climbed, I started getting into the clouds. The first were at 1,500 feet, and I kept on running through them till over 2,500 feet. The wind was stronger than I had thought, and I fairly raced along. The engine was still a bit funny, but I stuck to it, and was past Dungeness in no time. Then I got right above a whole sea of clouds, and only got occasional glimpses of Mother Earth now and again between gaps. I didn't like this, as I couldn't see where I was going, especially as my compass was not accurate, and if I started flying below them, I should only be a thousand feet up This would have been worse, as 1 was not sure of my engine, and if it had given out I should have had to land within a mile in any direction, as against a four-mile radius if I were 4,000 feet up.

While thinking over all this, I passed another gap, and looking back, caught a glimpse of Dover harbour. It was rather lucky, as I had overshot the mark. I switched on and off, and dived down through the opening to 1,000 feet, and then looked around for the aerodrome. I did quite a wide circle before I spotted it. It was awfully bumpy and pretty nearly a gale blowing. I was just going to land when I saw two red flags ahead to mark bad ground, and then a lot more. Nearly all the ground was bad, so I flew right over into the wind and turned to the right just before the cliff out of the wind. All this time I was bobbing about like a cork, gusts throwing me all over the place. I got half round my turn, broadside into the wind at about 100 feet, when a huge gust got underneath my left wing and tail and swept me right across the aerodrome to the ground. It was all a matter of seconds till I hit the ground. My aileron, or warp control, was useless (at the time I thought the wires had broken). I just managed to flatten out and straighten up a little as I hit the ground sideways. Both wheels buckled right up and brought me to a standstill, myself quite unharmed, and the machine with wonderfully little damage. I was awfully annoyed, as I was very keen on pitching well at the end of my journey.

* Gordon Riggall. He and the writer both received their commissions on the i8th August, 1914, and from that day onwards served together, sharing the same risks. He was killed on the 16th February, 1915.

1st January, 1915.

The last two days have been beastly, nothing but wind and rain. Riggall is still held up at Hastings. I shouldn't be surprised if his machine has blown away by now. I see in this morning's paper that I have shipped another stripe [Flight Lieutenant], so things are looking up a bit.

There was a huge din here to usher in the New Year — bells, whistles, and all the ships in the harbour blowing their sirens for fully a quarter of an hour on end. The feeding here is excellent, and we have music to accompany tea and dinner. There are between three and four hundred rooms, and all full up. We have to take turns in sleeping up at the sheds two miles away (my turn to-night, ugh !). We leave here at 7.45 p.m., and are relieved at 9.0 the next morning. This means 10 o'clock breakfast by the time one has got back here and had a bath and a shave.

10th January, 1915.

What a life we lead and how we suffer ! It is now half-past six and I have just had tea.

My previous meal was a scrappy breakfast at 8.30. Dover is the very devil of a place to fly over. It's very hilly, and so of course one gets the most appalling bumps and, in addition, a very poor selection of landing grounds in case of engine trouble. The aerodrome is right on top of the cliffs, and on two sides we have a beastly drop. If one's engine fails when getting off in these directions, the best thing one can do is to pray, and hope the bump won't be too big when it comes.

I was nearly caught this way to-day. Yesterday I flew an Avro to Deal and back, while my passenger made some wireless experiments. To-day I patrolled the South Foreland for an hour and a half (9.0 to 10.30), my passenger armed to the teeth. Beardy cold it was too. At one o'clock I got a panicky message saying 14 hostile aircraft were coming over from Dunkirk, and I was ordered up at once. I had just got nicely over the valley v/hen my engine went bang I bang 1 bang 1 I hastily turned off my petrol and looked around for a place to pitch. The only field reachable was a very bad one. In addition, I pitched badly, but broke nothing, and luckily came to a standstill a few yards from a pond ! The trouble was an inlet valve gone, the same as happened at Lewes, resulting in back firing into the carburettor, which catches fire — most unpleasant. I get awfully cold feet. I would much sooner come down with a bump than be cremated. Personally I think it's worse than the crank shaft breaking, and that puts the fear of God into you, I can tell you. My machine is out in the open to-night. I hope to tee it up and get back to-morrow. I did a fine spiral [spiral descent with the engine shut off] to-day.

The hostile aircraft never came, of course. We are always hearing of Zeppelins dropping bombs on Birmingham, London, etc. All the same, they are coming, I am sure, and in a bunch too.

It's just dinner-time and I'm awfully hungry, so love to all. Could see France as plain as Punch to-day. Dunkirk is visible from 5,000 feet.

nth January, 1915.

Another day of toil, but no flying. It's my turn to sleep up at the sheds too, a joy I am not looking forward to.

I wish we could get out to the front. It's rotten to keep on seeing army machines going across. I would much rather come to a sticky end out there than here.

23rd January, 1915.

I am once again Installed in the sheds for the night, and beastly cold it is too. I am going to invest in a Jaeger flea bag [sleeping bag].

To-day has been the best day we have had so far, clear, frosty and dead calm. I crashed into the atmosphere first thing this morning and flipped around for 55 minutes. By then I was as cold as — - — , so pitched in the 'drome. I flew from. Dover to Deal with both hands off the controls, just correcting with a finger when necessary. I have elastic bands on the stick which hold it where it is set. I ended up with a hair-splitting spiral, with the machine banked up to about 55°. I only did three or four complete turns, but kept on until I was scared stiff. When you bank a machine over 45°, your rudder turns into your elevator and vice versa. To come out of a spiral, you just shove everything the wrong way round and wait and see what happens.

Love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Father.

Hotel Burlington, Dover.

20th January, 1915.

Dear Dad,

So you are home again at last. Did you get the letters I wrote to Liverpool when you were going off?

There has been very little doing here lately. Awful bobbery last night over the Yarmouth scare. We were standing by our machines until midnight. I think they [the Germans] are sure to pay us a visit soon. I hope it isn't at night, though. 1 flew for about half an hour this morning. The French coast was as plain as Punch.

We each have our own machines at last. Mine is the actual machine that Sippe [S. V. Sippe, D.S.O., Squadron Commander., R.N.] had on his stunt to Friederichshafen. Our chances of getting out to the front are remoter than ever, and each of these silly raids puts us further back still. If old Rumpler [the German airman] hadn't taken it into his head to drop a bomb on Dover on Xmas day, we should in all probability have been over the other side by now.

22nd January, 1915.

There has been a bit of a scare on to-day, but it has resulted as usual In nothing, except that I missed my lunch. I quite enjoyed my patrol though. I was up an hour and twenty minutes and pottered around Deal. My beat was from the South to North Foreland and back. It was rather thick up [in the air], but I had an excellent view of Margate, Ramsgate, etc. I kept at about 4,000 feet. It was a bit cold, but not so bad as I expected.

28th January, 1915.

We all took the air at once to-day for the Admiral's benefit ; quite a fine display.

No. 1 Aeroplane Squadron, Dover.

4th February, 1915.

We have four young marine officers just joined up with the Squadron to act as observers — rather a good Idea, but they had a somewhat rough initiation this morning. Just after I had been enlarging to them on the safety of flying nowadays, there was a damned awful smash. An Avro came down in a nose dive from 400 feet. There wasn't much left of it and the occupants were very lucky not being done in. B was pilot and came out with a badly sprained ankle, cuts, bruises and shock; and S, the observer, who was in front, broke his right arm above the elbow and dislocated his hip, besides cuts, etc. I was in the air at the time, with Riggall as my passenger. He saw the accident, but I didn't know of it until I got down. B is our flight commander, so I suppose our move is once more indefinitely postponed.

I am putting in for leave this week-end, and think I shall get it with luck. Am just getting rid of an awful cold, Riggall and Maude [J. D. Maude, Fit. Comdr., R.N.] are both pretty rocky too — sort of flu or something. Am enclosing a photo of my machine [Avro] 873. I think I told you it was the one Sippe used on his raid [on Friedrichshafen]. The one next it, [Avro] 875, is Babington's [J. T. Babington, D.S.O., Squadron Comdr., R.N.], and the next belonged to Briggs [E. F. Briggs, D.S.O., Squadron Comdr., R.N.] who was captured [in the raid].

9th February, 1915.

We had an old seaplane wrecked outside the harbour yesterday. The engine failed and a destroyer went out to tow the machine in. Unfortunately, the sea was rough and the destroyer rolled into the thing, damaging it so badly that it eventually sank. The pilot and passenger were taken off safely. It was quite interesting, watching from the top of the cliffs through glasses.

Love to all at home.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

RAIDS ON THE BELGIAN COAST

To his Father.

No. 1 Aeroplane Squadron,

Hotel Burlington, Dover.

I2th February, 191 5.

Dear Dad,

I wrote home last on Wednesday, and, as you no doubt guessed, there has since been something on. I could not, of course, let you know, as our success or otherwise depended greatly on secrecy. Wednesday was a very busy day. I tested my machine for half an hour in the morning, and by the evening everything was in tip-top running order. During the day . . . machines arrived from Hendon, Eastchurch, etc., etc., also . . .seaplanes turned up. Among the Hendon crowd was Grahame White and one or two others I knew.

Thursday morning we were up betimes, and the weather being good, the D.A.D. [Commodore Murray F. Sueter, C.B., R.N., Director of Air Department] decided we should start. We had fixed up our maps, etc., overnight ; my orders were to drop all my bombs on Zeebrugge. It was a bit misty over the Channel, and I was one of the last to get away.

We went in order — slowest machines first, at two-minute intervals. I pushed off just after 8 a.m., climbed to 2,000 feet and streaked off over the Channel. We had four destroyers at intervals across the Channel in case our engines went wrong, also seaplanes. It was mighty comforting to see them below. I got my first shock on looking at my rev. [revolution] counter, which was jumping from 950 to 1,200, when it should have been steady at 1,150. The machine was, however, pulling well, so I didn't worry.

In due course I struck Calais and headed up the coast about seven miles out to sea. I passed Gravelines and Dunkirk where I had reached 6,500 feet. Then a huge bank of black clouds loomed ahead. Our orders were to land at Dunkirk if clouds were too bad, but as two machines sogged on ahead of me, I pushed on too. It started with a thin mist and then gradually got thicker. I continued so for about ten minutes, and then found that, according to my compass, I had turned completely round and was heading out to sea. The clouds got thicker and the compass became useless, swinging round and round. 1 was about 7,000 feet up and absolutely lost. The next thing I realized was that my speed indicator had rushed up to 90 miles an hour and the wind was fairly whistling through the wires. I pulled her up, but had quite lost control.

A hair raising experience followed. 1 nose-dived, side-slipped, stalled, etc., etc., time after time, my speed varying from practically nothing to over 100 miles an hour. I kept my head, but was absolutely scared stiff. I didn't get out of the clouds, which lower down turned into a snow-storm and hail, until I was only 1,500 feet up. I came out diving head-long for the earth. As soon as I saw the ground, I of course adjusted my sense of balance, and flattened out, I was, however, hopelessly lost. The sea was nowhere in sight, and, so far as I could judge, I was somewhere over our own line behind Nieuport.

I steered by my compass (which had recovered, being out of the clouds) and after a short time picked up the coast. I then tried to skirt round the snowstorm inland, but it went too far. Next I tried to get along the coast underneath the storm, but also failed at this, so, feeling awfully sick, I started back for Dunkirk, fully expecting to be the one failure of the party. On arrival there, however, I found them all back but one, and all had had similar experiences. One man turned completely upside down in the storm.

By the way, what finally decided me to come back was this. After trying to get under the storm along the coast (I had got very low down, about 3,000 feet), I heard two or three bangs, but took no notice. I happened to look round, however, and saw three nice little puffs of smoke about 100 yards behind me. Then came another, much nearer. "Shrapnel," says I, and off I went to Dunkirk.

I was pretty cold on arrival, having been two hours in the air. Grahame White came down in the sea and was picked up by one of our destroyers.

Pottered round the aerodrome for a bit, and looked at French and Belgian machines. Anthony Wilding (The Tennis Champion, killed in action 12th May), is stationed there, also Carpentier (Georges Carpentier, the boxer, French airman, injured in an aeroplane accident, 12th August, 1915), whom I didn't see.

Motored into the town for lunch and had a look round. Out to the aerodrome again in the afternoon, but nothing doing. Slept on the Empress over-night. We first lay down on the couches in the saloon, then turned in at 11 p.m., awfully tired. At 3.0 a.m. the stewards came In to lay breakfast. At 5.30 we were all up, still tired, dirty, and feeling rotten. Motored out to the aerodrome in the dark, awfully cold, ugh ! I was one of the first off (in the dark). I didn't relish it a tiny bit.

The weather was misty and cloudy, and very cold. Off Nieuport I was five miles out to sea and 4,000 feet up. Before I came abreast of it, I saw flashes along the coast. A few seconds later, bang ! bang ! and the shrapnel burst a good deal short of me, but direction and height perfect. I turned out to sea and put another two miles between me and the coast. By now a regular cannonade was going on. All along the coast the guns were firing, nasty vicious flashes, and then a puff of smoke as the shrapnel burst. I steered a zigzag course and made steadily out to sea, climbing hard.

The clouds now became very troublesome. Ostend was simply a mass of guns. After flying for three-quarters of an hour, I reached Zeebrugge. I had to come down to 5,500 feet because of the clouds. I streaked in through them, loosed my bombs, and then made off. I was hopelessly lost, and my performance of the day before was repeated in the clouds. I got clear, however, at 4,000 feet, heading straight out to sea and side-slipping hard, the earth appearing all sideways on. I fairly streaked out to sea, and then headed straight home. I got back after 1 1/2hours in the air.

As to what happened generally, I can't tell. It may possibly appear in the papers. Maude came down in the sea and was picked up. I got back here shortly after 4.0 p.m. by boat. Am bringing my machine back later, I expect. I thought of wiring you to come down for the night, but find it's not feasible. After all, Dover isn't such a bad place, I'm thinking. I don't mind owning that I have been scared stiff once or twice in the last two days. They are hitting with shrapnel at 8,000 feet. They reckon to get third shot on for a cert. One machine came back riddled with bullets. The pilot had got down to 450 feet in the mist.

With the very best love to all at home, Ever your loving son,

Harold.

Note.

The following is the Admiralty s official account of the raid described in the foregoing letters : —

'During the last twenty-four hours, combined aeroplane and seaplane operations have been carried out by the Naval Wing in the Bruges, Zeebrugge, Blankenberghe and Ostend districts, with a view to preventing the development of submarine bases and establishments.

Thirty-four naval aeroplanes and seaplanes took part.

Great damage is reported to have been done to Ostend Railway Station, which, according to present information, has probably been burnt to the ground. The railway station at Blankenberghe was damaged and railway lines were torn up in many places. Bombs were dropped on gun positions at Middelkerke, also on the power station and German mine-sweeping vessels at Zeebrugge, but the damage done is unknown.

During the attack the machines encountered heavy banks of snow.

No submarines were seen.

Flight Commander Grahame-White fell into the sea off Nieuport and was rescued by a French vessel.

Although exposed to heavy gun-fire from rifles, anti-aircraft guns, mitrailleuses, etc., all pilots are safe. Two machines were damaged.

The seaplanes and aeroplanes were under the command of Wing Commander Samson, assisted by Wing Commander Longmore and Squadron Commanders Porte, Courtney, and Rathbone."

Harold Rosher went back to France on 13 February 1915, and three days later took part in a further great raid of which the following is the Admiralty s official account : —

"The air operations of the Naval Wing against the Bruges, Ostend-Zeebrugge District have been continued.

This afternoon 40 aeroplanes and seaplanes bombarded Ostend, Middelkerke, Ghistelles, and Zeebrugge.

Bombs were dropped on the heavy batteries situated on the east and west sides of Ostend harbour ; on the gun positions at Middelkerke; on transport waggons on the Ostend-Ghistelles road ; on the mole at Zeebrugge to widen the breach damaged in former attacks ; on the locks at Zeebrugge ; on barges outside Blankenberghe, and on trawlers outside Zeebrugge.

Eight French aeroplanes assisted the naval machines by making a vigorous attack on the Ghistelles aerodrome, thus effectively preventing the German aircraft from cutting off our machines.

It is reported that good results were obtained.

Instructions are always issued to confine the attacks to points of military importance, and every effort is made by the flying officers to avoid dropping bombs on any residential portions of the towns."

Air Raid, 16th February, 1915. — Harold Rosher sent no written account of this raid, as he returned to Dover immediately after taking part in it. Describing his experiences in the raid, he stated that his instructions were to drop his bombs on a certain place behind Ostend. On leaving Dunkirk he flew up the coast. When he got past Nieuport, he came under heavy fire, and headed out to sea. Off Ostend the firing was terrific, and seeing ahead a big bank of clouds he continued past Ostend until he got above them. Thus concealed he turned and came inland, and was able to reach his objective unobserved. The explosion of his bombs was the first intimation the enemy had of his presence. Anti-aircraft batteries immediately opened fire on him, but by that time he was making off, and flying some miles out to sea, he came back down the coast in safety to Dunkirk. One can imagine the strained anxiety with which those who come back from raids such as this, await the arrival of overdue comrades. On this occasion three of them, including Harold's special chum, Flight-Lt. Gordon Riggall, never returned.

To his Father.

Hotel Burlington, Dover.

24th February, 1915.

Dear Dad,

I arrived here safely in excellent time after quite a comfy journey. Mr.

and Mrs. Riggall left yesterday, but during the course of the afternoon I received a very nice letter from him . . . [Their son, Lieut. Riggall, was " missing"].

If you can possibly manage it, come down to-morrow (Thursday) night. In case I am unable to meet you at the station, come straight on to the Burlington. I will reserve you a room. The Dunkirk boat was missed twice by torpedoes yesterday. She is now running very irregularly. I cannot be certain as to my movements, but will put you off by wire if necessary.

On arrival here I found all my letters had been forwarded to the other side, also my Gieve lifebelt. . . .

I think I just got away from home before you all quite spoilt me. It's awfully bad for one, you know, and mustn't occur again or I shall be getting quite beyond myself. I thoroughly enjoyed every moment of my leave (except the being "shown off" part, which I endured with as good a grace as possible), but I don't want any one to run away with the idea that I have done anything extraordinary. One has only to go across the other side to realize that everybody out there is doing his best.

Army pilots are flying day after day for hours on end, under fire, and trench life must be no less trying. After all, when one comes to think of it, it was what I joined the Air Service for, and probably when all is said and done, the everyday routine will prove a much tougher job than these occasional stunts.

Well, I've gassed long enough, so good-bye and very best love to all at home (mind you come down to-morrow night unless I wire you otherwise).

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

P.S. — The watch is keeping excellent time and the pipe is settling down into first-rate smoking order.

To his Mother,

No. 1 Naval Aeroplane Squadron, B.E.F

1st March, 191 5.

Dearest Mum,

I only had time to scrawl off a few lines to you this morning, as the mail was just going out. We have been pretty busy the last day or so getting things shipshape. I am at last settled in a quite nice house with seven others. Maude and I are the two senior inmates, so are running the establishment. Unfortunately, we have no bath, but five minutes' walk from here there are some public baths, where we can get a hot tub any time between 8 a.m. and 7 p.m.

We are acting as our own censors here, and also have to censor all the men's letters — some of them are most amusing. There is nothing exciting at all happening. Weather has been pretty bad and shows signs of getting worse.

Have just run out of ink, am now writing with coffee !

4th March, 1915.

We are settling down by degrees. Our house is really beginning to get quite comfortable. Wilding has been staying here with us the last few days.

6th March, 1915.

Had my first letter from you this morning, dated the 3rd, for which many thanks. It's the first news of any sort from home since we have been out here. Weather still continues very bad and, personally, 1 shouldn't mind a little more of it still.

Did I tell you that my Gieve lifebelt had turned up ? You can't imagine how firmly attached 1 am to it. 1 can't bear parting with it at night.

The flask I have filled up to the stopper with rum — brandy and whisky are unprocurable.

We don't get much in the way of light literature, so any weekly papers, such as Sketches, Tatler, Punch, are looked on as great luxuries. By the way, is the watch keeping good time.'' I had the chance of being inoculated the other day, but didn't think it worth while. I may be done later, possibly.

Love to all at home.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

P.S. — There is a rumour that we get a week's leave after being out here three months.

To his Mother.

No, 1 Aeroplane Squadron, B.E.F.

7th March 1915.

Dearest Mum,

Have just got your letter of the 4th inst. It arrived late in the day, after Dad's. I am afraid this has missed the mail ; so won't go off for a couple of days. I have just come off duty ; we get three days at it on end. There's no baccy to be procured out here, so could you send me on a J lb. tin of Friars' Mixture (medium).

Am just back from a little bomb-dropping stunt over Ostend, but keep it quiet until it appears in the papers, or if it doesn't, allow say a week. It was bitterly cold and took about 1 1/2 hours, I pushed the old bus up to 8,000 ft., right above a terrific layer of clouds. It was a most wonderful sight. I only got occasional glimpses of the earth and sea, and was not fired at at all — in fact, I don't think I was ever even seen.

It's quite impossible for me to let you know my whereabouts in France, but I seem to have a vague recollection of telling you where I was going before I left. If you can remember, all well and good. If not, put two and two together, and the answer is ?

Heaps of love to all, and Cheer O 1 for my week's leave in 3 months' time.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

Note.

The following is the Admiralty's official account of the raid described in the foregoing letter : —

"Wing Commander Longmore reports that an air attack on Ostend was carried out yesterday afternoon (7th March) by six aeroplanes of the Naval Wing. Of these two had to return owing to petrol freezing.

The remainder reached Ostend and dropped eleven bombs on the submarine repair base and four bombs on the Kursaal, the headquarters of the military.

All machines and pilots returned.

It is probable that considerable damage was done. No submarines were seen in the basin.

The attack was carried out in a fresh N.N.W wind."

To his Father.

No. 1 Aeroplane Squadron, B.E.F.

8th March, 1915.

Dear Dad,

I have struck rather an unfortunate day to-day. To begin with, this morning I was taxying my machine to the far end of the aerodrome, to start off into the wind, when I got into some very soft ground — result, before I knew where I was, I found the machine standing up on its nose. Fortunately, the only damage was a broken propeller, which didn't matter, as it was already chipped and was going to be replaced. In the afternoon I had quite a good trip, just over an hour, and quite long enough, as it has been pretty nearly freezing all day long. I made a good landing, but a second or so after I actually touched the ground, a tyre burst, and I all but turned a complete somersault. For several seconds I was quite vertical, and then the machine fell back. One or two things were bent, but on the whole remarkably little damage. The skid broke and leading edge of one wing tip. A wheel also buckled up, but I should be going strong again by tomorrow,

12th March, 1915.

Still going Strong and things on the whole keeping fairly quiet. There has been another little bomb-dropping episode, in which I didn't take part, however, as my machine was undergoing some repairs. Please send on my fur coat at once, as my leather one has given out suddenly — am sending it back to Gieve's immediately on receipt of other.

14th March, 1915.

Many thanks for letter. Flight, and the Aeroplane, received yesterday. The days are lengthening out tremendously now, and we manage to get in quite a good walk after tea along the front. There is an excellent promenade, crowded with the town folk, and most gorgeous sands with heaps of very pretty shells. The sands make a most perfect landing ground and have already come in very useful in emergency.

I flew a Vickers gun bus [gun-carrying biplane] the other day (you saw one at Dover, I think). 1 didn't like it much. For one thing it was very badly balanced, and secondly, I don't like a monosoupape [engine] (100 h.p. Gnome). My own machine 1 can get so perfectly balanced that I can let go the controls for minutes on end. Had a delightful trip to-day to . . . It's most interesting watching the shells burst. Somebody's beginning to push pretty hard in places, I can tell you. We hear the guns hammering away day and night now.

Our aerodrome here is a beastly small one. I have had several narrow shaves already of running into things, and feel sure that before long I shall "crash" something. I think that I shall shortly have an opportunity of flying a monoplane. Am looking forward to it" some."

Love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Mother.

No. 1 Naval Aeroplane Squadron, B.E.F.

15th March, 1915.

Dearest Mum,

Have had a great time to-day. First thing in the morning the CO. gave Maude and myself the whole day off. We promptly secured a car, passports and pass-words, had an early lunch, and then sallied forth full of hope to see the War. Our password held good until we got into Belgium, and then proved "dud." The sentry, however, very kindly supplied us with another. We were rather unfortunate in getting a tyre punctured, but half a dozen Belgian soldiers rushed up and asked us if we wanted any help, and how many men. They carefully explained they would do anything to help the English. Eventually they did everything for us. The place we visited was the same as I went to when over here before. This afternoon it was being rather heavily bombarded. We left our car outside the town, shells bursting within 50 yards of it. We then sallied forth on foot into the town — terrific bangs from the French guns firing near us, and shells fairly whistling overhead. You can tell when they are coming near you by the sound they make. The French soldiers are quite wily, and scuttle away like rabbits, when they hear one coming near. In the town several shells burst very near us, and fragments of stone and dust fell freely around us — rather too warm for my liking. There was quite a difference since I was last there, several more buildings being reduced to ruins. One shell hole would have concealed 40 or 50 men easily. We only stayed half an hour, and saw quite enough.

Two Frenchmen were killed here this evening. They stalled and side-slipped from about 80 feet in a Voisin and were killed instantly.

From what I heard they were smashed to bits.

It's all luck. B fell 400 feet and only sprained his ankle, and these two fellows broke every bone in their bodies. The machine caught fire on the ground and was burnt to bits. I saw the remains this evening. Two French machines and four pilots are missing from n little bomb-dropping stunt of theirs yesterday. You never hear of these things at home, but flying casualties are heavier than one is led to believe. A short time back the R.F.C. [Royal Flying Corps] lost five in a week !

Have just discovered that the Duchess of Sutherland and Lady Rosemary are running a hospital out here.

French sanitary arrangements are really extraordinary, I don't believe there is a drain in the place. Such things are unknown in small French towns.

Am sending you a cheque for £20, as it is an awful nuisance getting cash here. I want you to send me on £5 at once in notes and the rest as I ask, as I don't want a lot of money about me. Also I expect I owe you something for flea bag, etc., and I am sure to be wanting other things later. Am sending you on the pins and brooches.

Very best love.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Mother.

No. I Naval Aeroplane Squadron, B.E.F.

16th March, 1915.

Dearest Mum,

Whatever induced you to do it ? The tobacco, etc., arrived, but the toffee had all melted, and a more sticky mess you can't conceive. It was as much as I could do to read your letter. I managed to rescue some of the toffee and the general opinion on same is that it is very good. Two letters from Dad and the sleeping bag arrived by same mail, for which many thanks.

I had to make a hurried landing on the sands to-day owing to an exhaust cam [valve operating mechanism] breaking. Flew my machine back in the evening. Have just started another three days' duty.

Love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Father.

No. 1 Naval Aeroplane Squadron, B.E.F.

21st March, 1915.

Dear Dad,

Very little news of interest to tell you. I was sent out suddenly yesterday afternoon late to look for a Zepp, but saw nothing. It was dusk by the time I got back, and an inlet valve went just as I was coming in. I couldn't reach our aerodrome, but just managed to scrape into the Belgian one alongside. The French brought down a Taube to-day and one yesterday (anti-aircraft guns). They are getting nearly as hot as the Germans. I can tell you that some of us are beginning to think our chances of seeing England again are somewhat remote.

To-day has been the most perfect day we have had out here so far. This afternoon I shot a wild duck with a Webley-Scott pistol at 50 yards. It was the 6th shot, but the others were all very close — not bad shooting, eh ?

The Punches turned up alright, but much later than the other papers — all much appreciated. Best love.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Mother,

No. 1 Squadron, R.N.A.S., B.E.F.

23rd March, 1915.

Dearest Mum,

Another fine day, and let's hope the weather will last. The town this afternoon is crowded with small girls all in white — long skirts and veils — confirmation, I suppose.

Have spent a very, busy day tuning up my bus, and am not over satisfied with it now. To-morrow at the crack of dawn I am off on another stunt, this time more hazardous than ever. When I start thinking of the possibilities, or rather probabilities, I go hot and cold by turns ; so endeavour to switch off on to something else, but it keeps coming back to the same old thing. Am not posting this until just before I start, but all the same can tell you no details. By the time you get this, I shall either have returned safely or be elsewhere. The papers will no doubt give you more news than I can at present. Suffice it to say, that my journey will be round about 200 miles and will last 4 — 5 hours. It is even doubtful whether we shall have enough petrol to bring us back.

It's a first-rate stunt though, and I suppose a feather in my cap, being one of the chosen few.

Very best love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Mother and Father.

No. 1 Squadron, R.N.A.S., B.E.F.

24th March, 1915.

Dearest Mum and Dad,

Another successful little jaunt. Five of us were chosen to go — Capt. Courtney [Major Ivor T. Courtney, Squadron Comdr., R.N.], Meates (who travelled up to town from Dover in the train with Dad), self, and two subs named Andreae and Huskisson. Courtney and I got there and back, Meates [B. C, Fit. Lieut., R.N.] came down in Holland with engine trouble, and is interned. . . . Andreae [P. G. Andreae, Fit. Lieut., R.N.] lost his way in the clouds and fog, and came back, and Huskisson [B. L. Huskisson, Fit. Comdr., R.N.] did the same, only dropped his bombs on Ostend on the way. Our mark, by the way, was the submarine base at Hoboken, near Antwerp.

Yesterday morning we were to have gone, but the weather was not good enough, and last night we slept at the aerodrome, so as to get off at the "crack of dawn." This morning we got up about 3.30 a.m. (thank goodness, the weather was warm), and breakfast followed. It's mighty hard to get down eggs and bread and butter at that hour. We cut for the order of starting, but decided to keep as near one another as possible.

I went off last but one, at 5.30 a.m., and streaked out straight across the sea. We were pretty heavily loaded, and my bus wouldn't climb much.

I saw one machine ahead of me, but lost it almost immediately in the clouds, which were very low (2,500 feet), and it was also very misty.

Our course was right up the coast, past Zeebrugge, and then cut in across the land. At the mouth of the Scheldt I got clear of some of the clouds and saw Courtney behind and 2,000 feet above me, my machine then being about 5,000 feet only. He rapidly overtook me (we were all on Avros, but his was faster), and from then on I followed him over the clouds. Unfortunately, over Antwerp there were no clouds. Courtney was about five or six minutes in front of me, and I saw him volplane out of sight. I had to go on some little way before I spotted the yards myself.

I next saw Courtney very low down, flying away to the coast with shrapnel bursting around him. He came down to under 500 feet, and being first there, dropped his bombs before he was fired on.

As the wind was dead against me, I decided to come round in a semi-circle to cross the yards with the wind, so as to attain a greater speed. I was only 5,500 feet up, and they opened fire on me with shrapnel as soon as I got within range. It began getting a bit hot, so before I got quite round I shut off" my petrol, and came down with a steep volplane until I was 2,500 feet, when I turned on my petrol again, and continued my descent at a rate of well over a hundred miles an hour.

I passed over the yards at about 1,000 feet only, and loosed all my bombs over the place. The whole way down I was under fire, two anti-aircraft in the yard, guns from the forts on either side, rifle fire, mitrailleuse or machine guns, and, most weird of all, great bunches (15 to 20) of what looked like green rockets, but I think they were flaming bullets. The excitement of the moment was terrific. I have never travelled so fast before in my life. My chief impressions were the great speed, the flaming bullets streaking by, the incessant rattle of the machine gun and rifle fire, and one or two shells bursting close by, knocking my machine all sideways, and pretty nearly deafening me.

On my return I found my machine was only hit twice— rather wonderful ; one bullet hole through the tail and a piece of shrapnel buried in the main spar of one wing. I have now got it out.

I found myself across the yards, and felt a mild sort of surprise. My eyes must have been sticking out of my head like a shrimp's ! I know I was gasping for breath and crouching down in the fuselage [body of the machine]. I was, however, by no means clear, for shrapnel was still bursting around me. I jammed the rudder first one way and then the other. 1 banked first on to one wing tip, and then on to the other, now slipping outwards, and now up and now down. I was literally hedged in by forts (and only 1,ooo feet up), and had to run the gauntlet before getting away. I was under rifle fire right up to the frontier, and even then the Dutch potted me.

My return journey was trying. Most of the time I had to fly at under 500 feet, as I ran into thick clouds and mist. I pottered gaily right over Flushing, and within a few hundred yards of a Dutch cruiser and two torpedo boats. I got back home about a quarter of an hour after Courtney, having been very nearly four hours in the air, and having covered, I suppose, getting on for 250 miles.

Have not yet heard what damage was done. The CO. was awfully braced.

1 had some breakfast when I got back, wrote out my report, had lunch, and then a very, very hot bath. To-morrow I am going out with Courtney to see the War, as we have been given the day off to do as we please.

My engine gave me several anxious moments. For some reason it cut right out over the Scheldt, and I had actually given up all hope when it picked up again. It was pretty risky work flying several miles out to sea, only just in sight of land too, but our surprise (or I should say Courtney's) of the Germans was certainly complete.

Must really stop now.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

Note.

The following is the Admiralty s official account of the Antwerp raid :

—

“The Secretary of the Admiralty yesterday afternoon [24th March] issued the following communication from Wing Commander Longmore : —

I have to report that a successful air attack was carried out this morning by five machines of the Dunkirk Squadron on the German submarines being constructed at Hoboken near Antwerp.

Two of the pilots had to return owing to thick weather, but Squadron Commander Ivor T. Courtney and Flight Lieutenant H. Rosher reached their objective, and after planing down to l000 feet dropped four bombs each on the submarines. It is believed that considerable damage has been done to both the works and to submarines. The works were observed to be on fire. In all five submarines were observed on the slip.

Flight Lieutenant B. Crossley-Meates was obliged by engine trouble to descend in Holland.

Owing to the mist the two pilots experienced considerable difficulty in finding their way, and were subjected to a heavy gunfire while delivering their attack."

The French official communique gave precise details thus : —

" At Hoboken the Antwerp shipbuilding yard was set on fire and two submarines were destroyed, while a third was damaged. Forty German workmen were killed and sixty-two wounded."

To His Father.

No. 1 Squadron, R.N.A.S., B.E.F.

26th March, 1915.

Dear Dad,

I had quite a good time yesterday with Courtney, although the weather was so bad. We started out gaily through Bergues, a ripping little town, then Cassel, a most delightful spot. It is perched up on a hill in the middle of a plain and you get a grand view around. We visited some R.F.C. people at St.Omer, had lunch there and then went out to Wipers (Ypres). There was nothing doing there, but even though we had all sorts of passes, we could not get near the firing line. The Cloth Hall and Cathedral we thoroughly inspected though — most lovely places, utterly in ruins. The remainder of the town is really very little touched — nothing like Nieuport, where there is not a whole building anywhere. We got back home about 6 p.m., having enjoyed ourselves immensely and feeling quite tired out. My troubles weren't over though, as I found a little " chit " awaiting me, asking me to dine with the Commander.

The First Lord wired his " congrats " to us through Longmore — some feather in our caps, what ! This morning I see all sorts of garbled accounts in the newspapers. My photo in the is awful. Ought to be shot.

Must close as the mail is just going out Best love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Mother.

No. 1 Squadron, R.N.A.S., B.E.F.

31st March, 1915.

Dearest Mum,

We can hear the guns when the wind is our way, and on a clear day we can see shrapnel bursting in the air. What do you think of this story, the latest from the trenches .? It's not quite a drawing-room one 1

One Tommy, speaking to another over the trenches : — " Ello, Bill, got a lice over there ? '* " Garn, we ain't lousy." "I mean a bootice.

Love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

P.S. — Meates did get to Hoboken and came down In Holland on return journey.

Tell Dad to let me know when he is coming, as near as possible, so that perhaps I can arrange to meet him. The boat does not cross here every day, but he can also come via Calais.

Think I can fix up a room over the road.

To his Sister.

No. 1 Squadron, R.N.A.S., B.E.F.

1st April, 1915.

Dear old Girl,

I really feel I owe you a few lines, as you have honoured me with several epistles lately, which I fear have remained unanswered.

Did my last letter to Mother arrive very sticky ? It left here sopping wet, and thereby hangs a tale. I hadn't time to re-write it, as the mail was just going out. I unfortunately had the letter on me and, in conjunction with myself, it got rather a bad ducking.

I was sent up with an observer this morning in a Vickers gun bus (a pusher machine), and all went well until coming home, when my engine petered out, when I was only 400 feet over the town. I hadn't much choice of landing grounds, and preferred to come down in one of the docks to landing on a house-top or in a maze of telegraph wires. I pancaked [flattened out] as much as possible, but hit the water with a bit of a biff. Things then began to happen pretty suddenly. I remember seeing my observer shot out into the water about twenty yards ahead, and the next thing I knew was that I was under the water and still in the machine. I was scared " some," and the water tasted beastly salt, but I pulled myself together, and says I to myself, ses I, " Harold, my boy, if you don't keep your head and get out of this damn quick, you'll drown for a cert like a rat in a trap." So I carefully thought out just where the top plane would be, and disentangled myself from things in general.

It took a long time though, and I was relieved " some " when I bobbed up to the surface. I was rather surprised at keeping afloat very easily, as I had heaps of clothes on.

On arrival at the surface, I found my observer hanging on to the machine, and it didn't take me long to get a hold on it myself. We were only about 40 yards from the side of the dock, but didn't venture to swim, as the sides were twenty feet high, and the ladders only just reached to the water. There were no boats at all there, but we soon had a hundred or so dock hands around the side, all of whom seemed to talk very volubly, but were very incompetent. The water was icy cold and we were very cold before coming into it. With some difficulty I managed to undo a button or so and blow out my Gieves waistcoat, but it wasn't really necessary as I was keeping afloat well. After a bit some life belts were thrown out, and two men came out on a little raft. I swam to a life belt and my observer (Collen) [Lieut. A. R. Collen, R.M.A.] got on the raft. We both had to be hauled up out of the dock with ropes, and by the time we got on terra firma it was as much as we could do to stand up. We were in the water about 20 minutes, and I don't think I have ever been so cold before.

We walked rapidly off to the aerodrome, half a mile away, and there had a stiff rum and milk, and stripped in front of a fire and had a good rub down. We had lunch wrapped up in towels and were then rigged out in blue jerseys and blue serge trousers. This afternoon we have both had a hot bath and are feeling none the worse. The CO. was very amused about the whole proceeding and laughed heartily at us. The machine is but very little damaged, but will take some salving. My pocket book, cheque book, etc, are all in a nasty sticky state. Thank goodness ! I hadn't my gold watch.

My clothes (including new fur coat) are, I am afraid, all ruined.

This afternoon Garros [Lieut. Roland Garros] shot down a Taube from his Morane. The poor wretches were burnt to death. Two of our people raided Zeebrugge and Hoboken again this morning.

Love to all.

Ever your loving brother,

Harold.

To his Father.

No. 1, Naval Aeroplane Squadron, B.E.F., 12th April, 1915.

Dear Dad,

Many thanks for letter received yesterday telling of your safe return. I think you must have omitted enclosure. By the way, the papers turned up the day after you left.

Have been very busy the last two days with our new busses. None have been flown yet, but we are prepared for fireworks. Three men have been killed on them in Paris in the last month. Babington and Sippe are both back.

S G turned base over apex on landing his tabloid [fast scouting machine].

15th April, 1915.

Sad to relate, I have decided to part with old 873. She was really getting too ancient, and has now been packed up and is going to be sent home for School work ; too bad, isn't it ? It would have been a far better ending had I crashed her. 1 have written up her raids inside the fuselage — (1) Friedrichshafen, (2) Zeebrugge, (3) Ostend, (4) Ostend again, and (5) Hoboken — some record ! I asked permission to fly her home, but the CO. didn't bite. 1 was awfully disappointed.

My new bus is a Morane parasol, 80 h.p. Le Rhone. They are supposed to climb like fire and do over 80 miles per hour, but are very touchy on the elevator and rather trying to fly. I have not yet been up in her.

Garros brought another machine down to-day, and a Frenchman managed to fly back to our own lines after having one foot smashed by shrapnel over Ostend.

17th April, 1915.

Very little news of interest to tell you, but here goes for what there is. My Morane parasol was ready to-day and Babington tested it. If the weather is fine to-morrow, I shall float forth on it into the " ethereal blue." Not having flown a monoplane before, I am all of a "doo-da."

Yesterday I went out to see the War at N . Though a fine day, the Bosches were not bombarding, so we went around in peace, and I brought back a few shell fragments with me which you may find interesting. For the rest, our miserable lives continue much as before. The Frenchmen here have lost a machine to-day, but the R.F.C. brought down an Aviatik at Wipers, so that makes us all square.

19th April, 1915.

I have flown my Morane twice. It is a most comic affair, but I think I shall like it when I get more used to it. It is very light on the controls, especially the elevator, and gets off the ground before you can say " squeak." Garros was missing last night, and there has since been a rumour that he is a prisoner of war.(Lieutenant-aviator Roland Garros (French) was forced to land near Ingelmunster, in West Flanders, on the evening of the 18th April, and was taken prisoner). This is, of course, a nasty knock for us.

A Frenchman had rather a bad accident here this morning. He ran over the bank at the top end of the aerodrome in a Voisin and turned a complete somersault. The machine immediately caught fire. The passenger got off all right, but the pilot was badly burnt. Five minutes after they got him out one of his bombs went off with a terrific bang. The machine was entirely wrecked.

24th April, 1915.

Just a few lines to let you know I am still in the land of the living. 1 see in the papers that Colonel Rosher (Dorsets) has been killed in the Persian Gulf. The Dorsets seem to have had a pretty rough time.

Spenser Grey [Squadron Commander Spenser D. A. Grey, D.S.O., R.N.] and Marsden [Flt. Lieut. M. S. Marsden, R.N.] paid a visit to Ostend to-day with bombs, and Sippe was turned upside down on the ground in a Morane by a gust of wind this afternoon. He was unhurt, but the machine was badly damaged.

27th April, 1915.

Many thanks for the torches, papers, etc. There is nothing much doing here at the moment. According to the papers, the Germans are making another dash for this place. There is certainly a hell of a row going on. We hear the guns day and night.

29th April, 1915.

Not a line from anyone for quite three days ! Whatever has become of you all ? There has been some excitement here to-day. To begin with, three enemy aircraft came over here before breakfast, and then another between eleven and twelve o'clock. It was most comic to see our infuriated machines dashing off into the atmosphere in pursuit, with not an earthly chance of catching them. Soon after eleven o'clock there was a big explosion in the town and we all did a great leap into the air. From then, for nearly three hours, we were shelled with the greatest regularity at five minute intervals. We all climbed on to the roof of one of our sheds and watched through glasses the explosions, occurring to the second almost; big stuff it was too, 12'' I should say, and fired from the back of Nieuport, quite 20 miles away. The total bag was 40 killed and 60 wounded. They put about 20 shells into the town, one only 500 yards from the Sophie.* To give you an idea of the damage they do, one shell wrecked two houses entirely and half of both houses on either side. Windows were broken in the streets all round — some mess, I can tell you.

Love to all,

Ever your loving son

Harold.

*The villa where he was billeted.

Note.

About the end of April Lieut. Rosher crashed on his Morane at Dunkirk.

The machine overturned and was completely smashed up but he came out uninjured.

V. TAKING A NEW MACHINE TO FRANCE

In the second week of May 1915, Harold Rosher arrived home unexpectedly, with orders to fly a new machine, a B.E. 2 C, from Hendon to Dunkirk. He tried the machine, but was not satisfied with the engine. On the 12th May, however, he telephoned to his father to come to the aerodrome to lunch with him, as he intended, if possible, to make a start immediately after lunch. The latter accordingly joined him, and about 3 p.m. Harold got into the machine and his father bade him farewell. As he rose, one could hear the engine missing, and at about 1000 feet, realizing that there was clearly something wrong, Harold turned back to the aerodrome.

Mechanics from the makers were sent for and they spent a day or two on the engine. On the 16th May, as he was told nothing more could be done to it, he decided to move off. He got across to Dunkirk, and his experiences en route are described in the following letters.

To his Mother.

The Grand Hotel,

Folkestone.

17th May, 1915.

Dearest Mum,

I was up betimes yesterday morning, but did not get away from Hendon until about 7.0 a.m. I could only secure half a dozen biscuits and a cup of tea before leaving. It was very thick, and clouds at 4,000 feet. I went via Harrow, Staines, and Redhill. Once at this last place, all you have to do is to follow the railway line, which runs straight as a die to Ashford. My engine was most alarming, making all sorts of weird noises, and I was kept very busy the whole way spotting the field I should land in if it petered out.

A pretty strong head wind made the going slow, and just after Redhill I ran into rain. I stuck it for half an hour, getting very wet and seeing hardly anything. Then the engine showed serious signs of giving up the ghost. What finally made me decide to come down was that I couldn't get any pressure in my petrol tank. I went on a bit and then chose a good-looking field with a road on one side and some houses at one corner. Here I landed in great style.

On getting down, the field was not quite so good as it looked from above, being on a slope and with a somewhat uneven surface. The usual crowd collected, despite the rain, and I soon had the machine covered up with tarpaulins and a territorial guard installed. 1 had breakfast with a Mr. and Mrs. R close by, and afterwards went into Headcorn, a mile away, and telephoned to the Admiralty, etc. I had lunch with the R s and five daughters (swish, I was all of a doo-da !), and then spent the whole of the afternoon trying to get my beastly engine to go. It's an awful dud.

I eventually took the air before an admiring crowd at about 5.0 p.m., and made for Folkestone soon after. It was a wretched evening, and though it had stopped raining, I had to come down to under 2,000 feet to avoid clouds. I caught a glimpse of Wye when passing Ashford. Made a very stunt landing here and met a R.F.C. officer 1 know. We came straight on to the Grand, and after a drink at the Metropole, I had a bath, then dinner and a smoke, and went to bed. To-day it is blowing a gale and raining cats and dogs. Am proceeding to Dover first opportunity.

Love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Father,

No. 1 Wing, R.N.A.S., B.E.F.

19th May, 1915.

Dear Dad,

I have at last arrived safely at my destination. Yesterday was a rotten day, but I motored to Dover in the afternoon and from there into St. Margaret's Bay, where I saw the holes made by the Zepp bombs. They were most disappointing, being very small, one foot by six inches deep. They were incendiary and not explosive.

I took the air from Folkestone this afternoon at 3. 1 5 and circled round for 1 5 minutes, getting to only 2,000 feet. At that I pushed off across the Channel. My engine developed a most appalling vibration, and I hardly hoped to reach the other side. I arrived at Calais at 1,500 feet, and struggled on up the coast here.

Things are much as usual. I am taking an 80 Avro out to an advanced base to-morrow morning, the B.E., of course, being useless. Maude and Andreae are at Whale Island, the Commander in town, and Sippe and ilson [J. P. Wilson, D.S.O,, Squadron Comdr., R.N.] in Paris. We are all at the aerodrome and most Lincomfy — Baillie [Lieut. J. E. Innes Baillie, R.M.A.] on leave, and Courtney going on sick leave to-morrow. Please send the gramophone at once.

21st May, 1915.

Here I am, going strong at our advanced base, only five miles behind the firing line. I was up yesterday morning at four, but did not get away in the Avro until five, as it was very misty. I arrived here in due course.

We have a ripping little villa at. It is a most interesting place ; the King of the Belgians lives here. We were shelled the night before last, and a Taube came over this morning and dropped a bomb at the end of the aerodrome. Will write more later.

22nd May, 1915.

Nothing very much in the way of news. A Taube came right over the aerodrome this morning at about 7,000 feet. I at once went after it in the Avro, but got nowhere near. First thing this morning I saw a Maurice coming down vertically and spinning hard — lost sight of it behind the housetops — pilot and passenger badly hurt — was surprised to hear they were alive. It was a horrid sight. Anxiously awaiting arrival of gramophone.

23rd May, 1915.

Turned out soon after five this morning: and went up for an hour and a half waiting for Taubes. I chased several allied machines, but found nothing hostile. Had not been down twenty minutes before one came out.

Later on in the morning two came right over the aerodrome. I went up in pursuit, but got nowhere near them. Things are pretty lively on the whole. Besides the regular artillery, there is an intermittent cannonade of anti-aircraft guns, either from us at the Taubes or from the Huns at us. The sky becomes absolutely dotted with little puffs of shrapnel, which are visible for half an hour at least.

This evening I went into the town. It's full of life, a band playing and all the shops open.

Babington flew my B.E. yesterday,* and the beastly thing nearly caught fire. We are getting a new engine for it from Paris.

Love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

* This was the machine he flew from Hendon to Dunkirk.

VI. WITH THE BEF AGAIN

To his Mother.

No. 1 Wing, R.N.A.S.,

B Squadron, B.E.F.

29th May, 1915.

Dearest Mum,

Have not written for ages, but you must excuse, as we have been so busy.

This is really my first opportunity. All sorts of things have been happening. To begin with, the Commander announced the other night that the whole wing is going to be recalled within the next two months, so I shall anyhow be home again before long — expect to go into seaplanes.

We had a Zep scare the other night, though it was blowing half a gale.

We were at the aerodrome all night, and went up at 3.0 a.m. for an hour and a half — eventually got to bed at 6.0 a.m. and slept until 10 o'clock.

We have been having some lovely weather lately, except the last few days, which have been bad. All the same we keep flying in any weather, sometimes two and three trips a day.

1 went out to the War the other afternoon to see one of our anti-aircraft guns. We fired into the German trenches, and about two minutes later they replied with zest. Four or five shells whizzed over and burst about 30 yards behind us in a field. I picked up some fragments almost too hot to hold. We were within 1000 yards of the Huns and could see their and our own trenches rippingly through glasses.

Have given up chasing Taubes. One can never get them. We have commandeered an old bathing hut for our office at the aerodrome, and have rigged up an awning outside, and bought deck chairs. You should see us all lying back in the sun with field glasses glued to our eyes, watching the various aeroplanes, with shrapnel bursting all round them.

Our shooting is awfully bad on the whole.

Our villa is first-rate, and oh ! the gramophone has arrived safe and sound. Willing hands helped to unpack it, and we got it going in record time. It is immensely appreciated. We had some Belgian officers to dinner the other night, and last night we visited them. They are awfully good fellows and we got on famously.

Last night was great fun. The Belgian C had unfortunately swallowed two submarines by mistake, and the only English he knew was, "To your eyes."

This we drank, also "England toujours " and " Vive les Beiges." English and French songs were sung, etc., etc. There was a huge uproar. The Belgian C would insist on wearing B 's hat, and bestowed many kisses on the badge before parting with it.

I do wish my camera would arrive, as I am missing some great opportunities.

Love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Sister.

No. 1 Wing, R.N.A.S.,

B Squadron, B.E.F.

30th May, 1915.

Dear old Girl,

Just a line or so, which I fear will belate, to wish you many happy returns. I suppose I shall have to forget these occasions very shortly, or at least to pretend to. Am enclosing a pound note for you to get yourself some oddments, as there is nothing to be had out here. I went into Dunkirk for lunch to-day — every one was very cheery. I had a wonderful view of part of the front this evening, every trench and shell hole standing out with extraordinary clearness. Am hoping to be home again before long.

Very best love.

Ever your loving brother,

Harold.

To his Father.

No. 1 Wing, R.N.A.S.,

B Squadron, B.E.F.

1st June, 1915.

Dear Dad,

Have had quite a number of thrills since I wrote last. Yesterday afternoon I reached a height of 10,400 feet on my Avro on a reconnaissance, which is my height record so far — some volplane descending.

In the evening we had a 'phone message, "Stand by to attack Zeppelin," and on looking out, there it was as large as life a few miles out to sea and very high. We rushed up to the aerodrome and got off by 8.40 p.m. I went straight out to sea after it and got to 6000 feet in 15 minutes, but was never within ten miles of the thing. I wasn't overtaking it at all, but on the contrary it was gaining on me, and after half an hour I lost sight of it. The sun, of course, was right down by now and I steered home by various lights on shore, for the coast was quite invisible. Had some difficulty in picking out the aerodrome, although huge petrol flares were out, but made quite a good landing. I came in very flat but never saw the ground at all. I touched it when I thought I was still 50 feet up, and also caught the top of the hedge coming into the aerodrome — it was most deceptive. G, you will remember, was killed at Hendon through not flattening out soon enough.

We next had some dinner, but mine was spoilt through a message from the Commander, which contained instructions for me to drop bombs on an airship shed at Gontrode, near Ghent. The moon rose soon after midnight and at 1.30 a.m. I started off. Things in general have a most depressing aspect at that hour of the morning. I went out to sea via Zeebrugge, and then cut inland. When I arrived at the place, there was a thick ground mist and dawn was just breaking. I could not see the sheds at all, but two searchlights were going hard. I half circled round, when lo ! and behold ! I sighted the Zeppelin coming home over Zeebrugge. I turned off due east to avoid being seen, intending to wait until he came down and then to catch him sitting. But my luck was out. One of the searchlights picked me up, and anti-aircraft guns immediately opened fire on me.

Then a curious thing happened. The Zeppelin sighted me (I think the searchlights were signalling) and immediately came for me. This was the tables turned on me with a vengeance, and the very last thing I ever dreamt of. It was a regular nightmare. I was only 6000 feet up, and the Zepp, which was very fast, must have been ten. Without being able to get above it, I was, of course, helpless and entirely at the mercy of his maxim guns. I don't think I have been so disconcerted for a long time.

We had "some" race ! He tried to cut me off from Holland, but I got across his bows. He was a huge big thing, most imposing, and turned rapidly with the greatest of ease. I hung around north of Ghent, climbing hard, and reached 8,500 feet, but the Zepp wasn't having any.

He wasn't coming down while I was there, and 1, on the other hand, couldn't get up to him, as he had risen to some fabulous height, so after a bit I pushed off home feeling very discontented at such an unsatisfactory ending. What else could I do ? I wasn't going hack on the chance of spotting the sheds, with anti-aircraft guns waiting for me below and a Zepp ready to pounce on me from above.

1 disposed of my bombs in the sea before landing, and got back after three hours in the air — eventually got to bed at something after 6 a.m.

Have been in to see the Commander to-day, and he was kind enough to tell me I had done all that was possible. He also gave me a little job, which necessitates my getting away soon after midnight to-night. Pray the Lord my engine holds out !

Love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

P.S. — 1 hear the Zepp dropped bombs at - . I must have followed him half-way across.

To his Mother.

No. 1 Wing, R.N.A.S.,

B Squadron, B.E.F.

2nd June, 1915.

Dear Mum,

Just a line to let you know how I fared last night. 1 left the aerodrome in the moonlight at one in the morning and I did not at all relish it. I went out to sea past Zeebrugge and cut in over Northern Belgium. Could see the lights of Flushing quite plainly, but it was quite hopeless to find my destination, owing to a thick ground mist, so I returned, dropping my bombs on Blankenberghe on the way. I was only away 1 3/4 hours, and it was just getting light as I got back. I landed with the help of flares and got to bed by 4 a.m.

Love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Father.

No. 1 Wing, R.N.A.S.,

B Squadron, B.E.F.

5th June, 1915 .

Dear Dad,

Very little news to tell you, but thought you might like a line or so. 1 saw in the papers that poor old Barnes * has been killed and Travers [H. C. Travers, Fit. Sub-Lieut., R.N.] slightly injured. You remember meeting them both at Hendon. Their names appeared in the casualty lists, so I presume it was not an ordinary smash. Have heard no particulars, but 1 should fancy they both went up at night after the Zepps, and either had an engine failure or misjudged landing. That's another old Hendonite gone, though he wasn't one of the original ones, and don't think he is in the big photo group.

We lost a seaplane pilot out here the other day. He was brought down off Ostend. Also an awfully nice Belgian I know was taken prisoner two days ago.

Have returned my Avro to headquarters and am now flying my B.E. again. I only hold the controls just on getting off and on landing. I don't like them [the B.E. machines] in bad weather. They are too automatic. I have been getting some fine views lately of the lines. It's most interesting up this way.

Babington went home some days ago and Sippe is now in charge here. He has been unwell the last three days, so I am left in command of the station — four officers under me, over 30 men, machines, and seven or eight motors of various descriptions.

Have hopes of being given a Nieuport in a day or so. They are fast scouts, supposed to do over 90 miles per hour, and should get a Zepp with one with any luck. Don't know when I am rejoining Babington.

Love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

* Flight Sub-Lieut. Henry Barnes, killed in an accident near London, 4th Oct., 1915.

To his Mother.

No. 1 Wing, R.N.A.S.,

B Squadron, B.E.F.

5th June, 1915.

Dearest Mum,

I think you cannot have been getting all my letters, as 1 have never let 10 days go by without a line or so. You are so insistent on numerous letters that you must really excuse the margin or I shall reduce to postcards. Yes, I got the five pounds all right and am urgently wanting the other. You don't seem to fully realize yet that I have left Dunkirk, and that there is not, and never has been, such a thing as a bank within miles of the place. The camera and papers turned up yesterday, for which many thanks. Do send Flight and the Aeroplane. I have not seen them for weeks. Am just about fed up with this place. We are being turned out and having tents up at the aerodrome.

Big haul last night. Warneford [R. A. J. Warneford, V.C., Fit.

Sub-Lieut, R.N.] caught a Zepp at 6,000 feet and did it in, and another was caught in its shed by Wilson and Mills [J. S. Wilson, D.S.C. ; F.

Mills, D.S.C., both Flight Comdrs., R.N.].

There was also a huge fire at the hospital here last night. All the wounded men were got out, and the sands were strewn with them in beds, etc.

Love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Father.

No. 1 Wing, R,N.A.S.,

B Squadron, B.E.F.

8th June, 1915.

Dear Dad,

We are now in tents. Great news about Warneford, isn't it ? He certainly deserves the V.C. Am going to fly a Nieuport to-morrow.

12th June, 1915.

Things have been going on much as usual the last few days, but to-morrow I am going down south somewhere (I don't yet know where) to do some spotting for the army. Expect to be away about ten days or perhaps two weeks. Address all letters as usual. It will probably be some time before I receive them. I quite expect I shall run across a number of people I know. It should be an interesting visit, plenty of shell fire though, no doubt.

I flew a Nieuport the other day and hope later to get one of my own.

Have not yet heard from Babington. Fear our chances of getting away with him are very slender.

Gramophone going strong.

Love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Mother.

No. 1 Wing, R.N.A.S.,

B Squadron, B.E.F.

19th June, 1915.

Dearest Mum,

It's ages since 1 wrote, but it can't be helped, as I have been so awfully busy. For the last week I have been in the neighborhood of La Bassee, and of course by now you have seen in the papers all about the heavy fighting there. The bombardment was terrific, quite impossible to describe. One day, in the afternoon, I saw it all from above. The small section of trenches they were shelling was simply a mass of smoke and dust, a perfect hell. In the evening of the same day I went out in a car to a point of vantage about three miles behind the line. It was a wonderful sight. Though not near enough to see the infantry advancing, we had, all the same, a fine view. Whenever there was a slight lull in the firing, we heard the maxims and rifles hard at it.

There is no mistaking the battle line in this part of the world — a long, narrow winding blighted patch of land, extending roughly N. and S.

as far as the eye can see. In the middle of it two rows of trenches, in places only 50 yards apart, stand out very conspicuously. These are our first line and that of the Huns. Behind each are the second and third lines, with little zigzag communicating trenches between. It is most interesting. There are some beastly Archies [anti-aircraft guns] though, which come unpleasantly near first shot. Machines are being hit day after day.

Am more or less comfortable on the whole, but running short of socks and hankies. Am also being bitten to death and "hae my doots" about their being mosquitoes. Terrible trouble with machines. I crashed an undercarriage the other day and cannot get an engine to go. Isn't it terrible news about Warneford ? He fell out of his machine, not being strapped in, Babington is in hospital. His foot is giving him trouble again, so fear we shall not get away with him yet awhile.

The dust out here is appalling. Will write again as soon as I can.

Best love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Father.

No. 1 Squadron,

Royal Flying Corps, B.E.F.

24th June, 1915.

Dear Dad,

Very little news. From what I can see, we are likely to be down here for at least another two weeks. I don't much mind, as in a way I would sooner be here for a little. The change though has rather worn off. Am not a bit comfortable, my billet being a horrible dirty place, with all sorts of weird odours. Food pretty fair, but none too clean, and all eating utensils invariably very dirty.

I suppose tennis is in full swing at home. Pity I'm not due for another spot of leave yet. I got the parcel of papers all right, but not Flight and the Aeroplane. Think they must have gone astray.

No. 1 Wing, R.N.A.S., B.E.F.

21st July, 1915.

I flew my old B.E. back here [Dunkirk] yesterday, as it has been hot stuffed [requisitioned]. 1 admit it is rather a dud, but 1 had no wish to exchange it for a Voisin. After some little trouble I persuaded the Commander to let me have a Morane instead, and tried quite a nice one this morning, the first time I have flown one since I smashed. They are beastly unstable things, and I fully expect to turn this one over before the week is out. The Commander is keeping me here for a few days' rest before returning to the R.F.C. Dunkirk is quite a lively place nowadays.

The Huns have dropped bombs on the aerodrome twice in the last week, but fortunately none of the lads were killed.

Love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

Note.

On the 25th July, 1915, Harold Rosher arrived home on two days leave, having come across to attend a conference.

To his Father.

No. 1 Wing, R.N.A.S., B.E.F.

28th July, 1915.

Dear Dad,

Have had a ripping journey back. The country down to Folkestone was just too lovely for words, especially round Ashford. Saw Milverton [the house where he was born] on the way. Had a first-rate crossing, and was met by one of the Rolls [Rolls-Royce car] at Boulogne, so your wire arrived all right. Had lunch at the "Folkestone" before starting back, and then a topping run here. Went out to see the lads at F in the evening. Sippe is back again and Baillie in great form. He sends his chin chins, and I gave him yours.

A Hun came over at midnight last night and bombed us. His eight bombs fell nearly a mile away, though.

31st July, 1915.

More excitement. I was due for an anti-aircraft patrol this morning, and just as I was ready, a little before 4.0 a.m., a Hun machine came over and bombed us. Three bombs fell within a hundred yards of me. I went up after him at once, but lost sight of him in the air, so continued the usual patrol. When I got back, I found that six other machines had followed the first, arriving about fifteen minutes after. None of their bombs did any damage at all. They seem determined to strafe this place.

A regular cloud of machines goes up after them whenever they appear, but we haven't had much luck as yet.

Expect to be stationed at Dover again in about ten days, for a little while anyhow. The Commander seems to think I don't look fit enough to go out to the Dardanelles. Apparently they are being bowled over with dysentery.

Love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

VII. ON HOME SERVICE AGAIN

To his Father.

R.N. Flying School, Eastchurch.

3rd August, 1915.

Dear Dad,

I left Dover yesterday afternoon on B.E. 2 C, and had a convenient engine failure at Westgate. Landed in the aerodrome and had a chat with Maude before proceeding. Arrived here in due course — it is a most desolate spot. Shall be here anything between three days and three weeks. Saw Babington here soon after I arrived.

10th August, 1915.

I don't seem to be able to get away from this damn war. Last night " old man Zepp " came over here — " beaucoup de bombs," — " pas de success."

Two machines went up to spikebozzle him, but, of course, never even saw him. A sub went up from Westgate and came down in standing corn. He turned two somersaults. Have just heard that he has since died. I knew him slightly. We have a terrific big bomb hole in the middle of the aerodrome and numerous smaller ones at the back. Expect to be back in Dunkirk on Sunday next. “Pas de Dardanelles." We are going into khaki though.

Love to all.

Ever your loving son,

Harold.

To his Father.

Hotel Burlington, Dover.

12th August, 1915.

Dear Dad,

Have just arrived here from Eastchurch, having been suddenly recalled, and am now told to be ready to cross to Dunkirk in half an hour — no gear, dirty linen, "pas de leave" — what a life !

Shall try hard to get some leave in a week or so's time. Anyhow I must get my khaki outfit.

Love.

Your loving son,

Harold.

Lost and Forgotten United States Navy Heroes

2008-04-28T00:38:00.002+08:00

About sixteen miles to the east, Wilkes had seen a beautiful islet that he judged to be far enough from Malolo that they might bury (Lieutenant) Underwood and (Midshipman) Henry “… with out exhumation …it was a lovely spot”. Wilkes wrote “In a shade so dense that scarce a ray of sun could penetrate it”. The grave had been dug deep into the white sand which was soon stained red with blood. (Prilbrick,N. 2003)

“War was now declared against the Island” (Emmons, G. Lt. USN. 25^th July, 1840)

Wars can be peculiar; some are famous but many remain insignificant, forgotten or unknown. The Oxford Dictionary defines wars as hostility between nations and between “persons”, formally declared or otherwise and regardless of dimension. Americans know of the battles of Valley Forge, Gettysburg, Iwo Jima, the Battle of the Bulge and foreign encounters such as Trafalgar, Waterloo, and Stalingrad. One confrontation virtually of which all Americans know nothing of is a four-day war on the South Pacific island of Malolo in the Fiji Islands, 24^th- 27th July 1840. This skirmish represents the first conflict of any United States service in the South Pacific resulting in the deaths of Lieutenant Joseph Underwood USN and Midshipman Wilkes Henry USN.

During that period, “The Feejees” or “Cannibal Islands” as they were then termed were well known for dangerous reefs and aggressive inhabitants. It was a precarious place for foreign visitors and had only recently had contact with Europeans in the form of missionaries, sandalwood and beche dê mer traders and passing whalers. In 1789 Lt. William Bligh of the Royal Navy with his loyal crew, who had been set adrift in a small cutter following the mutiny on HMS Bounty, elected not land in the Fiji’s despite badly needing water and food. Their over-crowded boat had been attacked by a number of bola, or war canoes, just a few score miles north of Malolo Island. By brilliant tacking against the wind through straits now known as “Bligh Water”, the launch managed to out-manoeuvre the canoes and sailed on to Timor. The passage of the Bounty’s launch, depth sounding as it sailed, represented the first significant European navigation of this major South Pacific island group.

The 1840 incident on Malolo Island occurred when the United States Navy Exploring Expedition (1838-1842), under the command of Commodore Charles Wilkes, was surveying the western islands of Fiji. On the morning of the 24^th July, Underwood and a sailor named Clark landed on Malolo scouting for fresh water and food. They soon meet a group of islanders and, with the help of a New Zealand interpreter, learned that four hogs were available on the southern side of the island. The leader Underwood took a chief’s son as hostage and sailed off in a cutter to collect the pigs. He was joined by a young midshipman Wilkes Henry, the elder son of Wilkes’s windowed sister, and seven sailors. Although warned to take muskets, Underwood was of the opinion the threat from the Fijians was overstated and said “… the best way to gain their confidence was to trust and show that you did not fear them”. He took only three muskets instead of the ten issued.

On the cutter’s arrival at the village there was disagreement over the value of the pigs, their size and a delay by the chief to conclude the transaction. The Fijian hostage escaped which resulted in a warning bullet being fired over his head. Thinking that his son was being killed the chief ordered his warriors, armed with war clubs, to attack the foreign sailors. Lt. George Emmons, writing in his log, was of the opinion the escape of the hostage was the signal for over a 100 warriors to ambush Underwood’s party as they were heavily armed and waiting hidden in the mangroves. In the subsequent mêlée, Underwood and Wilkes were both killed heroically covering the retreat of the sailors to the cutter. Only one unnamed sailor and Clark stood by their officers. Single-handed Clark charged the warriors, and after killing at least one, he was clubbed to the ground. Clarke rose, badly wounded, to his feet “… finding reserves of energy he didn’t know he possessed” and stumbled to the dying Underwood. He was again attacked and suffered serious wounds to his face and fell unconscious in the sand. .

Emmons on the USS Fying Fish, observing what was happening headed for the beach with another officer, Lt. Alden. They found the beach now abandoned excepted for the two near-naked bodies of the American officers; both had been stripped. They were shocked to find a white man staggering out of the scrub with “… his face a horrible mess of mangled flesh”; it was Clark. Having no recollection of his actions after been clubbed, Clark had eventually recovered, got up and wandered through the warriors laughing and singing. The Fijians made no further attempt to harm this “… gruesome apparition”.

After recovering the two bodies, the American ships sailed to a small uninhabited island named Kadavulailai about 16 miles from Malolo. It was there on the next day, 25^th July, 20 sailors of the USN carried the two young men wrapped in the American flag to a secluded part of the islet. In a grove of banyan trees the expedition’s artist, Alfred Agate, read the funeral service. After the sailors fired three volleys of musket shot over the grave as a final salute to the two deceased “… a flock of birds took wing overhead”.

The journal of Emmons recorded “War was now declared against the Island”. On the 26^th, Wilkes ordered a reprisal attack on the island. Over 100 sailors landed on Malolo and attacked two villages. After killing about 80 Fijian men and at least one female they then torched the villages. Although Wilkes ordered that women and children be spared, women were seen firing “arrows” at the sailors. The only USN casualty was a sailor wounded in the leg by one of the missiles. On the following day, 27^thJuly, the Fijians offered their regrets to Wilkes for the misunderstanding and offered two girls, food and water as retribution.

After the “Malolo War” the expedition continued surveying the Fiji islands for another three weeks then sailed for Manua Loa in the Hawaiian Islands. Charts made by the Wilkes Expedition were still in use during the Second World War, 102 years later. Following four years mapping the Pacific Ocean and naming the Antarctica, the Expedition returned home to a frosty reception and the court martial of Commodore Wilkes. There had been discontent within the Expedition and Wilkes’s character was summed up as “lubberly obstinacy”.

A decade latter Charles Wilkes became a national hero of the American Civil War when he extradited two Confederate agents from the British vessel Trent. Nathaniel Philbrick, author of Sea of Glory and In the Heart of the Sea, wrote that the United States Navy Exploring Expedition was a voyage of discovery that “… dwarfed the journey of Lewis and Clark”. Furthermore, the Expedition conducted ground breaking scientific research and accumulated scientific and ethnological specimens that would become the foundation of the Smithsonian Institute in Washington.

Sources:

Clark, George W. Journal. Unpublished records relating to The U.S. Exploring Expedition (Mircocopy 75) Roll 25 National Archives, Washington.

Emmons, G. F. Journal. Unpublished records 3 vols. Yale Collection of Western Americana, Beinecke Rare and Manuscript Library.

Philbrick, Nathaniel. Sea of Glory: America’s Voyage of Discover: The U.S. Exploring Expedition. Penguin Books, New York. 2003.

PROPOSED USN GRAVE REHABILITATION – KADAVULAILAI

Objective:

a) To identify and rehabilitate the two USN graves on Kadavulailai. These two officers have been bye-past by history. They should be recognized to the same public awareness as those interred at Normandy, Saipan or Okinawa. Furthermore they should be remembered as the first US military servicemen to die for their country in the South Pacific pre-dating Guadalcanal by hundred and two years.

b) Subject to consultation with the people of Malolo, erect a memorial obelisk to all those that died in 1840 four-day war.

86th Communication Wing, Regular Passenger Service for Peace Conference

2008-01-19T11:04:00.001+09:00

86th Communication Wing
An aerial mail and passenger service was instituted in the latter part of 1918 for the purpose of providing a rapid means of communication between London and Paris for the convenience of members of the Government and of the headquarters staff of the Air Ministry. This service was carried out by two squadrons, one stationed at Hendon, afterwards moved to Kenley, and one at Buc near Paris. In all 934 passengers, excluding crew, and 1020 mail bags or despatches have been carried in 744 trips over this route since the commencement of the service up to August 1919. Over 90% of these flights were between London and Paris with the rest to various towns in France and Belgium.

The principle types of aircraft used were Handley Page 0/400 fitted with 2 Rolls Royce engines and DH4 or DH4A aircraft also fitted with Rolls Royce engines. Flights of these types amounted to 96% of the total flights made.

The following table shows the percentage of trips completed by the various types of aircraft. All trips on which the destination was reached the same day have been counted as completed trips, even though forced landings had been made on route for weather or other reasons.

Aircraft type No of trips since 16th March 1919 Percentage of trips completed same day
Commenced Completed same day
DH4 both types 491 453 92.3%
Handley Page 0/400 92 81 88%
Martinsyde 20 18 90%
Bristol Fighter 4 4 100%
Avro 1 - -
Total 608 556 91%

As you can see the DH4 and DH4A were the real workhorses of the squadrons.

The frequency with which aircraft and pilots were used on the service during this period is as follows:
DH4 aircraft made 10 or more flights with one flight on average 6 days. In the case of the Handley Page 0/400 one in 7 days. In all 73 pilots made flights, this large number being due to demobilisation and constant state of flux of the personnel.

As regards pilots who made 10 or more flights the frequency was one in 6 days for the DH4 pilots and one in 6 days for the Handley page pilots. Two pilots were carried on most occasions in Handley Page aircraft and two or sometimes three mechanics.

It will be seen that the personnel and aircraft were not working to their maximum capacity. This accounted for to a great extent by the fact that the King’s Messenger leaves London very early and unless the weather conditions are then good the mails are carried by rail and steamers. On many occasions although not fit for flying when the King’s Messenger left, the weather had much improved within a couple of hours and the mail could then have gone by air.

86 Wing Data:
Nos. 1 and 2 [Communication] Squadrons
Personnel of the two squadrons: 53 officers and 404 Other ranks
Aircraft: 21 DH4 and DH4A
9 Handley page 0/400
1 Martinsyde
1 Avro
A kite balloon section was attached to the Wing, however it was very seldom in use.

The total number of passengers (excluding crew) carried in May 1919 was 176, and the total number of mail bags or despatches carried was 225. Taking the average weight of a mail bag or despatch as 25lbs, and assuming the weight of a passenger to be 180lbs, including personnel luggage which has been carried, the total weight carried is 36,900lbs. It nay be noted that the average weight carried per month during the four months, May-August 1919 was 35,300lbs. As the routes over which the cargos were carried varied very slightly from month to month, the work done in May is a fair representative amount, differing as it does by only 4% from the monthly average.

The following table shows the actual amount of mails and passengers in May over the various routes:

Kenley – Paris Mails Passengers Point to Point Distance miles

Between Kenley & Paris 218 165 205
Kenley & Brussels - 4 200
Kenley & Marquise - 1 85
Kenley & Hesdin 6 - 113
Lympne & Paris 1 1 165
Kenley & Cramwell
(Circular tour) - 5 (say 400)

Totals 225 176

All this cost 30,585 pounds with the resulting cost per ounce was one shilling and a halfpenny over an average distance of 205 miles.

Casualties to Personnel

The record of the London to Paris service from the point of view of accidents to personnel is not nearly so good as the record of the Folkestone to Cologne service. In the latter case it will be remembered that the casualties were one pilot and one passenger injured in 1842 flights. On the London to Paris route three pilots (including Captain Jefferson) and one passenger have been killed and two pilots and two passengers injured in a total of 744 flights. It must be remembered however that the date in respect of the Kenley to Paris route covers the period from November 1918 to August 1919, thus including all the winter months, whereas in the Folkestone to Cologne service, the return covers the period from March to August 1919.

The casualties occurred in five accidents.

1. One pilot was killed and a passenger injured when a machine was caught in a sudden squall of hail and wind and crashed on the roof of a building.

2. One pilot (Captain Jefferson) and one passenger were killed when a machine came down in the Channel owing to bad weather. The report of the crash incident in The Times of the following day. His passenger was a Jewish gentleman who Jefferson was ferrying to Palestine, I believe. Reading it, I had the distinct impression that it was all rather hush-hush stuff and that it had only come to light because of the unfortunate crash! Perhaps the 'Communications Sqd' dealt in that kind of clandestine work.

3. One pilot was killed owing to complete engine failure immediately after taking off. The passenger in this instance escaped uninjured.

4. One pilot and a passenger were injured in a forced landing owing to weather.

5. One pilot was slightly injured in a forced landing owing to engine trouble.

All the accidents due to weather conditions occurred before the end of May 1919. The two pilots who were reported as injured have since resumed flying duty.

Moth at Darwin

2008-01-19T10:44:00.000+09:00

RAAF Anson

THE FORMATION OF DARWIN RAAF STATION

Planning for the first permanent RAAF involvement in Northern Australia began in 1937, and by late December of that year, had reached the stage where design drawings for an Air Station to be established at Darwin were sent from the Defence Department to the Department of Interior.

In April 1938, the Chief of Air Staff advised Wing Commander George Jones, then Director of Personnel Services at RAAF Headquarters at Laverton, and Squadron Leader Charles ‘Moth’ Eaton, then Station Headquarters Staff at Laverton, that they were to be appointed Commanders respectively of the new Northern Station and the Squadron. It was anticipated that this would come into being as early as September. These two Officers worked together over succeeding weeks in developing plans for the Station, and in mid-May flew to Darwin in Avro Anson A4-1 to carry out an inspection on the ground.

Despite the time-frame originally envisaged, matters progressed slowly. It was not until 21 February 1939, that the Air Board had estimates from the Works Branch of The Department of Interior for the construction of major buildings of the new Base. The Board was horrified to discover that the cost of two hangers was £95,000, but the Minister approved the project on 8 March 1939, directing that the Board’s concern regarding the cost should be referred to the Department of Interior.

By this time W/C Jones was posted to RAAF HQ, but S/Ldr Eaton was still appointed to command No 12 General Purpose Squadron, when it was formed at Laverton on 6 February 1939. Eaton was promoted to Wing Commander in March, and his Unit Equipment Officer, Flying Officer Arthur Hocking was ordered to form the Squadron immediately, and prepare to proceed to Darwin at short notice.

The new Unit was rapidly built up with equipment and personnel, and a week after formation, had a total of 14 officers and 120 airmen, along with 4 Avro Ansons and 4 Hawker Demon fighters. Preparations for the move north continued throughout the following week, and on 8 March, 250 beds were shipped on the steamer Montoro, followed a month later by 100 tons of barracks equipment on the Marella.

Three trucks were also dispatched, and other advance stores were packed in readiness for shipment. Delays continued to be experienced due to a shortage of aircraft. Four more Avro Ansons were awaited to complete the Squadron establishment, but it was not until the end of May that a further 3 machines were allotted from No 1 AD.

On 1 July, the move to Darwin finally began with the dispatch of an Advance Party of 30 NCOs and airmen. This group under Flying Officer Hocking, left Melbourne on board the Marella, being farewelled by 5 Avro Ansons and 3 Hawker Demons of the Squadron, flying in formation over the vessel. In Sydney the party transferred to the Montoro for the leg to Darwin, and was joined before departure by Flying Officer William Frogatt, the Unit Barracks Officer, who travelled up from Melbourne by train. Arriving at their destination on 24 July, the 32 members of this first element prepared the way for the drafts of personnel which were to follow.

Until the buildings of the permanent station, were completed by the Department of Interior, and available for occupation, the Squadron had to be accommodated in a temporary camp of field-huts and Bellman hangers at Darwin’s Civil Aerodrome at Parap. This camp had to be specially constructed, and it was this work which was the primary task for the Advance Party. This arrangement had allegedly been arrived at with the Department of Interior, both to expedite the work and to provide RAAF personnel with experience in handling and assembling reserve equipment used by their Service.

At a ceremony on 29 July 1939 the personnel of the advance party paraded for the Administrator of the Northern Territory, Mr Abbott, who formally welcomed them and turned the first sod at the site of the hutted camp. Meanwhile another party of 4 NC0s, (Sergeants H Hope and WC Hamilton with Corporals JL Truscott and JC Kane) had been sent by rail to Brisbane on 7 July 1939 for instruction in erecting Bellman hangers. Remaining until 3 August, when they flew to Darwin on board a QANTAS flyingboat, this group was accommodated in tin huts at the Acetate & Lime Factory, Cannon Hill in Brisbane, which proved to be excellent preparation for what awaited them at Darwin.

Until the advance party had finished erecting living quarters, its members were housed at the old meat works built during WW1, by the Vestey Pastoral Company to process and export beef. The enterprise was unsuccessful as these works had been closed for many years. As Darwin was then a town with a European population of less than 2,500, the range of options in temporary accommodation for a large influx of servicemen was limited. In fact, the advance party did rather well in having the substantial buildings of the meat works to begin with.

An Army artillery Unit had been sent to Darwin on HMAS Albatross to mount six-inch guns in defensive emplacements, and provide the town with a permanent garrison in September 1932. At that time FI/Lt Joe Hewitt of the ship’s RAAF detachment was intrigued with the lavish layout and potential uses of Vestey’s brick buildings. Darwin township, with its decrepit, ill-kept, corrugated iron buildings haphazardly fronting untidy dusty roads, could not compare with the prospects Vestey’s vacated meatworks offered with a clean up.

Despite this, life in 1939 had a distinctly raw, pioneering feel about it, for the members of the advance party. The quarters in the meatworks buildings, which were shared with personnel of the Army’s Darwin Mobile Force, wore very basic. The Air Force possibly benefited from some adverse publicity given by a Sydney newspaper as to the ’shocking conditions’ borne by the Army personnel prior to the arrival of the advance party. Even so, things remained primitive. Airmen slept on the first floor, on beds placed where-ever they could be fitted in amongst the disused machinery, and avoiding large holes left in the concrete floor where chutes or machinery had been removed.

These less than salubrious quarters were dimly lit with electricity from a diesel generator operated by the RAAF, which was turned off at 9 PM making it dangerous to move around after lights out. At 1030 PM on 9 September 1939, Air-Craftsman One PJ Hudson fell through one of the holes in the floor, sustaining injuries which led to his death on 12 September. He was buried the next day, in circumstances which graphically indicated the miserable conditions endured by the men.

GEORGE GRENDON recalls;
“The cemetery was down below the Botanical Gardens, in from Mindil Beach, and it was raining. When we went down to bury him, the grave was filled with water. We finished the ceremony by going up to the borders of the Botanical Gardens and carrying down rocks with which to sink the coffin.”

Another member of the unit, Jim Truscott, vividly remembers the primitive conditions under which the RAAF personnel initially slept, washed, ate and worked. He recalls that there were no entertainment facilities, and only Fanny Bay beach, or camping at nearby lagoons for recreation.

“Mail, except Air Mail, was generally a month in reaching Darwin, so the airmen generally felt marooned. Despite all this, there was no serious outbreak of disease, and morale was good. We were transported daily from Vestey’s to the Civil Drome, in a light tender, to work on the buildings erection. There were no formal parades; we just boarded the tender in any old clothes, as work togs. Starting early in the morning, we worked until lunch, then had a siesta before returning to put in some more hours later. There was no undue exercise, as we were advised to conserve energy for our own health, and to ensure the work, our number one priority, was completed. Dark glasses were issued to combat glare while working on the buildings, which were all made of angle and galvanised iron. The huts had to be erected by hand, and die girders and rafters of the hangers were assembled -and hoisted by block and tackle.”

On 20 August, orders were received from the Air Board for the Squadron Headquarters and the existing aircraft of ‘A’ and ‘B’ Flights to make the transfer to Darwin next day. The personnel of these Flights duly left Essendon on board a civil airliner, but the departure of aircraft was delayed due to adverse weather, and finally arrived 29 August 1939. The aircraft were housed in the Civil hanger, and the Bellman hanger already put up by the advance party. The arrival of the flying party and aircraft meant that the first air patrol out of Darwin was undertaken on 31 August.

Back at Laverton, on 1 September, ‘C’ Flight received 5 Wirraway aircraft to replace its Hawker Demons. The next day, with war breaking out in Europe, these aircraft and another Avro Arson, set out on the trip north, and the same day 77 Officers and Airmen embarked at Melbourne to make the slower passage by sea around the coast to Darwin.

[Editors Note . No. 12 Squadron was to experience many changes, in bases, aircraft, and duties. Following are accounts from some of the earlier Squadron members.]

TED ROBERTS

W/T Operator 1 Mechanic. Posted to the squadron May 1939.
“While the rest of the Squadron, and older units at Laverton were living high on the hog in the brick barracks close to the messes on the Station, poor old No. 12 Squadron, as a temporary unit on the Station, was housed in some old temporary hut from the. early days of the Training School, and a very long way from the messes and canteen, and the centre of life of the Station. No. 12 Squadron was formed with one immediate object in view, and that was to be the Darwin based section of the RAAF, and we were looking forward to shaking the southern dust off our shoes, and getting to grips with the realities of our tropical existence. If only we had known.

While we were only in temporary occupation of our quarters at Laverton, our aircraft created just as much hassle for the fully occupied hanger space. As a number of the members of the Service were still WWI men, with memories of the rapid development of the Australian Flying Corps and RFC Squadrons, during the latter stages of that war, their decision to house our aircraft in Bessoneaux hangers was the obvious answer. These were a canvas hanger, with wooden trusses to support the canvas walls and roof. There was no lateral timber structure, all the lengthwise stresses being taken by canvas, and the two end trusses being held down to large pegs by guy ropes.

They did a fine job with the dirt floors, but in those days little environment control was deemed necessary. Squadron offices were economically constructed from the packing cases in which the Seagull aircraft had been shipped from England.”

CEC FISHER

Cec was an Armourer with the Squadron at that time, and vividly recalls the graphic and geological difference between the tropical North and the more comfortable southern States.

“Our Commanding Officer, Charles ‘Moth’ Eaton, now happily reunited with his dog, informed us that the Squadron would have to construct its own camp, and that flying would be kept to a minimum until construction was complete, and this was vital before the full onset of the wet season. So there was the Civil Drome with heaps and heaps of sections of prefabricated galvanised iron huts with heaps of galvanised iron, angle iron struts and bearers, cypress floor joists, and six by six fabricated floor sections, with bags of round head bolts and nuts.”

Picture the scene, the area piled with this material, concrete stumps already point, whereas the miner or planter was more concerned with productivity. The philosophies of the missionaries and their more directed integration with the native, tended to estrange them from the other Europeans, particularly in the Mandated Territory where barriers of race and language were also a factor.

Most of the native population in the explored or controlled areas, adhered to one sect or another. A native mission teacher lived in most villages, teaching the rudiments of his faith under the guidance of the nearest missionary. The depth of belief varied from token adherence to complete dedication, however the influence of mission teaching was toward friendliness for and trust in, the European.

While the effect on the native of contact with whites has been studied by many learned scholars, the reverse effect rarely rates a mention in their dissertations. The Coastwatchers were conditioned by their experiences and association with natives. Europeans, who had lived four or five years in the Northeast Area, were generally known as Islanders. Constant dealing with native and having the authority over them, gave the Islander a habit of command, tempered with a sense of responsibility.

While reluctant to doing menial tasks, an Islander rarely shirked any hardship or danger, leading by example. Most were economically secure, which encouraged independence and a certain amount of arrogance; tempered with a lip-service gesture of discipline and conformity. Their own knowledge and experience indicated to them that order and system were necessary in the running of their affairs, but that enforced discipline was an impediment to natural progress. They could quickly evaluate a situation on its merits, and were intolerant of pompous officialdom.

They lived an exaggerated lifestyle and sometimes had less than harmonious relationships with their peers. However, they showed a united front to an outsider and were difficult to deal with. A feature of many Islanders was the deep friendships that developed between individuals over the years; a bonding where mutual loyalty was the paramount consideration and a friend’s weaknesses were opportunities to help, rather than reproach.

For all their acquired knowledge, it was impossible for any Islander to pass himself off as a native. The physical differences were such that any disguise would be penetrated in a short time, so Coast Watchers retained the form and status of Europeans when in enemy occupied zones.

As can be envisaged, a supply organisation was necessary, particularly for food, as the jungle is no larder, at best it can supply enough to sustain life for a short time. With the Coast watchers in their scattered and often remote locations, it was the established relationships with natives, that maintained the supply lines, These supply lines, of necessity, were a clandestine operation, and their success, not only for the logistics, but in preserving the security of the Coastwatchers, was a clear expression of the mutual respect between the Islanders and the natives.

The Islanders filled the key positions in the Coast Watchers. Without them the scheme would have been impractical and doomed to failure. Others played important roles, mainly on the staff.

Later, some naval officers and soldiers from the Independent Companies (Australia’s Commandos), after gaining experience from Coastwatchers in the field, were able to extend the operations. Some of these learnt their skills to the point that eventually they could not be distinguished from the Islanders. These men supplied the youthful energy to the Islanders, who, while sometimes hard-pressed with the strenuous duties they performed. Never flagged in their dedication and commitment.

With the drawbacks of inexperience and lack of training for a new form of warfare, the Coast Watchers to a man, put duty first and himself last.