Sixty Squadron 2

Sixty Squadron 2

“On this night he was unable at any period to fly at over 800 feet,     owing to low driving clouds and a very strong wind.     “Capt. Armstrong attacked aerodromes as follows on the dates shown:     “MOISLANS, 3.15 a.m. to 3.30 a.m. on August 21/22, 1918, dropping     two incendiary and two Cooper bombs from 400 feet on hutments     and tents, although subjected to the most accurate and fierce     machine-gun fire from the ground and his machine being brightly     illuminated in the glare of the incendiary bombs.     “ESTREES-EN-CHAUSSEE, on the night of July 31--August 1, 1918,     dropping four bombs on landing lights from 500 feet.     “Capt. Armstrong took part in the defence of London against all but     three raids by E.A. between September 1917 and June 1918.     “This officer has been the right hand of his squadron commander     since the formation of his squadron, and has, by his wonderful     flying, taught the pilots of 151 Squadron more than any other     instructor could possibly have done. He has demonstrated to all     pilots daily the only successful method of attack at night against     E.A. by personal supervision of their flying.     “As a flight commander I cannot speak too highly of him and his     wonderful spirit at all times. His bravery as a pilot at all times     and in all weather conditions cannot be surpassed, and I am unable     to recommend him too strongly for this decoration.             “B. C. D. SMALL,               “_Lieut.-Colonel,       “Commanding 54 Wing R.A.F._   “_Sept. 19, 1918_.” [Illustration: BROWNING PATERSON WITH HIS MORANE “PARASOL.”] [Illustration: CAPT. D. V. ARMSTRONG.] It was about this time that “balloon strafing” was invented by Headquarters. Three Le Prieur rockets of the ordinary type were attached to the interplane struts on each wing; these were fired by means of an electric bell-push in the nacelle (or pilot’s seat), and if they hit the hostile kite balloon, were guaranteed to send it down in flames. The effect of this extra load was to make the machine singularly unhandy when fighting, but it must be admitted that they did effectually set hostile kite balloons alight if the pilot was sufficiently resolute to restrain himself from pressing the button until he was within 150 yards of the object balloon. This sounds much easier than, in fact, it was, as hostile balloons were usually found as low as 2,500 feet, and the wretched pilot had to contend with heavy gunfire from the ground, while always remembering that he was some considerable distance over the line and had sacrificed his height in order to approach the balloon. The aeroplane of those days would glide about one mile per 1,000 feet in still air, and, remembering that the balloons were usually at least two miles behind the line and that the wind was almost always from the west, it will be obvious that, if the engine was hit, there was very little chance of gliding back over the trenches. Hence it will be readily understood that balloon strafing was not enormously popular among junior flying officers. Nevertheless, Gilchrist, Bell Irving, Summers, Phillippi, and Hill all successfully brought down hostile kite balloons during the Somme battles (September 1916). Later, in 1917, Buckingham incendiary ammunition was used for destroying balloons. This change was greatly appreciated by the R.F.C., because the handiness of the machine was not impaired, as was the case when the Le Prieur rockets were carried. From Vert Galant the squadron moved to St. Andre on August 3, 1916, to refit, having only five pilots left. There the first flight of Nieuport scouts was received and, after a fortnight, another move was ordered to Izel le Hameau on August 16. This was an aerodrome we were destined to occupy again during the Arras battle. We here became a homogeneous unit completely equipped with Nieuport scouts, and moved three miles away to Savy, midway between Arras and St. Pol, early in September. Here, during November, little flying was possible owing to continual rain and fog, and the squadron settled down, almost in the Roman manner, into winter-quarters. Savy Aerodrome stood just above the village of that name, and while “C” Flight were accommodated in huts on the aerodrome so as to be near their machines in order to deal quickly with any Huns who were bold enough to cross the line, the remainder of the squadron were billeted in the Mayor’s chateau in the village itself, some half a mile away. Here pigs and turkeys were kept, out of which the mess made a good profit, and which, in addition, provided both an excellent Christmas dinner for the men and the material for the farewell banquet to Smith-Barry, who was posted to Home Establishment early in December. This dinner was somewhat memorable. The guests included General Higgins (the brigade commander), Pretyman (the wing commander), Col. Lewis and Barnaby of the “archie” gunners, Robert Loraine and several other squadron commanders. The squadron band, organised by Vincent, performed during dinner with great vigour. Led by Sergt. Nicod at the piano and conducted by Vincent himself, it helped to enliven the evening very considerably. In addition to the band, the squadron ran at this period both a Rugby and an Association football team. The Rugby side was for a time invincible, the leading players being Middlemas, the wing machine-gun officer, an old Cambridge Blue and a fine three-quarter; D. Bell Irving and Giles, a first-class pair of halves; and Meintjies, a tower of strength at full back. The Soccer team also won many matches, captained by the “Great Man,” Sergt.-Maj. Aspinall; while the stores sergeant, a league player, was the star performer at centre-forward. Matches were very difficult to arrange, as they had to be postponed if the weather was fine, and could only take place, therefore, on thoroughly “dud” days, to use the inevitable R.F.C. expression. Smith-Barry was succeeded by Major E. P. Graves, a regular gunner, young in years, who had crashed a Gnome Martinsyde scout at Netheravon early in 1915 and spent many months in hospital, emerging towards the end of that year permanently lame but quite fit to fly. He had been staff captain and brigade major to General Higgins at home when recovering from his injuries, but as soon as he became fit gave his General no peace until he was allowed to go to France in a fighting unit. He got posted to 20 Squadron as a flight commander early in 1916, and had been sent home again on promotion to command a training squadron after six months of very good work in France. Soon after he had taken over, the squadron was moved from Savy back to Izel le Hameau, the correct name of the station being Filescamp Farm. Here, with the aid of the local R.E. and thanks to Graves’s tireless efforts, an almost ideal little station was created in the orchard adjoining the great grey walls of M. Tetus’s demesne. This was a very old and picturesque house, half farm and half chateau, and was removed some two miles from a main road or railway line, a circumstance which prevented the aerodrome being bombed at night for a very long time, as it was hard to see from the air. An admirable mess, with a large brick fireplace, corrugated-iron hangars, together with Nissen huts for the officers and N.C.O.s and good accommodation for the men, were all built by the sappers. At this station in M. Tetus’s orchard the squadron found a quiet retreat when not actually engaged with the enemy. It is, perhaps, appropriate here to observe that every pilot at this time did, on the average, three patrols in two days over the line, and seldom returned to the aerodrome without a brush of some kind with the Boche. The contrast between our quarters and those occupied by the infantry and gunners in the line was striking. We had cream at every meal, and a hot bath--made by digging an oblong hole in the turf and lining it with a waterproof sheet--whenever we felt inclined. That the mess was good was largely due to Dobson, a 19th Hussar, partly paralysed as the result of a fall when riding in a steeplechase before the war, who was the recording officer at this time, having vainly tried to qualify as an observer in spite of his disability. [Illustration: SOME OF THE OFFICERS OF 60. _Front row_: Bell Irving, Reid, and Meintjies.] [Illustration: MORANE “BULLET” CRASHED BY SIMPSON. BOISDINGHEM, JUNE 1916] During the early months of 1917 there was a very hard frost, which made it difficult for the Germans to start their engines, most of which were water-cooled stationaries, but did not affect 60’s air-cooled rotaries, though both sides found that their machine guns were almost useless owing to the extreme cold. This frost lasted till mid-February. Below will be found the first of a series of letters written by Molesworth, who joined the squadron at this time. They have been inserted as far as possible whenever the narrative reaches the events which they describe.             “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,               “B.E.F., FRANCE.                 “_March 1917._     “It has been snowing hard all day, so at last I have a chance of     sending you a scrawl.     “Well! old bean, I had my first trip with my flight commander over     the lines on the 2nd. My word! it was some trip too, I can tell     you. I was posted to ‘A’ Flight and allotted a machine. Having     interviewed my C.O. with much fear and trembling, I was told that     he would take me up to the lines to have a look round. My job was     to watch and follow my leader, look out for any Huns and get a good     idea of the ground. By this time I had got well acquainted with my     machine, or ‘grid,’[3] as it was generally called by one of our     Colonial flight commanders, and felt quite confident that, if we     met any Huns, I could give them a pretty hot time.     “We started off late in the afternoon, climbing to about 8,000     feet. The view was wonderful--the ground covered with a thin     coating of snow, while far away one could see the incessant     flashing of the guns near the battered old town of Arras. White     clouds floated in the ground mist over the eastern horizon like     great icebergs, their tops tinged with a wonderful pink which one     only sees in the air.     “I shall never forget that first impression of the battle-field     from an aeroplane; it was so different to the sights of war on the     ground. No Huns were on view, but a few of our artillery machines     were still working. We turned home and landed in the dusk.     “I don’t think I told you about a Boche we brought down last week.     We got him quite near the aerodrome--apparently he had lost his way     in the clouds. He appeared out of them at about 3,000 feet over our     heads. Of course, every available machine dashed off in pursuit,     and caught him up in a few minutes, as he was forced to turn from     the lines by some old F.E. Birds.[4] They all went for him, and he     had to land in a ploughed field near-by. He put the machine down     quite well, without crashing anything, but one of his pursuers,     who belonged to the squadron next to us, turned upside down in his     excitement when landing. However, he did not hurt himself, and     managed to prevent the Hun from setting his machine on fire, by     holding a Very pistol[5] at his head.     “Afterwards I had a chat with the prisoner in French, and found out     that he was a star pilot, having a number of our machines to his     credit and the inevitable Iron Cross.     “I am all out for getting a Hun now, and hope to be able to tell     you, when I next write, that my name has appeared in _Comic     Cuts_.”[6] The Nieuport scout deserves a short description, as it was on the successive types of this aeroplane that nearly a year’s work was done, from September 1916 to July 1917. This single-seater fighter was a French machine, and one of the most successful in its day which our allies ever produced. The various types of this make with which the squadron was at different times equipped--15, 16, 17, 21, 24, and 29--showed a continuous improvement in performance, though all had the same engine, 110 h.p. Le Rhone, which itself was modified slightly and converted into a 120 h.p. engine by the substitution of aluminium for cast-iron pistons. Through all the modifications introduced in each successive type the machine preserved its essential characteristics. It was a biplane, but its lower planes were non-lifting and only operated to stabilise the machine to some extent in flight; the top planes were streamlined with the pilot’s eyes, giving him the free view which is essential in a fighting scout. It may be said that it was mainly this characteristic, that it was good to see out of, that made the Nieuport, in 1916, the best fighting machine on either side. Strong in construction and very handy, it could turn inside any German aeroplane we ever encountered. It was not very fast, but, with an exceptionally good climb to 10,000 feet, it was no bad “grid” on which to go Hun-hunting between the sea and the Somme. It was armed with a single Lewis gun carrying a double drum with ninety rounds of .303 ammunition and two spare drums. The gun was mounted on the top plane and fired over the propeller at an angle slightly above the horizontal. The earlier Nieuports were all treated with a bright silver-coloured “dope”--the substance used to tighten the fabric--and when properly turned out had a very smart appearance. [Illustration: “A” FLIGHT AWAITING SIGNAL TO PROCEED ON PATROL, MAY 1917.] [Illustration: THE KAISER DECORATING VON RICHTHOFEN, WHOSE AEROPLANE APPEARS BEYOND THE GROUP. Hindenburg and the German Crown Prince figure in the group on the left.] Another characteristic of all types was the V-shaped interplane strut, which, although the Germans also used them in their D3 Albatros, made the machines easy to recognise in the air. In conclusion, the Silver Nieuport was a good machine to fight in, but a bad one either for running away or for catching a faint-hearted enemy, as its best air speed, even near the ground, rarely exceeded ninety-six or ninety-seven miles per hour. CHAPTER III ARRAS With the beginning of March 1917, the Boche became very active in the air. The D3 V-strut Albatros appeared in numbers on the 3rd Army front, and about the same time a squadron of red-painted machines of this type, known to the R.F.C. as “the Circus,” did a good deal of damage to British machines and annoyed us very much. One aeroplane in particular, called the “Pink Lady” on account of an absurd story that it was flown by a woman--the machine itself was coloured bright red--was often seen between Arras and Albert. It is thought that the pilot was Freiherr von Richthofen the elder. This machine it was that, venturing well over our side of the line on March 6, 1917, crashed an F.E. and went on and engaged and shot down Evelyn Graves, whose machine caught fire. When picked up, he was found to have been shot through the head, so that he was spared the pain of death by burning. After Evelyn Graves’s death, A. J. L. Scott, of the Sussex Yeomanry, was appointed to succeed him. He was a flight commander in 43--a Sopwith two-seater squadron--and was also lame as the result of a crash during the early part of the war, being the third lame squadron commander in succession appointed to 60. Scott took up his appointment on March 10, 1917, about the time that the aerial offensive precedent to the Arras battle began to develop. There had been, on the 3rd Army front, a lull during January and February, and by a lull is meant that pilots were doing one job a day instead of the two that they were almost certain to be called upon for when business was good. The casualties lists show this clearly, as, though E. O. Grenfell and Gilchrist were wounded in December, there were only two more casualties until Evelyn Graves’s death in March--R. Hopper, killed on January 11; and E. G. Herbert, wounded on the 28th. February passed without the loss of a single officer. This was due mainly to the month of hard frost referred to above, which kept the Hun machines on the ground. Even when machines did meet in the air at this time, it was very difficult to get the guns to fire, so that on several occasions the pilots, after manœuvring round one another for a while, waved hands and went home. A non-freezing gun-oil was brought out before the next winter, which put an end to these not altogether unwelcome interludes to the sterner business. Mention of Grenfell’s wound calls to mind the occasion on which he received it. An O.P. (offensive patrol) led by him, and consisting of Caldwell, Daly, Whitehead, Weedon, and Meintjies, met a two-seater Albatros over Dainville on our side of the line. All our machines opened fire, and the Hun hurriedly landed. Grenfell, anxious to get down and claim him, crashed and broke his leg, while all the other five machines landed, and three of these also crashed, not so seriously as to injure the pilots, but enough to prevent them taking off again. Thus the Hun in one field was flanked by a crashed Nieuport in every adjoining enclosure, while, to make matters worse, the Boche observer--who, unlike the pilot, was not wounded--set fire to his machine to prevent it falling into our hands. The machine shortly exploded, seriously injuring the observer and several of our own infantry who by that time were standing by. If these had grasped the situation a little more quickly they could easily have prevented the destruction of the machine, which it was important to preserve. The battle of Arras, as it came to be called, was now imminent, and would probably have commenced before April 10 but for an unexpected move on the part of the enemy. On March 30, the first clear day after a spell of bad weather, the first patrol to land reported thirty or forty fires in the tract of country east of the Arras-Albert sector. Every village for ten or fifteen miles back was alight. At first we could not understand what it meant--for although an R.F.C. squadron knew a good deal more of what was happening than a battalion in the line, still we did not always fully comprehend the meanings of the incidents we reported, which the G.H.Q. Intelligence Staff could, no doubt, interpret with the help of reports from their numerous other sources of information. The German retreat of March 14 came, therefore, as a complete surprise to us. For, even at this stage of the war, we had become so used to hearing that the enemy’s _morale_ was undermined, and that their troops were unwilling to fight, etc., that we had ceased to take much notice of these stories, the truth of which--for they were true--only became manifest nineteen months later. The next two days, the 14th and 15th, were days of stormy weather, in spite of which patrols were continually sent out to try and ascertain the depth of the withdrawal and to locate the new German positions. The rough-and-ready way in which this was done was to fly low until we came under fire from anti-aircraft guns or rifles and machine guns on the ground. Molesworth, in a letter, gives quite a graphic account of this retreat as follows:             “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,               “B.E.F., FRANCE.                 “_March 1917._     “No luck for me in the Hun line yet, although the beggars seem to     be running on the ground all right.     “Three of us went out the other day, and had the most hectic time.     The clouds were about 3,000 feet and very dense, with gaps here     and there. We crossed the lines and expected to get it pretty hot     from Archie,[7] but, strangely enough, nothing happened. Heading     towards Croisille, we came out of a thick cloud and saw a most     extraordinary sight. For miles around every village was a blazing     mass with smoke columns, like great water-spouts, ascending upwards     to the clouds. Along the roads one could see lines of retreating     men making for the Hindenburg defences, which we could plainly     distinguish owing to the amount of barbed wire entanglements     round them. Suddenly we were met by a perfect tornado of bursting     ‘archies,’ and so were forced to turn into a cloud. This cloud was     so thick that we all promptly proceeded to lose ourselves. I looked     at my compass[8] and saw that it was pointing west, so carried on.     At last, after about half an hour’s flying, I found myself alone     in an opening in the clouds. Below me were dozens of shell-holes     filled with water; round about, black clouds and sheets of driving     rain. I knew I was somewhere near the lines, and yet could not     decide in which direction to turn. Trusting to the compass I still     pushed on west, and at last the shell-holes disappeared. Just as     my petrol was giving out I spotted some hangars. There was nothing     for it, so I decided to land. Coming down to about 200 feet I did     a half-circle to get into the wind, and to my utter disgust saw a     large party of Germans on the ground. I therefore made up my mind     that it must be a Hun aerodrome. No machines were out, owing to the     ‘dud’ weather, so I landed, jumped out of the machine, seized the     Very pistol, and was just going to fire it into the grid when I     saw, to my amazement, two mechanics in khaki coming across to give     me a hand. I tell you, I have never been so bucked to see anyone in     khaki before. Evidently the party I had seen were German prisoners.     When the old kite had been filled up I pushed off again, and got     home after about an hour’s run. On arrival I heard that the other     two had lost themselves as well, but had managed to get back. In     future I shall take jolly good care to get to know the country     better before playing about in clouds.” On the 17th and 18th the weather became too bad to fly, and an “excursion” was organised in tenders to the nearest points of the old front line, Ransart and Monchy-au-Bois, near Adinfer Wood; this last-named had been the home of a peculiarly accurate enemy “archie” gun for many months past. At the latter place skeletons of French soldiers still hung in the wire, where they had been since September 1915 at least. The systematic and deliberate devastation of the evacuated country made a great impression on all our pilots, who were also thrilled to see the very trenches which the enemy’s troops had occupied only a few days earlier. It seemed wonderful to see the marks in the muddy sides of the trenches made by German feet and elbows, and the clips of rifle cartridges laid on the fire steps by their sentries less than a week before. Absorbingly interesting, too, to explore their dugouts, and to trace the routes by which their troops came up into the line from the rest billets behind. All the roads had been blown up, and every house in each abandoned village was most efficiently destroyed, except in a few cases, like Bapaume town hall, where delay action mines had been prepared. One of the most impressive sights was the German cemetery, which was to be found in almost every hamlet, carefully laid out and extremely carefully tended, with monuments, cement steps, and ornamental shrubs symmetrically disposed amid the ruins of the houses among which it stood. There were souvenirs enough for an army, let alone a squadron, and we were fortunate when collecting them not to fall into a single “booby trap,” such as a helmet which exploded when picked up. This expedition is also described by Molesworth in another letter:             “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,               “B.E.F., FRANCE.                 “_March 1917._     “The rumour about leave is true, so my turn ought to come in a few     days as my name is next on the list. The weather has been hopeless     lately for aviation. Yesterday some of us decided to go and have a     look at the old Boche trenches. We chose the ones west of Adinfer     Wood, as they were less likely to be mined than those further north.     “Having seized a tender, we pushed off after breakfast towards the     line. We got to our front trenches at about ten o’clock, and left     the tender here, as the road was still in pretty bad repair. No     Man’s Land was dotted about with shell-holes. A few broken stumps     of trees lined the road--war-worn veterans that had stood the     test of battle. (Amongst other souvenirs, I am bringing you back     a walking-stick made from a branch of one of these.) There was a     wood, or what remained of it, to our right front, as this part of     the line had been very quiet, and was nothing compared to the utter     desolation of the Somme or ‘Arras’ battle-fields.     “The German system of trenches consisted of thick belts of barbed     wire, behind which was a trench about 10 feet deep, with platforms     and machine-gun emplacements to shoot from. About every 50 yards     or so square openings led down to the underground dugouts. The old     Hun seems to have lived fairly comfortably, as there were beds and     tables here and there, with store-rooms and passages connecting     each dugout.     “We went about collecting souvenirs very gingerly, as warnings of     booby traps were posted up everywhere we went. But luckily no one     was caught out. We managed to collect some tin hats, bombs, Very     pistols, and a few other odds and ends, which we loaded into the     tender.     “I am bringing some of these home.     “Orders have just come through for us to go on another balloon     strafe, so I will finish this when we come back if old Fritz     doesn’t stop me.        *       *       *       *       *     “(_Two hours later_)     “Here I am back again, with a Hun and a ‘sausage’[9] added to my     bag. I am fearfully bucked with life, as the Major has just told me     that I have been made a ‘flight commander.’ No time for any more,     as I am just off to have a cheery time with the other lads, who     seem to have done pretty well too.” That the enemy knew that the British intended to attack was evident, because the numbers of the aforementioned V-strut Albatros scouts had obviously increased on this front. The performance of these machines was considerably better than the Nieuport, and they had two Spandau guns firing through the propeller; and, moreover, the circus of red machines led, so they said, by Richthofen, was functioning freely throughout the month of March 1917. It is perhaps unnecessary to repeat that the offensive in the air commences always before the push on the ground, and though the latter was timed to commence on April 10, 60 had a hard month to go through before this date arrived. We were short of scout squadrons at this time, and though 48, the first Bristol fighter squadron, and 56, another new squadron equipped with the S.E.5s, had arrived from England, these were to be kept as a surprise for the Boche, and were not to cross the line until “zero day,” as the day fixed for the first assault was called. With 56 Ball had come out again from England, and it was during this battle that he was killed, on May 7, 1917, after a severe engagement in which Meintjies, who also had been posted to 56 after a period of rest at home, was badly wounded; the latter is one of the best pilots, and almost the most popular officer, 60 ever had. The flight commanders at this time, mid-March 1917, were: K. L. Caldwell, who when on leave fell sick and did not return till June. He was a New Zealander, a great friend of Meintjies, and was beloved by everyone. He was a curious instance of a fine and fearless fighter, but a bad shot at this time, who in consequence did not get many Huns; he afterwards remedied this defect and made a great reputation both in 60 and when commanding 74 in 1918. The other two were Alan Binnie, an Australian who had fought with the 9th Division in Gallipoli, and Black, who went sick and was subsequently posted away. At the beginning of this month (on the day before Graves’s death, to be exact) W. A. Bishop joined. The son of a well-known family in Montreal, he had passed through the Royal Military College and had joined the Canadian Cavalry, coming over with his regiment with the first Canadian contingent. On arrival in England he very soon applied to join the Flying Corps, and was posted as an observer to No. 7 Squadron. After a tour of duty in France in this capacity he went home to learn to fly, and was posted to us almost as soon as he had got his wings. [Illustration: MOLESWORTH, BISHOP, AND CALDWELL, APRIL 1917.] [Illustration: BISHOP, CALDWELL, AND YOUNG, APRIL 1917.] It was curious to notice how quick the mechanics of the squadron were to recognise Bishop’s quality. Only a few days after his arrival at the squadron the sergeants gave a musical evening to which the officers were invited, and it was observed that one of the very few toasts which were proposed by them was that of Bishop’s health, although at this time he had only destroyed one enemy machine, and none of his fellow-officers had, as yet, any idea of the brilliant career that was in store for him. This occasion, on which he got his first Hun, was remarkable for the fact that his engine failed, and forced him to land very near the front-line trenches. He only, in fact, just succeeded in scraping over. The failure of the engine was due to his inexperience in allowing it to choke while diving. Having landed in a very unhealthy spot, he got rapidly into a dugout occupied by some field gunners, and, with their help, moved his machine every half-hour to prevent the German artillery shelling it. During the night he borrowed a toothbrush from the gunner officer, and with this contrived to clean the sparking plugs of his engine. Having heard nothing of him, the squadron had already reported him missing, when he succeeded in getting a telephone message through to say that he was safe. Our Corps machines, the eyes of the artillery, were being shot down every day in the valley of the Scarpe, despite our efforts and those of 29 (also with Nieuports) and 11, an F.E.2B. squadron. The ground on both sides of the river was littered with B.E.s. The scouts, whose losses were much heavier, fell usually far over the lines in hostile territory. The work at this time still consisted mainly of offensive patrols (whose business it was to operate east of the artillery machines and to keep the air clear of hostile scouts), reconnaissances, and sometimes escorts to bombing and photographic patrols. On April 7 M. B. Knowles, C. S. Hall, and G. O. Smart--the latter was originally an N.C.O. pilot who had but lately been commissioned for gallantry in the Field--all failed to return after an engagement with a much superior force of the enemy. At this time it was very hard to get all the photographs wanted by the army owing to the enemy’s activity in the air, and when special information about some point was required, 60 was sometimes given the job of taking the photographs. It was thought that the Huns would not expect a scout to be doing photography, and they were not over-keen, even at that time, on attacking a scout formation. It was no easy task this, to fly a sensitive single-seater, look out for Huns, and expose plates at the same time, but it was done with some measure of success. Here follows Molesworth’s description of a fight:             “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,               “B.E.F., FRANCE.                 “_April 1917._     “A Hun at last!     “We started out this morning, led by our new squadron commander,     who seems one of the best. Our late C.O. was brought down in     flames, this side of the lines, in a scrap. He was a very great     loss to the squadron, and we buried him, with full military     honours, in a little village cemetery near-by.     “There were five of us on the patrol, my position being the rear     one on the left. We got to the lines at about 10,000 feet, and     crossed them, making towards Douai. Soon we sighted a small patrol     of Sopwith[10] two-seaters, north-east of Arras, flying towards the     lines as hard as they could go, with a large pack of Huns chasing     them. The latter managed to get the last machine in flames, the     poor devils going down burning like a furnace.     “The Major immediately dived for the Huns, and I knew that I was in     for my first real big scrap. The leader saw us coming, and turned     east with his nose well down; however, we soon caught him up and     started scrapping. Then ensued the usual dog-fight.[11] I managed     to get well behind a Hun two-seater which was a little way out of     the scrap. He didn’t seem to mind me plugging him a bit, and went     calmly on. In my excitement I lost my head, and started spinning     madly to the ground. Coming out, I saw an Albatros scout[12] about     50 yards ahead, so loosed off at him and saw him spin[13] and crash     on the ground, much to my delight.     “Having lost the rest of the formation[14] I headed for home,     and found out, on landing, that we had accounted for three Huns.     The two-seater which I had been trying to worry was known as the     ‘Flying Pig,’ owing to the likeness of the observer to that rotund     animal.     “Talking about casualties, we have had a pretty hot time the last     few days. However, twenty Huns have been accounted for during this     time, and many more sent down out of control,[15] so we hope to put     up a record in the R.F.C.” From the last week in March to the last week in May our losses were very severe (see Appendix II); in fact, counting those who went sick and those injured in crashes on our side of the line, we lost thirty-five officers during these eight weeks, almost twice the strength of the squadron, which consisted of eighteen pilots and the squadron commander. One week-end in April, the 14th, 15th, and 16th, was especially unlucky, as on Saturday “A” Flight went out six machines strong (full strength) and only one returned. Binnie was leading, and was hit in the shoulder when trying to extricate two of his patrol from a cloud of enemies. The blood from his wound spurted all over the nacelle, obscuring the instruments, and in addition his machine caught fire. He extinguished the flames and then fainted when gliding homeward. The machine must have turned west after this, for he woke up in a little park in Lens, having hit the ground while still unconscious, without further serious injuries. He lost his arm at the shoulder, and was a prisoner till the spring of 1918, when he was repatriated, and immediately commenced flying again. He was a very great loss to the squadron, as he was a first-class flight commander, who had already destroyed several Huns and would have got a lot more. On the next day, Sunday, “B” Flight, five strong, lost two pilots: one, Milot, a French-Canadian Major, who was killed; the other, Hervey, who had already gained two Military Crosses as an observer and promised very well, was forced to land on the other side by anti-aircraft fire. On this patrol Bishop, who had just been promoted captain, got two Huns and a balloon, having had five or six combats. On Monday “C” Flight (Bishop’s) went out without the flight commander, and only one, Young, returned; this meant that in three days ten out of eighteen pilots were lost, and had to be replaced from England by officers who had never flown this particular type of machine, because there were none in England. Our new machines were collected from Paris, and the chance of a trip to fly one back was eagerly looked forward to by every pilot. Some of these new machines were not well built, and began--to add to our troubles--to break up in the air. Lieut. Grandin’s fell to bits while diving on a hostile two-seater, though this may have been due to injury from machine-gun fire. Caffyn’s and Brackenbury’s collapsed when practising firing at ground targets on the aerodrome, and the former was killed; while Ross’s wings folded upwards when pulling out of a dive after firing a burst; he was badly injured, but has since recovered. A good show was that put up by Penny, who, when his left lower plane came off while diving on a Hun, contrived to fly the machine back and to land at one of our aerodromes, and quietly reported to the squadron commander as follows: “My lower plane came off, so I thought I had better land. Sorry I left the patrol, sir.” The reason for these accidents was that badly seasoned wood was being used by the French manufacturers, who also allowed a lot of little screws to be inserted in the main spars, thus weakening them considerably. H.Q. were informed and the matter was put right. During this battle the R.F.C. began to take a hand in the ground operations by machine-gunning support troops during an attack. “C” Flight led by Fry, who was given an M.C. for this, did well on May 11, by shooting up the enemy in a cutting east of the chemical works at Roeux, in the valley of the Scarpe. These pilots came back, having exhausted their ammunition, refilled with petrol and 300 rounds, and dashed off again to the chemical works without waiting for orders. One of them, E. S. Howard, who was killed seven days later on an escort to machines doing photography, thus described this adventure:             “_May 13, 1917._     “On Friday night the infantry made an attack east of Fampoux and we     were told off to assist them. When they went over the top, we dived     down and emptied our machine guns into the Hun trenches. Our people     put up a wonderful barrage; it was good to see, but not at all     nice to fly over, as the bursts from the shells threw the machines     about. We have just come back from a show, chased four Huns away     over their lines, and then flew round keeping our eye on them so     they could not come back.” This “low flying,” as it was called, became more popular with the higher command, though not with the pilots, as the war went on, and in fact, during the German offensive of March 1918, it was said to have very materially helped to stop the Boche advance on the 5th and 3rd Army fronts. Hostile balloons also were constantly attacked during April and May, and Bishop, Ross, Molesworth, and Penny did considerable execution. Others who were doing well at this time were Langwill, Hall, J. Elliott, Smart, and F. Bower; the last-named on April 2 pursued, with his patrol, six hostile scouts a long way east of Douai in a very strong westerly wind, and though shot through the stomach and with his intestines hanging out, he flew west and landed his machine near Chipilly, completely undamaged except from enemy bullets. He died next day, and his machine was flown back to the squadron without having had to be repaired by another pilot. A fight as a result of which R. B. Clark, an Australian, was killed on April 30 is well described below:             “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,               “B.E.F., FRANCE.                 “_April 1917._     “We are all feeling rather down in our luck to-day, as news has     come through that one of our chaps has ‘gone west’ in hospital. He     put up an awfully ‘stout’ show against the Hun.     “It was on one of our big balloon shows. He was attacked by three     Hun scouts just after firing at the ‘gas-bag.’ He scrapped them all     the way back to the lines, crashing one of them, and holding the     other two off. As he crossed the trenches, one of them plugged him     in the petrol tank, and his grid caught on fire. As he was only     about 50 feet up, he managed to get her down in the shell-holes,     or rather a strip of ground between them, without burning himself     badly. Luck was all against him, however, as he just tippled over     into a trench at the end of his run. A few men who were in an     advanced dressing-station near-by quickly came to his rescue, and     hauled him clear of the burning wreckage, but the poor devil was by     this time badly singed about the legs. He insisted on giving his     report before allowing the doctor to attend to his burns, and the     men told me afterwards that he was extremely plucky.     “The day after this occurred, I was detailed to find the machine     and see if it could be salved. The weather was absolutely vile. We     started for Arras with a tender and trailer,[16] got there about     noon, and commenced making inquiries as to where the machine had     crashed. One place was pointed out to us where there was an old     ‘quirk,’[17] which had obviously been brought down doing artillery     work. Then we were sent off in another direction, only to find the     remains of an old Boche two-seater. At last, after an hour’s wading     in trenches with mud up to our knees and shells bursting near us,     we arrived at the advanced dressing-station. Here we were given a     full description of the fine way in which our pilot had fought.     “The machine, needless to say, was a total wreck, and so, after     a cup of tea with a drop of gin in it to warm us up, we pushed     off home, followed by some heavy shells which we knew meant the     commencement of the ‘evening hate.’”[18] Hardly a day passed during April and May without Bishop destroying at least one Hun machine, and on June 2, 1917, he visited an enemy aerodrome near Cambrai--a long way over--by himself at dawn and found seven machines on the ground with their engines running. They began to take off and he destroyed four, returning safely with his machine considerably shot about by machine-gun fire from the ground. For this exploit, after three months of remarkably fine work, he was awarded the Victoria Cross. Others who were prominent during the battles of Arras and Vimy Ridge were: Pidcock, “Red” Lloyd and “Black” Lloyd (the latter, a fine officer, was unfortunately shot down and killed), and Fry (who drove down a Hun on our side and found in the pilot’s pocket a ticket for a box in Cambrai theatre dated the day before). Molesworth also was doing well; he afterwards went to 29 on a second tour of duty with the R.F.C. in France (he had already seen service overseas with the infantry), where he did most brilliantly during the winter of 1917-18. His account of a successful balloon attack is given here in full:             “60 SQUADRON R.F.C.,               “B.E.F., FRANCE.                 “_April 1917._     “Still more excitement! I tackled my first balloon yesterday, and     consider it even more difficult than going for a Hun; at least, I     think one gets a hotter time. We had received orders a week ago     that all balloons _had_ be to driven down or destroyed, as they     were worrying our infantry and gunners during the advance.     “We had been practising firing the Le Prieur rockets[19] for some     time--a most weird performance. One dives at a target on the     ground, and when within about fifty yards of it presses a button     on the instrument boards Immediately there is a most awful hissing     noise, which can be heard above the roar of the engine, and six     huge rockets shoot forward from the struts each side towards the     target.     “We did not think these were much of a success, owing to the     difficulty of hitting anything, so decided to use tracer[20] and     Buckingham bullets instead. These are filled with a compound of     phosphorus and leave a long trail of smoke behind them.     “On the morning we were detailed to attack the balloons the weather     was so ‘dud’ that none of them were up, although we went across     twice to have a look. We got a pretty hot time from Archie, as     we had to fly below the clouds, which were about 2,000 feet, and     dodge about all over the shop. Next day the weather cleared and we     decided to carry out our strafe.     “We all went off individually to the various balloons which had     been allotted us. I am glad to say most of us managed to do them     down. I personally crossed the trenches at about 10,000 feet,     dropping all the time towards my sausage, which was five or six     miles away. It was floating in company with another at about 3,000     feet, and reminded me of that little song, ‘Two Little Sausages.’     “I started a straight dive towards them, and then the fun began.     Archie got quite annoyed, following me down to about 5,000 feet,     where I was met by two or three strings of flaming onions,[21]     luckily too far off to do any damage. Then came thousands of     machine-gun bullets from the ground--evidently I was not going     to get them without some trouble. I zigzagged about a bit, still     heading for the balloons, and when within two hundred yards opened     fire. The old Huns in the basket got wind up and jumped out in     their parachute. Not bothering about them, I kept my sight on one     of the balloons and saw the tracer going right into it and causing     it to smoke.     “As our armament consists of a Lewis gun,[22] I had to now change     drums. This is a pretty ticklish job when you have about ten     machine guns loosing off at you, not to mention all the other     small trifles! However, I managed to do it without getting more     than half a dozen or so bullet-holes in my grid.     “By this time the second balloon was almost on the floor. I gave it     a burst, which I don’t think did any damage. The first sausage was     in flames, so I buzzed off home without meeting any Huns. On the     way back a good shot from Archie exploded very near my tail, and     carried away part of the elevator.[23] Don’t you think this is the     limit for anyone who wants excitement? I must say I prefer it to     the infantry, as one gets decent food and a comfortable bed every     night, if you are lucky enough to get back.