by David Ward
“A loop, Billy!” I shouted. “Did you see it?”
He shook my hand. “Well done, Paulie. You were brilliant.” He gave my shoulder a punch. “Now it’s my turn.”
Billy did extremely well too. He was aggressive in the air, pushing his plane more than I did, taking the turns more steeply and faster. Our two trainers recognized his ability. He had more trouble with the loop than I did, though, and it took him five tries before he could do it without stalling. I came to realize later that stalling happened to the best of pilots and that conditions in war were often nothing as glorious as those we had at Curtiss. In fact, bringing the plane to the point of stalling happened frequently in air battles.
Over the next few days it became clear that Billy and I were getting more hours in the air than the other students. At first I wondered if there was some kind of favouritism going on. I couldn’t think why. But the reason soon became clear. In the last days of September Mr. Martin called Billy and me into his hut. He looked serious.
“Well, boys. It appears as if you will be leaving us.” He raised a letter he held in his hand. “You two have shown good talent for flying. And they are short of pilots at the Front. They need everyone they can get.”
I cleared my throat. “We haven’t learned how to land yet, Mr. Martin. I’ve only had fifteen hours in the air.”
He nodded. “That’s three hours more than some of the boys in France. You will learn to land tomorrow if the weather stays clear. We’ll start early. Tomorrow night you’ll pack your bags and catch the train to New York.” He lifted another sheet of paper from the table. “I’m also going to certify you both as pilots once you’ve completed your landings.”
Billy let out a whoop and raised his hands.
“Gentlemen,” Mr. Martin added, “you should know that you are filling in vacancies from our former Hut C.”
Billy slowly lowered his arms.
“Two men were killed on the first day of training. The planes you’ll be using in France are not Jenny 3s or even Jenny 4s and some of them are difficult to fly. In fact, the Royal Flying Corps in Britain is coming up with so many new designs that I’m not keeping up with the latest craft myself. Two of our boys flipped on takeoff.”
* * *
That evening, Billy and I took our chairs and sat out on the field in the gathering dusk. Our exuberance was muted after the news of the flyers’ deaths. A giant cloud, tinged with red and barely visible, stretched across the sky. Every time I looked up to the heavens these days, I could hardly wait to be back up there. And yet, on that evening, the war seemed much closer, more ominous than glorious. I felt tired and could not stop thinking of Robert. I still had had no word from him.
Finally, in order to shake off the mood, I asked, “Why New York?”
“The ocean,” Billy said simply. “We’ve got to take a ship to England. New York’s where the RNAS is shipping out some of their pilots.”
I smiled. “So many miles by train and ship, all so that we can fly!”
He grunted. “Indeed!” Then he grew serious. “Paul?”
I gave him my attention.
“My brother said in his letters that lads were often split up when they got to France. Some are sent here, some there. Battalions too, based on the need. It might be like that for us as well. Listen, let’s make an agreement to stick together. Let’s fight for it and see if we can prove our worth as a team.”
I shook his hand. “I’m with you, Billy,” I said solemnly.
“Hurrah,” he said very quietly. He did not twirl his moustache.
* * *
The next morning was cold with a light drizzle of rain. Mr. Martin raised his cigarette and stared at the smoking end, then glanced at the clouds. “Good enough!” he suddenly shouted. “If I can smoke in it, then we can fly in it.”
We brought both Jennys out from the hangar and I was paired with Mr. Martin. “Touch down,” he said as we climbed in. “Then pull up again. You need to feel the distance between your wheels and the ground.”
Soon we were up in the sky and I took over control of the plane. We flew low over the aerodrome for several passes. Then Mr. Martin signalled for me to take the plane down.
I had never flown so low to the ground before on my own and I clenched my teeth as the ground drew closer. We slammed down hard and I pulled up quickly to gain control. Mr. Martin moved his hand slowly through the air to signal me: Take it easy. Calm down.
The next attempt was even worse because I was concentrating so much on the control stick that I forgot to adjust my ailerons to make the plane turn. It was also the first time I had flown with another plane so close to me. The first time Billy shot past me I thought we were going to crash. Discerning the distance between planes took some experience.
On my third and fourth attempts at landing, I touched the wheels down more softly and stayed down for several seconds before pulling up. I smirked. It was a little like teasing the ground, or playing tag with the earth. In this game, however, the consequences could be deadly. My final landing was a little rough, but I held the Jenny fairly steady, considering the wind and rain.
When Billy landed a few minutes later, Mr. Martin marched us into his hut. Though we were still in our training coveralls, he pulled off his gloves and signed our papers. “You’re pilots!” he announced. “From what I hear, the weather is ten times worse in France, so count yourselves lucky to have had training in the rain.”
We both shook Mr. Martin’s hand and then Mr. Edwards’s. They had been excellent instructors. We were lucky indeed.
Chapter 4
October 1916
We arrived in England in early October. The sea voyage and the foul weather made me realize once again that choosing the air service over the regular navy was a wise decision. It was true that there were fewer German U-boats for our sailors to worry about. The Kaiser did not want the Americans to join the war and he was afraid they might if American ships were sunk. But the lack of U-boats did nothing to ease my seasickness.
Billy did not mind the rough seas. He convinced me to walk in the fresh air, which helped a little. I told him that I preferred doing the loop three times in a row to spending a single hour on a ship. I perked up a little at the sight of Southampton, England.
I had never seen so many people in my life. The streets outside the port were teeming with families and sailors and soldiers. As we made our way through a wicket gate, there was another line of soldiers coming into the port to reach the wharf side. All along the queue, mothers, fathers, sisters, children, wives and girlfriends were saying goodbye to their men. There was a good deal of crying and hugging and kissing going on. It was an odd feeling, travelling in the opposite direction. I wondered who might say goodbye to us when it was our turn to go to France.
I could not help but stare at everything. The seawall surrounding the port was defended by large artillery and anti-aircraft guns. The newly installed armaments stood out impressively against the ancient stone walls. I wondered if the Romans had stood somewhere along this shore long ago and watched the same troubled seas from their towers. There was nothing in Winnipeg, let alone on our farm, that compared with the age and history of England.
And so many people! I heard people speaking in other languages — Italian, perhaps, and definitely French. I knew we would hear French in France, but I had not anticipated hearing it spoken in England.
We passed three men in the line, clearly related, and all receiving their goodbyes from a pretty girl who showered them with hugs and sisterly advice. Billy scooted from our line and stepped in behind the third man. I followed out of habit and wondered what he was up to. When it was Billy’s turn, the pretty girl laughed in surprise as he leaned in for a kiss. She gave him a peck on the cheek. Billy moved on and I stood there, embarrassed, not knowing what to do. The girl made sure her brothers were not looking and then motioned me closer. I leaned in to her and she kissed me on the lips! As I made to go she said in my ear, “Good luck, soldier!”
Stupidly, the only thing I could think of saying was, “I’m in the Air Service, Miss.” Billy tried to have another turn, but the lads from behind me were already pushing forward and the girl stepped back into the crowd.
“You’re the luckiest dog I’ve ever met,” Billy said. “No wonder I decided to keep you around.”
“I like England,” I responded.
We showed our papers to the officer at the station and asked for the Royal Naval Air Service office. He pointed to a train just coming in. “Take that one,” was all he said.
Eventually we ended up at King’s Cross Station. London was stunning. There was such a powerful feeling of history and importance hanging about the place. It even smelled old, in a pleasant, exciting sort of way. If I thought the port was busy, then London was insane. There were horses and cabs and cars all moving about, and somehow, miraculously, missing one another.
When we found the RNAS office we received another shock. After glancing at our papers the officer opened a folder on his desk. “Officers Townend and Miller?”
We exchanged glances. “Sir?”
He sighed. “On completion of your flight training you were both promoted. Flight lieutenants, to be precise.”
“That’s brilliant!” exclaimed Billy.
“Yes, I’m sure,” the officer muttered. “Now, for your orders. Tomorrow you are to each ferry a Sopwith Strutter to Redcar, Yorkshire, and report there for further training. We are in great need of planes. Your timing is excellent, gentlemen.”
My palms were clammy. I’d never flown except in training, let alone a long distance. I glanced at Billy. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly, so I said nothing.
We were given directions to the aerodrome and, once we were safely away from the office, Billy grabbed my arm. “Can you believe it?” he said. “We’re officers! Just like that! And to top it off we get to fly a fighter. On our own!”
“Well, Flight Lieutenant Miller,” I said. “Do you know anything about a Sopwith 1½ Strutter?”
“No!” he exclaimed. “Who cares? We’ll figure it out! We’re pilots.”
I groaned. “The Sopwith Strutter can do over a hundred miles per hour. At thirteen thousand feet it can still do over ninety. It’s a much more powerful machine than the Jenny.”
“Good,” Billy grunted.
I gave him a punch. “I’m as excited as you are. I’m just suggesting you need to be cautious.”
“How can you be cautious in war?” Billy asked.
* * *
We found lodging for the night, but neither of us slept well, with so much anticipation building for the coming day.
The next morning we arrived at the RNAS aerodrome at Hendon. It was nothing like Curtiss. It was a station made for war. The guard at the entrance looked over our papers meticulously. Another guard kept a close eye on us, as did soldiers in a tower on the opposite side of the compound.
I froze at the sight of ten planes on the dirt strip ahead of us. Five of them were Strutters: three bombers and two fighters. The guns mounted on the fighters made me think of Mr. Martin’s warning about how different our experience in Europe would be than in Canada.
“That’s them,” I murmured.
“Absolutely posh!” Billy exclaimed.
A soldier walked up to us and saluted smartly. “This way please, sirs.” We returned the salute. He took us to a hut and introduced us to the wing commander on duty.
“You’re the Canadians then, are you?” the commander asked. “Miller, Townend? Good. Are you reasonably rested?”
We hadn’t had that much sleep in the last 24 hours, but I wasn’t about to raise the issue.
“Very reasonably, sir,” Billy said.
“Victuals?”
“We could certainly do with some coffee, sir,” Billy answered.
“Have you flown a Strutter?”
I answered this time. “No, sir. But we are familiar with them, sir.”
“Good.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “Find yourselves some sandwiches and coffee at the mess. The planes are fuelled. Take these papers to the officer on the field. You’ll be given your gear, maps and directions there.” He saluted us. “Have a good flight, lieutenants.”
We were given flight gear, a little warmer than what we’d had in Toronto, and food. Our general instructions were to follow the coast some 300 miles, all the way to Redcar. We were to keep our eyes open for the towns of Ipswich and Great Yarmouth, which would act as landmarks for us. We were to refuel at Grimsby, just south of the Humber estuary. There were ocean bays to watch out for as well, and we were warned to be ready for heavy wind while crossing them. The officer made notes on the map itself, outlining further land features.
“If you get lost,” an officer told us, “set down safely and get your bearings from the nearest town. Don’t hurt my planes!”
The Sopwith 1½ Strutter was a fantastic machine. It was the first British plane to have synchronized machine guns, allowing the pilot to shoot through the propeller blades. From what the field officer told us, these had only recently been installed.
“You shouldn’t need them, I dare say,” he told us. “But one can never be too sure. The Hun has been running us amuck recently. Their Zeppelins have been giving the public the most frightful turns. Bombs in the middle of the night and what have you. Keep your eyes peeled for those blighters. And for the sake of all of us, if you see one, bring it down!” He made the sign of the cross.
I took a long look at the Strutter and smiled. The reason for its name suddenly became clear to me: unlike the Jenny, one set of smaller struts connected the upper wing and the fuselage. The other struts connected solely from wing to wing. The fuselage struts looked half the size of the ones on the wings. She looked fast and more powerful than the Jenny. Despite my lack of experience, I could hardly wait to see what the plane could do.
I climbed in and noticed that it was a single-seater, whereas Billy’s was a double. There was a Vickers machine gun mounted for the gunner on Billy’s plane, in addition to one for the pilot. It sent a chill down my spine to see its shadow splayed across the grass. Billy looked at it too. He raised his eyebrows. Our days of learning to fly for the sheer enjoyment of flight were over. From now on we would train to kill.
From the moment the engine roared into life I could feel the difference in power compared to the Jenny. The Strutter wanted to be in the air! She tugged hard at the blocks and I sensed immediately that I needed to be more aggressive than I had in training.
We had a horse on the farm that Sarah named Bully. Bully was strong-willed, powerful and had to be kept firmly under control. The similarity between her and the Strutter was so striking that I caught myself saying, “Easy now, easy girl,” before we left the blocks.
A glance over at Billy revealed that he was ready too. He gave me a wave. I couldn’t see his face, for it was completely covered by a cold-weather mask.
The ground crew removed the blocks and I edged my plane forward. The sun shone brightly as I headed out for the field. To the west I could see dark clouds and I wondered if we would run into them before long. I glanced back to see Billy a hundred yards behind and on my left. I held the stick firmly, prepared the flaps and then opened the throttle. The Strutter’s speed was thrilling. Although the field was a little rougher than at Curtiss, I was able to lift off earlier than I had with the Jenny.
I played with the wings a little and felt the quick response to my command. I checked my gauges and watched my altitude as I climbed, to make sure all was in working order, precisely as Mr. Martin had taught me. Billy pulled alongside and dipped his wings in salute. It was the first time we had flown side by side. I raised my hand to him.
My eyes fell on the Vickers gun in front of me. I reached out and gripped the handle, allowing my finger to slip against the trigger. Was the safety on? No one had said anything about that. On the farm, our shotgun had a safety catch that had to be removed before you could fire it. The Vickers had a safe
ty mechanism as well, a short bar that ran below the gun and ended in a knob-like handle. I gave the handle a push. It didn’t move. I gave it a harder push and it suddenly clicked forward. But was it on or off?
“Bang, bang!” I shouted, imagining an enemy in my sights. The Strutter lurched with a sudden updraft of wind and I accidently squeezed the trigger.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Four shots rang out above the noise of the engine. I gaped, unbelieving, at the gun. Beside me, Billy just stared. When I recovered from my shock I looked at him and he slapped his forehead. Then he pointed to the gun in front of him and shook his hand across it. No more. I nodded. He didn’t need to tell me. For some ridiculous reason I had assumed that the guns were not loaded. The field officer had said we wouldn’t need them. He did not say they weren’t ready for action. It was a sober reminder that our real work was to shoot down an enemy.
We made for the coast following the Thames River and right out to the eastern end of the Strait of Dover. I did not consult my maps until we reached the sea, as I wanted to spend some time exploring the Strutter.
Seeing England from the air was an extraordinary, surreal experience. Everything became clearer, and the ocean, hills, towns and rivers were put into a more complete perspective. Yet as we kept flying, everything began to look the same. Each town had the same colouring as the next and the shapes of the rivers and streams were often hidden by forest or buildings.
I felt some panic as we made our way east to the sea and I pulled out my map. I had to look down and keep the paper flat against my knees to shield it from the wind. If my map blew away we’d be in for some trouble, for Billy didn’t have as good a sense of direction as I did. I peered out over the cockpit and searched the coast below. There was an island ahead that looked something like a rhino’s horn, with a river running north of it. Foulness Island. I put my map away and gave Billy a thumbs-up.
As we flew over Harwich, heading north, we had our first real scare. Billy pointed down, so I strained to see what he was looking at. In the harbour were two warships, making their way out to sea. We decided to go and have a closer look. No sooner had we descended when a puff of smoke appeared from the mainland. A split second later there was a booming sound and I suddenly realized they were shooting at us!
