by Jon E. Lewis
BEF [France]
October 20, 1917
My dearest all,
I have been hoping for a letter, but so far the weekly budget has not turned up. I expect it takes some time nowadays.
Well, I am still in the land of the living and am enjoying myself no end. It is quite like old times. I had an exciting experience a day or two ago. You know how misty the weather is nowadays. Well we were flying about over the line, when a fellow and myself lost the rest of the patrol in a fog and we had not a bit of an idea where we were, so we came down to a few hundred feet from the ground. Presently we came to a large Town, which puzzled me immensely, and I circled round quite comically trying to locate it on the map. I thought, and so did the other fellow, that we were on our side of the lines. Imagine my amazement when I discovered it to be about 12 miles in Hun land. We were soon greeted with shells and machine gun fire. So of course we frightened everything we met on the roads, diving quite close to the ground and on to motor lorries etc and I bet we scared Huns out of their lives. When we eventually came home we noticed all the roads quite clear of men and lorries etc . . . so we were immensely bucked with ourselves and enjoyed a jolly good breakfast. . . Tonight I am dining with another squadron. I know a few fellows there and expect to have quite a cheery evening. Oh! Yes! I shall be quite good.
By the way I unfortunately smashed a machine the other day. I landed on my nose by mistake in the middle of the aerodrome. I didn’t hurt myself though and my CO only laughed and suggested mildly that I should land on my wheels another time.
It was very funny because four more did exactly the same thing five minutes later. Well cheery oh! everybody
George Downing went missing in action in November 1917.
FLYING FURY
JAMES McCUDDEN VC
James McCudden entered World War I as an engine-fitter in the newly formed Royal Flying Corps. By early 1916 he had become an observer. In May 1916 he gained his “wings”, making him one of the few NCO fighter pilots in the RFC. On 1 January 1917 he was commissioned and in August 1917 was made flight commander with 56 Squadron (which was equipped with SE5A single-seater fighters). By the end of that year his tally of victories stood at 37. In March 1918 McCudden was awarded the Victoria Cross in recognition of his long run of successful and courgeous actions against the enemy. He died on 9 July 1918 after an engine malfunction during a routine take-off at Auxi-le-Chateau, France. James McCudden VC, DSO & Bar, MC & Bar, MM, CdG was 23. He had shot down 57 German aircraft over the skies of Flanders. The extract below from his memoirs, which he completed only days before his death, covers the latter period of 1917 and is notable for its account of Rhys-David’s downing of German ace Werner Voss, argually the classic dog-fight of air war over the Western Front.
Orders were to report to Mason’s Yard at 9 a.m. on the 14th of August. I reported in good time after having packed my kit and said good-bye to my people and friends, and left Victoria at 9.30, arriving at Folkestone in time to catch the midday boat. I arrived in Boulogne again on the good ship “Victoria” at about 2 p.m. and telephoned the Adjutant of No. 56 Squadron of my arrival, who very kindly sent a tender for me. The tender arrived in due course, and I arrived at No. 56 Squadron at 7.30 p.m. on August 15th. I at once reported to Major Blomfield, and I don’t think I have often experienced such pleasure as when I was able to call myself a Flight-Commander in No. 56 Squadron.
When I arrived at the Squadron I was just in time to meet the pilots landing after the evening patrol, during which the patrol had got four Huns. We adjourned to the mess and had dinner, which was enjoyed to the accompaniment of the Squadron orchestra. I sat on the C.O.’s left, Bowman on his right, and Maxwell, the other Flight-Commander, on the right of Bowman. I was to command “B” Flight, and my brother pilots were Lieutenants Barlow, Rhys-Davids, Muspratt, Coote and Cronyn, as splendid a lot of fellows as ever set foot in France.
The next morning I inspected and took over the Flight, and then had my machine fitted to my liking. The machine was No. B/519, a Vickers-built S.E.5. On the next day I led my first patrol in No. 56 Squadron, and flew over the area, Menin, Zonnebeke, at 15,000 ft. for two hours, but the only Hun we saw was one who was well above us, far too high for any of us to climb to.
On the 18th of August I led my patrol over the lines at Houthem at 14,000 ft., and we at once sighted some Huns just west of Menin; we all dived and, when we got near, saw that they were two-seaters. I tackled the nearest one, but both guns jammed immediately so badly that I landed at the nearest aerodrome at once, and after clearing the stoppages crossed the lines again over Gheluvelt, where I at once met Barlow at 8,000 ft. Very soon we saw a two-seater down below us, apparently ranging his artillery. We at once went down on him, and got in a good burst from 100 yards’ range from directly behind. The fat old Hun dived, pursued by Barlow, who caused it to land near Passchendaele, but the occupants scrambled out and ran away.
Barlow now rejoined me and we flew south towards Houthem, where we saw eight of the enemy in good formation. Barlow now was above and dived into the middle of them, and caused one Albatros to dive under his formation and come towards me. I opened fire at this Hun at 100 yards and fired a good burst until we nearly collided nose on. At once the Hun’s nose went down and he carried on downwards in a very steep spiral with his nose vertically down, and in this position I last saw him at about 4,000 feet, but I was unable to watch him farther as there was too much else to occupy my attention.
Barlow was meanwhile doing great execution and had got one Hun already crashed, and I was just in time to see his second go down out of control, because we were now directly underneath about eight V-strutters, who were swearing vengeance for their falling comrades.
We had to run for it like anything, and owing to our superior speed we soon out-distanced the Huns and went home for breakfast. It was very fine to be on a machine that was faster than the Huns, and I may say that it increased one’s confidence enormously to know that one could run away just as soon as things became too hot for one. While at breakfast we discussed our flights, and my comrades in 56 expressed the wish that my first Hun in 56, which I obtained that morning, would be the first of fifty. I hoped so.
The S.E.5 which I was now flying was a most efficient fighting machine, far and away superior to the enemy machines of that period. It had a Vickers gun, shooting forward through the propeller, and a Lewis gun shooting forward over the top plane, parallel to the Vickers, but above the propeller. The pilot could also incline the Lewis gun upwards in such a way that he could shoot vertically upwards at a target that presented itself. As a matter of fact, these guns were rarely used in this manner, as it was quite a work of art to pull this gun down and shoot upwards, and at the same time manage one’s machine accurately. The idea of using a Lewis gun on the top plane of an S.E. was first put forward by the late Captain Ball, who used his top gun with such excellent success in another Squadron whilst flying Nieuports.
However, the modern machine has nowadays such a climb and reserve of power that it is quite usual for a machine to get some speed first and then do a vertical zoom towards an opponent who is above and get in a burst of fire before losing all its speed and falling down in a stalled condition. Other good points of the S.E.5 were its great strength, its diving and zooming powers, and its splendid view. Apart from this, it was a most warm, comfortable and easy machine to fly.
A lot of my time during my first few days with No. 56 Squadron was taken up with testing my guns and aligning my sights, for I am a stickler for detail in every respect, for in aerial fighting I am sure it is the detail that counts more than the actual main fighting points. It is more easy to find a Hun and attack him from a good position than it is to do the actual accurate shooting. It may sound absurd, but such a thing as having dirty goggles makes all the difference between getting or not getting a Hun.
On the 19th of August I led a patrol of four machines over the line east of Zonnebeke, when we were immediately attacked
from above by five Albatros Scouts. We manœuvred for a while, during which time Maxwell drove a Hun down, but did not get him. The Huns all now went off and nothing of much further interest occurred until towards the end of the patrol, I saw a Sopwith triplane diving away from two V-strutters over Langemarck. I fired at the nearest one, who at once left the triplane and went off east.
We now saw a formation of six Albatros Scouts coming north over Gheluvelt at about 19,000 feet. I climbed above the Huns and dived on a V-strutter painted all red with yellow stripes round him, and after firing a good burst from both my guns, the Hun went down out of control in a spin, and I watched him for a long time, but lost sight of him near the ground, as the other Huns were becoming annoyed. I had now finished my Lewis ammunition, and the trigger of my Vickers had broken, so I was forced to return home. Turnball, one of my comrades, had seen my Hun going down and had also lost sight of him near the ground.
The next evening at 6.50 p.m., whilst leading my blood-thirsty little band of six pilots over Poelcappelle, at about 11,000 feet I saw an enemy scout formation coming north from over Zandvoorde. They had apparently not yet seen us, so I throttled down my engine and, signalling to my comrades, I flew round east of the Huns and attacked them from the south. I selected the leader, and opened fire on him with my Vickers at 150 yards’ range and, closing to 50 yards, fired a short burst with both guns.
At once a little trickle of flame came out of his fuselage, which became larger and larger until the whole fuselage and tailplane was enveloped in flames. The Albatros at once went down in a vertical dive, and I zoomed upwards and felt quite sick. I don’t think I have ever been so conscience-stricken as at that time, and I watched the V-strutter until he hit the ground in a smother of flame in a small copse north-east of Polygon Wood, and caused a fire which was still burning when we flew home.
As soon as this Hun went down in flames, the remainder of the Hun formation all scuttled off down east as fast as possible, and so I now re-formed my patrol and looked for some more Huns, and for the remainder of the flight I was very uneasy indeed, and kept glancing behind me to look for the avenging German machines, which I felt sure would dive on me any moment.
That was my first Hun in flames. As soon as I saw it I thought “poor devil,” and really felt sick. It was at that time very revolting to see any machine go down in flames, especially when it was done by my own hands. One seems to feel it more than sending a Hun to Hell out of control or crashed or in pieces. However, I had to live down my better feelings.
Later in that same patrol, whilst manœuvring for position with several Albatros Scouts over Polygon Wood, I saw one of my comrades (Johnson) being closely engaged by two V-strutters. I drove one off at 200 yards by firing some shots at him, and closed to 30 yards on the second Hun and, getting a favourable sight, opened fire with both guns. The Albatros at once went down vertically and, after flattening out, zoomed upwards. I followed, and zooming also, caught up with the Hun at the top of his zoom, opened fire, and continued doing so until I nearly crashed into his tail. By Jove! It was close.
The Hun turned upside down, and fell for about two hundred feet in this position, and then came out in a dive, after which he went down in a steep side-slipping dive, but I could not watch him till he crashed, as it was rather hazy, and it was nearly dusk.
All the remainder of the Huns having been dispersed by my comrades, and Rhys-Davids having crashed one, we flew home, having that evening “waged much war with great cunning,” as my friend Meintjes invariably says. On landing at our aerodrome all were waiting eagerly to hear of any success that we had to report. It was very amusing to hear one mechanic bragging that his pilot had got a Hun while so-and-so hadn’t, and all that sort of chaff.
After we had landed we made out our combat reports, and then adjourned to the mess for our dinner, to which we “hired assassins” did full justice, but for the remainder of the evening the thought of that Albatros going down in flames, I confess, made me quite miserable. However, I finally got over that feeling, for I had to if I was to make a success of my work.
The next evening we were up over the usual area at the same time, and saw the same patrol that we had engaged the previous evening coming up, but one does not usually catch the same patrol of Huns a second time so easily. However, we went down on these Huns a long way east of the lines and drove them down east of the Menin-Roulers road, and I had a very anxious time firing recall signals for the benefit of Barlow and Rhys-Davids, who would have chased the Huns over to the Russian front if I had let them. We re-formed and were then chased back to our lines by about fifteen Huns, who were above us and at an advantage, so we simply had to run. For the remainder of that patrol there was not much activity and so we returned at the termination of our time without having downed a Hun.
The next morning early we were to escort some D.H.4’s, who were going over to bomb the junction of Ascq, which lies just east of Lille. We met the D.H.4’s over our aerodrome at 10,000 feet, as arranged, and after climbing in company with them for an hour, we crossed the lines over Armentières at 16,500 feet. By the time we reached Lille at 17,000 feet, my machine was about up against its ceiling, that is, it was as high as it would go. The D.H.4’s had just unshipped their eggs when we saw a few V-strutters coming from the north and slightly below us. I picked out one fellow and got on to his tail and, pressing the triggers of both guns, nothing happened. The Hun lost no time at all in making good his escape.
Now there was another Hun whom I missed through sheer carelessness, and he was a dud Hun too, for he just dived away straight. I will explain how.
As soon as I crossed the lines, usually I at once fired both guns to see that they were all right, but on this occasion I had neglected to do so, and the episode I have mentioned was the outcome. As soon as I reloaded each gun they went splendidly, and the reason they did not go at first was because they were too cold, and stopped after the first shot, but as soon as they had each fired a few shots and got warm they were all right. The other Huns had made a very poor attempt to attack the bombers, but were at once dispersed by my comrades, and very soon we saw our charges safely west of the lines.
Still having some petrol remaining, we went back over the lines and saw some Albatros Scouts attacking some F.E.’s of another squadron. “Now then, chaps! the Squadron to the rescue,” we felt, and after the Huns’ blood we rushed.
One Hun pilot had become so engrossed fighting an F.E. that he got below and west of me before he saw me. As I went down on him I saw that he was painted black and purple, a fellow whom I had noticed before. I got behind him at fair range, and he immediately dived and then zoomed. I did the same and, firing both guns whilst zooming, saw my tracers passing to the right of his fuselage. He now half-rolled and I followed and, passing a few feet above him, saw the German pilot look upwards; and it struck me that he did not seem the least perturbed, as I should have expected him to be.
I came to the conclusion that this Hun was very good, and that it would be most difficult to shoot him, so I turned away, just in time to see four others coming down to aid him. I had not turned away a second too soon.
That Hun was a good one, for every time I got behind him he turned upside down and passed out underneath me. I well remember looking at him too. He seemed only a boy.
It seems all very strange to me, but whilst fighting Germans I have always looked upon a German aeroplane as a machine that has got to be destroyed, and at times when I have passed quite close to a Hun machine and have had a good look at the occupant, the thought has often struck me: “By Jove! there is a man in it.” This may sound queer, but it is quite true, for at times I have fought a Hun and, on passing at close range, have seen the pilot in it, and I have been quite surprised.
On the evening of the 22nd, I again led my patrol over the lines, and very soon saw four Huns flying west over Zandvoorde, so, as we were north of them, we soon got between them and their lines, and then we attacked them over Ypres. They turned ou
t to be all D.F.W.’s, apparently doing a formation reconnaissance.
We each picked out our man and commenced shooting. I shot an awful lot at my man, who finally went down in a steep, jerky dive towards the east. I then turned away and saw Muspratt finish off his opponent in great style. This Hun went into a very flat spin, which lasted from 14,000 feet to the ground, and I watched him the whole way until he crashed in our lines near St. Julien. I never have seen anything so funny for a long time as that old Hun going round and round for over two minutes. I bet the pilot and observer had a sick headache after that.
Meanwhile, Cronyn had finished off another, who also fell in our lines, so between us we made that two-seater formation sorry that it ever crossed our lines that evening. That was the end of activity that evening, so we flew home, all very happy.
On the evening of September 3rd I had been out alone looking for stray Huns, and not having seen any, I went up to the Salient, when Potts and Jeffs, of “A” Flight, quietly attached themselves to me, having lost Maxwell in the heat of a fight. We saw three V-strutters going north over Poelcappelle, and so down we went, and just before I got to the rear Hun, my engine chocked, and I got vertically below the last Hun, whom I saw looking over the side of his fuselage at me.
The next thing I saw was tracers passing this Hun, who immediately burst into flames and fell instantly. So quickly did he fall that I did not have time to dodge, and the Albatros, a flaming mass, fell about fifty feet away from me. I distinctly heard the roar of it as it passed me, for my engine was not making much noise, and was throttled down. I now got my engine going, and chased one of the remaining Huns, who at once went down in an awfully obvious funk, having seen his comrade go down in flames, but I could not shoot this fellow, for he knew how to manœuvre in defence.
