by Jon E. Lewis
On September 4th, 1917, I led my patrol up to 14,000 feet over Ypres, and then we crossed the lines to meet a formation of D.H.4’s on their return from bombing Audenarde. My orders were to meet them over Courtrai at 2.10 p.m. at 15,000 feet, and punctually to the minute we saw the big British two-seaters coming towards us amid a cloud of black Archies.
We turned, and whilst escorting them back to the line, we saw several Albatros climbing up north of Lille. We took the D.H.4’s west of the lines and then went back to look for the Huns we had seen. We found them at 16,000 feet near Lille, but they were going east, and by the time we would have got to them, we would have been too far east of the lines. However, young Rhys-Davids kept calling my attention to them, for he was all for chasing the Huns out of the sky altogether, and I had some difficulty in making him realise that bravery should not be carried to the extent of foolhardiness.
The Huns soon returned, and we met them at 17,500 feet over Baccelaere. I singled out my Teuton partner, and we circled around each other until I at last managed to get on his tail. He at once went down in a spiral. It is the most difficult thing imaginable to shoot an opponent who is spiralling, so after chasing him down to 8,000 feet and firing a lot of ammunition to little effect, I turned away just in time to see Coote chase a Hun away who had been following me down. By this time I had reformed the patrol; we found it was time to go home, so I fired the “washout” signal.
As the visibility was good I thought I would save my height as much as possible until I got over my aerodrome, in the hope of running into a two-seater over our lines, so I crossed our lines homeward bound at about 16,000 feet, and I then saw a Hun two-seater above me near Armentières. As he was 500 feet above me, I pulled my top gun down and fired a drum of Lewis at him, but it did not take much effect, for it is rather difficult to fire at a machine that is vertically above one and fly straight at the same time, so this old Hun got away east of the lines.
I resumed my homeward journey at 17,000 feet and very soon saw a Hun two-seater, a D.F.W., coming towards me from the S.W. over Estaires. I intercepted him, and took up a position to shoot at him in such a way that he could not shoot at me, as I had been practising this method of attack for a long time. My Vickers gun was out of action, but the Lewis was working, and so I opened fire at two hundred yards. I fired a whole drum, and the Hun commenced to shy, so I quickly changed a drum, and whilst doing so, I exposed myself to the Hun’s fire, whose bullets I felt hit my machine.
“Never mind,” I thought, so I closed again, and fired my last drum, which caused the old D.F.W. to wobble and pitch like anything, and then the observer disappeared into the cockpit apparently disabled, and the Hun went sliding down over Quesnoy under control. I had hard luck with this fellow, for if I had had another drum, I could have concentrated on my shooting without troubling about the gunner. However, this was all good practice for me.
I returned to my aerodrome, and after landing found that I should require a new machine, as the Hun had put an incendiary bullet into one of my longerons just at my feet, and this meant the machine going into the repair-section for a while. Lieutenant Sloley went to St. Omer for me to get another machine, and brought back a Factory-built S.E.5 No. A/4863. This S.E. was destined to give me a lot of trouble before I got it going well finally.
The weather during this time was simply glorious, and we always had plenty of spare time, so we thoroughly enjoyed it. Our usual patrol time was about six p.m. during the late summer, and as a rule we were not sent up unless there was pronounced enemy aerial activity. We spent our spare time in various ways.
We had a wonderful game called “Bumple-puppy,” which one played with tennis rackets. A ball is tied by a length of string to the top of a pole and the two players stand opposite each other with the pole between. They both try to hit the ball opposite ways until either of them has wound the ball up to the fullest extent on the pole, and the player who succeeds in doing this first wins. This does not sound very exciting, but it is when two good players get going.
In the hot afternoons we all bathed in a little stream a few miles from the aerodrome, and all went very well until one day we went down there to find a lot of Portuguese soldiers in possession of our bathing place. Needless to say, the water in that place never recovered its pristine clearness, nor odour.
When the days were dull or wet, we had tenders in which to go up to the trenches or to go to St. Omer to see the fair maids of France. Most fellows had an attraction of some sort in St. Omer, and the teashops, where was usually to be had wonderful French pastry, were always full. In the mess we had many games, ping-pong being easily the most popular. Then we had the inevitable cards, gramophone, and piano, which several fellows could play nicely.
One dud day Barlow and I set off to visit Vimy Ridge. On our way we called in at another Squadron to visit my young brother, who was a Sergeant-pilot, flying D.H.4’s. We resumed our journey and then visited some friends of Barlow’s at an Artillery Group Headquarters. I think Barlow had a cousin there. After lunch we went by tender through the valley of Notre Dame de Lorette, and through Carency and Souchez, in which valley so many gallant Frenchmen gave their lives in the intense fighting of early 1915.
Souchez and Carency were merely a pile of rubbish, and on our left towered the height of Vimy Ridge. After thoroughly viewing this natural fortress, which was held by the Germans in 1914, ’15, ’16 and part of ’17, I was amazed to think that it fell to a direct frontal attack such as it did in April, 1917, when the Huns were completely routed for some miles by the Canadians.
We drove over the Vimy Ridge on a plank roadway constructed by the Sappers, and sheltered the car on the eastern slopes of the ridge. We then walked to an observation post which was near, and viewed the trenches from this vantage point. The visibility was poor, so we could not see too much, but we could, with the aid of glasses, see the clock-face on the church tower of Haines, a small village some way behind the enemy lines, and we could also see the Wingles Tower, a large steel structure that the enemy uses for his observation post.
After we had had a good look round we went to find some souvenirs off the Vimy battlefield. We could have taken away heaps of souvenirs had we the room for them. We saw some huge mine craters about 100 yards across. One of the largest is known as Winnipeg Crater, I think. War material of every description littered the ground: rifles, grenades, both British and Boche, trench mortars and shells of all calibres. I got a very good German rifle, and we had some fun pulling the string of the German bombs, known amongst our Tommies as potato mashers, and then throwing them down a crater to burst. We spent some time examining the graves of fallen German soldiers which bore crosses with many forms of German inscriptions. After which we walked to our tender and then came away.
We had spent a most interesting and instructive afternoon and we were only sorry that we had not seen German machines up over the trenches, for we had been within a mile of our front line the whole afternoon.
On our way from Vimy we decided to have tea in Béthune, so we went to a little teashop that is on the main road to Lillers, and is a stone’s throw from Béthune church tower, and here was the same dainty little Madeline who had given us tea when I was a Corporal, and passed through Béthune a lot in late 1914. Madeline was very grieved when I last saw her, for her fiancé, a Lieutenant in the French infantry, had been killed at Verdun. I expressed my sympathy, as well as I could, in my not too perfect French, which elicited the remark: “Ah, M’sieu! c’est la Guerre!”
We had a very nice tea, and then walked round Béthune to make a few purchases. Béthune, since I had seen it last in 1915, had not been shelled much, although the square had been damaged a lot, but it is remarkable how well the French people take it as a rule. Many who read this book will remember the dainty little Ma’m’selle in the “patisserie” in the main Rue to Chocques and Lillers.
Whilst passing a shop window I noticed a certain quality of brilliantine of which I had last purchased a qu
antity at Avesnes-le-Compte in 1916, and since then I had tried everywhere to find this same quality. I went into the shop and bought up the entire stock of that grade, and the tradesman must have thought that I was going to start a barber’s shop. I think the total cost was something over thirty francs, and it was only recently that I finished my last bottle.
After this, Barlow and I resumed our journey, and arrived back at our aerodrome just in time for dinner. Some of the fellows had been to Calais, some to Ypres, and some to St. Omer.
On September 6th, the anniversary of shooting down my first Hun, I went up on my new S.E.5 at the head of my trusty Flight, and after getting up to 13,000 feet we crossed the lines about Bixschoote. Immediately after crossing the lines, we saw some enemy scouts over the Houthoulst Forest, and we flew to the attack. We got closer, and I saw two new types of enemy scouts. One was a triplane, and was not very unlike the Sopwith of that type. The other one was a machine with very obliquely cut wing tips and tailplane. These two machines, I afterwards found, were the Fokker triplane and the Pfalz scout.
We manœuvred around for a while, and the Huns did most of the shooting, for they were above and had the initial advantage on their side, but finally there was no advantage to either side, and after some time the Huns withdrew. My Vickers was now out of action owing to a fault in my interrupter gear, and so I only had my Lewis.
On sighting two Albatros Scouts over Passchendaele I dived and, getting to close range of one, my Lewis fired one shot and stopped. The Boche at once spun and got away, but the other, after having been engaged by Jeffs of “A” Flight, crashed near Poelcappelle Station.
We now reformed, and then dived on three two-seaters over Houthem, who were about 4,000 feet high. I opened fire on one at once and fired sixty rounds at him, and he then put his nose down east and flew off into a fringe of mist as though he was all right. Nothing happened of further interest, so we flew back to our aerodrome, and, after having breakfast, I had to give a full description of the two new German types that I had seen.
After that I spent the remainder of the morning working on my Constantinesco interrupter gear, which was giving a lot of trouble on my new machine, for up till now I had hardly fired my Vickers guns at all.
Whilst on the aerodrome Bowman landed, and after taxiing up to where I stood, started to get out of his machine, and I spoke to him about something. While listening to me he put the back of his leg, just behind the knee, on his red-hot exhaust pipe. As he was wearing shorts that finish above the knee, he rested his bare flesh on the very, very hot metal.
There was immediately a hell of a yell, and a sizzling sound as Bowman leapt about four feet into the air, shouting most angry profanity. I very quickly made myself scarce, for, as I said to Bowman afterwards, the smell of roast pork was most appetizing. Poor old Bowman’s leg was tied up for weeks afterwards.
For two whole days I tested my guns, and could not get them to my liking. All my comrades and “Grandpa,” our dear old Recording Officer, simply chaffed me to death, and suggested that why my guns did not go when I got into the air was because I wore them out first on the ground. By Jove! How those fellows chaffed me. But for a gun to fire forty rounds of ammunition and then stop was not good enough for me. I wanted my guns to fire every round I carried without stoppage, as good guns ought, and I was not going to give up until they would do so.
Rhys-Davids got two German scouts on the 9th of September just south of Houthoulst Forest, and Maybery got two the next day near Zonnebeke whilst I sat on the aerodrome, working like the proverbial nigger on my machine.
The next day I led my patrol over the lines early in the morning over Bixschoote at 13,000 feet. We flew east to Roulers and then turned south to Menin, whence we turned north-west again. I now saw a patrol of Albatros Scouts west of us, over Baccelaere at about the same height.
I led my artists into the sun, and then we pounced on the Huns who were fast asleep, and looking no doubt towards the west, as they usually do. I picked out my prize as I thought, got 50 yards behind him, took very careful aim, pressed both triggers and nothing happened. I chased this Hun down to 9,000 feet, rectifying my Vickers on the way, but the damned Hun got away, and was very lucky, for he was very dud. My word! You cannot realise what it is to get on Hun’s tails time after time, and then have your guns let you down.
During the first fortnight in September I had the most rotten luck that I think it is possible for a fighting pilot to experience. I can count up at least six scouts which I very likely would have shot down in the early part of September alone.
Later on this patrol I saw an S.E. down very low, being driven down by a skilful Albatros pilot. Rhys-Davids and I dived to the rescue, and drove the Hun away, and I continued pursuing him. I drove him off east of Zonnebeke at 500 feet, but although I did a lot of shooting at him, I did not bring him down, and as I was now well east of the lines I returned. By this time petrol was low, so I fired the “washout” signal, and we all flew home to breakfast.
At this period up on the Ypres sector, the German Scout pilots as a rule were undoubtedly good, and one met a larger proportion of skilful pilots up there than I have ever come across elsewhere on the front from La Fère to the sea. Of course, the Albatros Scout, type D.5, was undoubtedly good, but at the same time prisoners said that the German pilots considered the S.E.5 a most formidable fighting machine.
On the evening of the 14th of September we had some fine sport on the evening patrol. I led my flight over the lines at 14,000 feet over Bixschoote at six p.m., and flew towards Roulers, where we saw seven Albatroses on whom we at once dived. I picked out my target, fired a burst from my Lewis, after which the Hun went down in a spiral, his whole machine vibrating most violently as though some of the bullets had perforated his cylinders, and caused his engine partially to seize. I watched this Hun in a spiral down to about 4,000 feet over Ledeghem, but after that I lost sight of him as he was so low.
I turned round west, and then saw two Huns north-east of Houthoulst Forest, a good deal lower. I had now lost my patrol, and so dived down alone, and when I got closer saw that they were two-seaters, one of whom was painted a bright red. I fired at this fellow at very close range, and only just had enough time to zoom above him to save myself from running into his tail.
On looking round very soon afterwards I saw a whole patrol of Albatros Scouts between myself and the lines. Immediately I did the best thing possible; I opened out my engine full, and charged right through the middle of them, firing both guns and pulling my controls about all over the place in order to spray my bullets about as much as possible, and the old Huns seemed to scratch their heads and say, “What the devil next?” I very soon out-distanced them owing to my superior speed, for the S.E. with engine full on and dropping a little height is very fast indeed.
Three of the Huns did some shooting at me, but not close enough to worry me. I then flew south over the Houthoulst Forest and met Rhys-Davids over Polygon Wood, and so we flew down to Gheluwe, where we saw over a dozen Huns all above us, so we circled around underneath them so as to make them pursue us west, in order to get them nearer to the line. This we did, and by the time we were farther west over Gheluvelt, we were reinforced by several more S.E.’s of our Squadron. A general mêlée began, and very soon everyone was circling round shooting at something, but in the scrap I saw Rhys-Davids fighting a very skilful Hun, whose Albatros was painted with a red nose, a green fuselage and a silver tail.
It was now very cloudy, and I could not quite see where we were, but I knew we were in the vicinity of Menin. I had just finished chasing a Hun around when I saw an S.E. hurtle by in a streaming cloud of white vapour, apparently hot water or petrol. I now had a look round, and could see no sign of an Allied machine anywhere, so I went down into the clouds, and on coming out of the clouds at about 9,000 feet saw another layer of cloud below me and an Albatros Scout flying south in between two large banks of clouds.
“By Jove!” I thought, “here’s a sit
ter!” so down I went. I had almost fired when “cack, cack, cack, cack,” came from behind, and I looked over my shoulder and saw three red noses coming for me. I at once dived through the clouds and saw I was just east of Menin, and a very strong west wind was blowing. I very quickly got free from close range, and by the time I crossed our lines over Frelinghien, near Armentières, at 3,000 feet, the Huns were a good mile behind, so in about eight miles straight flight I had increased my lead from one hundred yards to a mile.
I flew home to the aerodrome and landed when it was quite dusk, and found that Rhys-Davids was still out. However, he telephoned up an hour later to say he was at a rather distant aerodrome, and had been shot in the tank and centre section by the Hun with the silver tail.
It was Rhys-Davids whom I had seen go into a cloud, emitting volumes of petrol vapour, and he was very lucky not to have been set on fire by the flame from his exhaust.
The next evening my patrol and I were over Baccelaere at 13,000 feet when we saw some Huns engaging Bowman’s formation, who were north-west of us, so we got up to the Huns without being observed. I saw an Albatros dive on Maybery, so I tackled this Hun, who executed some very weird manœuvres. I could not sit on his tail at all, and after getting very close to him, I lost sight of him under my wing, so I turned to the left, and the next thing I saw was the Hun’s nose directly behind me, at very close range, but apparently he had not seen me, for he was looking over his shoulder, wondering where I had got to. He completed his turn and then flew away east.
At 6.30 p.m., whilst at 12,000 feet over Gheluvelt, we saw some S.E.’s of another squadron being engaged by some Huns over Houthem. We dived and attacked the Huns from the rear, and although I got to close range of one, I choked my engine at the critical moment and the Hun got away.
