by Jon E. Lewis
The cold weather now coming on, we began to make our quarters and Mess more comfortable. Hoidge, who was before the war an architect, designed a wonderful brick fire-place, for which we had to enlarge the Mess specially, and the fireplace took weeks to build. Eventually, shortly after it was completed, we, needless to say, received orders to move.
On October 21st a report came from the Wing to say that three German machines were coming south from Calais, and Rhys-Davids, Muspratt and I went up in pursuit and climbed towards St. Omer, over which we arrived at 12,000 feet. Just previous to leaving the ground we had seen Maxwell and Barlow off in the squadron car, for they were going home for a well-earned rest.
After going up towards Calais I saw a de Havilland type 4 which I had a look at, and then turned away. I continued to climb, and Rhys-Davids and Muspratt went down and told “Grandpa,” our Recording Officer, that they had left me over St. Omer, carefully stalking a D.H.4.
I now flew east-south-east at 16,000 feet, and over Béthune saw a German two-seater coming west over Givenchy, slightly higher than myself. As I approached him he turned off south-east and I could not catch him, so I just saw him go off well behind his lines.
Now I knew the Hun was a Rumpler, and that he was probably coming over our lines on a long job, and knowing that the Rumpler also carried four hours’ petrol, I thought it would be worth while to continue climbing, so off I went up north to Armentières, and although my engine was not going well I was carefully hoarding height. Whilst over Armentières I looked towards the south-east, and just caught sight of a very small speck against the herringbone sky, in the direction of Don, which is some miles east of the place where I first spotted the Hun. I now flew east to over Haubourdin, where I arrived at 17,500 feet, and I then turned south, whilst the little speck, which I thought was my photographic Rumpler, still went west.
Having arrived over Don, due east of the Hun, I turned to the west, following him until, by the time I was passing La Bassée, the Hun was well along the canal, no doubt having seen me by now but mistaking me for another German machine, for I came from so far over his lines. I got quite close to him over Béthune at 18,000 feet, and he now saw his mistake and tried to out-distance me towards Lens.
Very soon I caught up with him and got into position and fired a long burst from both guns, which went beautifully. The Rumpler at once went down in a steep righthand spin, emitting clouds of steam. I followed quickly, thinking that the pilot was all right, but I could see that the Hun’s spiral was very steep, fast and regular. I went down at 200 m.p.h., and by the time I had got down to 6,000 feet the Rumpler had hit the ground at Fosse 10, near Mazingarbe, and was completely wrecked.
Immediately I landed alongside and ran over to the machine, round which were collecting French people and Tommies. I found the observer shot dead, but the pilot was still breathing, and so I got some Tommies to find a stretcher in order to take him to hospital, but the poor fellow died in a few minutes, for he was badly shot too. I felt very sorry indeed, for shooting a man down in Hunland is a different thing from doing it in your own lines, where you can see the results of your work. Shooting Huns is very good fun while we have to do it, but at the same time it makes one think, as I say, when one views such an object as I was doing then.
I put a guard on the machine and then took off, and flew back to the aerodrome, where I met Major Blomfield, who was very pleased and promised to go out at once to look at the Rumpler. I went to “Grandpa” to report, and he laughed like anything as he told me that the other two pilots had come down and reported me stalking a D.H.4. I stalked this Rumpler for nearly an hour before I finally engaged him where I wanted to do so, over our lines, and I think that this was one of the best stalks that I have ever had. I cannot describe the satisfaction which one experiences after bringing a good stalk to a successful conclusion.
After eating a hurried lunch the O.C. and I set off to view the Hun, who was only a few miles away, and arrived there in less than an hour, passing through dear old Béthune on the way. We arrived at the spot where the Rumpler lay, and the officer who found the guard, a sapper named Creeth, whom I knew, presented me with a beautiful silk cap which belonged to the pilot, who had papers on him from which we gathered he had been on leave in Berlin. This silk cap took my fancy so much and fitted me so well that I had it copied in silk khaki and wore it in France for months, and it certainly was unique.
We stayed by the Hun for some time, and the O.C. said that it was a pity we could not down Huns without this happening – alluding to the dead occupants – and I agreed, but I suppose I am getting too sentimental, and one cannot afford to be so when one has to do one’s job of killing and going on killing.
The Major collected what parts of the machine he wanted and we then came away, as it was getting late. Just as we were leaving a shell dropped a hundred yards from the machine, but I think it was by accident, although the machine lay in full view of Wingles Tower, from which the Germans observe.
We arrived back at the squadron and had tea, for which we had an immense appetite. I was very pleased with life altogether, for I had brought down three two-seaters in our lines in ten days, and to bring a Hun down in our lines was an exception to the rule.
For the last fortnight my guns and machine had been going splendidly, and my machine now left nothing to be desired, in fact it was all it should be.
On the 23rd October I went to England on a fortnight’s leave, and Rhys-Davids, being the next senior, took command of my flight in my absence. The day after I left he took my patrol over the lines and never came back himself, and no one knew what happened except perhaps the Germans. On the patrol he was last seen flying east towards some Huns, but that is all that was known.
On the 25th I met an officer from my squadron in London who told me that Rhys-Davids was missing. It only seemed a few hours since I had seen him, and of course it was all the harder luck because Rhys-Davids was already due for a rest.
I had a topping fortnight’s leave, during which time I think I saw nearly every show in town, and one evening coming away from seeing “Arlette” I met an officer of another squadron who told me that my machine had been crashed. I was very fed up, and asked him if he was certain, and he said, “Yes, because I heard one of the 56 fellows say, ‘Won’t McCudden be mad when he comes off leave to find his pet machine crashed.’” And so I was.
On November 5th I went to Hendon with Captain Clive Collett to fly a V-strutter Albatros which he had for demonstration purposes, and I had a nice ride in it, but I could not think how the German pilots could manœuvre them so well, for they were certainly not easy to handle. The Albatros which Collett flew was the one that was flown by the Hun Sergeant-Major when he was driven down in our lines by three Spads of No. 23 Squadron.
That afternoon I flew as passenger with Collett on a D.H. up to Martlesham. All the way I was experimenting to see how I could best repel the scouts’ attack from the two-seater gunner’s point of view, with the idea of teaching myself some of the many disadvantages against which the two-seater gunner has to work when being attacked by a scout or scouts. We landed at Martlesham, when I met Cronyn, who was a member of “B” Flight during the summer, and I also saw Reggie Carr again, with whom I served in a squadron in earlier days.
After tea Collett and I went back to town by train and had a talk about many things, for Collett was in the “Camel” squadron on the same aerodrome and he used to come back shot to ribbons nearly every time he went out. One day he drove a German machine down to the ground behind the German lines, and then to make quite sure he fired at it on the ground until it burst into flames. Collett was always for downing the Hun, whenever and wherever he could find him.
On the 9th of October leave was up, so I flew a Bristol fighter out to a certain Depôt, where I flew an R.E.8 to an “issue park,” which was not far from our aerodrome, and having left Folkestone at 12.30, arrived at my Squadron at 3 p.m., having had lunch on my way. The same evening I flew over
the German lines, but did not have a fight.
The new Commanding Officer, who had relieved Major Blomfield whilst I was on leave, was Major H. Balcombe-Brown, M.C. He told me that my pet machine had been crashed, but that I had a new one just as good. My new machine was a Martinsyde-built machine No. B/35, and it was very fast, I soon found out.
It appears that my machine had been flown in combat by Maybery, who had got it shot about, and landing at Bailleul left it for another pilot to bring back to our aerodrome. The pilot who did eventually bring it back had about as much judgment as my little toe, for he left the ground in the dark to fly twenty miles across France to our aerodrome, and as soon as he was off the ground he flew through the side of a house. The only thing that was undamaged was himself.
The Squadron was now actively engaged in packing up, for we had orders to move down south, and on the 12th of November the machines left for our new aerodrome near Albert. It was a very misty day, and we were to land at Le Hameau, and inquire whether the weather was fit to go on or not. We lunched at Le Hameau and then resumed our journey. My flight landed at the new aerodrome about 3 p.m. The transport arrived about 4 p.m., and we set about unloading our goods and chattels.
We were lucky in a way, for we had arrived at an aerodrome that had been used before, and consequently it had good accommodation already provided.
The squadron office was on the corner of the aerodrome, and one of the last pilots in landing came in too fast, and putting his engine on at the last minute charged the office at 60 m.p.h. and completely wrecked the show, but was himself unhurt.
We soon settled down and made ourselves at home in our new surroundings, and our machines were better off, for we left canvas hangars and we were now using permanent iron ones. The weather at this time, being mid-November, left much to be desired, and when we first arrived it was misty for days. We had now joined the Wing in which I had been previously when in my old Squadron. We spent several days flying around the aerodrome in order to let the younger pilots learn the local landmarks well; as for myself I already knew the country, for I had flown over the same area the year previously when I was on the 3rd Army Front.
We began war flying again on the 18th November, when we flew from Albert up the main road to Bapaume, thence over the trenches north of Havrincourt, where we turned south. The weather was dull and the clouds were at 2,000 feet, but it was good enough for our present work, namely, to learn the trenches.
We flew down the trenches as far as Ronsoy, when I saw a D.F.W. on my left front, so I at once gave chase, and although we had orders not to cross the line, I felt sure that that Hun was a dud one, for up to now we had not had any modern fighting machines on this part and consequently the Huns used to do very much as they liked. I very soon got a good position, and fired a long burst from both guns, which went very well, and the Hun at once went down damaged, but under control. However, he landed downwind very fast and ran into a trench at high speed, where the machine completely wrecked itself amid a shower of chalky earth.
After seeing the Hun crash from 1,000 feet I fired a recall signal and led the patrol back to the lines at once, for the Hun had crashed at Bellicourt, about four miles over, and we had quite a warm time from Archie on our way back to the trenches. After that we flew back to our aerodrome, and everyone was pleased that we had got a Hun on our first show on the new front.
We now began to hear rumours of a new offensive, in which were going to operate 300 tanks. This sounded very interesting, and the push was going to take place almost immediately. We were told that the push was going to be a novel one, in that there would be a complete absence of artillery preparation, which usually gives the show away all too early.
On the 20th of November our attack was launched at 5.30 a.m., just as dawn was breaking, and we felt the reverberation of the guns right back where we were, twenty miles behind the trenches. About 7 a.m. we were standing on the ground, and it was threatening rain. About 8.30 we left the ground, and flew along the Bapaume-Cambrai road at 300 feet, as the heavy clouds were down at this height. We arrived at Havrincourt Wood and saw smoke and gun flashes everywhere.
From 200 feet we could see our tanks well past the famous Hindenburg line, and they looked very peculiar nosing their way around different clumps of trees, houses, etc. We flew up and down the line for an hour, but no sign of any Hun machines about, although the air was crowded with our own. Very soon the clouds were altogether too low, and there was nothing else to do except go home, so I did. By now I had only one follower, Coote, who landed with me at our advanced landing ground near Bapaume, as it was too bad to fly back to our own aerodrome. Here we found a lot of our machines and pilots who had made this aerodrome their home during the present operations.
The machines were mostly D.H.5’s, which were employed in low bombing and ground strafing. It was really wonderful to see these fellows come back from a show all shot about, load up with some more bombs and ammunition, and then go off again to strafe the Hun. There was quite a fair percentage coming in wounded too, which was to be expected under the circumstances.
This aerodrome at Bapaume was the saving of a lot of our machines from crashing, for it was quite close to the trenches, and if a pilot’s machine was hit he could usually glide there without the use of his engine from well over the line. Also we could always get petrol and oil from here to take us over the treacherous belt of shelled and devastated country between Bapaume and Albert, which was about ten miles across, for while on patrol it was difficult to know how much petrol one had in one’s machine, and so if one had been out a long time and was doubtful if one’s petrol would last out to good landing country west of Albert, all one had to do was to land at Bapaume and fill up with the necessities.
About 11 o’clock the clouds lifted a little, so Coote and I flew along the Bapaume-Albert road at ten feet in places, for the mist was really awful. We arrived back at our aerodrome, and the weather was so bad that we could not get up again until the 23rd. Of course all this time infantry and artillery were deprived of the assistance of our aeroplanes, but up to now they had done remarkably well, though the advance was hung up at Flesquières by a Hun anti-tank gun which stopped a certain part of our line for twenty-four hours.
When the anti-tank gunner was killed we were able to advance again. This gunner was found to be an officer, who, having had all his gun crew killed, worked the gun himself and knocked out fourteen tanks. One of our tank officers spoke very highly of the courage of this German officer. Of course, if the weather had been fine the anti-tank gun would have been spotted at once and knocked out by our low bombers, but the weather prevented the R.F.C. from taking a part in the proceedings and greatly hampered our advance.
About 10 a.m. on the 23rd my patrol left the ground and we flew at once towards Cambrai at 3,000 feet, for we could not get any higher owing to the clouds. We crossed the lines south of Bourlon Wood and very soon saw four Albatroses over Cambrai. We got close enough to open fire, and I engaged an Albatros, who was painted with a red nose, a yellow fuselage, and a green tail. He also had the letter K on his top plane. This Hun was destined to be always fighting my patrol somehow, and for the next three months we were continually meeting him.
After I had fired a short burst at this machine he spun down a little, but at once came up again.
These four Huns now being driven down without a decision, we turned round and went west again, for there were now plenty of Huns about, and the clouds being only at 3,000 feet, every machine was under this height and also over a comparatively small area around Bourlon Wood, which by now was three parts surrounded by British troops.
I now saw a D.F.W. coming west over Cantaing at 2,500 feet, so we at once gave chase. I got my position and fired a burst into him, whereupon he at once turned east and fired his white light, which on bursting spread into many small white lights. I had seen many Hun two-seaters do this, so I suppose that is a signal, “Jagdstäffeln – to the rescue!” This Hun went down in a
devil of a hurry, but I did not finally get him.
By now most of my patrol had dwindled away, and I only had Fielding-Johnson with me. We sighted two Albatros scouts attacking a Bristol Fighter over Marcoing, so at once we went to the rescue. The Bristol, seeing us coming, skilfully drew one of them after him. The remaining one, who was just about my level, saw me and fairly stood on his tall endeavouring to scrape up a foot more height than my machine.
By the time I got to him and zoomed, the S.E. just went up a little higher. Then we both turned inwards and, the Hun losing height, I at once did a quicker turn and got behind him. After a short burst from my Vickers, the Hun’s hat fell out of his machine, for apparently he was wearing an ordinary service cap; and after that the V-strutter went down and hit the ground, in a vertical dive with the engine on, a fearful whack. I looked where the Hun had crashed and found it was near Rumilly.
Fielding-Johnson and I now returned to Bourlon Wood, where we saw a big formation of Albatroses near our lines, so we went down on them, and I attacked the rear machine but overshot him and missed him. That Hun must have been on his first solo, for he hadn’t the foggiest notion what to do, and was looking around him in an apparent state of bewilderment, but, by the time I had turned behind him again he was in the middle of his formation, and so I had to come back. By Jove! that Hun was as dud as they make them.
By now there were some Albatroses above us, and amongst them I saw “green-tail” taking a prominent part. We revved round for a while, and then I saw Maybery tackling a big A.E.G. bomber, which had apparently been pushed up by the Huns to distract some of our attention from their two-seaters, who were on the whole having a bad time. By now it was time to go home, and we arrived back at the squadron after a morning’s fine fun.
The Major had been out too, and having tackled a two-seater turned the wrong way at the critical moment, came under the fire of the two-seater’s gunner at very close range, had been pipped through the petrol tank, and was nearly blinded by petrol. So he went right down to the ground before switching on his engine again, for fear of igniting the escaping petrol from the flames from his exhaust pipes, which on the S.E. are in close proximity to the petrol tank. He got safely down, and came back saying that to tackle a two-seater successfully was harder than it looked.
