by Jon E. Lewis
During the morning of the 23rd the whole squadron had been up, and Bowman and Harmon had each got a Hun also. The Albatros which I shot down near Rumilly was my 20th victim.
That evening being very dull, most of us visited Amiens, which was only 20 minutes’ run from our Camp, and on arrival at Amiens we adjourned to Charlie’s Bar, where we consumed large quantities of oysters and, having had our fill of them, wandered round the town to make small purchases.
Amiens is a large town and there are a lot of nice shops. One can buy almost anything there, for it is not far from Paris or the Channel ports. The last time I had been to Amiens was when I came up to Béthune from Paris in January, 1915, on the conclusion of a ten days’ course at the Le Rhône works. We had a very good dinner in Amiens and returned to the Squadron about 10 p.m.
The days after our attack were not marked by much enemy aerial activity, for apparently they had been so taken by surprise that they had not yet reinforced their aerial strength on the Cambrai battle front.
Early on the morning of the 29th, I led my patrol towards St. Quentin at 12,000 feet. We crossed the lines at 12,500 feet over St. Quentin and flew north with the sun on our right-rear, and very soon I saw a two-seater coming towards me from the north-east. I signalled to my patrol and down we went. The D.F.W. tried to run for it, which is the usual procedure adopted by the Hun two-seater pilots, who nearly always rely entirely on the good shooting of their gunner.
After receiving a good burst from both my guns, the D.F.W. literally fell to a thousand pieces, the wreckage of the wings fluttering down like so many small pieces of paper, while the fuselage with its heavy engine went twirling down like a misdirected arrow, towards the south of Bellicourt, where it hit the ground. I had by now zoomed up and, on looking round, saw Fielding-Johnson going off towards the lines. One could see that he was in trouble of some sort, so after seeing him safely as far as the lines, I again flew over the lines, followed by Walkerdine and Truscott, who were both new members of my flight.
When we got as far as Cambrai, we dived down on a formation of Albatroses whom I had just seen going down on Maybery’s formation, who were very low over Cambrai, and for the next few minutes we had a regular dogfight, in which Maybery lost a good fellow named Dodds. We eventually had to run for it, and again the S.E.’s wonderful good speed stood us in good stead and enabled us to get clear. After this, we flew home.
On landing I found that when Fielding-Johnson dived with me on the D.F.W., soon after leaving St. Quentin, his stabilising fin had broken, and as it broke had turned him upside down. Poor old Fielding-Johnson, his face was mournful to behold as I got out of my machine and spoke to him.
The same morning about midday I left the aerodrome, leading three other pilots. We went out as far as Bourlon, where we turned. North-east of us we could see several Albatroses playing in the clouds east of Bourlon, the clouds being at only 2,000 feet. The Hun is an adept at using clouds to his advantage, and I always think that Hun scouts fairly revel in a cloudy day.
We continued flying north, and by the time we had arrived east of Arras I saw three German machines coming west from the direction of Douai over the Sensée river. They came quite close to the lines, and then turned north.
I waited for a good opportunity and then signalled attack. I tackled the first D.F.W., for the Hun had proved to be this type, and fired a good burst at him from both guns, and the Hun at once started to glide down. I glanced round and saw Walkerdine tackling his D.F.W. in great style. I now rectified two stoppages, one in each gun, and went down to attack my Hun again, who was now very near the ground about a mile over the German lines.
By the time I got well within range the Hun was only about a hundred feet above the ground, and still gliding down. I fired another burst at him from close range, whereupon he did a terrific zoom, and then his two top wings met above the fuselage as all the four wings dropped off. The wreckage fell to the ground like a stone, and I saw the engine roll several yards away from the machine.
I was myself now very low, and on pushing the throttle open the engine only just spluttered. A glance at my pressure gauge showed that it was registering almost nil, so I grabbed my hand-pump and pumped like anything with one hand, while with the other I was holding the machine’s nose up as much as possible. By the time I was only a few feet from the ground in a semi-stalled condition the good old Hispano started again with a roar that was very welcome music to my ears.
Being now so low I could not locate my position. So I flew by the sun. While passing over a battery position at a height of a few feet I saw a German N.C.O. walk into a gun pit after glancing at me as though he saw British machines over his battery a few feet up every hour of the day. That Hun N.C.O. either did not recognise me as a British machine or else he was a very cool card, for I went straight towards him, and my slip stream must have blown his cap off as I passed over him with a few feet to spare, and he did no more than glance up at me.
Very soon I passed over the enemy trenches, where they fired a lot at me; and then in the middle of No Man’s Land, which at that part was several hundred yards wide, I saw a derelict Sopwith “Camel” which had apparently been shot down several weeks previously. I saw British Tommies waving from a trench to me, and I felt much braver than I did a few minutes before, for I felt that had I been forced to land alongside the German machine that I had shot down in pieces, I should have been given a very thin time by the Fritzes.
After climbing a bit I found Walkerdine and Truscott above Arras. We flew back to our aerodrome, and after landing Walkerdine said that the D.F.W. which he had tackled went down in a dive, but he did not see it crash. A few minutes afterwards Archie rang up confirming both machines down – Walkerdine’s at Neuvireuil and mine at Rouvroy, S.E. of Lens.
After I had eaten lunch I went out alone for the third time that day, but the visibility was poor and there was very little enemy activity, so I very soon returned to the aerodrome.
The next day, November 30th, I led my patrol over the lines at Bourlon Wood and at once commenced fighting with several Albatroses. Down in Bourlon Wood itself the enemy were absolutely raining gas shells. We gained no decision with the enemy over Bourlon Wood, and I now saw seven two-seater machines coming west over Cantaing, so we flew to the attack, and I settled my opponent at once, for he started gliding down emitting clouds of steam.
I now flew east of him and turned him off west, and he then landed in our lines intact near Havrincourt. While I had been tackling him the enemy gunner had hit my radiator with an explosive bullet which knocked a big hole in it, so, having to go down in any case, I landed alongside the Hun. Just as I had almost stopped my wheels ran into a small shell-hole and my machine stood gracefully on its nose. I got out and, after having pulled the tail down, ran over to where the Hun was and found the pilot having a tourniquet put on his arm, for he was badly shot, whilst the German gunner, a weedy-looking specimen, looked on very disconsolately. The pilot died on the way to hospital, and the gunner, a Corporal, was marched off.
I had a look at the machine, which was an L.V.G. and was brand new, and then telephoned my squadron for a new radiator and propeller for my machine and a breakdown party to collect the Hun’s.
While waiting I was talking to an infantry Colonel, who asked me what things looked like from the air, as the Germans had reported as having broken into our line. I told him I had not seen much of the activity on the ground, because all my attention was centred on the aerial aspect. I had just had lunch with him and was just leaving his dugout when “crack, crack, crack, crack,” came from above, and looking up we saw a Pfalz firing at one of our advanced balloons, which at once burst into flames and commenced to fall. The occupants at once both jumped out, and their parachutes opened at once, so they came down quite safely in our lines, for there was not much wind. I noticed that one man came down much quicker than the other, so I suppose that he was much fatter.
Thereafter I began to feel annoyed, as there were
dozens of Huns up, and our pilots, I could see from the ground, had their hands fairly full. So I decided to get back to our advanced landing ground, so as to borrow a machine and get up again while activity was about normal. I tried to borrow a car at Artillery Headquarters, but they were not having any, so I made up my mind to walk. I was in a pair of long heavy thigh boots, more vulgarly known by pilots as “fug boots,” and that afternoon I walked six miles in those boots through mud and slush and all manner of things, to a railhead near Velu, where I was told that I could board a train for Bapaume. Whilst on my way to Velu I saw a German two-seater come miles over our lines unmolested, apparently on an urgent reconnaissance, for he was very low, not more than 3,000 feet, and his six-cylinder engine made a very loud roar.
By Jove! I was fed up to be sitting on the ground and seeing that insolent Hun come over getting just what information he wanted. I watched him till he flew back over his own lines, and then I resumed my walk. I boarded the train at Velu about 5 p.m., and was given some tea by some Canadian railway engineers who had constructed the railroad on which we were.
We waited for some time and then started. On the way we discussed the German push, and I remember they were not too optimistic, for they had been told to get as many of their trucks back as possible.
We passed the landing ground about 6 p.m., and I jumped off and made my way to the aerodrome, where I boarded a tender that was going to Albert immediately, where I arrived very soon, and then got back to my Squadron, after having a very exciting day’s work. That night the breakdown party arrived out where my machine and the Hun were. They fitted a new propeller to my machine and burnt my perfectly priceless brand-new Hun.
Their explanation was that the Huns were advancing and they did not know whether they would be cut off or not, so they fixed my machine up, and having burnt my Hun, skedaddled for Albert, home and beauty. Needless to say I was very much annoyed, for the Huns never did come anywhere near Havrincourt, where the burnt L.V.G. lay for months.
The next day I left camp in a tender with Corporal Rogers, my Scottish mechanic, who hailed “fra Glasgae,” at about 7 a.m., armed with a tool box and several bars of soap. We had a devil of a job getting near to my machine, as the roads were very congested, and at last we could get no further than Trescault, where we left the car and walked the remainder of the way to my machine, which was about half a mile away.
We got to the machine and ran the engine for a little while to warm it thoroughly, and then we stuffed two bars of soap into the large hole made by the Hun’s explosive bullet. Having done that we filled the radiators with water, and I at once took off. The water was pouring out, but I wanted at least to get the machine to a place farther away from the Hun shells, which were dropping around in generous quantities, so that we could fit a radiator in peace and quietness. So with my topping old S.E., with its radiator crammed full of soap, I flew as far as our advanced landing ground, where I landed without a drop of water. It had not hurt the engine at all, for it went well for weeks after that.
At the advanced landing ground the men very quickly fitted a new radiator, and that afternoon I arrived back at the camp, where I found that the party who went out to salve the L.V.G. had brought back its propeller and “spinner,” and its rudder and several odds and ends, also the black crosses off the wings, which always make very good screens in the mess.
After this I made a vow not to land alongside German machines again if I could possibly help it, for I am all against walking six miles through thick mud in large fugboots.
On the 3rd of December a new Factory-built S.E.5 came to my flight and I at once took it over. I gave my Martinsyde-built S.E. to the youngest member of the flight, for it was a very good one. Truscott was quite happy with the Martinsyde, so everything was well. My new S.E. was numbered A/4891, and was fitted with elevators with a narrow chord, which was an improvement, and it also had a new type of undercarriage which was much stronger than the others. (No doubt they knew that Factory machine would come to me.)
I set to work and very soon had my special gadgets fitted on, and got my guns and Constantinesco gear working, and by the 4th I was again ready for the Great War.
On December 5th, the visibility being good, I went up looking for photographic Rumplers, and had been up about an hour and was at 19,000 feet when I saw a Hun over Bourlon Wood coming west at about my height. I at once sneaked into the sun, and waited until the Hun was west of me, and then I flew north and cut him off from his lines. I very quickly secured a good firing position, and after firing a good burst from both guns the Rumpler went down in a vertical dive and all its wings fell off at 16,000 feet and the wreckage fell in our lines near Hermies. I went back to my aerodrome, landed, and after having had lunch took my patrol out for the afternoon sports.
We found several two-seaters over the Canal at Vendhuille, and after having sent them about their business we returned home at the end of our patrol, for the enemy activity was very slight.
The next day, December 6th, my patrol went over the lines at 10 a.m., and after being out an hour, and having some indecisive fighting, I saw a two-seater crossing our lines north of St. Quentin, so waited until he was getting to his business taking photographs. Then I appeared from the east and bore down on the Hun like an enraged farmer after a boy who was in his orchard stealing apples. I very soon put paid to the photographic D.F.W.’s bill, and he also fell to pieces, the wreckage falling in our lines near the Holnon Wood.
I now saw an L.V.G. coming north from over St. Quentin, but by the time I caught up with him he was a little too high to engage successfully, so I returned to my aerodrome and had lunch.
Afterwards my flight went off and got our height towards Havrincourt Wood, and about 3 p.m. crossed the lines at 12,000 feet over Gouzaucourt. Flying west we espied a patrol of Albatros scouts flying west over Bourlon Wood. They were slightly below us, and so I led my patrol north and then turned west behind the six V-strutters, who still flew on looking to the west. We closed on them, and I gave every one of my men time to pick a Hun before I fired and drew their attention.
It seemed to me very funny that six of us should be able to surprise six Huns so completely as to get within range before being seen. I closed on the Hun I had selected, and fired a short burst at him, after which he went down vertically with a stream of escaping petrol following him. I noticed he had a tail painted light blue.
By now I was in the middle of these Albatroses and saw that they were a patrol of good Huns whom we had fought before. They all had red noses and yellow fuselages, but each had a different coloured tail. There was a red, light blue – whom I sent to the sports – black, yellow, black and white striped, and our dear old “green-tail.” By Jove! They were a tough lot. We continued scrapping with them for half an hour, and they would not go down although we were above them most of the time.
This particular Albatros patrol were different from most Huns whom we met in that they would stay and fight, even when at a disadvantage, in a way that was disconcerting to behold. During the afore-mentioned fight, blue tail was the only Hun that went down, and eventually both patrols went away without any ammunition, for apparently the Huns had run out of ammunition at the same time as we had. It was awfully difficult for two good patrols to gain a decision, although one may fire all one’s bullets, for each individual is so good at manœuvring in defence that his opponent wastes a lot of bullets on empty air. We flew home that evening and at tea and toast discussed the afternoon’s sport, and were all agreed that the Huns whom we had fought that afternoon had been at the game for some time.
On this date I engaged a two-seater over Bourlon Wood and drove it down damaged. This machine had a biplane tail, and is now known as the Hannover. I mention this because the description of this new machine first appeared in February, 1918, about three months after I had first encountered it.
On December 10th I was leading my patrol above Bowman’s formation, and after chasing a two-seater east of St. Quentin
we returned north, climbing, and then we saw some Albatroses over Le Câtelet, so we went over to wish them good-day. I went down on the rear Hun, who did not see me, and fired a short burst at him, but I was closing on him too fast, and I had to zoom up to avoid running into him. However, he went down emitting steam, and I hope his mechanics had to work all night fitting a new radiator.
We circled round the other V-strutters for a time and then came away, as they were too far east. I now missed Bowman’s patrol, who had flown up north, and at the end of my patrol flew back to our aerodrome. Here I found Bowman wandering gloomily round his machine, which had three main spars broken at the interplane struts. It happened like this: Bowman had seen my patrol tackling the Albatroses over Le Câtelet and so went up farther north in search of prey. Seeing a nice fat balloon down over the Bois de Vaucelles, he decided that it was insolent looking and should be reproved immediately. So Bowman “dived like Hell,” as he afterwards put it, with his adjustable tail fully forward to facilitate steep diving, and his bloodthirsty lads behind him. When a few hundred feet above the balloon, Bowman saw some Huns coming down on top of him, so he said, “That is no place for me,” and hoicked out of the dive with such vim that three wing-tips at once collapsed. He then said he looked at the wing-tips wobbling about like a jelly, and he was quite surprised when they did not break off. After falling some way out of control Bowman decided that life after all was worth living, so he resumed control and flew all the way back to the aerodrome at a speed not exceeding 65 m.p.h. so as not to impose too great a strain on his weakened wings. What had happened was that the spars of three out of four main planes had broken just outside the struts.
