Von Richthofen: The Legend Evaluated

by Richard Townsend Bickers

  As he flogged his pet, one wonders how he treated his horses and how much whipping he inflicted when schooling them over jumps and in a race. Before passing judgment, however, one should remember that he was a cavalryman, expecting to ride into the violence of battle. A well-disciplined horse was essential to the effectiveness and survival of both horse and man.

  He goes on to say that the dog had the bad habit of chasing aeroplanes when they made their take-off run and had once been clipped by a propeller, which cut half an ear off ‘and a very beautiful propeller was ruined’; which insults one’s intelligence.

  *

  The Sopwith Triplane that fell victim to him belonged to No. 8 Squadron of the Royal Naval Air Service. Since July 1916 these and Sopwith Pups, both single-seaters, had been operating on the northern sector of the front with conspicuous success. The crisis on the Somme Front had prompted the RFC to request naval assistance. A Sopwith Pup squadron, No 3 RNAS, and two Triplane squadrons, 8 and 10 RNAS, were detailed to provide it. The ‘Tripehound’, as the Navy called it, was armed with a synchronised Vickers, sometimes with two. All three of its mainplanes were narrow, which allowed the pilot an excellent all-round view. It was the most manoeuvrable aeroplane in the world and the fastest climber; in twelve minutes it could make 10,000 ft, where its top speed was 110 mph. Manfred considered it the best Allied fighter during the first eight months of 1917. No. 10 Squadron RNAS was commanded by a Canadian, Raymond Collishaw, the RFC and RNAS’s third-highest-scoring pilot of the war, another with whom Manfred will be compared.

  The new record-holder was ordered to go on leave at once, so, on 1 May he handed over command of the squadron to Lothar. This was unfair to those who were senior to Lothar, had more flying hours and more kills; but it was excellent propaganda for the press to spread. The acting Commanding Officer was entrusted with leading a formation of twenty-two aircraft from his own Jasta and three others: while so doing he distinguished himself by shooting down a BE2g and a FE2d, which raised his total to sixteen.

  One of Jasta 11’s main interests just then was a rumour that the RFC was forming a special anti-Richthofen squadron to wipe it out. A news agency issued a story, which the newspapers printed in articles declaring that this mythical unit consisted of volunteers and the pilot who shot down the great man would be given the VC, £5,000 and promotion. Furthermore, a photographer with a ciné camera would be taken up to record the event. This balderdash discounted the fact that if it were true, then the RFC would not rely on volunteers; it would detail those most likely to out-fly and out-shoot the intended target.

  Manfred, on leave, wrote to the widely-read Vossische Zeitung, tongue in cheek, to point out another obvious fatuity; supposing he shot down the cameraman? Here again, a sense of humour emerges through his shyness and reserve.

  CHAPTER 11 - SOME BRITISH ACES

  Although not specifically formed for the purpose of removing Manfred von Richthofen from the scene, a new squadron, equipped with a new fighter, had become operational at the Western Front on 22 April. Emulating the established French and German system of forming elite flying units, its pilots were carefully chosen for their outstanding skill, aggression and experience to constitute the first RFC squadron in which they were all well above average. Captain Albert Ball DSO, MC, vanquisher of 31 hostiles, was the best-known of them and the only one with a DSO. Three of the others had an MC. The British were less liberal with decorations than the French, Germans and Italians. The squadron’s number was 56 and its aeroplane the new Royal Aircraft Factory SE5, whose 150 hp Hispano-Suiza engine gave it a top speed of 120 mph at 6,500 ft and a ceiling of 18,000 ft. There was a synchronised Vickers in front of the cockpit and a Lewis on the upper mainplane. Its endurance of two and a half hours was an hour better than the Albatros’s, which meant that its pilots had ample time to stay at great altitude, waiting to pounce on the enemy.

  Lieutenant-General Sir David Henderson had been the first Commander-in-Chief of the RFC when it was formed on 13 May 1912. He served in France from the outbreak of war until 20 December 1914, when he returned to its Headquarters in London. In the first week of April 1917 he wrote, for the information of the Chief of the Imperial General Staff, a summary of events that had affected the RFC at the Western Front. Its rambling contents, with a few verbosities omitted, were as follows.

  The increased number of casualties in the field are due to several causes. In the first place, the retirement of the Germans over a large section of the front necessitated a great amount of long-distance reconnaissance and photography. This is always dangerous work, and specially dangerous in this case because of the special efforts made by the Germans to stop it.

  Probably, in view of this retirement, the Germans had concentrated a very large proportion of their available forces in front of the British. There has not been so much fighting in the French part of the line, and this may also be due to the fact that the French Air Service, with regard to their front, was very incomplete, so much so that a considerable portion of the German line in front of the French had to be photographed by the British Flying Corps.

  There is no doubt that the Germans have produced within the last few months, a considerable number of fast single-seat Scouts, of which the best is the Albatross [sic]. The aeroplanes which we have on our front which are equal to, or better than the Albatross Scout, are two French types — the Spad and the Nieuport — and the English Sopwith Triplane. Next to them, and still able to hold their own, are the small Sopwiths and the Martinsyde squadrons. Our first-class two-seater machines capable of being used for offensive fighting, are the de Havilland 4 and the Bristol Fighter: there are at the moment 1 squadron of each. The FE2d, with the Rolls-Royce engine, is a two-seater Fighter, which will not be outclassed for some time: of these there are 3 squadrons. The machines principally used for reconnaissance are Sopwith 1½-strutters: of these there are three squadrons. A squadron of SES single-seat Fighters, which is believed to be superior to any German machine, is due to leave England this week.

  The delay in producing large numbers of these fighting machines is due almost entirely to the delays in engine production. We are only now beginning to get British-made engines equal to those which the Germans had for the last eighteen months, with the exception of the Rolls-Royce engine, of which the supply has always been limited. The high powered British engines, however, have now reached the production stage, and the quantities delivered are expected to increase week by week, which will enable us to provide for the Expeditionary Force first-class fighting machines in good quantities.

  In addition to long reconnaissance, a very large amount of Artillery observation work is going on, much more in our Army than in either the French or the German. This certainly adds to our casualty list without inflicting on the enemy proportionate losses in the air. It does, however, enable our Artillery to inflict much more serious losses on the German forces on the ground, and this must be taken into account in considering whether we get sufficient value for the casualties we suffer.

  With regard to the losses inflicted on the Germans, the announcements which are made in the official communiqués do not show their full extent; so much of the fighting takes place on the German side of the lines that very often there is no information whatsoever about the actions of our aeroplanes which are reported missing, but it is known that frequently in these unseen fights serious losses are inflicted on the Germans.

  It was noticeable last year that up to the beginning of June there was no marked superiority in the air on either side, and that the losses on each side appeared to be about equal. After that date, in the continuous good weather, our superiority became more and more marked, but our losses did not diminish to any great extent, for the reason that our superiority on the battlefield was only sustained by continuous fighting at a distance behind the German lines.

  If we would consent to adopt the same policy as the Germans, there is no doubt that our casualties in the air could be diminished. Hitherto, when the Germ
an has found himself inferior, he has given up reconnaissance entirely, and has confined himself to defensive fighting on his own ground, but if we were to follow these tactics the effect on the Army generally would be most serious. Such a policy at this period would be disastrous. The casualties must be faced.

  The basic fact is clearly that the RFC was the servant of the ground forces and the reconnaissance and artillery spotting aircraft were as important as the fighters. The woolly sentence about Sopwith Pups and Martinsydes ‘holding their own’ is meaningless. The RFC fighter pilots would not have agreed that the FE2d would not be outclassed for some time — it had been by the Fokker E series and was now by the Albatros D. One adroit omission is an explanation of why, after such horrific losses by BE2 squadrons, these archaic aeroplanes were still being built and why the death-trap RE8 had not been scrapped.

  No. 56 Squadron was expected to reverse the situation at the front in the manner of the US 7th Cavalry rescuing a wagon train beset by Apaches.

  It had formed at London Colney in the last week of February, under the command of Major R.G. Blomfield, who had a sense of style that consorted well with the panache displayed by his young comrades, most of whom were aged between nineteen and twenty-one. At the beginning of the squadron’s six weeks at its home base, familiarising itself with the SES, practising gunnery, aerobatics, formation flying and all the other necessary drills, he set about forming a band to play every evening in the officers’ mess. Conscription had been imposed, so he visited orchestras in London restaurants and hotels to obtain the names of their musicians who had been called up, then pulled strings to have them posted to the squadron. He also had himself driven in a lorry with air mechanics (they were not called aircraftmen until the RAF was formed on 1 April 1918) of various trades aboard, to nearby RFC stations to swap them for men of the same trades who could play an instrument.

  His high-spirited pilots invented a new approach to landing. The hangars had sloping roofs, so they touched down with their wheels on the side facing the airfield and rolled down it before settling on the grass: a feat that required great lightness of hand.

  They were adversely critical of their new machine, Ball most scathingly so, and were allowed to have modifications done. The first general objection was to the windscreen, which they complained became blurred by scratches and oil. The Lewis gun, for which all the ammunition was in double drums, was very difficult to load because of the wind resistance. Ball, writing home, described the SE5 as ‘a dud whose speed is only about half a Nieuport’s,’ (in fact it was 15 mph faster) and ‘a rotten machine’, but he was ‘making the best of a had job’. This must have been more than a trifle worrying for his parents. Renowned for the importance he put on speed, he had the Lewis gun removed to save weight. All the pilots had the windscreen lowered or removed to decrease wind resistance.

  Familiarisation changed these hasty assessments. Firing practice showed it to be a steady gun platform, highly responsive to the controls and a joy to acrobat.

  It went into action for the first time on 22 April, the day on which Manfred scored his forty-sixth victory — over an FE2b. On 56 Squadron’s first patrol they shot down four Albatroses, of which Ball bagged one.

  The pace thereafter was hectic. On 29 April, Ball’s letter to his parents read, ‘I am so very fagged. April 26 evening I attacked four lots of Huns with fire. Brought two down and had to get back without ammunition when dark. Had four fights and got one Hun. In the end all my controls were shot away. But I got back. Simply must close for I am fagged’.

  That he should disturb their peace of mind with such frankness indicates how close he was to them and how ungregarious. On 3 May his letter home, expressed in terms more suggestive of a 15-year-old schoolboy than a man of twenty, said, ‘It is quite impossible, but I am doing all I can. My total up to last night was 38. I got two last night. Oh! It was a topping fight. A few days ago all my controls were shot away on my SE5. But I got the Hun that did it. It is all troubles. I am feeling very old just now.’

  On 5 May: ‘Dearest Dad, Have just come off patrol and made my total 42. I attacked two Albatros scouts and crashed them, killing the pilots. In the end I was brought down but am quite OK. Oh! It was a good fight and the Huns were fine sports. One tried to ram me after he was hit, and only missed by inches. Am indeed looked after by God, but oh, I do get tired of always living to kill, and am really beginning to feel like a murderer. Shall be so pleased when I am finished.’

  On the same day, talking to Atkins, a pilot in the squadron, he said, ‘Trenchard (RFC Commander in France) says I can go home when I have got fifty. But I shall never go home.’ This can, with equal logic, be taken either as a premonition of death in action or as a resolution to remain at the front until ordered home.

  On the evening of 7 May, eleven aircraft of 56 Squadron took off for the day’s last patrol. At 18,000 ft, behind the German lines, they saw six Albatroses 3,000 ft below. About a mile away, two Albatros squadrons in full strength of twelve, one of them led by Lothar von Richthofen, also came in sight. Immediately they saw the first six, the SE5s attacked. The two other enemy formations, seeing them dive, went after them. Forty-one fighters scattered in a dogfight in which six British machines were shot down, Ball’s among them. It has always been suspected that the six Albatroses were bait in a trap. Ball’s score was then forty-three, currently the RFC’s and RNAS’s highest. It is not known how many he shot down in that engagement, but, from the description of the battle given by a pilot of Jasta 11, it is assumed that it was Ball who wounded Lothar and sent him down to a forced landing. On 3 June 1917 his award of the VC was gazetted. Although ten other British and Commonwealth pilots exceeded his number of victories by the end of the war, he is generally held to be one of its five greatest fighter pilots.

  Lothar insistently claimed to have shot Ball down. A Vickers gun and other items from the wreckage were scavenged on his behalf for display at his family home. His fellow pilots thought it most likely that in the confusion of so many aeroplanes milling about, a bullet from any of the Germans could have hit Ball. Years afterwards, investigation indicated that it was possibly a machine-gunner on a church tower who had done so.

  *

  One of the pleasantest men among the most highly esteemed fighter pilots was James McCudden, who, aged eighteen, joined No. 3 Squadron in 1913 as a mechanic and accompanied it to France in August 1914. A pilot of that squadron, with one from No. 4, flew the RFC’s first sorties of the war, on 19 August. None of the squadrons was equipped entirely with the same type of aeroplane: all had various mixtures of Farman F20, Martinsyde and BE2. The category of ‘observer’ had not yet been created. When a BE2 was sent on reconnaissance the occupant of the rear cockpit was either a pilot or one of the ground crew. McCudden often volunteered for the duty, armed with a rifle. On 20 November he was promoted to corporal. In July 1915 he applied for pilot training but this was not approved, as he was doing such good work as mechanic and unqualified observer. Observer was an official category by then, symbolised by a badge, an O with a wing sprouting from it, embroidered in white and worn on the left breast. In compensation he was given the trainee observers’ test, which he passed. In December, on a sortie in a Morane two-seater, which had a Lewis gun, he had his first fight when a Fokker EI made three attacks, all of which he drove off.

  By January 1916 he was a flight sergeant and was at last sent home on a pilot’s course. On 8 July he returned to the Western Front as a flight sergeant pilot in 20 Squadron, was posted to 29 Squadron the following month and shot down his first enemy aircraft on 6 September. On 1 January 1917, already holding the Military Medal and Croix de Guerre, he was commissioned. On the 26th he shot down another and on 23 February, with his score at five, went home as an instructor.

  For nearly five months he taught new pilots combat technique. Flying a Sopwith Pup, in which he performed his first roll, he visited fighter airfields to instruct pilots stationed there. One day, on landing at Croydon, he l
earned that the first big daylight raid against London had just been made. None of the enemy aircraft had been shot down by the ninety-three Home Defence fighters and the anti-aircraft guns that had tried to do so. Fifteen minutes later he arrived at his own airfield, in Kent, to pursue them in a Pup armed with a Lewis gun. At 15,000 ft they came in sight, fourteen twin-engined Gothas whose crews had left 162 dead and many wounded behind them. He could not overtake them. Twenty miles out from the Essex coast he emptied three drums at the nearest one from 500 ft range and smelled the incendiary bullets with which they returned his fire.

  He expressed the revulsion and anger he felt on seeing the enemy in British air space: ‘How insolent these damned Boches did look, absolutely lording it in the sky above England. I was absolutely furious to think that the Huns should come over and bomb London and have it practically their own way. I simply hated the Hun more than ever.’

  Twenty-three years later Douglas Bader vented the same feeling. Leading his fighters into battle for the first time against ‘a horde of German bombers (plus fighter escort) flying at 17,000 ft in perfect formation. There were nine of us Hurricanes. Suddenly I was angry. “Who the hell do these Huns think they are, flying like this in their bloody bombers covered with iron crosses and swastikas over our country?”’

  Some fighter squadrons were withdrawn from France to defend Britain, among them No. 56. McCudden knew several of the pilots, went to visit them and reported that they had a wonderful spirit which was entirely different from any other squadron’s.

  On 7 July he did a three-week refresher course, then was detached to 66 Squadron in France for up-to-date combat experience, after which he resumed instructing in England. No. 56 Squadron had returned to the Western Front and invited him to dinner while he was with 66; the orchestra played. He asked Major Blomfield if he would have him in the squadron and Blomfield promised to ask for him. On 15 August, he was back in France again, as a flight commander in 56.