Among the many is that of Col. William A. Bishop, a Canadian member of
the British Royal Flying Corps, his story rather the more interesting
by reason of his living to tell it himself after the battles of the air
had ceased. He had a record of forty-nine German planes and balloons
actually destroyed. In addition to this, he was the victor in eighty
to a hundred other fights high in air, the enemy engaged being driven
from the field, either because of wounds or of that discretion said to
be the better part of valor. In recognition of these achievements he
received the Victoria Cross, the Distinguished Service Order, twice
bestowed, and the Military Cross—all in a single fighting season and
before he was twenty-three years of age. Perhaps the most remarkable
thing about it all was that the hero of these officially honored
achievements was little known, until the war ended, to the public at
large. But that was due to the fact that the British policy was not to
emphasize the performances of one branch of the service more than those
of another. It is claimed that there were about forty “aces” of the
British Royal Flying Corps of whom the world has never heard. Only when
there was repeated mention of a name in _The Official Gazette_ was the
public made aware that a flyer had won exceptional title to honors.
Bishop went to England as a cavalry officer in a unit of the Second
Canadian Division, and expected that his services would be in the
saddle, not in the cockpit. That was in July, 1915, in a period of
torrential rains and consequent mud—cheer-despoilers of a cavalry
camp. It was while wallowing in knee-deep mud that he viewed with envy
a pilot gliding overhead in a trim little aeroplane, and the sudden
desire possessed him to follow that airy mind-free branch of the
service. He talked with a friend in the Royal Flying Corps who approved
his purpose, and assured him the transfer could be made quite easily.
He got the transfer and was soon training as an observer, his first
lessons being flights in a ponderous training “bus” (as the airmen name
their planes) that was not equal to a speed of more than fifty miles
an hour. In a few months he got the observer’s badge or insignia, an O
with a spread wing attached to one side, and within a little while was
making observations and taking photographs in France over the enemy
lines.
This useful work, so highly important to the men fighting on the
ground, was drudgery to him because he was burning to become a fighter.
Some six months later his longing was gratified; he returned to England
and set about acquiring the knowledge and skill to fly “on his own.”
He had the usual experience of the beginner,—elation over his first
“solo”; uncertainties, anxieties as to how to get back to earth safely;
a somewhat humiliating landing, etc.; but he suffered no misadventure.
The first week in March, 1917, he landed in Boulogne with ten or twelve
other flying men for his second experience on the fighting front.
[Illustration:
_Courtesy Red Cross Magazine._