LIEUTENANT STEWART GORDON RIDLEY
It has been said that the story of Second-Lieutenant Ridley, a young
British flying officer, is as great as the story of Captain Oates.
‘Captain Oates walked into the Antarctic blizzard so that his comrades
should have a better chance of living. Lieutenant Ridley, stranded
in the burning Libyan Desert with an air mechanic, and seeing his
tiny stock of water near its end, shot himself in the hope that his
companion might live.’
The heroic young aviator went out singly on a machine from an oasis in
the Libyan Desert as an escort to another pilot, who was accompanied
by Air-Mechanic J. A. Garside. After flying for an hour and a half,
the party failed to locate the camel patrol which had been sent out in
advance to establish a temporary landing-place.
They encamped for the night. The next morning it was found that
Lieutenant Ridley’s engine would not work, and it was agreed that the
other pilot should try to discover the track of the camel patrol. He
left his water and provisions with the others, and arranged to return
on the following day. The pilot picked up the camel patrol, but when he
returned to find Lieutenant Ridley and Garside they had disappeared.
Search parties, consisting of camel patrols, motor-cars, and aeroplanes
were at once sent out. Nothing was discovered of the missing men until
four days after the start of the original mission, when, twenty-five
miles away from the spot where the first night had been spent, a second
landing-place was found. The two men had evidently flown away again
after patching up their machine. Two days later a motor party found the
machine and the two dead bodies of the aviators.
During the search the footprints of the two men had been discovered.
They were noticed to have been overtaken by a hostile camel patrol, and
for a time it was believed that Lieutenant Ridley and Garside had been
captured.
A diary kept by Garside throws peculiar light on the moving story:
‘_Friday._—Mr. Gardiner left for Meheriq, and said he would come and
pick one of us up. After he went we tried to get the machine going, and
succeeded in flying for about twenty-five minutes. Engine then gave
out. We tinkered engine up again, succeeded in flying about five miles
next day, but engine ran short of petrol.
‘_Sunday._—After trying to get engine started, but could not manage it
owing to weakness, water running short—only half a bottle—Mr. Ridley
suggested walking up to the hills.
‘_Six p.m._—Found it was further than we thought; got there
eventually: very done up. No luck. Walked back; hardly any water, about
a spoonful. Mr. Ridley shot himself at 10.30 on Sunday while my back
was turned. No water all day; don’t know how to go on; dozed all day,
feeling very weak; wish some one would come; cannot last much longer.
‘_Monday._—Thought of water in compass, got half bottle; seems to be
some kind of spirit. Can last another day. Fired Lewis gun, about four
rounds; shall fire my “Very light” to-day: last hope without machine
comes. Could last days if had water.’
On the following day the bodies were discovered by a motor-car.
The Commander of the Imperial Camel Corps reports that from what he
discovered he has formed the opinion that Lieutenant Ridley gave his
life in the hope of saving the mechanic. Added to this, the commanding
officer of the Royal Flying Corps states: ‘There is no doubt in my mind
that he did this in an act of self-sacrifice in the hope of saving the
other man.’
Lieutenant Ridley, who was affectionately known as ‘Riddles’ in the
corps, came of a celebrated Northumbrian family, one of his ancestors
being Bishop Ridley, who, bound to the stake at Oxford, ‘played
the man’ with Latimer amid the flames. ‘It may well be,’ states a
sympathetic admirer of this gallant officer, ‘that there came across
the desert from Gordon at Khartoum a message in the words of Latimer,
“Be of good cheer, Master Gordon, and play the man.”’
The fallen hero was a young man of attractive appearance and great
charm of manner. His character, as known to intimate friends, confirms
in all respects the interpretation put upon his last act, ‘He gave his
life in the hope that his companion might be saved.’
Both Lieutenant S. G. Ridley and Air-Mechanic J. A. Garside were
unmarried, but Garside was the only son of a widowed mother, and
evidently in the mind of his heroic companion had special claims upon
life.
A chaplain with a party of service men paid the last honours. At the
head of the grave a cross was erected.