_ON ACTIVE SERVICE_
R.F.C. ALPHABET
=A= stands for Archie, the Huns’ greatest pride,
=B= for B.E., our biplane they deride.
=C= for the “Crash” when by “A”[4] “B” gets hit,
=D= for the Dive before “C” ends the flit.
=E= is for Engine, which sometimes goes dud,
=F= is Cold Feet, as you wait for the thud.
=G= is the Gun that you keep on the ’plane,
=H= as per “trig”[5] is the height you attain.
=I= am the Infant who flies a 2C,[6]
=J= the Joy-stick on most ’buses you see.
=K= is the Kick that you get from a gun,
=L= a forced Landing, too oft to be done.
=M= for Mechanic; in France most are “firsts,”[7]
=N= for the Noise that A makes when it bursts.
=O= which is oil, stops the seizing of E,
=P= Petrol used by the E of the B.
=Q= is the Quiet one gets on a glide,
=R= the Revolver you keep by your side.
=S= is for Side-slip, some Shot, or a Stunt,
=T= is the Thrill of a big Fokker hunt.
=U= Under-carriage, first to go in a smash,
=V= a V.P.[8] oft precedeth a crash.
=W= the Wireless, for directing big guns,
=X= =Y= =Z= I don’t want, so I’ll give to the Huns.
I
THE OPENING MOVEMENTS
[Sidenote: “Somewhere.”]
I am here at last. Where that is, however, I can’t tell you.... We
had a good journey, but while I was snoozing the carriage door--which
must have been carelessly shut by one of our men--opened, and one of
my field boots departed. I had taken them off so as to sleep better. I
told a police corporal at the next station, and he is trying to get it.
I had to put on puttees and boots, and pack the odd field boot.... You
would hardly believe we were on Active Service here, although we are,
of course, within hearing of the big guns. There is a stream near by
where we can bathe. We have sleeping-huts fitted with electric light,
nice beds, a good mess, and a passable aerodrome. The fellows all seem
nice, too. I have met three of our squadron before.
* * * * *
I have been up several times, but have not had a job yet. I have been
learning the district, and how to land and rise on cinder paths ten
feet wide. The ground here is rather rough, and it speaks well for our
under-carriages that they stand up to it so well. A good landing is a
bounce of about twenty feet into the air, and a diminuendo of bounces,
like a grasshopper--until you pull up. A fairly bad landing is a bounce
of fifty feet and diminuendo. Every one here is cheerful, and thinks
flying is a gentleman’s game, and infinitely better than the trenches;
when your work is over for the day, there is no more anxiety until your
next turn comes round, for you can read and sleep out of range of the
enemy’s guns. What a pity the whole war could not be conducted like
that, both sides out of range of each other’s guns all the time!
One of our more cheerful optimists feels sure the war will end in the
next four or five years.
My field boot has turned up, much to my surprise. It was forwarded on
to me by our local Railway Transport Officer.
We are having quite a good time in our squadron and are rejoicing in
bad weather. Our messing bill is reasonable, and cigarettes and tobacco
are very cheap; so are matches.
* * * * *
I have just been over to get some practice with the Lewis gun. They
are rather amusing toys, for you get rid of 100 shots in ten seconds,
as you are probably aware....
I took up a mechanic who is a good gunner, to act as an escort to
one of our men who was going photographing. The corporal was awfully
amusing. He was always getting up and turning round, or kneeling on his
seat looking at me and signalling to me. I thought several times he
was going to get out and walk along the planes. The flight was quite
uneventful. Next time I write I hope to be able to tell you what the
trenches are like; at present, owing to low clouds and bad weather, I
haven’t been able to look at them.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Map study.]
On Thursday I went up with an officer observer on a patrol, to look for
Huns and gun flashes, etc. We could not see anything above 3,000 feet;
so we came down to 2,500 feet and flew up and down the lines--well on
this side, though--for a couple of hours. I thus got a splendid view of
the trenches on both sides for miles, and it was awfully interesting
to see the fields in some places behind our lines, originally green
pasture land, now almost blotted out with shell holes and mine craters.
There has been a craze here for gardening recently, and people are
sowing seeds sent over from England, and building rockeries and what
not. A counter-craze of dug-out digging was started by our C.O. so as
to provide a place of retreat if over-enthusiastic Huns come over some
day to bomb us. The dug-out was almost finished when the rain came and
converted it into a swimming-bath. The dug-out mania has now ceased.
Thanks for your advice about studying maps. If I carried it out as you
suggest in all my spare time, this is something like what my diary
would have been for the past week:
3.30 a.m. Wakened for early patrol work. Weather is dud, so study
maps until:
8.30 a.m. Breakfast. Raining, so return to room to study maps.
12.30 p.m. Snatch ten minutes for lunch, and get back to maps.
4.30 p.m. Have some tea, having violent argument meanwhile on
contoured and uncontoured maps. More study.
8 p.m. Break off map study for dinner; then go to bed and study
maps till “lights out.”
Here ends another derned dull day.
Still I quite understand what prompted your advice. If one does get
lost, however, one has only to fly west for a few minutes till one
crosses the lines, and then inquire, as we never go far over the lines
unless escorted.
I have been up two mornings running at 3.30 for work, but the weather
has been “dud.” We do not always get early work, of course; we take it
in turns.
I was up over the lines yesterday about 4,000 feet and they put up a
few Archies at me. They were rather close, so I zigzagged to a cooler
spot.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: A Forced Landing.]
This morning we were up at half-past two o’clock. We got up 8,000 feet,
and awaited the signal to proceed from our leading machine; but the
clouds below us completely blotted out the ground, so we were signalled
to descend. When I had dived through the clouds at 5,000 feet, I
discovered to my surprise what appeared to be another layer of clouds
down below, and no sign of the ground at all. I came lower and lower
with my eyes glued on the altimeter, and still no sign of the ground.
Finally I went through the clouds until I was very low, and then
suddenly I saw a row of trees in front of me, pulled her up, cleared
them, and was lost in the fog or clouds again. I decided that that
place was not good enough, and, not knowing where I was, I flew west by
my compass for about a quarter of an hour and came down very low again.
This time we had more success, and could occasionally see patches of
ground fairly well from about twice the height of a small tree. We
cruised around till we spotted a field, and, after a good examination
of it, landed all right, and found on inquiry, to our great relief,
that we were in France. The observer-officer and I shook hands when we
landed. We returned later in the day when the weather cleared up. I
am not the only one who had a forced landing, but we all came out all
right, I believe.
I was getting some well-earned sleep this afternoon when there came a
knock at the door of my hut, and R. H. W. walked in. He is not far from
me and so motor-cycled over. He stopped to tea, and I showed him round.
We are very hard up for games, so I want you to send me a Ping-Pong
set--wooden or cork bats, and a goodly supply of balls.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Archies.]
(_To B.C._) I have been putting off writing to you till I can tell you
how I like German Archies. Well, I can tell you now; that is, I can
tell you how I don’t like them if you promise not to show any one else
this letter. Still, perhaps I’d better not; you are such a good little
boy and have only just left school; perhaps one day when you are grown
up I’ll tell you my opinion of Archie.
Yesterday I was some miles across the line with my observer, as an
escort to another machine, and was Archied like the--er--dickens,
shells bursting all round and some directly under me. Why the machine
wasn’t riddled I don’t know. I was nearly 10,000 feet up too. The
Archies burst, leaving black puffs of smoke in the air, so that the
gunners could see the result. Those puffs were all over the sky. Talk
about dodge! Banking both ways at once! ’Orrible. What’s more, I had
to stay over them, dodging about until the other machine chose to come
back or finished directing the shooting. Both W. and J. who came here
with me got holes in their planes from Archie the day before yesterday,
and W. had a scrap with a Fokker yesterday and got thirty holes through
his plane about three feet from his seat. The Fokker approached to
within twenty-five feet. W. had a mechanic with him, and he fired a
drum of ammunition at it, and the Fokker dived for the ground. So the
pilot was either wounded or--well, they don’t know how the machine
landed, but are hoping to hear from the people in the trenches. The
funny part is that the Fokker attacked as usual by diving from behind,
and W.’s observer turned round and fired kneeling on the seat; but W.
never saw the Fokker once during the whole fight or after. W. had his
main spar of one wing shot away, and several bracing wires, etc., so he
had a lucky escape.
My latest adventure is that my engine suddenly stopped dead when I was
a mile over the German lines. My top tank petrol gauge was broken, and
was registering twelve gallons when it was really empty. I dropped
1,000 feet before I could pump up the petrol from the lower tank to the
top, and was being Archied, too; but I could have got back to our side
easily even if the engine had refused to start, though it would have
been unpleasant to cross the lines at a low altitude. I have had the
petrol gauge put right now. Incidentally, not knowing how much petrol
you have is rather awkward, as I landed with less than two gallons at
the end of that flight; that is ten minutes’ petrol.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Aged 19.]
It is rather strange having a birthday away from home, but the letter
and parcels I got to-day made it all seem like old times.... I have
done some night flying here, and when I was up 2,000 feet I could see
flares and lights over in Hunland. I stayed up some time, and finally
by a colossal fluke did the best landing I have ever done at the
Aerodrome.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: A Concert.]
I went to a concert at Wing Headquarters the other evening; it wasn’t
at all bad. “The Foglifters” had really quite good voices, and some of
the turns were excellent. One made up as a splendid girl. The programme
may interest you:
_IN THE FIELD_
Lieut. ---- presents, by kind permission of Lieut.-Colonel
----, his renowned Vaudeville entertainment,
THE “FOG-LIFTERS.”
(They are thoroughly disinfected before each performance.)
PROGRAMME