WITH THE FLYING CORPS (OCTOBER 1917)
About this time, the C.-in-C. was granted the Order of a Knighthood of
the Thistle. It was given to him by the King during his visit to
France in a château at Cassel. No one was present when he received
this honour. Just afterwards I did a little interior of the room.
General Trenchard and Maurice Baring chose out two flying boys for me
to paint, and they sat to me at Cassel. One was 2nd Lieutenant A. P.
Rhys Davids, D.S.O., M.C., a great youth. He had brought down a lot of
Germans, including two cracks, Schaffer and Voss. The first time I saw
him was at the aerodrome at Estre Blanche. I watched him land in his
machine, just back from over the lines. Out he got, stuck his hands in
his pockets, and laughed and talked about the flight with Hoidge and
others of the patrol, and his Major, Bloomfield. A fine lad, Rhys
Davids, with a far-seeing, clear eye. He hated fighting, hated flying,
loved books and was terribly anxious for the war to be over, so that
he could get to Oxford. He had been captain of Eton the year before,
so he was an all-round chap, and must have been a magnificent pilot.
The 56th Squadron was very sad when he was reported missing, and
refused to believe for one moment that he had been killed till they
got the certain news. It was a great loss.
The other airman chosen was Captain Hoidge, M.C. and Bar--"George" (p. 051)
of Toronto. Hoidge had also brought down a lot of Germans. His face
was wonderfully fitted for a man-bird. His eyes were bird's eyes. A
good lad was Hoidge, and I became very fond of him afterwards. I
arranged with Maurice Baring and Major Bloomfield that Hoidge was to
come to Cassel one morning at 11 a.m. to sit to me. The morning
arrived and 11 o'clock and no Hoidge. Eleven-thirty, 12--no Hoidge.
About 12:30 he strolled into the yard and I heard him asking for me in
a slow voice. I was raging with anger by this time. He came upstairs
and I told him there was no use doing anything before lunch, and that
we had better go down and get some food. We ate silently. I could see
he was rather depressed. About halfway through our meal, he said: "I'm
lucky to be here with you this morning!" "Why?" said I. "Oh," he said,
"I made a damned fool of myself this morning. Let an old Boche get on
my tail. Damned fool I was--with my experience. Never saw the
blighter. I was following an old two-seater at the time. He put a
bullet through the box by my head, and cut two of my stays. If old B.
hadn't happened to come up and chased him off I was for it. Damned
fool! But the morning wasn't wasted, afterwards I got two
two-seaters." I said: "Do you realise you have killed four men this
morning?" "No," he said, "but I winged two damned nice birds." Then we
went upstairs and he sat like a lamb.
[Illustration: XX. _Lieut. A. P. F. Rhys Davids, D.S.O., M.C._]
One evening, during the King's stay at Cassel, I was working in my
room about 7 o'clock, when a little scrap of paper was brought me on
which was written, "I am dining downstairs.--M. B." I went downstairs
and there was Maurice Baring, and, with luck for me, alone. We had a
great dinner. He was in his best form; for after dinner we went up to
my room and sat by the open window and talked and talked. Suddenly (p. 052)
Maurice stopped, and said: "What's that noise?" "What noise?" said I.
So we looked down into the courtyard--only about ten feet--and there
was "Boom," who had been dining with the King, and Philip Sassoon.
"What the devil are you two doing?" said "Boom." "We've both been
shouting ourselves hoarse for ten minutes. It's the last damned time
you dine with Orpen, Maurice!" It's true we never heard them--but then
Maurice was talking.
One morning, when the wind was very fresh, I got a telephone message
from Major Bloomfield telling me to come to the squadron at once and
see some "crashes." It was a glorious morning, blue sky, with great
white clouds sailing by. I got down to the squadron as quickly as I
could. A whole lot of novices from England had been sent out on
trials, and the Major expected "great fun" when they landed.
The fire was made big and a great line of blue smoke whirled down the
aerodrome to give the direction of the wind. Presently they began to
come back. Some landed beautifully--one in particular--and the Major
said to me: "Come on, I must go and congratulate that chap," and
started running for the machine. When we got closer, he stopped and
said: "Damn it! it's Hoidge, I forgot he was out."
I remember one poor chap in particular. He circled the aerodrome
twelve times, each time coming down for a landing and each time
funking it at the last moment. At last he did land, two or three
bumps, and then--apparently slowly--the machine's nose went to the
ground and gracefully it turned turtle. "Come along," said the Major,
and when we got to the machine the wretched pilot was getting out from
under it. "You unspeakable creature," said the Major. "Don't let me
see your face again for twenty-four hours." And away limped the (p. 053)
"unspeakable creature," covered with oil and dirt. I must add that
after lunch the Major went up to him and patted his back and said he
hoped he felt none the worse. But the thing that amazed me was, that
although the machine seemed to land so gently, the damage to it was
terrific--propeller and all sorts of strong things smashed to bits.
[Illustration: XXI. _Lieut. R. T. C. Hoidge, M.C._]
Ping-pong was the great game at this squadron (56th), and I used to
play with a lot of them, including Hoidge and McCudden, but I did not
know the latter's name at that time. It was before he became famous.
One day I went there with Maurice Baring, and the Major was greatly
excited because they had just finished making a little circular saw to
cut firewood for the squadron for the winter. The Major had a great
idea that, as the A.D.C. to "Boom" was lunching, after lunch there
would be an "official" opening of the circular saw. It was agreed that
all officers and men were to attend (no flying was possible that day)
and that Maurice should make a speech, after which he was to cut the
end of a cigar with the saw, then a box was made with a glass front in
which the cigar was to be placed after the A.D.C. had smoked a little
of it, and the box was to be hung in the mess of the squadron. It was
all a great success. Maurice made a splendid speech. We all cheered,
and then the cigar was cut (to bits nearly). Maurice smoked a little,
and it was put safely in its box. Then Maurice was given the first log
to cut. This was done, but Maurice was now worked up, so he took his
cap off and cut this in halves. He was then proceeding to take off his
tunic for the same purpose, but was carried away from the scene of
execution by a cheering crowd. It was a great day. I remember Maurice
saw me back to Cassel about 1 a.m., after much ping-pong and music. (p. 054)
"I'll go back to the shack where the black-eyed Susans," etc., was the
song of the moment then in the squadron.
Shortly after this Major Bloomfield was ordered home, promoted and, I
think, sent to America. At this loss, a great gloom fell over the 56th
Squadron. I never saw any squadron in France that was run nearly so
well as the 56th under Bloomfield, nor any Major loved more by his
boys.
[Illustration: XXII. _The Return of a Patrol._]