During the war I had to fly a machine over to France. I had as
passenger a Cockney Tommy who had recently transferred from the
infantry to the R.F.C., and was joining his unit overseas.
Half-way over the Channel my engine failed and I glided down towards
the nearest boat I could see. The landing was not very successful; the
under-carriage struck the crest of a wave and the aeroplane hit the
water almost vertically.
We were both thrown out, my passenger being somewhat badly knocked
about in the process. We clung to the almost submerged wreckage and
gazed hopefully towards the vessel I had sighted. She continued on her
course, however.
[Illustration: "I know me way across nah!"]
The machine soon sank and we were left bobbing about in our life-belts.
Things began to look far from bright, especially as my Cockney observer
was in a pretty bad way by now. Suddenly the sun broke through the
clouds, and the white cliffs of Grisnez, about eight miles away, stood
out clearly.
"What's them hills, sir?" asked Tommy.
"Cape Grisnez, where Burgess landed after his Channel swim," I replied.
"Blimey," he said, "if we ever gets out of this perishing mess, and I
can't get me old job back after the war, I'll be a blooming Channel
swimmer. I know the ruddy way across nah."--_"Pilot R.F.C.," London,
W.1._