 Section I of War Flying by a Pilot. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Lynette Calkins, Monument, Colorado. War Flying by a Pilot by Lassel Finer-Hutchen. The development of an idea, preface, opening poem, and introductory section. Preface. This little volume of Theda's letters to his home people is offered in the hope that it may prove useful and not for glory or reward. The Royal Flying Corps in wartime works in secret. Many of our gallant lads would gladly become pilots if they knew how to set to work and approximately what they would have to face. When Theda decided to try to enter the service, he had nothing to go on save a determination to get there and a general idea of the difficulty of achieving his purpose. His careless and unstudied notes, written at odd moments in the work of training and of war, do show how a public schoolboy may become a flying officer and how he may fare thereafter. Names, dates, and places about which the censor might have concern have been concealed and extraneous matters have been omitted. The letters are a cheery and light-hearted record and may stimulate others. From first to last they have not contained a grumble. It should be understood, however, that the experiences of the writer must not be taken as typical of those of all pilots at the front. The RFC has different squadrons for different duties, and different types of machines suited to the nature of those duties. In the faster type of machine it is possible to do better and more dangerous work, and even in one's own squadron the duties of a colleague may have been more onerous and more trying than those described. In a fighting squadron the pilot may have almost daily combats in the air. In another he may have very long and very trying reconnaissance work. Compared with that of some squadrons, writes Theta, our work is pleasant. November 26, 1916 Orgored overseas, after Kipling Does he know the road to Flanders? Does he know the crisscross tracks with the row of sturdy hangers at the end? Does he know that shady corner where, the job done, we relax to the music of the engines round the bend? It is here that he is coming with his gun and battle-plane to the little aerodrome at, well, you know, to a wooden hut abutting on a quiet country lane, for he's ordered overseas and he must go. Has he seen those leagues of trenches, the traverses deep and stark, high over which the British pilots ride? Does he know the fear of flying miles to eastward of his mark when his only map has vanished over side? It is there that he is going and it takes a deal of doing. There are many things he really ought to know, and there isn't time to swat him, if a fucker he's pursuing, for he's ordered overseas and he must go. Does he know that ruined town, that old blank of renown? Has he heard the crack of Archie bursting near? Has he known that ghastly moment when your engine lets you down? Has he ever had that feeling known as fear? It's to Flanders he is going with a brand new aeroplane to take the place of one that's dropped below, to fly and fight and photo mid the storms of wind and rain, for he's ordered overseas and he must go. Then the hangar door flies open and the engine starts its roar and the pilot gives the signal with his hand. As he rises over England he looks back upon the shore, for the Lord alone knows where he's going to land. Now the plane begins to gather speed, completing lap on lap, till after diving down and skimming low they're off to shattered Flanders by the compass and the map. They were ordered overseas and had to go. Introductory. The development of an idea. One. The first number of the well-thumbed file of flight, carefully kept by Theta up to the present day, bears date July 30, 1910, just two years after the first public flight in the world. At that time this particular public schoolboy was 13 years of age. His interest in aviation, however, dated from considerably before that period and its first manifestation took the form of paper gliders. Beyond the fact that they could be manipulated with marvelous dexterity and that they could be extremely disturbing to the rest of the class in school, no more need be said. In December 1910 Theta felt that he had a message on airships to convey to the world and he communicated it through the medium of the school journal. Thence forward he wrote regularly on flying topics for the journal and for four years acted as its aeronautical editor. Throughout 1911, with two school friends, he also assisted in producing aviation, a cyclistile sheet of small circulation proudly claimed as the first monthly penny aviation journal in the world. Therein the various types of machines were discussed with all the delightful cockserness of youth and various serial stories based on flying adventures duly ran their course. For some years he pursued the construction of model airplanes with an aciduity that may well have been fatal to schoolwork and games and that was kept up until the German power-driven model drove the elastically propelled machines into the realms of toydom. A motley crowd of enthusiasts used to gather every Saturday and Sunday in one of the great open spaces of London for the practice of their craft, nearly all boys in their teens occasionally one or two grown-ups with mechanical interests. When the war came, the group broke up. Some of them took up real aircraft construction. Others became attached to the air service, naval, and military as mechanics. At least two became flying officers. In July 1911, Theta obtained his first pilot's certificate from an aeroclub which he had assisted in founding. The document is perhaps sufficiently interesting to reproduce. 1. XYZ Aeroclub Pilots Certificate I hereby certify that Theta has passed the required tests for the above-named certificate. The tests have been witnessed by the undernamed R.H.W. and J.H.C., who are members of the XYZ Aeroclub. The tests are as follows. 1. Flight of 100 yards 2. Circular flight of any distance provided the machine does not touch the ground and lands within 15 yards of the starting point. 3. Or, alternative, flight of any distance when machine flies not less than 6 feet higher than the starting point. 4. Flight lasting at least 8 seconds The above tests have been approved by the members of the club, signed R.H.W. Secretary, footnote, now with the gunners in France, and footnote, and J.H.C. President, footnote, interned in Germany since outbreak of war, and footnote. The tests would have been very different a few months later, and really wonderful long-distance flights were afterwards accomplished. In order to be able to write with some authority, Theta kept abreast of all developments in aeronautics, reading with avidity all the literature on the subject and visiting the flying grounds. The first aeroplane he saw in the air was when pollen gave a demonstration of flying at Sandown Park. Subsequently, numerous pilgrimages to Brooklyn's and Hendon were made. There followed visits to France in the vacations. In the second visit, Theta and a companion it was afterwards discovered, cycled round the rough and narrow stone parapet of a fort when a single slip would have meant precipitation into a moat on one side, or into the sea on the other. It was a test of nerves. The return from the third visit was memorable. Theta had left his portmanteau on a railway platform in Normandy, and his waterproof on the cross-channel steamer. But he arrived at Waterloo serenely content with the wreck of his model airplane wrapped up in an old French newspaper and a bathing towel. His knowledge of French and his customary luck, however, served him, and the missing Impedimenta duly followed him up in the course of a day or two. Of his French friends, three brothers, one was killed in the opening months of the war. A second was wounded and taken prisoner by the Germans after an adventure that would have won him the VC in this country. And the third, as interpreter, was one of the links between the Allied forces at the Dardanelles and is now engaged on similar work. A few months before war broke out, Theta visited Germany and photographed the Zeppelin Victoria-Louise and its hangar at Frankfurt. He was immensely struck by the ease with which the huge airship was manipulated and with its value as a sea scout. But as a fighting instrument, he put his money on the heavier-than-air machines. So grew day by day, month by month, and year by year, without the least slackening that interest in aviation which came to fruition in wartime. Two. Theta was born in May 1897. The war broke out in August 1914. On his eighteenth birthday Theta decided that it was time to get a move on. His ambition from the first had been to enter the Royal Flying Corps. This was opposed chiefly because of his youth and seeming immaturity and the excessive danger attached to training. But fate, impelled by inclination, proved too strong. He had been a member of his OTC for four years and had attended camps at Aldershot and Salisbury Plain, but he deliberately set his face against foot-slogging. He urged that though he was old enough to risk his own life, he was not old enough to risk the lives of others, his seniors, by accepting an infantry commission. After many preliminaries an appointment was secured at the War Office with a high official of military aeronautics. There Theta was subjected to a curiously interesting catechism which seemed to touch on nearly every possible branch of activity under the sun except aviation. Finally the high official, probably seeing the way of ridding himself of the candidate who had accomplished little or nothing of the various deeds of daring enumerated in the shorter catechism, suggested an immediate medical examination on the premises. That ordeal safely passed, Theta returned to his catechist who said wearily, well we'll try you, but you know you have not many of the qualifications for a flying officer. Theta returned to school to await his summons which was promised within two months. The school term ended, a motorcycling holiday in Devon followed, and still no call. On the return to London a reminder was sent to the War Office. There immediately came a telegram ordering Theta to report for instruction at what may be called Aerodrome A. Training began almost at once with a joy ride of ten minutes duration, but the weather was for the most part what the aviators in their sling called dud. An abominable mist hung over the Aerodrome and consequently, though the period of instruction was fairly prolonged, the opportunities for flights were few. There was much waiting and little flying and the bored youth was driven to music and rhyming to fill up the interstices. But before the end of the year a good deal had been accomplished. At the close of his eleventh lesson Theta was told to hold himself in readiness for a solo performance. After four more flights came the successful tests for the ticket which transforms the pupil into a certificated aviator. This preliminary triumph was celebrated the same evening by a joy ride at nearly two thousand feet, the highest altitude that Theta had reached on a solo performance. Nearly four years and a half had elapsed between the schoolboy ticket and the real thing. Then came a transfer to another and more advanced type of machine. On this there were but three flights with an instructor and then another solo performance. Towards the close of the year Theta left Aerodrome A for Aerodrome B having in the meantime been gazetted as a probationary second lieutenant special reserve. The advanced course occupied about three months. It proved more exciting in many ways. In the elementary portion of training Theta saw many crashes none of which however proved fatal. In the second war conditions more nearly prevailed and at times when for example three colleagues lost their lives in flying and a Canadian friend who shared his hut in training was reported missing believed killed within a few weeks of reaching the front. The stern realities of his new profession were driven home. But youth is ever cheerful and optimistic. In fullness of time there came a flight of a covey of seven probationaries in one taxicab to an examination center for wings. A successful ending followed shortly afterwards by final leave, an early morning gathering of newly made flying officers at Charing Cross Station, the leave taking, and the departure to the front. Training was over. The testing time had come. Before his 19th birthday was reached Theta had been across the German lines. His letters may now be allowed to carry on. End of section one. Section two of Warflying by a Pilot. This is a LibriVox recording. While LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Warflying by a Pilot by Lesil Finer Hutchin. Book one in training October through April chapter one from Theory to Practice part one. Side note. Early impressions. Arrived here okay and reported. Spent the best part of the morning signing papers and books and buzzing around. On the way across to the hangars discovered two RFC men lie on the ground trying to look like a molehill and fidgeting with a gadget resembling an intoxicated lawnmower. The use of which I had not yet discovered. I'm posted to a flight and wondering what I'm going to get it so to speak. You report at six o'clock if you are on the morning list at nine o'clock if you are not. When you report possibly you go for a joy ride whether a number of pupils permitting. You spend some time in the shops followed by a lecture and then drill at four o'clock you report again. If it's fine and the officers don't feel too bored with life they may take you for a flight but it is generally someone else they take and not you. Then you smoke till five thirty when you go home. However I'm enjoying myself and the pupils seem a decent lot. I don't think there will be anything doing for the next few days as there is an abominable mist all over the place. The machines are the safest in the world. I've had a ten minutes flight this evening. It was splendid and felt perfectly safe. The machine seems quite simple to control. I had my hands on the dual set and felt how the pilot did it. Don't expect I shall get up again for a long time. I was quite warm and felt happy calm and confident. Side note my first flying lesson. My first flying lesson was in the gathering dusk of a cold evening. But an extra leather waistcoat and an overcoat muffler kept me warm. I mounted to my seat behind the pilot in the nasal of the huge biplane. Fastened my safety belt, donned my helmet and sat tight. A dual log ensued between the pilot and the mechanic who was about to swing the propeller and to start the great 70 horsepower Renault engine. Switch off sang out the mechanic. Switch off echoed the pilot as he complied with the request. Suck in shouted the mechanic. The pilot moved a lever. Suck in he echoed. The mechanic put forth his strength and turned the propeller around half a dozen times or so to draw petrol into the cylinders. Contact he shouted. Contact came back the echo from the pilot as he switched on. A lusty heave of the propeller and the engine was started. For a moment the engine was held back while the pilot listened to the deep throbbing of the motor and then satisfied with its running. He waved his hand and we began to taxi rapidly across the aerodrome to the starting point. The starting point varies almost every day as the rule is to start facing the wind. Then we turned. The pilot opened the throttle wide and a deep roar behind us betoken the instant response of the engine. With the propeller doing its 900 revolutions a minute we were soon traveling over the ground at 40 miles per hour. The motion got smoother and on looking down I found to my surprise that we were already some 30 feet above the ground. A slight movement of the elevator and we started to climb in earnest. A couple of circuits and we were 700 feet up. The pilot looked round and signaled to me to put my hands on the controls. I did so and then apparently to test my nerves he started doing some real sporting stunts. Dives, steep banks and so on and in fact everything but looping the loop. However it did not occur to me at the time to be nervous. I was enjoying it so much. And so at last the pilot who kept casting furtive glances at me was satisfied. And taking her up to a thousand feet put her on an even keel and took both his hands off the controls. Putting them on the sides of the nasal and leaving poor little meat to manage the bus. This I did all right keeping her horizontal and jockeying her up with the ailerons when one of the wings dropped a little in an air pocket. On reaching the other side of the drone he retook control. Turned her and let me repeat my performance. Then again taking control the pilot after a few more stunts. Throttled down till his engine was just ticking over and did a vol plané from a thousand feet into the almost invisible aerodrome. A gentle andy in the growing darkness and rising fog. The swift taxi along the ground to the open hangar and my first lesson in aerial navigation was concluded. The teaching methods may be considered rather abrupt but they are those adopted now by all the flying schools. The pupil is taken up straight away on a dual control machine to a height of about a thousand feet. And then is allowed to lean forward and amuse himself with the second set of controls. Any excessive mistake being corrected by the pilot. After a time he is allowed to turn on aided to do complete circuits on aided and finally to land the machine on aided. If he does this successfully he is sent solo and after a few solos is sent up for his ticket or Royal Aero Club certificate. At the time of riding I am doing circuits on aided but I hope weather permitting to have come down on aided by the time this appears in print. Reprinted from the school journal. Had not been up again but hoped to go tomorrow and enjoy myself and him quite fit. Had a nice flight yesterday with Captain Blank. If fine hoped to have another tomorrow. Up this evening we passed over a field and spotted a B.E. smashed. It had run into a hedge. No one hurt. Machine new. Three flights yesterday and would have gone solo in the afternoon but a pupil smashed the solo machine. Nothing doing. Nothing done. And section two. Section three of war flying by a pilot. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Brandon. War flying by a pilot by Lesil Finer Hutchin. Book one in training. Chapter one part two. On going solo. At last I have gone solo. On Sunday and Monday two of our machines were smashed by pupils on their first solos. And both machines had to be scrapped. In consequence the pilots have been rather cherry about letting us go up alone. And we too have been wondering whether we were fated to follow the example of the others. At length however. Captain sent up X this evening. And he got on all right. So he turned to me suddenly and said, Well, you better go and break your neck now. Thus cheered. I gave my hat as a parting gift to Y. Shook hands mournfully all round. And amid lamentations and tears. Took my seat for the first time in the pilot's seat. Contact, etc. And my engine was running. I pointed her out into the aerodrome and then turned her to the right. The taxiing is almost as tricky as flying. And before I could stop it the machine had turned completely round. However, I got it straight again and taxi to the starting place. A biff of my left hand on the throttle and the engine was going all out. Faster and faster over the ground. A touch of the controls and we were off. The next thing I recollect was passing over a machine on the ground at a height of 200 feet. And then I was on the other end of the aerodrome. This meant a turn. So down went the nose, the rudder and bank. And round we came in fine style. A touch on the aileron control and we were level again. Thus I went on for ten minutes. And as captain had told me to do only one circuit I had done considerably more. I decided to come down. It was growing dusk so it was as well that I did. I took her outside the drone then pointed her in. Put the nose down and pulled back the throttle. The roar of the engine ceased and the ground loomed nearer. A very slight movement of the controls and we were flattened out three feet above the ground and did a gentle landing. A touch of the throttle, a roar and I taxied back to the waiting mechanics. Good landing. Sang out one of them. In a moment later some half a dozen pupils were shaking me violently by all the hands they could find and all talking at once in loud voices. Just my hat I asked. And a crumpled object was handed to me. Then up came captain very red in the face and looking exceedingly happy. Damn good, Theta. And so it ended heaps of love to you both. Went solo last Wednesday and shall be surprised if I do so again before Christmas. It is cold and misty and when not misty it is windy. It is neither it rains and so on but mist from the marshes is the worst by far. So sometimes we sits and thinks and cusses and smokes and sometimes we just sits. Have been up again at last the first time for a week. Four solo flights today. Went up 1500 feet on the third and stayed up an hour on the fourth. Between 900 feet and 1000 feet. It was lovely flying this evening but bumpy and air pocketed this morning. End of section three recording by John Brandon. Section four of war flying by a pilot. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Brandon. War flying by a pilot by Lesser Finder Hutchin. Book one in training. Chapter one, part three. Taking a ticket. Theta, certified aviator. What? At last I am a certified pilot. As soon as I arrived this morning they sent me up on my ticket. Although as I said I had never done a right hand turn alone. I took my ticket in fine style landing right on the mark each time. While X, who went up first to his, was helping to extricate his machine from a ditch. He finished his tests however, all right afterwards. When I landed after finishing my eighths my instructor said I could consider myself some pilot now. I went up to nearly two thousand feet this evening for a joy ride and stayed up until I got bored and it got dark and began to rain. Well I have got my ticket without busting a wire so I hope I shall keep it up. Was overwhelmed with congrats from pupils etc. I expect I shall be transferred to B-Flight and get taken up as a passenger so as to learn to fly another type. Up this morning for a joy ride with Sergeant and got into a fog bank and lost sight of land and sky. Got out of it all right in the end? Rather interesting. Today was the first nice day for flying for a week. So the officers and men arranged a football match. All the same I did manage to get a flight so cheero. I had my hair cut yesterday and a new glass put in my watch. Today I find my glass cracked and my hair grown almost as long as before in the night. Whizzing through the azure blue in an airplane say you must have sports the nicest be so it is but then you see the only part that can give pain is the return to Earth again. Got on splendidly today when solo all right? This type is much nicer to handle than the other but you land faster owing to higher speed. This I managed so well that Sergeant clapped his hands and said very good the wind has been blowing ye gods how it blew stopped bicycles going not one pilot flew up above 85 down below it blew well in this place dead and alive it is absolute hell deleted by RFC sensor is not being sufficiently expressive however we attended a very boring lecture and walked through slut and mush drill time so we have not done so badly some poets say as well they may congenial surroundings conducely with rhythm gay an artful phrase compounding with helpful muse to air their views on nature's grand aboundings Ian so is joy and sorrow do in cases bring forth tears a simile to borrow in this case it now appears no sunshine sets the muse to work in humble little me his wind and rain and fogs that lurk drive me to policy cleaning wires with emery paper is grand exercise albeit a trifle monotonous however the pay fifteen shilling six minutes a day is good and as we pass we hear the voice of our weeping for his pupils which are not and will not be comforted a most wonderful exhibition of flying by Hawker Rainham and Merrick's end of section four recording by John Brandon section five of war flying by a pilot this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by John Brandon war flying by a pilot by Lesser Finer Hutchin book one in training chapter one part four first cross-country flight did you see your little son today emulating the antics of nature's aerial ornithopters I left aerodrome B about ten fifteen a.m. and went over to S then I branched off at right angles for W but as I was about four thousand feet up I could not pick it out from the other parks and commons and so finding myself running into a formidable set of clouds I about turned and after taking my map from my pocket and studying it on my knee for a few minutes I found out where I was and set out for aerodrome A I found it all right landed had a chat with the pupils borrowed a bike and went round to my old rooms with chocolate or Betty Teddy the dog was overjoyed to see me I soon got going again and did a few circles over the hospital where Mrs. S was nursing climbed to two thousand feet and followed the railway to home here I did a circle trying to cover the houses of as many of my old friends as I could and then made off at right angles to the railway or aerodrome B before I left home I dropped four letters with streamers attached to to you one to AC and one to the head only a few words inside so it does not matter whether they're lost or open by someone else I have no idea where they fell I could see aerodrome B eight miles away directly I left you and landed beautifully in time for lunch I covered the distance in about seven and a half minutes having had a ripping morning I hope you saw me and if you did how much money did dad win betting it was me the following extracts are from a letter from home which crossed the above in post we saw you it was all very interesting and has sent a thrill over the neighborhood to ease your mind I may tell you that your letter was duly picked up and delivered within three hours of your visit the mother saw an airplane passing over earlier in the morning and told me she was sure you had taken Betty her chocolate later it became born in upon me that you were on your way back I went to the door immediately there came the roar of a gnome engine to buy plane and I yelled here he is up came the gnome engine by plane gaily waving its propeller then it turned and circled route home I gurgled it is theta seized my handkerchief and waved it violently then they're fluttered down from the airplane some little things that glittered in the sun as they fell and we knew it was your machine then you appear to go over the school grounds and so home I watched you till you were only a speck in the sky and then turned away I shall hope when I wake in the morning to have the scene described as it appeared to you from above Meanwhile our hearty congratulations on your first cross-country flight End of section five recording by John Brandon Section six of war flying by a pilot this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by John Brandon War flying by a pilot by Lesil Finer Hutchin Book one in training chapter two some episodes and a crash extracts from Theta's private logbook Date November Remarks stalled engine all round airdrome Captain L flying with your tail between your legs looked damn dangerous Date November Remarks windscreen completely frosted over had only done few solos had to take machine to 1,000 feet lean out and clean screen Date November Remarks same day got in hot air over factory chimneys Date January Remarks second solo on new type side slipped through turning without flying speed ghastly sensation Captain you would have been killed on any other machine but a Date January Remarks another side slip but not so bad pulled her out of it Date January Remarks first forced landing connecting rod broke and inlet valve went machine auto have caught fire was two miles from the drone just got in machine vibrating horribly from 2200 feet down Date February Remarks worst day so far flown in chopped about like a leaf no goggles so could hardly see nearly strafed officers mess landing all right but frightful day Date February Remarks engine lost 100 revs per minute over trees had to birds nest unpleasant lucky engine did not cut out all together Date February Remarks rising over hangers when another airplane rose and headed me over tree and kept too close had I not turned quickly at low altitude might have rammed me unpleasant Date February Remarks cut out just in front of trees at 50 feet steep bank quick right hand turn landing close beside trees okay Date February Remarks as passenger pilot lieutenant Engine missing badly over trees attempted to land in small field but seeing would crash into trees at the other side at 40 miles per hour pilot put nose up and with missing engine cleared them by inches the wheels actually touching the top then more tree dodging and steep banks just above ground landing an aerodrome Date March Remarks climbed into clouds and steered by instruments out of sight of earth for practice spiral down Date March Remarks climbed 7,000 feet glorious view from above the clouds 4,000 feet below me most beautiful spectacle I've ever seen climbed till engine would go no higher and stopped engine and did right and left hand spirals down landing without starting engine again Date March Remarks started on cross country to a missed very thick lost my way and found myself over London no compass editorial turned and discovered aerodrome sea below me so landed later when missed cleared restarted but a following wind and missed made me overshoot a and landed in field near D to find out whereabouts engine refused to start so pegged down machine for the night and phone headquarters Date March Remarks restarted next day when weather cleared up but all landmarks covered by snow landed in field again but decided to go on so restarted and again lost my way circled over town and railway but could not decide what they were and could not find a landing ground eventually I found one and landed just stopping in time at the other end kept engine ticking over and was told was 4 miles from A restarted clearing a large tree by one foot saw blizzard coming up had no time to land so headed into it and flew over 20 minutes at 200 feet altitude unable to see either instruments or ground wind and storm increased in violence was frequently blown up onto one wing tip the machine side slipping once to within a few feet of the ground and just recovering in time for me to clear a house driving snow prevented machine from climbing and nearly drove it to earth when a lull came and I saw a clear path beneath I promptly circled round clearing semi invisible trees by a matter of inches I was told finally landed well and was running along the ground when a fence dividing the field in two loomed up a few yards ahead elevated and the nose cleared it but the tail skid did not and caught the fence bringing the machine down on its nose with a crash and turning it over my head went through the top plane and I remain suspended upside down by my safety belt date March remarks propeller smashes in midair date March remarks tested new rigged machine which had not flown since it was smashed weather very bad for flying much less testing a reconstructed machine did not seem to answer well to the controls and flew left wing down landed machine successfully and reported on it chapter three from passenger to pilot the following notes from Theta's diary show the progress from novice with accompanying pilot to certified aviator solo height course remarks 350 feet circuits of aerodrome calm and even dusk rested hands on controls 1000 feet round aerodrome smooth dusk felt controls 1000 feet aerodrome and neighborhood had control a little time and did left hand turn 900 feet aerodrome controlled along straights 800 to 1000 feet aerodrome with occasional turns outside bumpy had control along straights for some time did several left hand turns and one complete turn right round 600 to 700 feet aerodrome did circuits turns and one landing 600 feet aerodrome bumpy so did not get much control 500 feet aerodrome controlled circuits and two landings 600 feet aerodrome entire control recovery from bank not quite quick enough one landing 400 feet aerodrome better two landings 800 feet aerodrome two landings taxi and takeoff told to go solo in afternoon 300 feet aerodrome two good landings one bad two bumpy for solo 400 feet aerodrome three one landing 300 feet aerodrome one landing bumpy 300 feet aerodrome entire control and then went solo 350 feet aerodrome first solo a few circuits and smooth landing 500 feet aerodrome all right 800 feet aerodrome bumpy landed with engine ticking over too fast 1500 feet aerodrome climbed too steeply and nose down too much on turns very bumpy 700 to 1000 feet aerodrome calm flew for half an hour solo landing fairly good climbed a better angle and turn slightly better 500 feet figure eights in drum did first part for ticket successfully and landed right on T 500 feet eights in drum did second part of ticket right again landing within a few yards of T 580 feet one wide circuit with engine switched off completed tests for Royal Air Corps certificate 1600 feet aerodrome joyride landed with too much engine end of section six recording by John Brandon section seven of war flying by a pilot this is the LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by John Brandon War flying by a pilot by Lesil Finer Hutchin Book two on active service Royal Flying Corps alphabet A stands for Archie the Huns greatest pride B for B E our biplane they deride C for the crash when by A 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 is the height you attain I am the infant who flies a 2C J the joystick on most buses you see K is the kick that you get from a gun L a forced landing too often to be done M for mechanic and France most are firsts N for the noise that A makes when it bursts O which is oil stops the ceasing of E P petrol 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 stunt T is the thrill of a big fucker hunt U under carriage first to go in a smash V a VP off precedeth the crash W the wireless for directing big guns X Y Z I don't want so I'll give to the Huns Chapter 1 the opening movement part 1 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 Shot 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 putties 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 nearby 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 of our undercarriages That they stand up to it so well A good landing is a bounce of about twenty feet into the air And a demuendo of bounces like a grasshopper You pull up A fairly bad landing is a bounce of fifty feet and demuendo Everyone 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 Or you can read and sleep out a 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 Where you get rid of a hundred shots in ten seconds As you are probably aware I took of 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 plains The flight was quite uneventful Next time I write I hope to be able to tell you what the trenches are like At present only to low clouds and bad weather I haven't been able to look at them End of section 7 Recording by John Brandon Section 8 of War Flying by a Pilot This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org War Flying by a Pilot By LaCelle Finer Hutchin Book 2 on Active Service Chapter 1 Part 2 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 We 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 whatnot A counter-craze of dugout digging was started by our CO So as to provide a place of retreat if over-enthusiastic huns Come over some day to bomb us The dugout was almost finished when the rain came And converted it into a swimming-bath The dugout 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 am, awakened for early patrol work Weather is dud, so study maps until 8.30 am, breakfast, raining, so return to room to study maps 12.30 pm, snatch ten minutes for lunch and get back to maps 4.30 pm, have some tea, having violent argument Meanwhile on contoured and uncontoured maps More study 8.00 pm, break off map study for dinner Then go to bed and study maps till lights out Here ends another dirnd, 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 four thousand feet And they put up a few arty's at me They were rather close, so I zigzag to a cooler spot A forced landing This morning we were up at half-past two o'clock We got up eight thousand 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 five thousand 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 until 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 An R.H.W. walked in He is not far from me and so motorcycle dove up 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 bowls End of Section 8 Recording by Thomas Rose Section 9 Of War-Flying by a Pilot This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org War-Flying by a Pilot By Lacell Finer-Hutchin Book 2 On Active Service Chapter 1 Part 3 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 anyone 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... Dickens Shells bursting all round in some directly under me Why the machine wasn't riddled, I don't know I was nearly ten thousand 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 Fuck about, dodge Banking both ways at once, horrible What's more, I had to stay over them Dodging about until the other machine chose to come back Or finish 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 forker yesterday And got thirty holes through his plane About three feet from his seat The forker approached to within twenty-five feet W had a mechanic with him And he fired a drum of ammunition at it And the forker 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 forker attacked as usual By diving from behind And W's observer turned round and fired, kneeling on the seat But W never saw the forker once during the whole fight or after W had his main spar of one wing shot away And several bracing wires, et cetera 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 rarely empty I dropped one thousand 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 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 Age nineteen It is rather strange having a birthday away from home But the letters and parcels I got today made it all seem like old times I have done some night-flying here And when I was up two thousand 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 A concert I went to a concert at Wing Headquarters the other evening It wasn't at all bad The fog lifters had rarely quite good voices and some of the turns were excellent One made up as a splendid girl The program may interest you In the field Lieutenant presents by kind permission of Lieutenant Colonel His renowned vaudeville entertainment, the fog lifters They are thoroughly disinfected before each performance Program part one One, the fog lifters introduce themselves Two, C tries but can't Three, B sings a Warwickshire song in Yorkshire Brogue Four, six foot picks his mark Five, B on his experiences in the marines Six, C relates his visit to Hastings Seven, T on acrobatic eyes Eight, the second in command ties himself in a knot Nine, six foot warns the unwary Ten, the fog lifters feeling dry retire at this point for a drink and leave you to the tender mercies of H Watch your watch and chain yourself to your seat Part two, eleven, T thinks of leave Twelve, the boss makes a bid for the biscuit Thirteen, B and his favourite topic Fourteen, rather a fagging turn Fifteen, B in love Sixteen, T endeavors to sing a sentimental song Seventeen, six foot shows B how it's done Eighteen, the second in command excels itself Nineteen, B's memories of the Spanish Armada Twenty, six foot and C have a serious relapse The beginning of the end The King End of section nine, recording by Thomas Rose Section ten of Warflying by a Pilot This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Warflying by a Pilot by Les Cell, Finer, Hutchin Book two, on active service Chapter two, increasing the pace Chapter two, part one French Aviators Bag Only time for a few lines before the post goes. I was flying at a quarter to three o'clock this morning. I was orderly pilot and a hon was reported in the neighbourhood. I went to bed after two hours flying and was knocked up again and spent another couple of hours in the air. All this before I had anything to eat or drink. Luckily I was not at all hungry or thirsty. The hon I was chasing, or rather looking for, on my second patrol, was brought down a few miles from our aerodrome by a French aviator. The pilot and observer were killed. Neither my observer nor I saw anything at all of the fight as we were patrolling further down the line. You bet I was fed up when we landed. The smash was brought to our place and taken away by the French. The machine seemed essentially German, very solid and thick, weight no object. The French aviators were very nice. I had a chat with them. The rumours at the aerodrome were various, one that I was brought down, another that I had brought down a hon, and a third that a French aviator and I had had a scrap—the enemy in our midst. Here is a true story. There was some night flying at one of our aerodromes the other day and a machine came over and fired a coloured light asking, can I come down? The people on the ground fired one in reply, meaning yes, and a completely equipped German biplane landed and a guttural German voice was heard shouting for mechanics. He got them all right, but they were RFC and not German mechanics. The coincidence of the signals was extraordinary. The machine, it was an aviatic, was in perfect order and has since been flown and tested by the RFC. It was wonderfully kind of them to plank their machine down in that aerodrome and the surprise on both sides must have been extremely comical to watch. When the Hun discovered it was an English drone and the mechanics discovered it was a Hun pilot. I know that this is Sunday, as we have had a lot of work to do. I have just come down from my job. I went up at twelve-thirty and landed at three-forty. Not a bad flight. I was up and down the lines patrolling most of the time. Our escort lost us soon after leaving the drone, but it didn't matter. I got archied two or three times, but nothing rarely annoying. They are very clever with those guns. For instance, when I was a mile and a half or perhaps less on our side of the lines, they fired Archie on the French side of me, hoping I would turn away from it and so get within better range. They generally let you cross the lines in peace so as to entice you over as far as possible, and then let you have it hot and strong all the way back. I have just been to look at the machine. Apparently one of those archies got nearer than I thought for a piece of shrapnel has made a six-inch hole in the tailplane. The shrapnel must have been spent because it has only pierced the bottom surface of the tail and has not penetrated the top. I was rather pleased when I found that, as it is something to say that your machine has been hit by Archie. The ping-pong set has arrived. I'll let you know right enough when I want any more garments. Our linen goes off to be washed at any old time, as there are plenty of laundrys near here, an old woman, an old wooden bat, and a smooth, worn stone by a dirty stream. The stuff comes back wonderfully clean, however. Don't you worry about my food while night-flying. I get that all right. It was a very exceptional case the other day. If we have an early stunt, we always get hot cocoa and bread and butter, but you see, I was orderly pilot that day, and the Huns weren't polite enough to ring me up the night before and tell me what time they were coming, and so I had to move rather more quickly when they did come. I can get chocolates and biscuits at the canteen here. This is what you will call another restful letter, because I have had no flying yesterday or today. We rather like bad weather here, when it is sufficiently bad. Don't know why the other squadron was mentioned in dispatches. They have about seven of our chaps there, and perhaps that's why. Or perhaps the general lost some money at Bridge to the CO. Or perhaps they drew lots for it. I had some ping-pong today, quite a relaxation after the job I did this morning. I went out with an observer on a Howitz issue. An officer in this case. We went over to the lines arriving there about eleven-fifteen a.m. and rang up the battery. All being well, we ploughed over the lines, and we found ourselves in a strange situation. The battery then fired, and the observer watched for the burst and wirelessed back the correction. Each shot fired meant a journey over the lines, and each time we went over, the Huns got madder and more angry. I went out with an observer on a Howitzer shoot, an officer in this case. We went over to the lines arriving there about eleven-fifteen a.m. and rang up the battery. All being well, we ploughed over the lines to have a look at the target in Hunland. Each shot fired meant a journey over the lines, and each time we went over, the Huns got madder and madder and loosed off Archie at us in buckets full. Archie to the right of us, Archie to the left of us, etc. We were fairly plastered in Archie. Each time I crossed the lines I did so at a different altitude. The first five times I climbed higher each time to throw the range out, and the next five times I came down a bit each time. The last five times I was so fed up with their dud shooting that I went across at whatever altitude I happened to be at, and that probably upset them more than ever. At any rate they fired about six hundred shells at us in the course of that shoot, allowing roughly forty shells per crossing at least, and fifteen crossings, and the only damage they did was to put a small hole through my top plane. My! they must have been disgusted! The strafe took place between five thousand feet and six thousand feet altitude. The Archies got so near sometimes that we went through the smoke from the shell. Of course it would never do to go on flying a straight course. It is a case of dodge, twist, turn, and dive at odd and unexpected moments, and when it gets rarely too hot run away and come back at a different altitude. A big strafe. The Bosches started a big strafe yesterday, and so kept us all busy on counter-battery work, that is spotting the flashes of the Hunn guns and wire-listing down their positions to the artillery, who either fire at them or note their positions for a future occasion. With all the German guns going, the woods behind the lines were a blaze of flashes, and we sent down as many in the afternoon as the battery had gotten the previous six weeks. The artillery were naturally rather bucked. It was a wonderful sight seeing all the shells bursting along the miles of trenches and the huge white-spreading gas-shells and intervals. One could hear the bang of our big guns when they fired salvos from under us, and at times we got bumps from the shells passing near us in the air. Shell bumps are fairly common, and I have had them before. I don't know how near the shells pass, but moving at that speed they would affect the air for a long way round. I felt them at five thousand feet once. They were not being shot at us, but shells which passed through to Hunnland so. We got a wire-list report here of a naval battle and not a cheery one at that. We are all waiting to see what the papers will have to say about it to-morrow. Later. The CO has just been on the phone about the naval battle, and we are relieved to hear that it was not so bad as we had heard at first, or rather that the German losses were not so few as we were told. I must stop as I have some letters to censor, hoping this finds you as it leaves me in the pink. We have had two or three days of rest as the weather has been too bad for flying. The naval battle was not a defeat after all, and it seems a case of as you were in France, so we just sit here and play ping-pong and wait for the army to win the war. We have just had the papers with the news of the loss of Kitchener. We got the story by wireless a couple of days ago, but could not believe it until we saw it actually in print. It is a big blow, though probably morally more than in any other way. Bad news has come through from the wing. Our ten days leave will in future be cut down to seven days from time of leaving Ham. That means five clear days in England. I only know this, that I shall be pleased to have leave in England however short it is. It is a case of so near and yet so far. An hour and a half or two hours flying on a clear day would land me at home for tea, always providing I did not miss my way. But we don't have such a bad time here on the whole, and I am perfectly frank with you in my letters. On carefully analysing my feelings, I believe I am actually enjoying the life, for we certainly do have the best time of any branch of the army when our job is over. End of Section 11. Narrated by Thomas Rose. I had a job in the morning yesterday. A slight bombardment was on, and the CO sent me up to stop it. It was a beastly day. Rain stings at seventy miles an hour, and it was cloudy and misty. We stayed a couple of hours, got a few arches, and came home. The afternoon cleared up and my flight-commander suggested I should go up and practice with a camera and some old plates, so up I went, and with the camera tied on very securely in case I accidentally turned upside down, beatled off to a spot behind the lines where I played a delightful game of make-believe. Fixing on an innocent little farmhouse is my objective. I dodged imaginary arches on my way to it, and regardless of the laws of aerial navigation put my machine in such postures that the farmhouse was sighted by the camera. I tried a dozen or so shots at it, and then as I had reached a height of six thousand feet, I thought I would try to do my first loop. I shoved the nose down seventy, eighty, ninety, one hundred miles per hour. The pitot tube did not register any higher, the liquid went out at the top. Then, when at a speed of approximately a hundred and twenty miles an hour, I pulled the joystick back into my tummy and up went the nose, up, up, and there I was, upside down, gazing at the sky. Gee how slowly she seems to be going! Ah, she's over at last! The white blank overhead changes to a black mass of earth rising up at me and the nosedive part is over too, and a final sweep brings me level. I glanced at the altimeter. I had lost four hundred feet. Cheer-o! Now I'll ride home and tell them. No, I must do another. If I did only one, they would think I had funked it after the first short. Down goes the nose, then up, up, and slower, slower. By Jove she's going to stick at the top of the loop this time. Too slow, centrifugal force is not great enough. My feet seem to lose their contact with the floor. I grip the joystick fiercely in both hands. Ah, she's over! Now the rush down and then level once more. Now I'll get off to the aridrome and show them how to do it. I did a couple more quite close to the aridrome, beauties, and then came down in a steep spiral. They were all at a height of six thousand feet and I only lost four hundred feet each time. Four good loops at the first time of attempting a loop isn't bad considering I had never even looped as a passenger. Strangely enough I wasn't half so excited as I expected to be, and once accomplished the feet seemed easy and not out of the ordinary, but to set your minds at rest I do not intend to go in for stunting. I am quite bucked, though, at having done it, and it was a curious sensation to say the least. I have been heartily congratulated. They were downed good loops. Thanks ever so much for the pastries in the cake they were ripping. But rarely, though, you mustn't trouble so much over me in the food line, for we have to pinch ourselves and tell each other there's a wart on sometimes when we get some unusual delicacies. By the same post I got a pound of lovely nut chocolate from S. We had a tremendous scrap in the mess over it when I discovered what it was, and it ended up with the box of chocolate on the floor, with me on top of it, and five people on top of me. When they discovered that the more people there were on top of me the farther off became the chocolate they got up, and I handed it round in the usual civilized manner. It was great fun, though, and the chocolate being in a tin did not suffer. We had a visit from Ian Hayes' friend today if you recall a certain incident in the trenches. He recently got the military cross. One of the difficulties I have to contend with here is finding out the correct day and date. Days here are all one to us, and it has even sometimes to be put to the vote. Yesterday I spent four and a half hours in my machine. Not all in the air, though. I took up fifteen different passengers and gave them all the spiral. They were sent over to see what signalling on the ground looks like from a plane. I don't think any of them had ever been up before. At Hendon I should have made between thirty and forty pounds for that. As I was going out of the aerodrome I flew over a passing car, and we waved merrily to each other. Then I chased the car, slowed my engine, and dived at it, and a little later flew after it again. The driver must have been watching me too closely, for he went into the ditch. My passenger was awfully bucked about it. I suppose you know we have adopted the new time now. It only alters the hour of our meals, however. Our work goes on according to the light and the weather. Cricket is the great stunt here in the afternoon and rugby in the evenings. The mornings are spent in repairing the damage of overnight caused by the rugger. All this, of course, provided the little incidentals of flying and so on do not interfere to excess. The batsman is outnumbered by fielders in the proportion of fifteen to one, and for his further annoyance he may not smite the ball more than quite a moderate distance or it counts as out. Still, the game provides much amusement, and as the batsman generally ignores the boundary rule and smites at every ball on the principle of a short life and a gay one, it is also conducive to short anings. Section 13 of War Flying by a Pilot This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. War Flying by a Pilot by Lissell Finer-Hutchin Book II. On Active Service Chapter II. Part IV. Night Flying I had another twenty minutes night flying a couple of nights ago and did a good landing. It was almost pitch dark as there was a long row of clouds at two thousand feet which hid the moon. We had flares out and a searchlight lighting up the track, but from the moment you start moving you go out into inky darkness flying on seeing nothing till the altimeter tells you that you are high enough to turn. Then round and the twinkling lights of the aerodrome beneath. Higher and gradually as you become accustomed to the dark you pick out a road here and a clump of trees there till finally the picture is complete. At length you throttle down the engine and glide, keeping a watchful eye on the altimeter, aerodrome, and airspeed indicator. When about four hundred feet up you open out your engine again and fly in toward the aerodrome stopping our engine just outside. Then you glide down and land alongside the flares. As I write I hear a lively bugle band in the distance on the march. More troops going up to the trenches I suppose. Our gramophone still plays on. Our gardens and flower beds are blooming. And all is well. Photos Today I went up to take photos and went over the lines four times carefully sighting the required trenches and taking eighteen photos. I spent nearly two and a half hours in the air and when I got back I found the string that worked the shutter had broken after my third photo and the rest did not come out. It was disappointing because my last three journeys over the lines need not have been made and incidentally it would have saved getting a hole through one of my planes. Jay saw a scrap in the air today in which one of our machines was brought down. He was too far off to help. The report came in first that it was my bus which was down but neither I nor my escort machine saw the fight which must have been some distance off. Hide and seek. All goes well and I have finished my job for today, a three hours patrol, without seeing a hun or getting an archie. Two of us went up and F had streamers on his wings. He was going to direct the flight and I was to follow him. It was very cloudy and F being in a skittish mood played hide and seek round them. This was good fun for the first hour but after that it became boring. Once when I was following him a short distance behind he ran slap into the middle of a huge cloud. I said to myself, if you think I'm going to follow you there you're jolly well mistaken. So I waited outside the cloud and was gratified to see him come out at the bottom in a vertical bank about five hundred feet directly below me. It turned out that he had been pumping up the pressure in his petrol tank, roaring with laughter as his passenger gave a little jump at every pump-full. For the passenger sits on one of the large petrol tanks which swells or unkinks itself as you pump, and to his disgust he had run slap into the cloud without seeing it. It was a wonderful sight among the clouds and to see the other aeroplane dodging in and out of grottos, canyons and tunnels poking its nose here and there, sometimes worrying a zigzag course through a maze of cloudlets and sometimes turning back from an impenetrable part with a vertical bank outlining the machine sharply against the cloud. Finally we came down to a height of five thousand feet and there, just by the lines, we had a sham battle for the amusement of the Tommys and the trenches. I have nothing to write about this time. I got a letter from Bert the other day. He's out in France and all George's group is called up to. I wonder when those Saturday nights with them will come back. They were times. Then that supper with me and him and Eliza's after—my! Everyone thinks is how the war will be over with luck in a few years' time. Has Paul got that job or is he still at the Green Man? Well, hoping this finds you as it leaves me at present in the pink. I wish you'd send out cook the recipe for them cooked chips you used to do on Saturday nights. Give my love to Rose. Now I'm still saying merely a temporary lap sewing to an overdose of censoring. The squadron yesterday noticing that I was orderly officer decided to give me a run for my money and wrote millions of letters. My flight-commander, one of the finest fellows I have ever met, is busy cooking tobacco with E, in a tin, by means of a spirit-lamp. They are trying to determine its flash-point and I have sent word round to the MO to stand by with stretches. I was up with Kay yesterday strafing some trenches. We started at three thousand feet and the clouds descended lower and lower till we ended up at a height of twelve hundred feet over a well-known town, where it became too wet and too hot at the same time for our job. Today the clouds are crawling about just over the ground, so there is nothing doing. Our food here is English right enough. We get French bread as well and it is generally preferred to ration bread. The gardens here have flowers, planted out mostly, pansies, nasturniums, etc. I suggested that asparagus would be rather a good thing to plant, but the idea didn't seem to catch on. There is no reason, whatever, to be worried about not receiving letters. If there is ever a move either way, it would not affect the RFC to any great extent. It couldn't improve German archies shooting or anything of that sort. No fighting on the ground can reach us, and in a big bombardment it only means that we are kept fairly busy directing the fire of our batteries, etc. Section 14 of War Flying by a Pilot This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Carons, Naperville, Illinois. War Flying by a Pilot by Lessel Finer-Hutchen Book 2 On Active Service Chapter 2 Part 5 Missing Sorry, I shan't be able to write you today, except this rough note written in my biplane. I have finished my job, and I am writing in the hope of catching the post. There is bad news today. My pal, B, who was on a bombing stunt this morning, has not returned, so I am afraid he may have landed in Hunland. I am just doing a long glide down to the aerodrome. My passenger has asked me not to spiral down, as he has got a bad head. I enclosed his note. His writing is better than mine, as he has written on a soft pad. Enclosure Got a rotten head, so go steady, will you? I've got a top hole souvenir now. It is a machine gun bullet, which my rigor found in my fuselage. That is to say, the aeroplane fuselage. It is bent some, as it smote something rather hard, a bomb. I went up to take some special photos for the CO today, but the weather was very bad, in the sky, as smothered in clouds, as I was in Archie, and that is saying a good deal. It took me three trips over the line to get five photos. Four came out, including one of them, corners of clouds, I was dodging. The Huns got our range to a nicety, but there was not a scratch on the machine. One Archie burst just in front of us, and I looked up to see the corporal I had as a passenger disappear in the smoke as we actually went through it. It was like going through a tiny cloud. I have heard and seen plenty of Archie before, but never before smelt it. The CO was rather pleased, though only one photo was really of any use. The engine in my machine has put up a record for the squadron. It did over 110 hours running, without being touched or even having the sparking plugs changed. It was still going strong when we changed it, and put a new one in. I have tested the new one and flown with it, and it is very good. We are kept well up to date with the London Theatre news by the Fellows, who come back from leave. They also bring the records of them back for the gramophone, and now the camp resounds with music from The Bing Boys Are Here and Mr. Manhattan. To people who think of this branch of service the most dangerous, you can say, I'd sooner be here than in the trenches these days, and I think the opinion of the whole corps is the same. Pancaking in a wheat field. I ran out of petrol a quarter mile from the aerodrome, and had to land in a field of wheat about five feet high. I had been up there three hours and twenty minutes non-stop when my petrol ran out, and the gauge still showed three gallons in the tank, though it was bone dry. I was seven hundred feet up and had to make up my mind where I was going to land in about four seconds. I brought her down and pancake her beautifully into the field about three yards from a road. It is jolly hard to land in wheat without turning over, but I did it without hurting the machine at all. In fact, Jay flew it that evening on a night stunt. We wheeled it from the field along the road back to the aerodrome. Inside half an hour. My passengers said he enjoyed the flight more than any other he had had. At the present moment there is some storm on. Jay is playing the violin not two yards from me. I cannot hear a single note except during lulls. Perhaps it is just as well. One of our squadron was out on a stunt the other day. Next day the phone was continually on the go, and there was so much hot air in the office that it was dangerous to fly over on the account of the bumps. Several of us have got special leave to go to a flicker show some way off, and a tender is coming in a few minutes. I am very fit, and we are all a very happy party. I am sitting on my bed in my little hut about eight feet by six feet. It really is quite snug. Wash stand, etc. and shelves and books and boots and clothes. Diablo, homemade, is the latest craze here. Here comes the tender, so I must catch the host first. I was up on photos today. I hope and expect these are the last for a while. I had quite a job getting them owing to the clouds. I flew about behind the German lines for over an hour before I could get a single photo owing to there being no holes in the clouds. I got practically no Archie, and got the photos. I went to the flicker show the other day, and it was quite good. A splendid divisional band, a Charlie Chaplin film, and tea, and patisserie. Ah. I think Gillespie's book, Letters from Flanders, most interesting. I have only dipped into it here and there at present, but I'm going to read it through. Send some more as soon as you like. End of Book 2, on Active Service, Chapter 2, Part 5. Recording by John Carons, Naperville, Illinois. Section 15 of War Flying by a Pilot. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Carons, Naperville, Illinois. War Flying by a Pilot by Lessle Finer Hutchin. Book 2, on Active Service, Chapter 2, Part 6. An Exciting Landing. Blessed if I know what to write about. I did the three hour patrol yesterday, but it was very cold and cloudy, and no huns ventured out. A visitor landed at our drone from night bombing, and a bomb blew his machine up on landing. He calmly got out of the scrap heap and walked away. It was a miraculous escape, and most of our people who were asleep thought it was a hun bombing us. The engine was still running on the ground, and the CO stopped it by using a fire extinguisher in the air intake. A jolly clever and plucky thing to do. As there were gallons of petrol all around, and for all he knew more bombs. There is a darling puppy here, belonging to one of the men, and I go round and have a chat with it every morning when I expect my transport. It is a jolly little thing, and quite looks forward to my visits. At the base was a sensor. He chopped up my letter. Thus he was a base sensor, or why didn't he let her? Go by, yet he'd some sense or news even better. You'd get in my letter. Dual Control I am at present flying a machine fitted with Dual Control. A couple of days ago I went up to test it, and E came up with me. We trotted round the country very low and stunted gently over neighboring villages. You can easily tell when people are watching you. As in, looking up, the black blob of the hat changes to a white blob of the face. We went up again yesterday, and when I had taken the machine to 2,000 feet or so, I signaled E, and he fitted in his control lever and took charge. I then had a pleasant little snooze of 20 minutes or so. Waking up now and then to give my lever a pat in the required direction when he did not get the machine level quickly enough after turning. Or something like that. He did jolly well, turning the machine splendidly sometimes. Then, when it was just about a quarter of an hour before dinner time, he took out his lever and I brought the machine down in the most gorgeous spiral I had ever done. Absolutely vertical. Bank on M was very amusing afterwards. Quite a good spiral that he said patronizingly to E for a first attempt. I was up again this morning for two and a half hours with E. The weather was hopeless. Our altitude was often under 2,000 feet by the lines. To relieve the monotony, E flew me for about half an hour while I observed the clouds and missed. Finally, we got up a bit higher, and just before it was the time to come home, did a beautiful spiral quite close to the lines for the benefit of the few thousand Tommy's and Hun's in the trenches. Just to show there was no ill feeling, you know. I had just got my letters today when I was sent up, so I had to take them with me and read them in the air on the way to the lines. I took up some chocolate the other day when I was on patrol and gave some to the observer in the air, and we munched away for some time. He was a sergeant, one of the ancient observers, and he did not know that when I waggled the joystick, thus shaking the bus from side to side, I wanted him to turn around. I waggled away for about five minutes, and he sat there quite contentedly, thinking to himself, as he afterwards told me, that it was rather a bumpy day. Then I started switchbacking, and he endured that, though on what theory I don't know, finally I nearly had to loop him to persuade him to turn around. And when he did so, he had a grin on his face, and a sort of, think you can frighten me with your stunts, you giddy nipper. Look, as well. The newspaper stories of the firing in France being heard in Ireland, the north of Scotland, and Timbuktu amuse me greatly, those people must have some ears. I was most frightfully sorry that you hadn't received, up to Sunday, my letter about the postponement of my leave. It must have been a rotten disappointment, and I raged round the camp until I finally simmer down again. Never mind, it won't be long. Six people have just invaded my eight feet by six feet hot. That is one of the ways super fine Virginias depart this life quickly. Rescued the ink bottle from an untimely death as a billiard ball, the queue a rolled up map. Violent cussing, almost worthy of mother guttersnike, caused E to vah mousse, and the others bust off. My dear old bus, or airplane as the authorities insist on it being called, has gone under at last. One new pilot, too many, was called upon to fly it. And I may be bringing home a new walking stick. I have not been flying it for a week now, as I have a nice new err machine to fly. But E and I did all our hot air stuff on the other bus, and I looped it. The splendid news has come through that my pal B is safe and well through a prisoner. W, who is on leave, wired us. I shan't write tomorrow. As if all goes well, it will be a race between this card and myself to get home first. The very best of love to you. End of book two on active service chapter two part six. Recording by John Carons. Naperville, Illinois. Section 16. War flying by a pilot. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Brandon. Book two on active service chapter three. Storm after calm. Part one. Back to duty. Back to work and my old friend Archie quickly. I was on bombing yesterday. Not very far over the lines, though. And there were about a number of us. It was a wonderfully pretty sight to see the bombs going down in a string, dwindling and finally disappearing below. Bags of Archie were flying around, but my machine was not hit at all. I was first up to day, and we had a nonstop flight of nearly three hours, ranging some batteries. The weather was pretty dud, but W and I managed all right. S is missing, as perhaps you have heard. He was on a long bombing stunt. He is reported unhurt and prisoner of war. I shot a bullet into the air. It fell to earth. I know not where. When we were up to day, he emptied a drum of ammunition from the gun over the lines. Not firing at anything in particular, but just to test the gun. The empty cartridges, as they were ejected, landed with clockwork regularity on the top of my head. I said to myself, this is some hail. Last evening E and I went in a tender to the battery we were working with in the morning and saw the wonderful ruins of a town near there. We were really quite close to the lines, but luckily there was no shelling, and we got back OK. We have a game here now, which is something like tennis. Instead of rackets and balls, we use a rope quite, which must be caught and returned us per tennis, but must not be held in the hand or thrown over arm. I had a game of solo yesterday with three others, and I have discovered two people who are frightfully keen on scramble patience. Gee whiz. One of the knows practically all Gilbert and Sullivan by heart as well. Isn't it extraordinary how scramble patience and Gilbert and Sullivan always seem to go together. We went for a walk last evening and sang the Nightingale song through, and several from Patience and the Yeoman, etc. We are getting a tennis court made after all. It is progressing quite well. A good story. Here is a story as it was told to me. One of the best pilots at the front one day crashed on the top of some trees. He got out and was standing by the remains of his machine when a staff officer came up and remarked, I suppose you've had a smash. Oh, no! stuttered the pilot, who was to put it mildly somewhat savage. I always land like this. The staff officer annoyed in his turn, said, you know whom you're speaking to. What is your name? To which don't try to come the comic policeman over me. You'll find my number on my tailplane. I was called at four this morning and leapt heroically into the air at five. It was confoundedly cold. But I had a thick shirt and vest, a leather waistcoat, double-breasted tunic, the fleece lining from my waterproof and leather overcoat, so I just managed to keep warm. Yesterday I was in the middle of a game of tennis, when, with one or two others, I was ordered to fly over to a neighbouring aerodrome to be ready for a special job in the morning. I landed there all right and reported, and went into the mess room, slapped into the arms of an old school fellow. I was chatting with him when the CO sent for me to explain the nature of the work before us. I went into his office and the other pilots, detailed for the work, came in. For my utter astonishment I recognised another old school fellow. I had dinner with him and stayed the night there. This morning the weather was too dud for our work, and it was washed out, and we returned to our aerogromes. I brought back my bed, valise, pajamas, etc. with me in the passenger seat of the aeroplane. I had to fly back without my goggles, as I had lost them at the other aerodrome. End of Section 16, Recording by John Brandon Section 17 of War Flying by a Pilot This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Brandon War Flying by a Pilot by Lessle Finer Hutchin Book Two on Active Service Chapter Three, Part Two A Fokker's Flight One of our pilots had my machine up to-day and met a Fokker. His or rather my machine was damaged, but he spun round and let fly at the Fokker. Then his gun jammed, but to his surprise the Hun went off home, hailed for leather. The Royal Flying Corps have absolutely got the Huns stiff in the air, partly owing to our hot stuff new machines and partly to the pilots. But a Fokker running away from the machine, L was flying, must have been a comical sight. My machines always seemed to be unlucky when in the hands of other pilots. Today I have done very little else but sleep, and the weather has done very little else but rain. I tried to get my hair cut this morning at a village not far away, but was informed that it was after twelve o'clock. Surely not, I said, and the barber said, See, and unblushingly produced a watch showing about ten minutes to twelve, and motioned me away. However, I got some magazines and chocolate, and some new shaving soap and razor blades. A Tailpiece Just now I bid farewell to Outdo H's record of unpleasant stunts, as I nearly had a third within twenty-four hours. The first one was just to wet my appetite, so to speak, but although I only went a few miles over the lines, I was arched the whole blessed time. The Huns must have spent fortunes on Archie in the last week. I hit something with one of my bombs that made a colossal burst, probably some Hun ammunition. Yesterday they started on me just before I got to the lines, and I think went on until I was a good ten miles the other side. Then the Archies started from the place I was going to bomb, and clattered away for ages, but they were not nearly so good as those near the lines, as they haven't got so much practice. There were some wonderfully near shots, and the machine was badly shaken by one which made a most appalling crash just behind the tail. I was horribly scared, of course. I looked round, saw the tail still there, said remarkable, and went on. The Hun Aerodrome was a very nice-looking place. It had two landing-teas out, great white strips of sheet, and there was a machine on the ground. I dropped several bombs there, one landing on the road beside the drone, and one by the landing-tea. I don't know if I hit any of the sheds or not, as it was rather cloudy, and I could not see the effect of all my bombs. When I had finished, I came back with the wind nose down at some pace, and hardly got a gnarcy at all. I was jolly pleased when it was over, and pleased too, in a way, that I had been, as it really was interesting, to be so many miles behind the lines and see their aerodromes, etc. Night Bombing Well, I went night-bombing yesterday. Rather an Irish way of putting it, though, I went up after dinner, and as it was a bit misty, I signaled down, bad mist. They signaled to me to come down, but I wasn't having any, and turned my blind eye to them and beatled off. You see, from the ground it didn't look misty, and so, as I didn't want any doubts on the subject, I sloped off towards the lines. I soon lost sight of the flares, and then became absolutely and completely lost. Everything was inky-black, and I could only see an occasional thing directly below me. My map-board was in the way of my compass, so I pulled the map off, chucked the board over the side, and then flew due east for about a quarter of an hour, when I saw some lights fired. I crossed the lines about four thousand feet up and tried to find my objective, but it was no go. I went about four miles over, and came down to two thousand feet with my engine throttled down, but could not even recognize what part I was over owing to the mist. Then, to my surprise, the Huns loose off Samarchi nowhere near me, so I expect they couldn't see me, but it looked ripping. They got a searchlight going, and flashed it all around, passing always over the top of me. Then some more flares went up from the lines, and I could see the ground there beautifully. As clear as day, and some deep craters, but it did not show me sufficient to enable me to recognize what part of the lines I was over. Deciding it was hopeless, I set out for home, flying due west by my compass. It seemed ages before I picked up the aerodrome lights again, and I was afraid I might have drifted away sideways. But I spotted them all right, and just as I was nearing them, passed another of our machines by about two hundred yards in the darkness. He was a wee bit lower than I was, and as he passed, I could see his instrument lights in his little cabin. I then switched on some little lights I had on the wingtips, and flashed my pocket lamp. You know the one I had in Germany and at Penley. And then gave an exhibition of spiraling and banking in the dark. They said it looked topping from the ground. Then I signaled down N-B-G, and came in perched, with all my bombs on, of course, and made a perfect dream of a landing. All together I had really enjoyed myself, and would much rather do night-bombing than day-bombing. The only thing that annoyed me was that I couldn't find my target, cause the bombs would have looked so pretty exploding in the darkness. I didn't get up until twelve o'clock this morning, and I'm playing tennis at five fifteen, so it has its advantages. A little red spider has just landed on me, and buzzed off again. That's lucky, ain't it? End of section seventeen, recording by John Brandon.