Colin Urquhart continues to have claims rejected...

A journal of the Great War – By an Anonymous Aviator

Part 23

On 16 January 1917 Squadron Commander Bromet sent for me while I was enjoying a breakfast of toast and tea, thanks to a ground mist that delayed the early patrol. I had been once again assigned to lead this show, an attack on the Hun balloon line near Monchy. Corps was relieving a number of units in the line and the weather was clearing, so we had to put Jerry’s eyes out for the day.

I walked briskly over to the office in the farm house and saluted. Bromet smiled and motioned to a chair.

“Well, I am very pleased to inform you that you are a Temporary Flight Commander, effective immediately. Stan Gobel hasn’t shaken his poor health and will get a rest. You’ll take his place leading B Flight.”

I stammered my thanks, and considered the extra five shillings a day as good as spent. It would bring my pay up to about 220 francs a week, enough to live quite comfortably as long as some fool didn’t go off and end the war.

By the time I got to the B Flight hangar the news was already out. McNaughton and Soar offered congratulations, and Compston and Huskisson announced that they were joining the patrol “to make sure I knew the way back.”

The flight to Arras and beyond was pleasant and uneventful, although painfully cold. Soar had to turn back with a dud engine. Not a big believer in dawdling around balloons, I led us straight in and straight out. My LePrieurs seemed to hit, but as I looked back the gasbag was still there. Jenner-Parson was the last man in and was firing when the thing finally caught fire, so he got the credit.

That night, Compston, McKenzie, Soar, and McNaughton showed up with a Crossley tender, obtained from 23 Squadron in an exchange the nature of which was none of my business, I was told. We were off to Amiens to celebrate. McKenzie had arranged the passes.

First stop was the Hotel Carlton, near the station, where we went through several bottles of champagne. McNaughton played the piano in the bar, badly but loudly. Dinner followed, a splendid affair despite the shortages. We were served carbonade – a beef stew made with onions and beer and serves with potatoes and turnips. There was more wine. Finally it was suggested that we visit Pierrette’s, a blue light establishment.

I feigned enthusiasm, but in honesty I had attended too many “personal hygiene” lectures to relax about this plan. One part of my brain told me that the war was long and dangerous and this was simply something that had to be got out of the way. Another part worried that one day I would meet someone special and this night would be something to regret. I chose the elegant solution, and ordered a bottle of port to bring with us. By the time we arrived at Pierette’s house I was quite incapable. I remember only a yellowish sofa with flowers, a cracked mirror, a battered piano, and some shabby framed photos of nudes. One or two girls tried to rouse me, but I awoke in pitch darkness in the back of a freezing and lurching Crossley and finished the evening being sick over the tailgate.

Snow in the morning delayed our first patrol until ten, so I had some time to recover. I was to lead B Flight to escort three BE2s to bomb an assembly area east of Monchy. On the return flight we encountered two Halberstadts and, the BE boys being nearly home, we took them on. I got behind one of the Huns and drove him into an out-of-control spin. But the fellow pulled out at about 1000 feet and made a run for it. I dived on him, stressing the airframe badly, and with one firing pass I downed him. The kill, unfortunately, was not witnesses and therefore not confirmed.

There are rumours we will be moved back north any day. I want to get two more Huns so that I can have ten before we return to a quiet life.

[Linked Image]
"I dived on him, stressing the airframe badly, and with one firing pass I downed him."



Attachments
Rejected Halb.png