Lou, I hope you get those new fellows sorted out before they kill everyone in the flight! The historically accurate Vert Galand field is a terrific addition to WOFF. You beat me to the reference to Trenchard’s visit – Collins’s version of the event is below. By the way, at the risk of stirring up some trouble, wasn’t that Carrick’s man in the Nieuport who got between you and the Hun?

Fullofit, Toby is ripping through Huns yet again – in sunlight or in darkness! And then to top it all off you get four kills confirmed in one day. Seriously, I am going to have to do invoke the campaign gods to get tech savvy and develop for him the dreaded Misaligned Gunsight and Heavy Turbulence Mod. And even more seriously, congratulations on some brilliant flying.

Carrick, Nigel and Collins feel the same about the never-ending “go attack a heavily defended railyard with a popgun” missions!

MFair – Ganz pulling off the bandage… Yuck! I imagine he got to eat everyone else’s pudding that night. And now he is a proper officer – congratulations on the promotion.

Epower, that was a lovely sunrise picture. I am enjoying Oliver’s story. It won’t be long now before he is at the front.

Beanie, congratulations on Roth’s Nieuport. Now we have to see how generous the Imperial Rejection Unit will be.


An Airman’s Odyssey – by Capt James Arthur Collins, VC, DSO, MC

Part One Hundred and Fifteen: In which our new home becomes crowded

I recall reading that the old French kings made a ceremony of being woken up and dressed in the morning. Trusted servants and important dignitaries nudged the monarch awake and parted the curtains of his bed. They then helped him out of his nightclothes and into his robes for the day’s work. We, on the other hand, had Corporal Tucker. The good corporal woke us on the morning of 7 April 1917 by tripping over the doorstep with a tray of tea mugs and commenting on the resulting catastrophe with a stream of east London invective that would frighten a fishmonger. C Flight was to take off at half past four. It was already four o’clock and freezing. The jug of hot shaving water had joined the tea in running through the floorboards of the hut. There was only time to throw on the warmest close I could find and shave in icy water before scurrying, sans tea and biscuit, to the hangar. I was going over orders with Child, Orlebar, and McEntegart when a runner came from the squadron office with new instructions. The Huns were up over Vimy and we were to chase them off.

The trees and buildings about Rosel farm were faintly visible against the lightening violet of the sky in the predawn darkness. We skimmed over them and headed directly north east towards the lines, climbing all the way. It was a glorious morning. A fiery ember-red dawn met us as we skimmed over a cloud layer at six thousand feet. I saw the shattered streets of Arras pass beneath my left wings and turned north to follow the lines to Vimy. We had not gone far when a formation of five Albatri appeared ahead of us to the left. I waggled my wings but already Child and Orlebar were leading McEntegart towards them. The fight was on. The Huns were flying DIIs – we could normally hold their own against these older machines. But these Huns were first rate. If I tried to maintain my Spad’s speed, which was its main advantage, the Albatros merchant would turn inside me. Twice I heard rounds hitting my machine. The only solution was to trade away any height advantage and try to turn under the enemy. This led to several head-on passes, a tactic that had worked for me on a number of occasions. I would skid out of the way of the enemy fire and, using full rudder, rake the Hun as he passed. By this time we had paired off with the enemy machines and the Hun who had chosen me for a partner employed the same tactic, only he had to machine guns and was a fine shot. My windscreen shattered. I could hear the wind whistling above the roar of the engine. I suspect I hit the HA a couple of times. Yet it was clear that continuing this fight would be an exercise in futility. I reluctantly put the nose down and dived away for safety. I was relieved to see McEntegart join up a few minutes later and together we returned to Vert Galant. Thankfully, Child and Orlebar soon called in from other fields and returned an hour or two later.

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"A fiery ember-red dawn met us as we skimmed over a cloud layer at six thousand feet."

Around eleven that morning the klaxon sounded the warning that enemy aircraft were approaching. The only machines ready were Child’s and the Major’s so I borrowed the Major’s. I would ask permission later. We were up only a couple of thousand feet when bombs fell across the west field. Child saw the enemy machines first and signalled. They were up around nine thousand feet – four two-seaters. We were nearly to Bapaume when we drew close enough to fire. Despite making numerous firing runs from behind and below on from ahead and abeam, the Hun machines refused to fall. It was not possible to close the range from behind because of the enemy’s effective formation flying and mutual defence.

The day was full of news. At lunch we learned that the United States had joined the war. I wondered what this would mean for Swany. There was much debate in the mess about how many men and machines America would bring to the air war, and whether they would be able to mount an offensive somewhere along the line before the end of summer.

On top of that, we were informed that we were now to share our field with another squadron – Number 56. They were to arrive any minute and were equipped with the newest British scout, a Royal Aircraft Factory SE5, quite the latest thing by all accounts. Albert Ball was one of their flight commanders. For us it meant sharing that our cosy flight commanders’ Armstrong hut with three other pilots: Hawthorne and Hall from A Flight, and Cerillo from B Flight. The two newest Armstrong huts were to be given over as the 56 Squadron office and officers’ mess. At least we kept a grip on our comfortable mess in the farmhouse. Shortly after lunch the first SE5s landed. They were strangely good-looking machines with a blunt nose and sharply tapered fuselage, broad and well-proportioned wings with a noticeable dihedral. I had expected to see twin Vickers guns. Instead, these aircraft mounted a single synchronised Vickers and an over-wing Lewis gun on a quadrant mount. Strangest of all, many were painted with gaudy flame-like designs in various colours. It struck me that they were fortunate to have missed the General’s visit. I expected that “Boom” would make short work of this artistry. In fact, it struck me that I should visit Swany to see if he was getting away with the fearsome Viking he’d painted on his Sopwith.

At five that afternoon, we were to escort some quirks over the lines near Arras but my Spad began emitting very strange sounds as soon as I throttled up. The ack emmas began waving their arms in the air desperately and I shut off. My day was finished.

8 April was Easter Sunday. The squadron had been ordered to remove a troublesome Hun balloon north of Mossy Face’s Wood. I volunteered C Flight for this task as I had been denied a balloon claim not long ago and I wanted to establish clearly that when I went for one of these things I could down it. I led Reed and McEntegart over the line, where I dived on the Hun balloon at full throttle, leaving the others behind. I greedily wanted this one for myself. At three hundred yards, I thumbed the trigger and fired in short bursts with the throttle right back until the last possible second. Only then, as the Spad began a climbing turn, did the sausage erupt in flame.

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"Only then, as the Spad began a climbing turn, did the sausage erupt in flame."

We returned to Vert Galant to find a BE2c and an RE8 being refuelled in front of A Flight’s sheds. This could only mean one thing and we soon confirmed it. The three of us walked to the squadron office in the farmhouse on the main road. We heard him well before we got inside.

“Floating meat you say?” General Trenchard’s voice was unmistakable. “God’s truth, Bay, don’t get cocky in your old age. We are taking some heavy losses the past two days. One should expect that this pressure will continue for some time. Expect the enemy to concentrate against our sector. I do hope that I’ve painted that picture for your pilots.”

We paused outside the door. I could hear Major Harvey-Kelly assuring the General that he and his entire squadron understood the effort that would be required of them. We heard chairs scrape on the floor and we saluted as the great man strode past us and out the door, all purpose and moustache. He turned about and looked at me.“Captain Collins, were you on the balloon attack this morning?” I told them that we had been. He coughed violently and held a handkerchief to his mouth. “Result?” he said.

“Destroyed, sir.” Captain Baring emerged from the squadron office in pursuit of his boss.

“Make a note of that, Baring,” the General said. And with that they were gone, off to harass Swany, I suppose.

...

Editor’s note

James Arthur Collins’s memoir ended here. On 9 April 1917, he led an early morning ground attack behind the great assault on Vimy Ridge, shooting up a rail yard and enemy supply vehicles. He returned to Vert Galant shortly before nine a.m. and was back in the air by just after eleven thirty that morning. This time he led a mixed flight with Lt Child, 2Lt Reed, and 2Lt Hawthorne. The target was another rail depot, this one about eight miles over the lines. Collins made several passes and must have been using incendiary ammunition as the resulting combat reports mentioned he set several buildings ablaze. Seeing an approaching large formation of enemy scouts, Collins signaled his companions to head home. He climbed westward into heavy low cloud. Child, Reed, and Hawthorne followed about a minute behind. According to Hawthorne’s combat report, “As we passed through the cloud about four thousand feet, the Spad of Capt Collins appeared suddenly in a steep bank. I believe he had circled over the lines waiting for us to catch up with him for the return flight. The machine of Mr Child emerged from the cloud just as Capt Collins swept in front. Mr Child’s zoomed and turned but his undercarriage struck the top plane of Capt Collins’s machine. The top plane was seem to break away. Both machines fell out of control, falling between the lines west of Oppy.”
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