Today, I broke a major personal rule of mine and I disobeyed a standing order of higher command. Fortunately, I lived and since I am the leading pilot in the luftstreitkräfte I was shown some leniency from command, but they denied my claim out of hand. They said you have to suffer some sort of punishment. You see, I am just so frustrated by the Nieuport's ability to out climb us and run away from any engagement they like. Our Albatros are as swift as the Nieuport in a level race and I proved that today, but in a climbing pursuit the Nieuport just pulls away. So what happened was we were attacked by two Nieuports and when they had tired of their fun they climbed away as is their custom. This time, my frustration got the better of me and I pursued. Once I had reached their altitude I began to close the distance on the trailing Nieuport. This poor fellow should not have trusted so implicitly in their tactics because not once as I was closing did I see him look back. Unfortunately for him, once in range I fired a good long burst and down he went spiraling to his death. Maybe just maybe, this will have some impact on their tactics in the future, who knows, but I do know that it felt good to finally catch one of those buggers and teach him a lesson.
Last edited by Banjoman; 03/23/1706:05 PM.
Member and provider of banjo music for the Illustrious BOC
Raine, please have Colin teach Dalgliesh how to count to two. It would be a shame for all those extra third eggs to go to waste. Especially during the war time. Don't they know a returned egg has to be refurbished before being sold again? Even after it is discounted as an open box item it might never find a new home since the warranty is null and void. Good story!
"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys, The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain, From out of my arse take the camshaft, And assemble the engine again."
A journal of the Great War – By an Anonymous Aviator (Colin Urquhart)
Part 13
As I write this I am lying on my bed in our cabin (a Nissen hut, actually). Out in the courtyard of the farmhouse, the afternoon watch has rung seven bells: 3:30 pm. The ship’s bell hands from a frame in the courtyard of M. Bossu’s farm, its rope ending in a carved white Turk’s head.
Simpson and Booker are playing ludo on a small table next to the Canadian stove that stands in the middle of the cabin. I have just finished writing a long letter to my mother, explaining (for my father’s benefit, mainly) why I intend to stick out the war on active duty in France and forego the opportunity to return home to a staff position.
Our detachment has begun to bind together nicely. Squadron Commander Bromet visits every part of the squadron almost daily. Unlike the RFC squadrons around us, we conduct all our own refitting and repair, and the men of the lower deck do a magnificent job. It is good to see the commander and his officers maintain a solid and trusting relationship with them as they do here. In that sense we are far superior to my old 3 Wing.
Danny Galbraith is lying in his bed, coughing roughly. He is not well, becoming progressively more withdrawn. I have enjoyed his company since my arrival here, but now he scarcely speaks. I worry about him.
We have flown every day since last Monday. The weather was close at the start of the week, and our patrols were long and monotonous, with nary a Hun in sight.
My first excitement came on Thursday, 24 November, when Colin MacKenzie led us of A Flight over the lines. We were playing nanny to a lumbering French Caudron on a photographic reconnaissance. We returned to Vert Galand after two hours, and when it was my turn to land I approached from the west northwest, lining up on the cloth wind markers that had been laid out. I blipped the engine of my little Nieuport and began to plane in over the line of poplars on the ridge overlooking our field. Suddenly my windscreen was covered in oil and the engine began to fail. I had not a moment to lose. It would be impossible to clear the poplars so I slipped sideways, turning parallel to them and making for a rough field just short of our aerodrome. I was forced to land slightly cross-wind, a bit fast, and downhill. I bounced the machine badly, and on settling back the undercarriage caught in the ploughed earth. The machine nosed over and the wings cracked and folded as the nose caught the stubble. I was catapulted out of my restraints and tumbled for a hundred yards across a beet field. When I finally came to a stop, the squadron ambulance and a tender were already pulling up at the edge of the field. I emerged from the ooze and muck, miraculously completely unscarred, and wiped the mud from my eyes and mouth. An amazed petty office ran up to me inquiring for my health.
“Ah, PO Garrison, good to see you,” I said. PO Garrison was the ship’s jaunty, or master-at-arms. “Would you mind cleaning up this mess? I think I need a drink.” The words came naturally at the time, but I have heard that they went about the lower deck all evening and that I have a bit of a reputation among the lads as a hard man. That’s not a bad thing for a young colonial officer.
It has begun to bother me that I have not bagged a Hun since arriving here. There has not been much opportunity with the weather as it has been. On 25 November, a fine day, I accompanied Flt. Cdr. Little’s B Flight escorting a BE. We ran into several Fokker biplanes and chased them off. On our return we saw and mixed up with two Rolands and two or three Fokker monoplanes. I fired at a Roland without result and Little bagged a Fokker.
This morning was a defensive patrol in filthy weather. Again we saw nothing.
I have come to dislike the Nieuport. Besides the need to risk falling out to change the tiny ammunition drum, it is slow and fragile. The Pups are far superior, even though they have only an 80 hp Le Rhone. The Vickers is belt-fed. The fellows complain about it jambing a great deal. Sub-Lieut. O’Hagan, RNVR, our armaments officer, does yeoman service on the guns, but such things can’t be helped.
Our detached squadron is soon to be designated as No 8 Squadron. We have three flights. My A Flight (under command of Flt. Cdr. Colin Mackenzie) was originally all Nieuports from 4 Wing, but a few Pups are now in place. B Flight is all 80 hp Sopwith Pups, drawn from 1 Wing. C Flight (Flt Lieut Wood) was originally all Sopwith Strutters from 5 Wing, although they are gradually being replaced with Pups. A and C Flights mess together in a wood-framed canvas hut with a good wooden-floored anteroom with a piano. B and HQ mess together in the Bossu farmhouse, which is smaller but considerably warmer. I occasionally cadge an invitation to their mess when I want to read by the fire. My latest read is The Real Adventure, which I shall send to my mother when done.
In other news, 32 Squadron has left for Mariueux, and 23 Squadron (FE2s) now share Vert Galant Farm with us. I haven’t got to know them yet, but intend to.
Wonderful story, Raine. All of the details and references to contemporary items (Canadian stove) really makes your world come alive for the reader. I look forward to reading more tales of the adventures of Mr. Uruquat.
BTW, if you are flying in late 1916, please send me a PM.
“With Major Lawrence, mercy is a passion. With me it is merely good manners. You may judge which motive is the more reliable.”
Nice reports folks. I'm looking forward to joining in on the 5th April. Out of town at the moment. Raine I paricularly enjoyed Colin's report while having a cool one on the beach in Curacao. It's hard work but someone has to support the island rconomy
Last edited by Robert_Wiggins; 03/27/1709:47 PM.
(System_Specs)
Case: Cooler Master Storm Trooper PSU: Ultra X3,1000-Watt MB: Asus Maximus VI Extreme Mem: Corsair Vengeance (2x 8GB), PC3-12800, DDR3-1600MHz, Unbuffered CPU: Intel i7-4770K, OC to 4.427Ghz CPU Cooler: Cooler Master Seidon 240M Liquid CPU Cooler Vid Card: ASUS GTX 980Ti STRIX 6GB OS and Games on separate: Samsung 840 Series 250GB SSD Monitor: Primary ASUS PG27AQ 4k; Secondary Samsung SyncMaster BX2450L Periphs: MS Sidewinder FFB2 Pro, TrackIR 4
Banjoman, thanks for the calendar. Robert, welcome to the new chapter. I know you've already finished this book once, but it never hurts to have another go. Enjoy your drink, 1917 is getting more interesting with each month and I have a feeling you'll need many more of those drinks before the War is over.
"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys, The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain, From out of my arse take the camshaft, And assemble the engine again."
Flight Commander Cyrus Gold is doing well. He has been promoted and received a medal. The next day he received another medal and now is quite famous. Just the other day his engine failed and he made an emergency landing near a road close to the Front. A convoy of Tommies went by without stopping to pick him up and giving him a ride to the base. They were probably blinded by his bling. He waited for the Hun convoy that followed the Brits. At least they've stopped, thankfully they didn't pick him up either.
Lieutenant Dominiqe Urbain also has been promoted and received a medal. The next day another medal was presented to him as well.
It was probably because of his latest multiple victories against the hated Boche. All 3 columns of smoke made by three unfortunate Germans, all shot down singlehandedly by Dominique.
"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys, The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain, From out of my arse take the camshaft, And assemble the engine again."
Excellent reports, as usual! I'm particularly enjoying Colin's encounters with the Scottish.
The Caudron continues to suprise me. I've now managed to shoot down two Hun planes in Bruno's career, though unfortunately neither kill was confirmed. As long as you can keep the enemy machine in your observer's sights, he will do a pretty good job at shooting it down. Obviously things will get harder as more Hunnish Albs enter service, but we're not there yet!
Bruno had an engine failure in one mission, so I decided to write a little story about it...
*****
25 November 1916. Somewhere northeast of Nancy.
“Merde!” Sous-lieutenant Pascal Girard cursed loudly as he struggled to get up from his cockpit.
“Are you all right? The landing was a bit rough!” Sous-lieutenant Bruno Berthier was still seated and holding the control column of his Caudron tightly with both hands.
“A bit rough! Bloody hell, Bruno! We’re lucky to be alive. And I’m covered in this filthy mud!”
“Better mud than blood. We barely missed that building back there!” Bruno let go of the stick, unstrapped his safety belt and carefully got up. The nacelle of the Caudron was partly buried in the wet mud of the field that had acted as their emergency landing place. The right engine was almost broken loose of its fittings and was hanging in an odd angle among a mess of struts and torn fabric from the badly bent wings.
Earlier that day, their escadrille, along with other units of Groupe de Bombardement 2, had been sent to attack the important Metz railroad junction. The mission had gone well for Bruno and Pascal, until their Caudron began having engine trouble during the flight back to base. Finally their right engine had lost all power and Bruno had been forced to leave the formation and try to make a landing somewhere. Fortunately they were already flying safely behind friendly lines, so they didn’t have to worry about anti-aircraft fire or becoming prisoners of war.
Bruno had spotted a suitable field on the outskirts of Nancy and barely managed to direct his rapidly descending Caudron towards it. However, there were some buildings flanking the field, and Bruno had to pull the stick back with all his strength to avoid smashing into one of them. Their flight ended in a big wet crash, as the nacelle of the Caudron plowed into a field turned swamp by the constant rains of the past few weeks.
Pascal was already on his feet and helped Bruno out of the cockpit. The men stood next to their wrecked machine, trying to avoid sinking into the mud themselves and wondering what to do next. Their thoughts were suddenly interrupted by loud noises coming from the direction of the building they had barely dodged - horses and men, and lots of them!
Bruno and Pascal saw several horses galloping between the buildings, with men in blue uniforms running to and fro like a group of ants in a disturbed nest.
“Looks like we almost crashed into a stable!” Pascal said, wiping some mud off his face.
“And the horses panicked. Here comes the cavalry!” Bruno replied and nodded toward a small group of men running towards them. As they approached, Bruno saw they were led by a small but very muscular maréchal des logis (cavalry sergeant) with a strikingly red face.
“What the hell was that?! Are you crazy, flying here like that! You just scared the horses of the whole battalion!” The red-faced sergeant shouted at them and gestured wildly with his arms, trying not to fall down in the mud.
“Sergeant, I’m sous-lieutenant Berthier and this is my observer sous-lieutenant Girard. We’re sorry about your horses, but it was an emergency. Our engine failed and we had to land on the closest suitable field.” Bruno looked around and spread his arms before continuing. “And this happened to be that field.” His explanation didn’t seem to satisfy the sergeant who was still steaming with rage.
“Now please take us to your commanding officer, sergeant. I want to contact our escadrille about our accident. And nobody is allowed to touch the wreck without our permission!”
The sergeant looked like he was about to say something very impolite, but managed to restrain himself (perhaps because of the higher rank of the aviators) and ignoring military formalities, simply told Bruno and Pascal to follow him to the stables. Then he turned around and began sloughing through the mud at a brisk pace.
As Bruno and Pascal reached the nearest building, they could see several men trying to calm the horses down and lead them back into the safety of the stables. Some of the animals were still nervous and protested their treatment by tossing their heads and whinnying loudly. A captain was waiting near the corner of the stable, and the angry sergeant reported the aviators to him.
“Thank you, Reynaud. You may return to your duties.” The sergeant gave Bruno and Pascal one last angry look before joining the men handling the horses. The captain turned to address the aviators. He was neatly dressed and sported a carefully trimmed moustache. Bruno saluted him and described their situation.
“Very well. I am capitaine Leclair. Maréchal des logis Reynaud appears to have already reprimanded you, so I won’t needlessly repeat his words. He doesn’t like it when our horses are harassed like that, and neither do I. But what is done is done.” The captain studied the muddy aviators for a second. “Do you require any medical assistance?”
“No, mon capitaine. But we’d like to make a telephone call, and also put our wrecked machine under guard so that nobody fiddles around with it.” Bruno explained to the captain.
The captain gave orders to his men and then asked Bruno and Pascal to follow him to the office building. As the men walked across the courtyard, the captain told them that they had landed in the midst of the depot area of 68th Infantry Division and that he was the commanding officer of one of its supply columns.
Bruno managed to get through to his escadrille and made arrangements for the transportation of their wrecked Caudron. It would take several hours to sort it all out, so there was nothing left for them to do but to remove their muddy flying suits and enjoy the hospitality of the supply battalion, whose peace they had so dramatically disturbed by their crash.
TO BE CONTINUED…
"Upon my word I've had as much excitement on a car as in the air, especially since the R.F.C. have had women drivers."
James McCudden, Five Years in the Royal Flying Corps
Hasse, congratulations on a safe landing in difficult circumstances. I thought for a minute that Bruno could follow a fine French tradition and start his own boucherie chevaline. Great to see you posting again. I'm looking forward to Robert joining us on 5 April!
Colin Urquhart has finally scored his fifth official kill.
A journal of the Great War – By an Anonymous Aviator
Part 14
The last two days brought enough break in the weather to get in a morning flight each day. Blissfully, ground fog and rain caused the cancellation of the earliest patrol, so the steward roused me at four each morning only to tell me that I could sleep in until seven-thirty, at which time he reappeared with steaming mugs of sweet tea and chocolate biscuits. The temperatures were dropping now and on the occasional morning a thin crust of ice formed over the water jugs. I poured a little into a white enamel basin and placed it on the stove to warm before washing and shaving. Reggie Soar shaved across the stove from me, singing an aria – usually from Tosca but always very, very badly.
On 27 November 1916 my shave was interrupted by the Recording Officer, John D’Albiac, who bellowed at Soar and I to drop everything and get our machines on the field with Flight Commander Goble. Goble was B Flight Commander, but this was an emergency job. Apparently Huns were seen heading towards Doullens or Marieux. I pulled boots and some corduroy trousers on over my pajamas, put on a bulky Irish knit sweater and grabbed by flying coat and gear. Soar headed for his hangar. My little Nieuport was already being run up by Leading Mechanic Black. Hazard was already aboard his machine. The mixed formation of Pups and Nieuports took off line abreast and sorted themselves out, climbing westward through wispy rain squalls. I thought of my mug of tea, scarcely touched, and cursed the Kaiser. I looked behind and saw an unfamiliar Pup. It took station to my starboard quarter. It was Flt Comdr Huskisson, the Squadron Second-in-Command.
Over Doullens we began to patrol, four miles south, two miles west, four miles north, two miles east, and around again, passing over Marieux field on every north or south leg. On our third circuit I looked down and spotted three pale objects passing over a small dark wood southeast of Marieux. I pulled ahead and waggled my wings, but Flt Comdr Goble did not seem to notice. I fired a red flare and, not wanting to lose the unidentified aircraft, left formation. No one followed.
For a minute or two I had lost them, and then a flicker of movement caught my eye. Three pale brown machines were heading directly for Marieux. They were biplanes with square wingtips. At last I could make out the absence of bright colours on their markings, and second later the dirty black crosses – three Halberstadt scouts. It was a rare thing to find Huns this far over our lines. I glanced over my shoulder and, seeing nothing behind, dived at full speed on the trailing Hun. When I was about 300 yards he turned to meet me and we began to circle, drifting lower and lower over the woods and fields. The other hostile machines must have abandoned their mate, for it was just he and I. His Halberstadt could not out-turn the tiny Nieuport and at length I was able to hit him with a short burst. The Hun lost nerve and levelled out, heading east. I had the advantage of a little height and quickly got on his tail, closing to about 20 or 30 yards before I fired. He sideslipped away. I turned, but he was gone.
I circled a couple of times, searching above and below before spotting him. Now he was low, gliding unsteadily to a ploughed field about half a mile off. I approached and saw his machine touch down, and then begin to tumble “arse over teakettle.” The machine broke apart and caught fire.
D’Albiac met me on the field. Goble had already reported the kill; he had finally noticed the Huns and turned to join me. The Hun was down before he could get near, so he had turned and beaten me back to Vert Galant. The Halberstadt was my fifth official victory, my first with the Detached Squadron.
On 28 November Hazard and I were asked to join Goble’s flight to attack a balloon near Guillemont. I got the first run at it and fired my LePrieurs. I saw at least one hit and a few seconds later I looked back to see the balloon fall in flames. I put in a claim, but Flt Comdr Huskisson, who had again joined the party, had hit the thing after me and got the credit.
We returned home separately after the attack and the weather made the trip miserable. The cloud was nearly down to ground level and I thought I’d never make it. The Nieuport lacks a compass and for some reason by little prismatic compass was not in the pocket of my flying coat. It was a huge relief at last to emerge from a low cloud over the hills west of Doullens and spot the White Ensign flapping in the wind over our field.
Now am off for the rest of the day and heading for the bath house in Doullens!
"Now he was low, gliding unsteadily to a ploughed field..."
A journal of the Great War – By an Anonymous Aviator (Colin Urquhart)
Part 15
I returned from Doullens that evening to the sobering news that Barry Hazard had not reported in. The next morning brought no news. As had been the pattern of late, our first flight got away only at nine. Flt Comdr Goble led three of his B Flight Pups, and I was instructed to tag along with my Nieuport. The Pups climbed so much better. It was difficult to keep station. Our task was a “close offensive patrol” in the Arras-Monchy sector. We saw nothing and turned towards home after the appointed time. I signalled to Goble that I would patrol alone – I had cleared it with him before.
The Nieuport was fully fuelled. There was enough remaining for about thirty or forty minutes, so I headed south over the lines to Miraumont and then turned north. Just as I was about to give up three Halberstadt scouts passed close overhead. I had completely missed their approach, but they were oblivious to my presence. Seized by a moment’s madness, I decided to stalk them.
I was behind the rearmost Hun and only 400 yards off when one of his mates spotted me and turned. The others must have been dud fellows, for they made off and the lone Halberstadt jockey and I turned and twisted without result for nearly ten minutes until I managed to hit the hostile machine during a head-on pass. He snapped about and headed home. I closed on him and emptied the rest of my drum into him from very close range. I was certain that my rounds splashed all about his cockpit. The Lewis stopped, its bolt to the rear, and I turned away. My Hun put its nose down and dived eastwards, still under control. I landed at La Bellevue, where I got a splash of petrol before setting course for Vert Galant.
At lunch Lieutenant D’Albiac told me that I should gather up Hazard’s things if we had no news by tea. We didn’t, and Soar helped me. There were letters from a girl at home, which we burned in the oven. One never knows what such things contain. He had a few personal items: a good pocket watch, a Waterman safety pen, a cricket bat, and a book of Blake’s poetry. His flying gear was spread out on his bunk. It was apparently the norm that any personal flying gear was up for grabs. My feet were too big for his sheepskin thigh boots, but I claimed a nearly new felt face-mask. I was nearly undone going through his drawers where I found a ragged stuffed dog under his singlets. It had likely been his since infancy. It went in the box we prepared to mail to England. I lost an argument with Soar about that decision; I was certain it would shatter Hazard’s mother to send it.
Hazard was our second loss. FSL Hope had gone down on 23 November. I did not really know him well.
The next morning high winds, low clouds, and sleet prevented all flying. I taught French to the lower deck instead. My star pupil, Dalgliesh, was clearly in love. His hand waved continually above his unkempt vacant head as he sought in vain to retain basic phrases to support his courting with local farmgirls. I scarcely got the chance to answer him, as there was always some wag ahead of me:
Dalgliesh: “Surr, how wud ye ask a wee French lassie ta gae fer a stroll, surr?”
Evan (a transport driver): “You mean how would you get the poor thing to stop screaming and running away, don’t you?”
Dalgliesh (obviously hurt): “Awa’ and bile yer heid, ye numpty. Yer no a romantick, see?”
After dinner on the 30th, Squadron Commander Bromet informed me that I was up for leave starting 12 December. With luck the bad weather would continue.
Lederhosen, very gruesome picture, but where is all the blood? I suspect this guy is just sick from all the rocking of the plane when you were evading the enemy. Well done OBD, no other sim has vomiting observers! (Could also be hangover)
"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys, The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain, From out of my arse take the camshaft, And assemble the engine again."
It is that time of the month already. News of the world for Intrepid Fliers - November:
November 1 French forces recaptured Fort Vaux near Verdun. November 4 The Ninth Battle of the Isonzo ended with a limited Italian advance. 1916 had seen five Isonzo operations on top of four undertaken the previous year. November 5 Germany and Austria declared an "Independent State of Poland". Although the Battle of Le Transloy officially ended on 18 November, a final attack was made without success. The battle ended with no significant gain along the Transloy Ridge. November 6 In the Sudan operations against the ex-Sultan of Darfur resulted in his defeat and death near the frontier of Wadai at the Affair of Gyuba. November 7 Woodrow Wilson was re-elected as President of the United States of America. November 8 The American Steamer Columbian was sunk by German submarine U-49 near Cape Finisterre. November 9 An aerial battle took place between British and German aeroplanes near Bapaume in northern France. November 11 The Battle of the Ancre Heights ended with a British victory over German forces. November 12 British forces occupied Shiraz in Persia. November 13 In the final significant phase of the Battle of the Somme, the Battle of the Ancre saw a renewal of the Allied offensive; British troops finally captured Beaumont Hamel. November 15 An Inter-Allied conference was held in Paris to discuss ways to counter German mobilisation of Belgians and Poles. November 16 The Battle of Targu-Jiu began in Romania. November 17 Germans broke through the Romanian front at the Battle of Targu-Jiu in the Jiu Valley. November 18 After four-and-a-half months of fighting the Battle of the Somme ended with enormous losses on both sides. Allied forces had pushed back the German line but the offensive cost more than 1 million casualties. November 19 French and Serbian forces captured Monastir in Serbia. The Entente Governments presented another ultimatum to King Konstantinos of Greece demanding that all representatives of the Central Powers be expelled. November 20 German diplomat Gottlieb von Jagow resigned as German Foreign Minister. November 21 German forces occupied Craiova in Romania on the Eastern Front. The British Hospital Ship HMHS Britannic sank after hitting a German mine in the Aegean Sea. Emperor Franz Joseph I of Austria died and was succeeded by his great-nephew Charles I. November 22 German and Austrian forces captured Orsova in Hungary. November 23 The British hospital ship Braemar Castle was damaged after hitting a mine in the Aegean Sea. The Provisional Greek Government at Salonika declared war on Bulgaria and Germany. November 24 Boris Sturmer resigned as Russian Premier and Foreign Minister was succeeded by Alexander Trepov as Premier. November 26 A German naval raid took place on Lowestoft on the east coast of England during which the naval trawler HMT Narval was sunk. November 27 Two Zeppelins were shot down during a German airship raid on Hartlepool and Great Yarmouth on the east coast of England. November 28 The first German daylight aeroplane raid on London took place. The Germans hoped that by making raids on London and the South East, the British Air Force would be forced into protecting the home front rather than attacking the German Air Force. November 29 David Beatty was appointed to replace Admiral Sir John Jellicoe as Commander of the Grand Fleet. November 30 Allied forces began disembarking at Piraeus in Greece.
(From The Great War - Unseen Archives by Robert Hamilton)
"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys, The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain, From out of my arse take the camshaft, And assemble the engine again."
March 1 The British hospital ship Glenart Castle was damaged by a mine whilst en route from Le Havre to Southampton. Arz von Straussenberg replaced Conrad von Hotzendorf as Commander-in-Chief of the Austro-Hungarian army. March 2 A Russian offensive reached and occupied Hamadan in western Prussia. March 4 The Armed Ship Bill was filibustered and defeated in the US Senate. March 5 US President Woodrow Wilson was inaugurated for a second term. President Wilson's Democratic Party controlled the House of Representatives while the Republicans dominated the Senate. March 6 On the Western Front the British line extended south of the Somme to the neighbourhood of Reims- twice the length of a year before. March 7 British and Indian forces crossed the Diyala in pursuit of the Ottoman forces towards Baghdad. March 8 Police fired into crowds as protestors and striking workers took to the streets in Petrograd. March 10 British troops captured lrles near the Ancre on the Western Front. March 11 After a two year campaign, British and Indian forces captured and occupied Baghdad. March 12 The Russian Revolution began and a Provisional Government was formed. President Wilson ordered the arming of American merchant vessels in the war zone. March 13 The Russian Premier Prince Golitsyn and Minister for War General Byelyayev were removed from office by the Revolutionary Party. March 14 German forces began their withdrawal from the Somme sector to the Hindenburg Line. March 15 Tsar Nicholas II abdicated in favour of his brother Michael. Prince Georgy Yevgenyevich Lvov replaced Prince Golitsyn as Prime Minister of Russia. March 16 Nicolas' brother refused the throne until a Constitutional Assembly was formed to invite him formally. A mutiny broke out in the Russian Baltic fleet after the sailors received word of the Revolution in Petrograd. March 17 On the Western Front the British occupied Bapaume and nearby villages; French forces advanced to reoccupy Roye. A public disagreement with members of his cabinet over war policy precipitated the resignation of French Prime Minister Aristide Briand. He was succeeded by Alexandre Felix Joseph Ribot. March 18 German destroyers fired on Ramsgate and Broadstairs on the Kent coast of England. British troops occupied Peronne in the area evacuated by the Germans while the French occupied Noyon. March 19 The French battleship Danton was torpedoed and sunk by a German U-boat off the coast of Sardinia while en route to aid a blockade. March 20 The first meeting of the British Imperial War Conference was held to co-ordinate governance of the British Empire during the war and prepare for the post-war situation. March 21 The British hospital ship Asturias was attacked and torpedoed by a German submarine on her way to Southampton after landing her wounded at Avonmouth. March 22 The Provisional Government in Russia was recognised by Britain, France, Italy, USA, Romania and Switzerland. March 25 Forming part of the Samarrah Offensive, the Battle of Jebel Hamlin saw a British-led force attempt to encircle 15,000 Turkish troops retreating from Persia. March 26 The First Battle of Gaza was fought during the first attempt by the Egyptian Expeditionary force to invade the southern region of the Ottoman Empire territory of Palestine during the Sinai and Palestine Campaign. Fighting took place in and around the town of Gaza on the Mediterranean coast but the attempt to capture the city failed. March 27 The Petrograd Soviet (workers' council) issued a proclamation in favour of self-determination and peace. March 28 The British steamer Cannizaro was torpedoed and sunk by German submarine U-24 on its way from New York to Hull. March 30 The Russian Provisional Government acknowledged the independence of Poland. March 31 The United States formally took possession of the Danish West Indies. Renamed the Virgin Islands, America purchased the islands from Denmark because of their strategic location in relation to the Panama Canal.
(From The Great War - Unseen Archives by Robert Hamilton)
"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys, The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain, From out of my arse take the camshaft, And assemble the engine again."
Dominique Urbain has fallen ... victim of an April Fool's joke.
Let me start from the beginning. March 30, 1917. Verdun. End of mission. Bad landing. A hit on the noggin, lost consciousness. Dominique wakes up in hospital with his head bandaged - sentenced to stay in this hospital bed for 20 days. 1 April comes and with it rounds by the main surgeon, who looked at his chart and mentioned "mal a la tete" and then he ordered Dominique to get out of bed and return to duty. Apparently Dominique's wingman wrote the additional zero on his chart for a good chuckle. One day Dominique will return the favor. One day.
"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys, The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain, From out of my arse take the camshaft, And assemble the engine again."
Dudley Nughtshade Flt, Lt. 6 RNAS Bellevue, Air Field
1 Apr 1917.
Returned from TDY as Air Advisor to a Vising General over at II Corps. Good Wine and fine food. The General didn't have much to ask about Air Machines. He only paid attention to the Arty and Infantry types talking Tactics. Posted to the afternoon , Show the Flag flight. The 9 of us went over the lines and chased the huns, No Joy for me as guns jamed,