homepage Forums Air Combat & Civil Aviation Wings: Over Flanders Fields DiD Centenary Challenge

Full of it, you are correct, can’t leave a mate in a lurch.

Robert, nice video and story as always.

Carrillo, taking down a DRl with a spad? Good on you mate!

Lou, no need for apologies. Herman is alive but spending a little time in the hospital thanks to a crack shot observer in a Brisfit. By the way I will take the two rounds.

Kefir de Lyon
Sgt, Esc 38
La Melette AF
Verdun, France.
4 Victory's


Feb 24, 1918.

Up on Patrol and tangled with a Flight of Vee Strut's @ Section's 4 a/c was assigned to Escort a photo recon Sopwith on the enemy side near Troop Camps. All the going end U could see e/a flights high and low ,left and right. After getting the recon back across our lines I broke off and circled around till a flight of Vee Strutts came by under me. Wing over dive shoot ,zoom, reverse and shoot again, Repeat. All kinds of targets, I was getting a few hits then the closest e/a spun away. I was down to 45 % Fuel, On the enemy side of the Front and had shot off over 311 rounds of ammo so RTB.

28 October, 1917 Harlebeke
Jasta 18

We were on a balloon defence mission near Menen. While circling above the gasbag, 3 Nieuport 27s showed up high up and commenced their attack. All we could do, to avoid being pounced from behind, was to face them head on. We scattered like a flock of seagulls when a dog runs up to them. Despite my best attempts to lose them, I picked up two, while the third one was lost somewhere in the clouds. I don’t know where it’d gone to. My hands were full with these two behind me to worry about that third one. All I could do was to spiral down before getting shredded to pieces. The ground was coming at me fast and the creaks in the wings of my machine were getting more ominous, the maneuvers more desperate. Everything became darker. We were now under the cloud layer. Then, one of the attackers broke off his pursuit. It was Dingel, who finally got on his tail and started to chew it away. The burning wreck of the Nieuport went by. My wingman was also following us and gaining on my remaining pursuer. Then it happened, a sick sound of wood and metal crashing into each other. Everything happened in an instant, yet looked like it was happening in slow motion, with me able to only catch parts of the terrible show happening behind me as the mid-air wreck came into view and disappeared again behind me, as my machine was just coming out of the spiralling dive. I watched in terror as the two crates, fused together in some places and dismembered in others, came crashing down on my port side. The poor lad was pulled alive from the wreckage and lived through the night. His funeral will be tomorrow.
I looked around to get my bearings. We were now over the front, North of Menen. My men were forming up, when out of nowhere the third Nieuport came screaming down past us intent on reaching the lines first. We gave chase taking potshots all the way. Finally, the hits were making an impact and the enemy scout slowed down and with a final volley I was able to shot him down west of Passchendaele. Both Runge and Strähle witnessed the kill and were able to confirm. We landed shortly thereafter at the closest airfield. Everyone was drained of strength, but happy to have vanquished our foe.

Nice Pics.

Kefir de Lyon
Sgt, Esc 38
La Melette AF
Verdun, France.
4 Victory's


Feb 25, 1918.

The Esc dispatched 7 machines to take out a Rail Yard Jct. A little damage was done by our machine guns, but not much. We lost 2 Spads that day somewhere over on the enemy side of the lines.

Kefir de Lyon
Sgt, Esc 38
La Melette AF
Verdun, France.
4 Victory's

Feb 26, 1918

Even with both Flight Captainie's Flying today , we only had 5 a/c up for Patrol. No contact with Zee enemy.

I've been rushed to catch up on all the marvellous adventures of the DiD campaigners and will struggle to remember everything here in detail, so a general thank you for your stories to Dark Canuck, Carrick, Fullofit, MFair, and Robert. Hope I didn't miss anyone! Thanks again to Banjoman and Lou for making this campaign so gripping with your continuing contributions and encouragement.

This installment should bring me to the end of Corderoy's leave. I'm dying to get back into the air. Watch the "OT-visit to the Front" thread for more pictures. I've finished Waterloo and will start on Verdun, the airfields, the Somme, Ypres and Passchedaele, and then Bruges and Brussels. A little bit every day or two...

Diary of Capt. Geoffrey Corderoy, RFC
Part 34: 9-22 October 1917

9 October 1917 – London

Stepping onto the platform in Victoria Station was like alighting from a ship in some exotic and bustling port – a return to a home that was no longer quite home. Small kiosks on the platform advertised currency exchange stations for officers or other ranks, and I took advantage of one of them to exchange my little pile of francs for a fistful of Bank of England notes.

Across the platform a hospital train disgorged its sorry cargo of shattered bodies, and teams of stretcher-bearers carried the poor fellows through the main archway to waiting ambulances. Around me the men disgorging from the Dover train stared wide-eye and uncomprehendingly at women in fine dresses who searched the crowd, all the while clutching mugs of tea proffered by one of the YMCA canteens on the platform. From somewhere an NCO bellowed incomprehensible instructions to them.

I found a Cox and Co. agency in the station and cashed a cheque to add to my little bundle, and then Caldwell and I made our way to a station bar for a British beer and a pie and chips. The beer was somewhat weaker than I remembered, but tasted of home. Caldwell was bound for the Cavendish Hotel, while I took my leave and hailed a cab for my father’s flat in Fitzrovia.

The first two hours were spent luxuriating in a warm bath with one of my father’s pipes and a copy of Punch. From there it was off to dinner in Piccadilly and a couple of hours simply wandering the streets of the city.

10 October 1917 – London

Met Caldwell at the Savoy bar and went to the shows – we were unable to get tickets for Chu Chin Chow and went instead to see The Maid of the Mountains at Daly’s [1]. After the show I went back to the Cavendish on Jermyn Street with Caldwell, for there was a near-perpetual party there hosted by the charming proprietress of the place, who blended a fondness for RFC pilots with the acquaintance of a great many attractive young socialites. The champagne flowed and the music and dancing carried on into the early hours. [2]

Tomorrow I shall make my way homewards, as I shall have to be back here soon enough.


The Cavendish Hotel today

11 October 1917 – South Moreton

Arrived here in time for dinner. Uncle Tom joined us, Billy was home from Wellington, and Mummy and Dad were splendid. Dad is proud as a peacock about my getting the DSO and my recent run of luck in the air. He is done his staff job in London and is being given command of a training establishment in Reading. He exhausts me with his questions about the air war, but I must measure my responses, for Mummy listens in and is terrified for Reg, who is at Netheravon. I chatted with Dad about pulling strings to have Reg posted to Egypt instead of France.

13 October 1917

Have spent two wonderful days working the sheep farm with Uncle Tom. The rams were out tupping the ewes, which is a wonderful occupation. I think if I am a very good lad I should come back as a ram.

15 October 1917

Borrowed Dad’s car and drove up to Oxford to deliver Scarborough’s personal things to his wife. The address took some finding, and it turned out to be a lovely little stone cottage in nearby Wheatley. His wife was a lovely girl named Catherine. When I arrived she was all in black, as was Scarborough’s mother who had come from Ireland. Given Scarborough’s pristine virtue, I was somewhat surprised to learn that he and Catherine we not in fact husband and wife! They had eloped, it seems, but hadn’t time to get married before he shipped for France. The chap’s mother seems to have taken it all in good grace. And I thought the Irish were wedded to their rosaries!

I stayed for tea and scones, and despite the occasion starting out mournfully we were all laughing by the time I had to go. Scarborough’s mum even teased Catherine that she might do worse than to stay with the RFC types, and a major at that.

16 October 1917

I was awakened this morning by Mummy’s screams downstairs. A cyclist had arrived with a telegram and she was sure that my brother Reg had killed himself. My father ripped it open before realising that it was addressed to me. It read simply:

REPORT COL VICKERS RFC GENERAL HQ NLT 17 OCT 1917 STOP IMPORTANT NEWS STOP.

17 October 1917 -- London

I borrowed the Vauxhall again and had and enjoyable ride into the city, although I must confess to some nerves, wondering about the Important News.

I was made to wait in a hallway for nearly forty-five minutes before being ushered in to meet an elderly but very gracious colonel who began, curiously, by stating that it was an honour to meet me. He sent for tea and began by saying he assumed I knew what this was all about, but did I know how much my life would change?

“With respect, sir,” I interrupted at last. “I have no bloody idea what you’re talking about.”

The colonel cocked his head. “You do realise, Major, that you have been recommended for a decoration.”

“I’m aware that I’m to receive the DSO at the Palace on Saturday, and Major Patrick did say I’d been recommended for another decoration of sorts.”

The colonel now offered me a cigarette, and a young corporal arrived with tea. It was a couple of minutes before he responded. “Then let me clarify things. The King will indeed be conferring the DSO on you, but I’m afraid that will happen only after he pins on the Victoria Cross.”

My tea cup was barely off the saucer and I put it back down immediately, having splashed the tea across the colonel’s desk. “Good God!” I said. “What the hell for?”

Colonel Vickers read the citation, but little sunk in. The thing was beyond comprehension. I’d certainly had a run of serious Hun-getting, and my 26 official victories was a good bag, but it was far from unprecedented. Even Ball didn’t get the VC until after he was dead, and he’d bagged nearly fifty. It made no sense to me. I protested that the VC was not a good attendance medal.

But apparently it had been done. I was to be briefed on protocol and the responsibilities of a VC by a general officer whose name I immediately forgot, and I was then ordered to sit for an official portrait by a Hungarian fellow named Laslo [3], an unpleasant task that was to take up much of the next two days.
I then was informed that my orders had been to assume command of No. 16 Squadron, a two-seater unit. But in consideration of my newfound status, this was being reviewed. If needed, I was to report to 1 AD in St-Omer and my orders would follow.

When I finally escaped the headquarters, I telephoned my mother and father with the news. They agreed to make their own way to the city, sans automobile, and meet me at the flat on Friday afternoon. Dad was overjoyed and insisted that I accept a gift of cash with which to celebrate, and that he would call Coutts & Co. to make the arrangements. I protested enough to be decent but not enough to be effective. I then made my way to the Cavendish to find Caldwell.

Caldwell, alas, had met a young woman and headed for Devon or somewhere, so I contented myself with drinking Miss Lewis’s champagne. She arranged for the dry cleaning of my best uniform, and I settled in nicely.

20 October 1917

The investiture was nerve-wracking and boring at the same time. There were several VCs, including two splendid fellows from the Kings Own Scottish Borderers [4]. I listened to their citations for actions during the Ypres push in August and felt rather like the schoolboy who wins the best handwriting prize after it is announced that two of his chums have won open scholarships to Oxford.

Dinner with the family at Rules followed, and we entertained friends of the family in Fitzovia.

22 October 1917 -- en route to France

I left London this morning, bound for Dover and France. The leave felt as though it had been truncated by the events of the past few days, with nearly none of the blissfully idle time I craved. The purple ribbon did, however, work wonders in ensuring seating on a crowded train.

Notes:

[1] The Maid of the Mountains was a musical comedy which premiered in London on 10 February 1917 and ran for 1352 performances, a record outdone by Chu Chin Chow’s 2238 performances.

[2] Rosa Lewis, owner of the Cavendish Hotel at Jermyn and Duke Streets, was a warm friend to the RFC. Escoffier taught her to cook and she soon became known as the “Queen of Cooks,” her skills praised by Edward VII (with whom she might have had a relationship. Sholto Douglas refers to her warmly in his Years of Combat, and her Wikipedia entry is worth a read. She was the inspiration for the BBC drama "The Duchess of Duke Street."


Rosa Lewis, the Queen of Cooks, aka "The Duchess of Duke Street"

[3] The resulting portrait of Corderoy is still held in the family. The artist was Philip Alexius de László. De László studied in Budapest, Paris and Munich before receiving his first significant commission from the Bulgarian royal family in 1894. In 1907 he settled in London, embarking on a successful and prolific career painting royalty and members of the aristocracy. His success led to his being known as the 'Who's Who Painter'. He was naturalized as a British subject in 1914.

[4] This would have been CSM J Skinner and CQMS W. Grimbaldeston, both of whom earned their VC at Wijdendrift in August.

Raine

This report is wonderful. Nice to see Corderoy's adventures continue.

Did you venture inside the Cavendish?

Can hardly wait for your pics of the western front.

Robert, didn't get to the Cavendish. On my one full day in the city I took my grandson to see the T-Rex at the Natural History Museum, after which my daughter and I enjoyed a great lunch at the Queen's Arms on Queens Gate Mews nearby. Washed it down with a Doom Bar, a great Cornish beer. Okay, I had two!

Agree with Robert. Excellent story. Closed some outstanding business as well. Congrats on VC, oh and DSO. Can’t wait to see where Corderoy is going to get posted. Surely not No. 16.

I agree a very nice read

Kefir de Lyon
Sgt, Esc 38
La Melette AF
Verdun, France.
4 Victory's


Feb 27, 1918.

Mon Dieu ! Zee Bosche had us pinned, in a wild Melee over their Airfields near Rethel. The Esc 's 7 a/c had merged with 2 flights of Vee Strutts I had an eyeful of Black tailed and White tailed machines that morning. I did the best I could after they fell on us ( 2 Section 4 a/c ) even went over to help 1st Section after I cleared my tail, but no good. I was shot up so had to laisser for Home. I was shook up upon landing, I was told that had we Lost 2 more a/c + all were damaged for a few damaged Huns. The C.O. gave me a 48 hour pass to settle my nerves

Kefir de Lyon

The Captainie Cobare gave me an address # 7 Rue Lepic A Playhouse Theater where Lisette the Actress is performing She is the Talk of the Town and I might get to meet her if I stay by the Stage Door.

https://giphy.com/gifs/jean-harlow-movie-stars-3XxFa7OUSSUKoAacVZ/fullscreen

Carrick;

Those are some fine screen caps you took. Fantastic cloud effects and composition of aircraft. Good Show mate!! I'm particularly fond of 5 and 7

A bit late to the party, but amazing stuff Raine. Carrick, thanks for keeping this thread alive with your reports.

Hi all.

I luv this thread.


Mr. wiggins: I remember thinking that If I stop to get pics with all the e/a whizzin and flashing by, I would get t the Chop. However , Lack of common sense prevailed and I captured a few resuming after the pause button. My favorite pic was number 3.

Thanks for all the comments, fellows. It keeps one going!!! Carrick, I really loved those pictures and second what Robert said. I liked number two and the cloud effects in the last one.

Geoffrey is back in the war and finally has his squadron!

Diary of Capt. Geoffrey Corderoy, RFC
Part 35: 23-28 October 1917

23 October 1917 – Calais

Left the ship in the evening and found no arrangements for transport to St-Omer. Got the Embarkation Officer to let me use a telephone and called for a ride, and then made my way to the Café Fernand to have dinner and await my luxurious coach. True to form, a Crossley pulled up at ten after eight. The driver was a former London cabbie with a finely honed sense of humour, and we had a wonderful time getting lost together in the dark country lanes. I left him with a partly-consumed bottle of brandy as thanks.
At 1 A.D. the orderly room had no idea I was coming or why, and could offer me no accommodation other than a place on the floor in a hut with two freshly-minted second lieutenants just arrived in France. I was lucky enough to find the driver still outside and, after leaving a note for the OC depot saying where he could find me, I got my new friend to drive me to Ste-Marie-Cappel, where I presented myself in the 60 Squadron A Flight mess. By good luck, the evening was still in progress and Major Patrick was there, so after many welcomes and no little revelry, I found myself back in my old hut in what had been Caldwell’s bed.

24 October 1917 – Ste-Marie-Cappel

Multiple early morning phone calls to Depot, escalating from understanding to frustrated to bloody angry, still produced no one with the slightest clue that I was in France, or why, or where I was bound for. So at 9 o’clock I joined Soden’s flight (he had replaced me in B Flight), flying my old grid again, and we set off to shepherd some RE8s to photograph Hunnish endeavours along the Menen Road. A group of DVs attempted to intervene and I was able to get behind one with a black and white striped tail. My first burst must have hit the pilot, for it fell into a spin and crashed beside the enemy aerodrome just outside Menen. Soden confirmed the crash when we landed, so this one went into the books as my 27th official kill – a good welcome home!


"My first burst must have hit the pilot, for it fell into a spin..."

25 October 1917

Foul weather all morning and still no news from Depot. I think that if I am not wanted in France I have half a mind to return to England and help Uncle Thomas with the sheep until the War Office calls.

26 October 1917 – Ste-Marie-Cappel and Poperinghe

Took my old grid along with Chidlaw-Roberts to escort some 2 seaters over the lines up near the coast. Some Albatri attacked us and we had a brief but inconclusive scrap. I’d barely broken off when the engine quit on me and I glided westwards at an excruciatingly slow speed due to a westerly wind, eventually putting down in a field close to our aerodrome at Furnes.

By the time I’d returned to Ste-Marie-Cappel there was a message for me to report to the depot at once. It took a couple of hours before I was there, and when I arrived at the pilots’ pool I was directed to a major who took no notice of the fact I was of equal rank and wearing the ribbon of the VC, and began to dress me down for “galloping off” like a schoolboy when I was supposed to have proceeded directly upon my arrival to Poperinghe, where I now commanded 70 Squadron.

I listened to a couple of minutes of this, and then commented upon the obvious lack of communication between him and his staff, his complete lack of communication with me during my two and a half days at Ste-Marie-Cappel, my distain for his attitude, and so forth. When I had exhausted my more reasoned protests, I suggested that he commit a physically impossible and supremely narcissistic act, and then I left.

I hunted down the equipment officer who’d taken my deposit on the automobile he was selling and paid him the balance of £60. He took me to the MT sheds on Rue Therounne in the town, and there I was handed the keys to my nearly-new Standard “S” type – a tiny but sporty little thing. Here it was too that I learned that a VC makes it relatively easy to acquire government petrol. I threw my kit in the back and headed for Poperinghe.

The aerodrome at Poperinghe is sited in a wide, flat space of farmland a little ways northwest of the town of the same name, which is in turn not far from Ypres, which is in turn again not far from Darkest Hunland. The squadron had exchanged its Strutters for Camels in July. Many of its veterans had recently gone HE and I discovered that many of my flock were recently-arrived tyros. I should not be out of place, of course, as I had yet to lay hand on a Camel. I had heard they were fine machines in the hands of a good pilot, but good pilot is not a phrase that would attach easily to me. Much to my liking, however, were the two synchronised Vickers guns the machines mounted in their eponymous hump.

The first two hours was spent with the RO, Lieut. Gregg. I asked him to pull out for me the personnel records of all officers and senior NCOs and I spent some considerable time memorizing names and some pertinent details on each man, with Gregg drilling me. I then asked to meet the sergeants-major. The technical sergeant-major, Warrant Taylor, was on leave, but Sergeant-Major Pococke was about. The essential Guardsman, he was a pleasure to have on my side. We began, together with the RO, by taking a tour of the men’s messes and quarters, and I was glad to see most were in hard standings, with several more Nissens under construction. The hangars and shops were next, and I next me Lieut. Hardinge, the Armaments Officer, who impressed me greatly. I was less enamoured of the Equipment Officer, who smelled of whiskey. Perhaps inspired by General Trenchard, I actually uttered “Make a note of that, Gregg.”

The flight commanders had all been either invalided home or posted to HE before my arrival, so I had a clean start. There were no Captains on the establishment, so I decided to test various men in command roles, and set the first three acting flight commanders as Quigley, Sigismund, and Gorringe. Quigley is a Canadian, mentioned in dispatches several times and sporting an MC. Sigismund is new, but seems keen. Gorringe is English, but had emigrated to Canada before the war. He flew as an observer and has only recently joined the squadron. It will likely be necessary to rotate duties until the best men show themselves.

Evening: Fly a brief familiarisation circuit on the Camel. The thing is as nimble and unstable as a butterfly. At one point I turn left, against the powerful pull of the rotary Le Clerget, and the machine falls out of the air into a spin. I think for several moments that I shall never recover, but am able to blip the engine and get the nose down in time. Return covered in sweat.

27 October 1917 – Poperinghe

A Flight is on standby when reports come in of enemy activity over the Menen Road. There is heavy action near Passchendaele and it is essential to deny the Hun use of the air in this sector. Against my better judgement I dash to my machine and pull on my flying kit. Sigismund leads and I take station alongside him.

We climb quickly over Ypres. I am first to spot the enemy – two DFWs over Zonnenbeke. I give one of them a good shot from behind and below, but soon the sky is too full of Camels, all going after the Huns without any form of discipline. There are lessons to be taught later. I break off to the left and pull ahead of the Huns. Turning in, I rake the nearest DFW from the side and below. It begins to smoke and then tumbles out of control. We lose sight in the ground haze, but later Wing informs me that the machine was seen to crash near the Tyne Cottage position. This is now number 28!

Am quite pleased with my Camel skills, so accompany Sigismund again in the afternoon. This time we are down to Arras, where we tangle with a large formation of Albatros scouts. At one point I have three of them on my tail and twice I manage in my funk to spin the Camel. I nip into a cloud and escape, landing at Etrun with more than 40 holes in my machine. There is much to learn.


"...landing at Etrun with more than 40 holes in my machine."


28 October 1917

Again join a patrol to take down a balloon near Langemarke. Drive down a DV in a mixed dogfight. The visibility in the Camel is not as good as in the SE5a. Koch, a Swiss-Canadian chap, touches wings with me in the scrap and we both think it’s all over, but our machines held together long enough to put down safely on the good side of the lines.

Parcel from Harrods arrives – one of the new “Sidcot” flying suits. I’d ordered it before leaving. Also a letter, forwarded from my parents. It is from Catherine Senechal, who until recently I’d thought was Catherine Scarborough, wife of the late Alan Scarborough of 60 Squadron. Very sweet letter, too. Thanks me for visiting and bringing her Alan’s things. She wants to go home, but her parents were very upset by her elopement, and even more upset that she and Scarborough did not marry. Wishes me luck and congratulates me on the VC. Asks about the King (very nice, very boring). She is joining the VAD and hopes to get to France. Says she will write again and signs the letter “Fondly, Catherine.” I say...

Raine, that is another fine read. I have no problem imagining I am reading a legit historical report. Just love your writing. Tnx.

Well now Raine, looks like you’ve made an impression. And I don’t mean Robert. Congrats on your very own squadron. That Camel will either make you an ace of aces, or will kill you on the spot. Hope you get to choose which one. Looking forward to that next letter from Cathy.

Well done Raine