Carrick, your man best watch what he does with his chewing gum in the future. Perhaps he could use it as a new weapon the first time he is chased by a Hun, with any luck he could put the frozen wad right through his attacker's windscreen.
Wulfe, glad to see some new machines have arrived and Graham's training can get back on schedule. Now let's hope the weather cooperates.
Swany was up for nearly two hours yesterday doing his fly out and landing at a spot other than an aerodrome, then returning to camp. It went without incident other than a surprised horse who watched as Swany landed on the road next to the animal's pasture only to take off again brief minutes later. Swany was very pleased with how it went. It is unknown what the horse thought.
Lou, perhaps you should get off your high horse and ask the poor mare how she feels about it? I suppose it’s too late now. No need to shut the barn door after the horse has bolted.
I’m glad Swany stopped horsing around and had been given free reins to go where he pleases. No complaints from him I hope? He shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
"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."
Maeran, you’re putting the cart before the horse! Sounds like a challenge to get a horse into your story. I know mine will have a dumb friend, or two in it!
"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."
Maeran, you’re putting the cart before the horse! Sounds like a challenge to get a horse into your story. I know mine will have a dumb friend, or two in it!
Or to put it in classical terms, Maeran, you're putting Descartes before Horace...
Just my thoughts on the subject. Some horses are smarter than others but I say any animal that out weighs you 5 times and could stomp you into a bloody hole in the ground whenever he chooses but instead allows you to be it’s master ain’t very smart. But I guess wives could say the same about husbands!
Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end. BOC Member since....I can't remember!
Or to put it in classical terms, Maeran, you're putting Descartes before Horace...
Raine, what classical period is that? 1914?
Originally Posted by MFair
Just my thoughts on the subject. Some horses are smarter than others but I say any animal that out weighs you 5 times and could stomp you into a bloody hole in the ground whenever he chooses but instead allows you to be it’s master ain’t very smart. But I guess wives could say the same about husbands!
Ain't that the truth, MFair!
Originally Posted by carrick58
I thought that I Horsed Around a Lot. Lets Saddle up and get on down the Trail.
9 December, 1915 Villeneuve-les-Vertus Sergent Gaston A. Voscadeaux
-“Vous etes un idiot, Sergent Voscadeaux!” The voice on the other side of the telephone was livid. -“Oui, mon Capitaine.” Gaston agreed, while holding a wet towel to his temple and watching his damaged Caudron being wheeled onto the Villeneuve-les-Vertus aerodrome by a two-horse* drawn wagon. He was speaking from the office of the airfield he had overflown earlier that morning. -“I don’t care that you are alright.” the angry voice on the telephone continued “I care about the expensive aeroplane you’ve damaged during your clumsy landing. I care that it will take 2 days to repair the undercarriage of the said aeroplane that you crashed into the ditch. I care that no one else will be able to use it during this time. Who let you fly all the way to Epernay in the first place? If you were here I would ground you for two days. Get your butt back to Le Bourget tout de suite! Is that understood?” -“Oui, mon Capitaine! Immediately!” He hung the earpiece on the hook of the telephone set. Gaston will have to spend the next 2 days here waiting for the repairs to his Caudron. 2 days! The name of the mechanic that took care of his Caudron was Jacques Gusteau but everyone there just called him Le Pou (Louse), because he kept on scratching himself all the time. Gaston was itching just from looking and he spent all of his time with Le Pou, who doubled and tripled to get the Caudron back into shape. Both propellers needed replacing and the right side wheel needed to be straightened. Gaston helped with the rips and tears in the canvas. The machine was ready by the end of the second day. On 9 December, with the sun up, Gaston started the engine, then the other one. #2 was still running at reduced RPMs. He would have to speak with the mechanics when he got back. He let the rotaries warm up a bit, checked all control surfaces, said a quiet prayer and gave the signal to let go to the men holding the crate in place. It lounged forward, rolled for a while and was up in the air and climbing. The weather was perfect for flying. Beautiful, blue sky, slight breeze and not a care in the world. Gaston was on his way back, keeping the sun in his rear quarter and checking the map only occasionally. He knew his way back home by now. The flight took another short hour and he landed just in time for second breakfast. Understandably he wasn’t very popular with the rest of the pilots, who were robbed of the opportunity to fly this Caudron during the past 2 days, setting everyone back. From now on, he would be the last one to get to fly it, after everyone else had their turn.
* No horses were harmed in making of this post.
"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."
I agree with lederhosen, there is a novel in these stories! I will get in touch with Peter Jackson pronto and see if we can get a movie deal also. Fantastic stories Gents!
Mark A. Jericho December England
Jim Collins and Jericho stood near the BE that was being warmed up. Jericho had been assigned to Lieutenant Thomas as his instructor was absent for the day. " I don't care what your lovely Captain at Upavon says, you will have to show me you can fly this machine before you do any cross country flying. Is that clear?" Thomas asked.
"Clear" Jericho replied.
"Now do a few rounds of the field and set her down." Thomas directed.
Jericho climbed into the old bus, waved away the chocks and bounded down the field. Pulling back on the stick the BE slowly climbed into the sky. It was a beautiful day with only a few clouds and little wind. When he knew all was well Jericho put the machine into a slow climb to the right. One thousand ft., two thousand ft. and still higher he climbed.
On the ground, Thomas and Collins watched as the BE went higher and higher. After 20 minuets Thomas spoke more to himself than anyone else, "What is the fool doing? He must be above 5000 ft.! At that moment, the drone of the engine above sputtered and died.
"Boody Hell!" Thomas exclaimed as he took the pipe out of his mouth.
"His engine has gone dud! Maybe he can restart it!" Collins joined in.
They both kept their eyes on the plane as it started a slow spiral back to earth.
Jericho was directly over the field. He kept the field off the right wingtip as he slowly spiraled down. Four thousand, three thousand, two thousand.
Thomas and Collins were holding their breath expecting the worst.
At one thousand ft. Jericho straightened her out headed away from the field then put the nose down and turned to the field for a landing. Coming in a little fast he expertly side slipped the machine and put her on the straight and narrow just before touchdown coming to a stop in the middle of the field.
Thomas and Collins were at the machine as soon as it stopped. "What happened?!" Thomas asked.
"Nothing" Jericho replied as he climbed out of the machine.
"Nothing!" Thomas shouted. "What happened to your bloody engine?
"Nothing. I switched her off." Jericho replied.
Thomas pointed at Jericho with his pipe. "I tell you to do a few rounds and set her down and you go to 6000' and switch off your bloody engine! What in god's name for!" He was livid
Jericho pulled off his flying cap and goggles, stood as straight as an arrow and with an oil stained grin said. "A few rounds is a bit subjective, maybe I did more than a few and at Uptavon a dead stick landing is up next so I figured we would just kill two birds with one stone.....So to speak.....Mr Thomas.
Thomas took a long turn on his pipe and slowly blew the smoke into the crisp air. Not taking his eyes off Jericho he said, "Your up next Collins!"
Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end. BOC Member since....I can't remember!
Fullofit, close call there! I’m glad Gaston got away with nothing but a bump on the head. I was wondering if we would lose any pilots during training. Law of averages and such. I hope not.
Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end. BOC Member since....I can't remember!
Wulfe, you’re making me jealous that my guy isn’t closer to the city! 77_Scout, your photo of Euston reminds me of taking the train from there to Cambridge back in 1970! It hadn’t changed. Lou, you realise, of course, that only Commies go jogging before breakfast? Fulllofit, I’m really enjoying Gaston. He’s a man after my own heart (I’m in a hotel tonight and there’s a 50% off sale on wine in the restaurant, so one needs a bottle of Pinot with one’s burger, wot?). Great cliffhanger, but I’m glad to see all is well. MFair, I am really looking forward to see Jericho react to darkest Europe! Maeran, absolutely delighted to have you in the campaign! Well done on WAGS in slipping into the field on that circuit. Carrick, what Yank did you get the gum from????
An Airman’s Odyssey – by James Arthur Collins
Part Five: In which I tour the countryside and am treated by a generous Canadian.
Mark Jericho, our cowboy trainee from Long Branch, showed up at Netheravon yesterday afternoon. We chatted for a minute on the field and then, later in the mess, I discovered that the man is temperate, which is as close to an atheist as a Bible-thumping cowpuncher can possibly get. Still, he’ll be great fun to tease, I figured. He took the empty spot in our hut and it was like Old Home Week in Netheravon!
6 December began as a lovely day. Swaney was first up and polished off his circuits without drama. I was next. Thomas insisted I repeat my task from yesterday, despite my protest that I’d been less than ten minutes short of touchdown and had proved my ability to land by downing my crippled bus in a field the size of a tennis court. I took over shortly after eight, climbed south to Salisbury, and looped west until I turned back to the aerodrome and touched down at the very edge of the field. Taking off again, I did a wide loop of Wiltshire and settle back in neatly.
Later in the morning, I did another loop of the area, this time climbing to 10,000 feet. The BE2 struggled a bit above 8,000 feet. On this second flight, the clouds grew thicker and threatened a continuation of the stormy weather that had plagued much of December to date. Still, I was able to see the ground from time to time and could not help noticing the incredible military activity across the local countryside. There were fields with spiderweb-like tracings of trenches, and convoys of lorries threw up dust storms despite the wet earth. Even from 10,000 feet up, one could see formations of cavalry on manoeuvre in the fields and lanes.
I’d never climbed this high before and found it bothered me. I had a splitting headache until after dinner that night.
Swaney had a good flight and Jericho did a dead-stick landing that drove Thomas apoplectic, since he didn’t realise it was intentional.
Several of the fellows were heading to town after dinner and Swany, Jericho, and I joined them. In Salisbury, we found a public house called the Red Lion, and encountered a group of Canadian officers who were, to a man, quite drunk. A few of the fellows sat with us and one chap, Stanley Something by name, passed out at the table with a fistful of 10 shillling notes in his hand. Jericho swore that the fellow promised to stand rounds before falling asleep, so Swaney and I ordered bitter while Jericho ordered coffee and cakes, and a good and cheap night was had by all. Before leaving, we wrote Stanley a thank-you note and left him our calling cards in the event we ever meet in France. If we all live, I should be glad to repay the fellow.
"In Salisbury, we found a public house called the Red Lion..."
This is just getting better and better. Good stuff MFair. Jericho is going to show them all a thing or two about flying. Raine, stealing from a sleeping Canadian? That’s unheard of!
"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."
"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."
Raine, now THAT’S funny! Also, another spiffing episode to the story, the takeaway to which apparently being, best to let sleeping Canadians lie.
MFair, a most enjoyable read. Jericho is clearly going to be a force to be reckoned with. Well done.
Fullofit, Gaston had quite the wreck there. No wonder he is not currently the flavor of the month with his fellow aviateurs.
We seem to have a definite horse theme going here at the moment, along with the bad puns. By the way, love the poster, Maeran. And to add to said equine theme just a bit more, here is Swany’s most recent adventure.
***************************
The day began crisp and bright and looked as if it would be another fine one for flying, albeit a cold one. 2nd Lt. Swanson had already been out for his morning run, after which he'd grabbed a quick breakfast washed down with an extra cup of hot tea, and was now seated in the cockpit of his assigned mount, a slightly scruffy B.E. that had been converted to a single-place trainer by the addition of ballast lashed into the front observer’s office and a makeshift cowling placed over it. Swany had been instructed to fly southeast to the aerodrome at Gosport, land, and return to camp. He gave his bus a final check then waved the signal for “chocks away” and off he went. Once in the air he made a turn towards the south and began his climb to 5,000’. When he saw Stonehenge off his right wingtip he made a slow, steady arc to the southeast. It was a beautiful morning to be in the air and Swany was filled with youthful exuberance as he plotted his course. He watched as the large woods east of Salisbury began to slide beneath him, then gave the altimeter a quick study; 4,600’, nearly there.
“Faen förbannade jävla!”, the Norsk flyer cursed out loud. It hadn’t been 20 minutes into his trip when suddenly the Renault V-8 gave out with a loud clank, stopping dead brief seconds later. There was no restarting it either as something down in the bowels of the engine had clearly come undone. Swany began searching about for a suitable makeshift landing spot. He was still over the woods but had good height, and as the B.E. was blessed with a very shallow glide rate he had time to assess his situation. He turned gently to the east as this would get him clear of the woods via the shortest path. He sized up a field that lay beyond his lower left plane and determined it to be a good candidate and began gliding his dead mount towards it. A short time later he was lining himself up along a fence line that ran west towards a small farm, touching down onto the field and rolling to a stop without further incident. Looking over towards the farm he saw a horse grazing, and unlike the one he had startled two days earlier this one showed no concern whatsoever about the uninvited guest. Swany climbed out of the B.E. and walked over to the house, giving the disinterested equine a pat behind the ear as he passed it. The beast responded by pulling its head away from Swany’s hand while giving a snort of apparent derision. The farmer who resided in the nearby house was far friendly and during the brief conversation with him the airman was told that, while there was no phone on the farm, he would find one he could use at the pub in West Tytherley not but half a mile up the road. The farmer further offered to keep an eye on his plane while he was away, though there was little chance of anyone fooling about with it where it was parked. Swany thanked the amiable fellow and headed off to make the call to camp.
Sgt. Graham A. Campbell. Hounslow Heath Aerodrome December 11th, 1915.
I did not fly my hour-long circuit yesterday.
The weather had picked up slightly, and the winds were blowing at a higher speed than most felt comfortable taking off in. However, I was up to the challenge, and was ready at 0700, complete in full flying gear, to go up. As I waited for the mechanics to give my machine its final checks and wheel it out, I was kept entertained by watching a pilot of No. 24, practising spinning down in a D.H.2 as their C.O. had demonstrated. Buzzing with excitement, I watched as the pilot would spin down about 200 feet, recover, pull out in a swooping arc just over the tops of the hangars, and lazily climb back up again.
The nose of my B.E. begun to creep out from the hangars, as the No. 24 pilot straightened out at 1200 feet, flicked the rudder while lifting the nose, and promptly fell into another spin. I watched eagerly - for his past two spins I had been especially interested in attempting to see the control surfaces being manipulated in the air to fight the spin. However, something seemed wrong...the D.H.2 had just turned its seventh revolution in the spin...the pilot had consistently pulled out after six before. My excitement turned to concern, and then to horror as the pusher aeroplane spun all the way down, before crashing heavily just behind our hangar. Within seconds, pilots, mechanics, medics, were all running towards the crash, myself included. When I rounded the corner of the hangar, I was met with a grim sight. The D.H.2 had been converted into a crumpled mess of splintered wood, with no discernible shape left to it, save for the one upturned Starboard wing, which had remained somewhat intact. Several men rushed forwards, lifting the limp, bloody pilot out of the wreck and laying him down on the ground. His body looked twisted in a terrible, unnatural way, and he was clearly dead. Feeling faint, I staggered back, before turning away from the gruesome sight and lighting a cigarette with shaky hands. Almost instantly, the cigarette was snatched from my mouth and stubbed out. "Are you mad, man?!" an unfamiliar voice cried. "There's petrol everywhere, you fool!".
Sleep did not come easy that night - my mind presented me with rapidly-flowing images of the crash, then the body of the airman. Teddie and Albie Chapman had seen the smash as well, and were in a similar funk.
However, our training can't be halted on account of one death, and as the Hellhound has pointed out, we will be exposed to a lot more death in France. So, this morning I stood in the same spot, as the B.E.2 was wheeled out. Although this time there were no stunting D.H.2s over the hangars, I still stared at the skies.
When my B.E. was ready, I lethargically clambered into the cockpit, and started up the engine with one of the mechanics. As per usual before every training flight, Andrews appeared alongside my cockpit. "One hour in the air at 3,000 feet. Stay within eyeshot of the Heath". I nodded, pulling my goggles down, and pushed the throttle forwards. The machine obediently took me into the air, and I climbed out Westwards. Nervously, I checked my dashboard. To my dismay, the needle of the airspeed indicator was swinging wildly between 50 and 55 knots - the instrument was malfunctioning! This did nothing for my courage as I let out a shaky breath and gently rolled the machine North, heading again towards London.
Gradually, the memory of the fallen D.H.2 left me, and I relaxed into enjoying the sensation of flight. It was shockingly cold in the chill December air as I reached 2,000 feet, and I resorted to periodically holding the flight stick with my knees and rubbing my legs in a vain attempt to warm myself up. I continued up to 3,000 feet, and only another thousand feet above me hung great white clouds, lazily creeping inland. Fascinated, I looked up at the strange beasts, feeling as though I could reach up and scoop a section of cloud out with my hands. Feeling the familiar thrill of flying, I flew over the top of the Capital, weaving in an S-shape as I looked down at the specks of the people below. Four yellow-white balloons hung silently over Fulham in a small cluster, and I flew over the top of them, grinning as I did so. The cold still cut through me, but I was enjoying myself far too much to take any real notice.
Suddenly remembering that I was supposed to stay within eyeshot of the heath, I reluctantly turned around and headed back to Hounslow - but not before I took the opportunity, being out of the scrutiny of Andrews, to attempt an aileron roll! Tugging on my shoulder-straps beforehand, to make sure I was securely fastened, I yanked the stick to the right, and the B.E dropped its wing, rolled completely on to its side, and begun to turn over upside-down! Just as it did, the image of the dead aviator suddenly flashed into my mind, and for a second I panicked. The B.E. got stuck on its back, and begun slowly diving. Feeling sick with fear, I desperately pulled the stick right again and, to my joy, the B.E. half-rolled back onto its belly and levelled out. I had lost 600 feet in the manoeuvre.
Shaken, but now swelling with pride, I begun to climb back up. I had pulled off my first stunt! Although, I knew that it would be a while before I would have the pluck to try another. For the rest of my hour-long circuit I treated the B.E. very gently - my way of thanking it for not killing me in the aileron roll. Eventually, I checked the clock and saw that it was time to head back.
Andrews was furious on the runway. "Where the bloody hell did you go, Campbell? You were supposed to stay in sight of the aerodrome! What if you'd gotten lost, or crashed, idiot?".
"Sorry, sir" I mumbled, as I could see Freddy and Jacky-Boy over the Captain's shoulder, making faces and laughing at me from a distance.
Jacky-Boy was next to do his hour-long solo, and left around 2 PM. He, too, disappeared from sight. I wonder what kind of stunts he's off doing.
Raine: I got the Gum from the Red Cross worker that came by the Aerodrome spreading good cheer along with Tea and Biscuits I say, She did have a funny accent may have been a Yank ?
Lou, another close call for one of our would be hero’s. Glad to see Swany was able to make it back to the field.
Wolfe, Graham had reason to be a bit timid after watching a machine spin in from a few thousand ft. I feel it will become an all too common sight once we get to France
Carrick, be careful with gifts from pretty women!
These are great stories gents. I am really going to enjoy these next three years.
Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end. BOC Member since....I can't remember!
Lou, tough luck with that sad, sad engine. Liking the scenery! Wulfe, rather a sobering story. Glad Graham wasn't too affected by this experience. Carrick, now I have to ask. How did you get that gum from her? Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation exercises?
10-11 December, 1915 Le Bourget Sergent Gaston A. Voscadeaux
Gaston had to wait in line all day for a chance to test his skills with the dead stick landing routine. Many of the trainees ended up somewhere else than the aerodrome and it took time to recover the machine. By the time it was Gaston’s turn it already was getting dark. He quickly hopped into the Caudron, gave it full beans to get up to 2000 m altitude and switched the engines off. They started to wind down with the propellers milling for a bit longer and then it was just the sound of wind whistling around, all the way down to the deck. Gaston didn’t waste much time and lined up the last leg of the landing phase. He miscalculated and ended touching down halfway down the runway, stopping near the end of the field. That was still better than some of the other students. There was no more time left to do another run. It would have to wait until the next day. The next day was beautiful. His Caudron carried him up to 2000 m for his second attempt at dead stick landing. Gaston concentrated on the approach. He had to do better than last time. The rate of descent looked good, distance to touchdown seemed okay as well, good speed. He was just flying over the crest of the berm ahead of the airfield. It was all downhill from there. He passed the road on the outskirts with a few meters to spare and touched down just as the aerodrome opened up to him. It was a perfect 4-point landing. He couldn’t improve on it even if he tried even harder. Gaston jumped down from the cockpit and walked away feeling proud of his achievement. Tomorrow he’ll show them all how to stunt in this contraption. His confidence was growing with every step.
"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."
12 December, 1915 Le Bourget Sergent Gaston A. Voscadeaux
Gaston took the machine up to get a feel for the more extreme maneuvering that will be necessary later when they’ll eventually be forced to mix it up with the enemy in combat. Slipping was a bit disconcerting with the plane flying one way and his body telling him it’s going somewhere else. Looping was not a problem as long as there was enough height and enough speed could be harnessed during the initial dive. Gaston enjoyed performing these maneuvers. It reminded him of his childhood and the merry-go-rounds. Rolls were his downfall. With the two engines, the size of the craft and the span of the wings it proved impossible to rotate the plane about its axis. He would either end up cork screwing towards the ground, or managed a quarter roll and the plane would immediately right itself back to its natural attitude. It was a stable ship, that’s for sure. For his second attempt, Gaston decided to refrain from doing anything fancy:
"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."