Hey folks, got another entry for you. Unless I'm going against the rules by doing so (and I didn't see anything in the OP, but I could have missed it), I'm going to do a weekly letter going forward, in the interest of having something substantial to report every time (in case one day in particular has too little happen to make an interesting entry).
This one ought to have gone up yesterday, but it took a day to get past the censor (read: I forgot my notepad at work)
Not only is it not against any rules to post a weekly report, Mortuus, but it has been my plan for at least the training period. For that exact reason.
As things heat up stories will come much faster, I can assure you.
Good stories. I particularly liked the ash-covered monks fullofit
I particularly liked the ash-covered monks fullofit
Thanks Maeran, I’m glad you liked 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."
Nigel Archibald Notting Sgt, RFC Catterick AF Air Training
14 Dec
I was on the Board for Cross country and a Night Flight. I did the X Country flight and landed on a large road then up and back About 38 min each way under a clouded sky. The Night flight was cnx due to rain and wind.
That pesky 'Real World' beckoned! I've been keeping up with training, but haven't had the time for write-ups. But, I was able to catch up on everybody's stories today with a cup of tea - perfect start to a day off!
Sgt. Graham A. Campbell. Hounslow Heath Aerodrome December 21st, 1915.
3. The Final Days at the Heath.
The last several days have flown past, for it feels as if we have been whipped up into a training frenzy by Andrews. As a result, I've had no time to write my Diary! But, I have a window of opportunity now to do so.
Each day we have been performing more complicated tasks - gone are the simple days of taking off and landing! Two days ago, we were ordered by the Hellhound to take to the skies and deliberately put our buses into spins! I must admit, I had the wind-up as I kicked the rudder hard in a climb, and had a moment of frozen terror as I was revolved around by the out-of-control machine, but the thought of Freddy so matter-of-factly righting his own self-induced spin only moments earlier allowed me to think rationally, and, remembering Andrews' instruction, I righted the spin and gently pulled out of the dive. Well, I must say, once one performs a stunt and survives it, it very suddenly becomes an absolute novelty! Shakily, but with slightly more confidence, I went about my sheepish acrobatics. But, by the time I was due to come down, I'd discovered yet another joy of flying, and I truly felt that I was up on every trick known by B.E pilots!
A new B.E. came in to replace the one that poor Albie crashed, but this one didn't last long either. This time the victim was poor old Hugo Lane, who failed to get out of the way of a tree in time while hedge-hopping behind the barracks. He survived the crash, but died yesterday in hospital. Poor old Hugo! He never was the most able flyer. We were all very sorry to have to bury another friend this morning, but as usual our Kiwi, Freddy, saw us through. That being said, despite my sadness, I accepted Hugo's death almost immediately...
Yesterday, Hugo's smash nastily lingering in our heads, we did our first (and hopefully last) night-flights. Being surrounded by the impossible dark, with no sensation other than the uneasy floating and the roar of the wind and engine, is truly disturbing. I have heard that in clear moonlight night-flying is far easier, but we flew on a cloudy night and so had to suffer in tense uncertainty for the duration, until we were thankfully back on the ground (At Netheravon at first - then we had to fly back!). Jacky-Boy crashed his B.E on landing at Netheravon, but the damage wasn't so bad, and the mechanics say that the machine will be ready to fly again in two days. As for Jacky-Boy, well, I think he has been turned off of night-flying forever! He was positively terrified, and Teddie Lawson and I had to lift him from the wreck! He was still white as a sheet as he arrived back at the Heath by car today (mercifully after we'd laid Hugo to rest).
I have yet to mention a relative newcomer to the training mob, who arrived on the 15th, a lad of just fifteen! The softly-spoken youngster is now known to us as Switch-off.His real name being Raymond Holtcombe, he earned the nickname 'Switch-off' when he nearly had Cpl. Knight's hand off on his very first day at Hounslow. Just before the lucky Corporal was about to swing the propellor, the lad seemed to snap out of a daydream he had been having and cried out, in a shrill voice (which, ashamedly, gave us all a real chuckle) "Wait! Let me switch off!". Needless to say, the dubious mechanics now stare daggers into his back. Unfortunate young Switch-off was met with Andrews' full fury for the stunt, and was shaking in his fug-boots by the end of the ordeal!
2nd. Lt. Raymond 'Switch-off' Holtcombe, post flight training.
As it turns out, Switch-off happened to be a marvellous pilot and has already caught up to the usual mob. When he's on the ground, he follows Teddie Lawson around like a nervous pup. We never did figure out why, but we suspect it's because Teddie was the first to speak to him. Not to mention his natural charm, of course!
By any means, we have but one task ahead of us, before we are to head to France - bombing drills. We are finally to use real weaponry, and to learn how to use the B.E. as an instrument of war! Jacky-Boy and I are terribly braced, despite the warnings by Andrews that many a foolhardy trainee has died when failing to get clear of the blast of the bombs. I only hope that my Observer should have been properly trained on his machine gun, so that we can knock a few Huns out of the sky, too!
As I write, I am observing the pilots of No. 24 mock-dogfighting with each other. What a fascinating sight - I only wish I end up on a DeHav myself! As I found out from one of their mob, Lt. Wells, 24 has just received orders to make ready for their departure to France in February. They must be terribly excited - especially while they possess such incredibly manoeuvrable machines!
That's all for now - as I write, Andrews is summoning Freddy and I for our bombing practice. I must prepare, it isn't a short flight to the target range.
Great stories all! Wulfe, I hope Switch-off lives to be 15 and a half!
19 December, 1915 Le Bourget Sergent Gaston A. Voscadeaux
Gaston was tracing a route on the map with his finger. It ran north to Oise River, then north-east through Ermenonville Forest then past Compiegne Forest where Oise joins with Aisne and cuts through the front line. This is where Gaston would do his patrol exercise. First, he would fly along the trenches running north-west toward Noyon. This would take roughly 10 minutes, then turn back and fly south-east for another 10 minutes back to the river. He would then fly further south-east toward Crouy for yet another 10 minutes after which he would turn back and repeat the same route until the prescribed 1 hour would elapse. He reached the front lines after a 50 minute flight from Le Bourget and proceeded along the front as planned. A light haze was obscuring the scene below in a few places and when Gaston’s plane got too close to the other side of the NML, the German Flak would let him know about it immediately. Black puffs of smoke appeared close to his location. At first, slightly below and behind, but as he continued the explosions came closer and Gaston corrected his flight path to get out of range. Eventually he completed his 1 hour long reconnaissance mission and took the same way back to the aerodrome. He was glad his training was now complete and before being posted in the new year he will be able to spend the holidays with his family. The next day, after finally receiving his military pilot’s license, a short drive to Paris and purchasing his train ticket, he was now sitting in the Buffet de la Gare de Lyon (now called Le Train Bleu), waiting for his train to Marseille, sipping a glass of red and observing all kinds of travellers passing by. Mostly soldiers, fresh ones leaving, wounded coming. Some businessmen, nurses, and families seeing their loved ones off to war. He even caught a glimpse of two young women without a chaperone blowing kisses to the officers. Youth these days! The times are changing. He looked again at the poster on the wall. It was an advertisement for l’Ècole de Haute Enseignement Commercial. It was the first business school for women, which opened on 2 December and invited women of all walks of life to attend. Gaston wondered what sort of business would they be taught there. One of those days he’ll have to catch a show at Moulin Rouge. The departure time was getting near. He left a tip for the garçon and off he went to find his platform. He will be with Violette and his two little girls soon. The 10 day pass in his pocket was reminding him of how little time he has left. Better get a move on, Gaston!
The Blue Train Restaurant in Gare de Lyon, Paris
"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."
Nigel Archibald Notting Sgt, RFC Catterick AF Air Training
Dec 16.
1845 hrs, my 1st night flight. The Instructor said it was just like flying on a cloudy day. Right ! I gunned the power and off in the darkness the a/c leaped. Thank goodness for the Moon and a clear sky even then I kept in sight of the AF. Flying in a wide circle, I flew around a few times. Time to land : I knew that there was Trees in back of me when I took off so decided to try a down wind approach. It was indeed a bounce and go landing , but ended using all the flight path. Down Safe, One more to go.
Finding that I'm in bit of a writing slump. Hope that will end in 2019.
To keep things up to date, Willi has passed his training and is now on leave till 3rd Jan 1916. Must say that the night flight and the following 2 bombing runs were quite fun.
Nigel Archibald Notting Sgt, RFC Catterick AF Air Training
17 Dec
Posted for Xcountry night Flight. The instructor said fly for 30 mins on a heading of 92 the make a port turn ( standard rate turn ) and go for 28 more mins. on a heading of -1. Nothing to it , Old Chap. Right oh, Only I didn't feel awfully brave flying in the dark without a full moon and out of sight of the Aerodrome. After the time went by everything below was still dark and may have been farm lands with Trees. I started a wide circle and dropped down to 100 meters Afew mins later a spotted waves hitting the shore line. so new I passed it. I pulled around in a 180 standard turn and there off to the starboard wing were lights. Down at last.
I have spent this morning reading all the wonderful stories posted in this thread. Like I wrote earlier, the bar has been set really high for this DID campaign!
The year is approaching its end, so I think it's a good time for me to post the first entry in my pilot's (hopefully long) saga.
Julius Alexander Schreck was born in Königsberg, East Prussia, on April 2, 1895, as the second son of army career officer Georg Wilhelm Schreck. The birth was difficult, and Julius’s mother Helga never fully recovered from the ordeal, passing away when her baby boy was only a few months old. Julius’s father, who was already working long hours in the service of the Prussian Great General Staff, began spending even more time away from home. The job of raising Julius and his elder brother Hermann was mostly left to their father’s sister Emmi, who was the wife of a school inspector in Königsberg and herself also a teacher. Tante Emmi, as the boys called her, became like a mother to them, while their relationship with their father always remained somewhat distant and formal.
Julius excelled at school and was fascinated by modern technology, including aviation, which in those days was still in its infancy. He also had more romantic interests, such as the exploration of distant countries and their foreign cultures. Reading Karl May’s adventure stories ignited in young Julius a desire to see the world outside Germany. His good grades opened him the way to the prestigious Friedrich Wilhelm University of Berlin, where he went to study law in the fall of 1913. Julius hoped to become a civil service officer and gain a position in the German Empire’s colonial administration. Meanwhile, his brother Hermann had chosen a different road, becoming a cadet in the Prussian army. Hermann had already graduated as a Leutnant in the infantry when Julius was only beginning his studies.
Then came the fateful summer of 1914. In August, Hermann marched with his regiment towards Paris in the ranks of the powerful German First Army, while the father of the boys, now an Oberstleutnant, helped with the mobilization effort in the War Ministry at Berlin. Julius had had his military service postponed because of his studies, but now he too was swept away by the events and decided to join the army as a volunteer. Julius wanted to become a pilot, but he was instead sent for artillery training into East Prussia. He was gravely disappointed by the army’s decision, but resigned to his fate, expecting the war would be over anyway before he managed to see any action.
As the battles raged across Europe, Julius was learning to become an artillerist. Because of his academic background, he was chosen for officer training, with the promise of a quick promotion to the rank of Leutnant after completion of the course.
But in early January of 1915, Julius fell seriously ill with pneumonia. He was sent for treatment to a military hospital in his old home city of Königsberg. For a while Julius’s life hang in the balance, but after several weeks of intensive care, he finally began to recover.
In March, as Julius’s health was steadily improving, a new patient was brought into his room - an army pilot suffering from a lung injury, which he had received when his plane crashed down somewhere on the Eastern Front. Julius quickly befriended the unlucky aviator and did his best to help him recover from his injuries. Inspired by the man’s stories of flying (and not discouraged by his severe accident!) Julius was encouraged to again apply for pilot training. This time he also enlisted the help of his father, hoping that a recommendation from a moderately high ranking professional officer would help his chances.
Time passed and Julius was finally able to return to his artillery training unit. However, recovery from the pneumonia had took him so long that his coursemates had already graduated and Julius was left in a limbo of sorts, not yet ready for front service. Bored nearly to death while waiting at a depot for the next course to begin, in May 1915 Julius finally received welcome news from Berlin: he was ordered to report to the Flugfeld “Mars” at Bork near Berlin to begin his military pilot training!
"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
Welcome, Julius, and best of luck in the new year!
Sgt. Graham A. Campbell Hounslow Heath Aerodrome December 23rd,1918
The Training mob here in Hounslow are all suffering from sore heads this morning!
Our bombing practices were a success - at least in the eyes of Andrews! Personally, I found it thrilling. Coming out of a dive, we were instructed to drop our bombs and skid away sharply to the side, to avoid the blast. Even when doing that, the B.E. is thrown up by several feet, just by the force of the bomb going off below! The first time I experienced this, I thought I was for it, but once I realised that I was okay, I rather enjoyed the weird sensation!
Yesterday, we were all summoned, one by one, into Andrews' office. Suspecting that we were again to be put through the ringer, I sheepishly made my way to his door upon my scheduled summoning. Imagine my surprise when Freddy Foster skipped on out of the office, beaming from ear-to-ear, and shouted to me "Oh, just you wait to hear the news!". Inquisitively, I stepped through and stood expectantly on the other side of Andrews' desk.
The Hellhound looked up at me, and, to my astonishment, smiled! I did not know the man was capable of such a feat! As I stood rigidly to attention, he reached into a drawer and produced a set of 'wings', that is, the insignia worn by R.F.C pilots. "Congratulations, Sgt. Campbell, you have completed your training. These are for you". In ecstatic disbelief, I slowly took the wings from his hand, holding them dumbly in front of my face. As I scrutinised my new beloved wings, Andrews continued. "You'll now be flying with No. 20 in Netheravon. Collect your things and depart immediately".
I was practically dizzy when I stepped out of his office. I had done it - I was a true R.F.C Pilot! I at once rushed away to sew on my wings. Later that night, we all had an uproarious binge to celebrate our accomplishment, and we all excitedly nattered about our newly assigned squadrons. Happily, Jacky-Boy and Switch-off are both coming to No. 20 with me! From what I have heard, our new squadron has been equipped with the F.E.2 two-seat fighters! We are all over the moon.
I must away now - we are leaving soon for Netheravon.
Superb reports and stories everyone, most enjoyable. I finally had a chance to sit down and catch up on them all, (last week was very busy for me). Hasse, welcome aboard, here's hoping Julius will be with us for the duration.
I am off now to get Swany caught up on his training flights, hopefully without further mechanical failures. Later all.
Nigel Archibald Notting Sgt, RFC Catterick AF Air Training
19 Dec
Posted to bombardment Training; 1 St target an X where two roads meet. 4 25lbs Practice Bombs . Result Short fall from 1100 meters. missed by a mile at least.
20 Dec
Second Bombardment exercise: Used 4 Practice Bombs for score. The target was a road from 700 meters. Result 1 Hit within 1000ft. Passed.
News Report (Special Bulletin), South Burnett Times. 21st November, 1914
Hot, humid spring weather may have played a part in a shooting outrage which took place late the other day in Murgon shire. It's reported that an employee of the local bank flipped over his desk and brandished a Colt revolver at several employees and customers while delivering an incoherent tirade on the virtues, or lack thereof, of the modern banking system before discharging all six rounds from his pistol into the bank's clock. The miscreant then bolted out of the door before the gunsmoke cleared and stole a horse that was left saddled and tied to the hitching post of a nearby saloon. Witnesses say he was last seen heading in the direction of Brisbane, local troopers have been dispatched to the area to search for the man, in his thirties, who has been identified as Percival Drummond of 14, Shearers Lane. The town is stunned by his sudden outbursts, Drummond was, by all accounts, a peaceful man who enjoyed cricket, gardening and attending dances at the local town hall. We at the South Burnett Times wonder if "rag" or "ragtime" and its' corrosive effect on the morals and virtues of young men and women may have played a part fomenting a state of mind that resulted in in this young man's escapade.
Fortunately nobody was injured in this scandalous affair and it is expected that a recalcitrant Drummond will stand before the local magistrate to answer for his offenses any day now.
(A picture of the Q.N.Bank in Murgon Shire Circa 1914)
Last edited by Ace_Pilto; 12/24/1805:28 AM.
Let's pretend I got the BWOC badge to embed here.
Wenn ihr sieg im deine Kampf selbst gegen, wirst stark wie Stahl sein. "The best techniques are passed on by the survivors." - Gaiden Shinji
Lofty, I had a few QC flights in the Aviatik. You're right, they do want to climb. All 3 of them, B.I, B.II and C.I! How can you stand this? This seems like an issue OBD should be made aware of.
that's my point, actually. I can't stand it. but at least now that I know it's not just me or my set-up, I'll ask Pol if it's supposed to be this way. Maybe I can get a field mod...
"What do you mean there's no rum on board?" Drummond asked of the sailor he'd collared for interrogation. "I thought you seafaring types never left port without it?" The sailor grimaced and Drummond rather wished he hadn't, yellow teeth caught the light of the setting sun. His weather beaten face creased like old canvas. "Requisitioned, the whole country's sugar crop is on its' way to France" "Well blast it all! I'd have to pick the one tub that wasn't carrying any of it and no rum besides!" Drummond exclaimed. "Steady on now mate, we've a long journey ahead and getting excited won't make it pass any quicker." "Nevermind, I'm heading that way anyway. Perhaps I'll catch up with some of it." "Well be sure and remember the crew of the Omrah if you do." Said the sailor with a wry smile, which fortunately was a step down from his previous grimace and hid most of the sins of his inadequate dentistry. "No fear sport, I'll send you a bottle or ten for letting me on board without asking too many questions!"
France.
Drummond never cared for the idea of going there but it seemed to be a better option than wasting away at the pleasure of His Majesty in some prison or other. In planning his escape from the mundane Drummond had left himself a cache of supplies and all of his life's savings in an old tree stump outside of town, the horse he'd stolen had got him most of the way into Brisbane before he sold it to a farmer who was similarly inclined to a lack of inquisitiveness that the sailors of the Omrah had shown when he paid for his passage to the bosun who'd showed him his berth and signed him on as a "stores clerk". The one funnelled tramp steamer that Drummond has selected was called the "Omrah" and now he, several AEF troops, the crew of the Omrah and the ship's cat were all on their way to France. Drummond had no idea what he would do when he got there, providence would have to take care of that.
Note, the Omrah took the first Australian troops to WW1 in 1914.
Last edited by Ace_Pilto; 12/26/1802:48 AM.
Let's pretend I got the BWOC badge to embed here.
Wenn ihr sieg im deine Kampf selbst gegen, wirst stark wie Stahl sein. "The best techniques are passed on by the survivors." - Gaiden Shinji