Don't Let Them Bag the Nines: The First World War Memoir of a de Havilland Pilot - Captain F. Williams MC DFC

by F. Williams MC

Overview

Undisturbed in an old First World War trunk were medals, logbooks, plane parts . . . and an old manuscript. This was the memoir of Captain Frederick Williams, who flew D.H.4s in photo reconnaissance and bomber raids over Germany. Starting when he was stationed in Nancy in 1918 and ending with his return home with a Croix de Guerre and a DFC to his name, Captain Williams' vivid descriptions place the reader right in the air alongside him, relaying the thoughts running through his head as events unfolded around him. It is an important insight into the early development of bomber raids within the RAF.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780750992923
Publisher:	The History Press
Publication date:	09/02/2019
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	192
File size:	5 MB

About the Author

Capt. Williams joined the RFC as test pilot, later flying DH4s in photo-reconnaissance and bomber raids over Germany, and winning the DFC and Croix de Guerre. He contracted Polio in Iraq and in later years he became superintendent of a service people’s rehabilitation hospital in Exeter. James Coyle’s wife inherited his memoirs from her mother, Williams’ sister.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

A PRODIGAL'S RETURN

A message had just come through to say that the weather was fit for flying at Marquise, and the floating-jacketed ferry-pilots were hurrying over from Lympne, hoping to catch the boat back at once, and spend the evening in town.

I had been fortunate enough to spend Christmas 1917 on leave, and was now returning to France. Machine after machine left the ground; at last I secured the services of a mechanic to start my engine, and set off in my SE5.

The clouds were very low, it was dark and misty; I did not like the idea of crossing the Channel at 300 feet, so climbed up into the mist. For the next five minutes I was enveloped in the thick, wet blanket of cloud, but I was not uneasy; we had never heard of ice forming in these conditions. At 5,000 feet I caught a glimpse of very blue sky, and came out above the snowy tablel and, a few seconds later, into brilliant sunshine.

From 10,000 feet, I could see the edge of the clouds in front of me, but they extended as far as the eye could see in every other direction. One thing puzzled me as I approached the edge of the clouds: I could see nothing but whiteness below and beyond. Was the coast of France shrouded in fog? This was hardly likely in so strong a wind. It was not until some minutes later that I realised that the peculiar whiteness was snow on the ground. My compass had served me well, I was right over Marquise. It was bitterly cold, and I was glad to go down and land; the ferry-pilots had not yet arrived.

After lunch Major Ainsley gave me another SE5, which I flew down to No. 2 Aircraft Depot at Candás, where I was then stationed as a test pilot. Six months previously, I had been sent back from 66 Squadron for a rest, after a fall of 8,000 feet completely out of control, owing to the jamming of my flying boot between the rudder bar and the end of the floorboard, during a scrap.

While at Candás I had flown over twenty different types; yet, I had never completely regained confidence as a Scout pilot. At first I wanted to go on Bristol Fighters with Johnny Milne, but when my friend was killed, I asked Major Baldwin to apply for me to go to 55, for I wanted to rejoin the squadron in which I had learnt to fly.

On 7 January I took a Bristol Fighter to Serney, near St Omer; on landing I was told to return to 2 A.D. immediately, as I had been posted away. A fast trip in a Crossley tender over the snow-covered roads, through the starlit night, and I was back at Candás. As I entered the mess, everyone looked at me in silence ... 'Willie, you're off to 55,' said Captain Dunn, our C.O., as though delivering sentence of death. However, they gave me a very cheerful send-off next morning.

It was necessary to make a journey of some 200 miles in order to join 55 Squadron, which had now been sent to Tantonville, near Nancy, for the purpose of carrying out bombing raids into Germany. As no machine was allotted to the 41st Wing, to which 55 belonged, I was obliged to go by train, a proceeding that took two days.

On arriving at Nancy, I found the country a pleasant change after the flat plains of the North; everywhere were hills and valleys, pine woods and rivers. I was soon on my way to the squadron in one of the tenders. I felt intensely curious to see my new aerodrome; I knew that it was in a concealed position; yet, even so, I was surprised to see an R.F.C. flag flying beside the road between two woods. When the tender drew up, however, I saw that there were hangars behind the trees on the left and huts amongst those on the right.

I was received in the squadron office by Captain Colquhoun, the recording officer. Having given my particulars, I was taken into the mess for lunch. As both the C.O. and Captain Gray were on leave, I found that I knew no one in the squadron except Captain Waller, who had been a test pilot at 1 A.D., and some of the N.C.S.S and men, who had been with the squadron since it came out from Lilbourne.

As I have already said, our huts were hidden in the wood; they were, however, thoroughly well built and comfortable. I was given a room in 'The Lion's Den', with an excellent fellow called Matthews. There was a certain amount of rivalry between our abode and 'The Stiffs' Hut', which was occupied by the C.O., the flight commanders and a select company of flying officers.

A few days later we heard that Major Baldwin was taking over the 41st. Wing, and that Gray had been given command of 55. This was good news, for Baldwin would still be able to see to the well-being of his old squadron, while our new C.O. was a man who understood the difficulties of the region in which we were to operate.

The next day, Gray came back from leave; we had learned to fly together at Lilbourne, and here he was a Major, while I was still a 'poor Loot'; yet never once, by word or action, did he ever make me feel uncomfortable on this account.

'Hullo Willie, I'm damn glad to see you back in 55!' he said, grasping my hand, 'you'll be posted to "C" Flight, Farrington's, and you can have my old bus, No. 6.' It had never been Gray's practice to let the grass grow under his feet; here was a man under whom I must succeed.

It should have been stated that the squadron was practically out of action owing to the severity of the winter. The ground was deep in snow, the trees and hangars were covered in hoar frost of great thickness, from days of fog; so that, when I reported to Captain Farrington next morning, there was no question of flying.

It was with a feeling almost akin to reverence that I climbed into the seat of Gray's old machine, the war-scarred veteran of many a raid and reconnaissance, 'What a responsibility to take her over now!' I thought; little did I dream what lay before us both.

That night Baldwin came to say goodbye to the squadron; he caught sight of me as soon as he entered the mess, and shook hands, making me ridiculously happy for the rest of the evening. To quote from a letter:

After dinner there was a sort of dance; Puckridge was doing a tango with great skill, when he was tripped up, and sat down suddenly; his partner fell in the fire; but fortunately did not catch alight. After a very jolly evening, 'Ye Onchant Observers' Society' held a meeting in the bar, from which all 'chauffeurs' were excluded. The pilots attacked, led by the gallant Colonel himself. Not being able to burst open the door, we turned out their lights, and squirted them with fire extinguishers through the windows. The bar sounded like an inferno as all the perfectly good observers were getting soaked, and shouting and yelling inside.

The tin hat was put on their proceedings by someone throwing a stink bomb in amongst them; they were forced to surrender, and, as soon as the place had been aired, the attackers marched in. I had been sent for more ammunition, and arrived staggering under the weight of several large fire extinguishers after peace had been restored, much to everyone's amusement. Puckridge too, did not seem to realize that it was all over, for he presently tried to turn his pilot out again; but Collet took a soda water syphon and fired the contents down his neck!

The weather report for the next day being favourable, the celebrations ended at a reasonably early hour.

Next morning everyone was called long before it was light, and our hut soon resounded with shouting and singing. Matthews was dressing, so I got up too, in order to see the raids start for Karlsruhe, some 80 miles behind the Lines.

Next door there was the sound of boots being thrown about, Palmer was endeavouring to wake his pilot.

'Get up Oscar!' No reply.

'Get up Oscar, you'll be late for the show.' Another boot landed heavily.

'Umph?'

'Oscar, get up; I'm sure you'll be shot down today, probably in flames, or small pieces.'

'Umph?' Oscar did not appear to be very communicative at that hour in the morning.

I was astonished at the cheeriness with which the pilots and observers were setting out on what appeared to me to be a most hazardous adventure.

The departure of the raids was attended with great difficulty and danger, owing to the condition of the aerodrome. This was L shaped, only small strips of grass could be used for taking off and landing, unless the frost was hard enough to make the mud, which formed the remainder, safe for the heavy machines. On this occasion the de Havillands sank almost axle deep into the mud and snow as they ploughed their way across to the grass strip, their engines roaring, mechanics pushing, pulling and even trying to lift their wings.

At last they were all in position, but many of the pilots were very inexperienced and had not flown for several weeks; the start was an alarming spectacle.

Directly they had gone, I went up in No. 6. Just to the east of the aerodrome was a very striking landmark, a walled monastery perched on the top of a precipitous hill, which was known to us as Mount Zion, and to the French, I believe, as 'Le Colline Sacrée'.

I flew to Nancy, which was remarkably undamaged, considering its proximity to the Line, then down the somewhat indistinct trenches past Lunéville and so to the Vosges Mountains. I could see practically no activity on the ground on either side, while only one other machine was in the air; I took this to be French, as it was well on our side and was not being Archied.

The air was full of a soft haze, but the wide view from 11,000 feet was full of fascination; there to the north and east lay Germany, mysterious and brooding behind the mists; there too, beyond the dark mass of the wooded Vosges, must lie the Rhine ... Presently I turned homewards, and managed to land on the little grass strip. The C.O. and others, who had been watching me arrive, ran out to help me in across the mud.

We now heard the distant rumble of twelve Rolls engines as our people passed over at a great height on their way to the Lines. It was difficult to make them out in the watery haze, which the sun had drawn from the damp ground; yet, the sight was very impressive. Two hours later all our machines were back; one or two pilots 'piled up' on landing, but fortunately no one was hurt. Karlsruhe had been bombed, and the junior members of the squadron were full of their experiences.

'My God, I thought Emma Gee had caught it! I couldn't see his bus for smoke.'

'Yes, I heard a terrific wonk right under my nose; I was shot clean out of my seat.'

'I heard a door slam just behind us; for a moment I thought we had lost our tail.'

'Did you see those Huns down low? Carroll was firing at one with a white fuselage.'

'Yes, but they never got near our height, they were waiting for a machine to fall out with engine trouble.'

Collet and Puckridge had an uncomfortable return journey; their engine had given signs of distress when they were still some 70 miles from the Line, and had been running irregularly all the way back.

Winter now closed down on us again. On several days it was possible to fly, and Farrington carried out several photographic reconnaissances, but long raids were out of the question. The days were still so short that it was necessary to start by noon, if night landings were not to be attempted on the return, but the fog usually persisted well into the afternoon. If it lifted at all, then it was found impossible to get the bomb-laden machines out unless the ground was frozen, as the mud was getting deeper and deeper; so that if the sun did break through during the morning, it often made the aerodrome unfit for use before the raids could start.

Meanwhile I was becoming thoroughly accustomed to my machine and the country for many miles round. I found No. 6, B.3957, was still an extremely fine machine; her speed and climb left nothing to be desired, while her controls were a joy to handle. She had originally been built for the R.N.A.S. and was equipped with two Vickers guns for the pilot and a little round turret, about 6 inches above the fuselage, for the observer's gun ring. I felt that she was no ordinary D.H. and there was a certain satisfaction in knowing that when the observer carried double Lewis guns, she was the most heavily armed machine on the Western Front!

It was great fun diving at the ground target at the end of the aerodrome. One day I had a sham fight with Waller; unfortunately, we were observed from the hangars, and when we got down, we were told that it was considered very bad form to stunt a D.H.4 and I believe some hard things were said about 'these bloody test-pilots' by junior members of the squadron, who could scarcely fly. One day, just after I landed, Collett asked me to have his younger brother, who was to join the squadron shortly, as my observer, and I was highly pleased at the implied compliment.

During this period many of us enjoyed long tramps through surrounding country. As the mess was sadly mismanaged by a person known as 'Lady Di', dinner at an estaminet in the neighbouring village of Xirocourt, where the food was as excellent as it was plentiful, became the fashion. I also spent several happy days with Gray looking for sites for new aerodromes in the squadron car, having previously found and photographed likely looking places from the air. These aerodromes would have been most useful if the war had lasted another year; as it was, at least one of them, Betancourt, was occupied before the Armistice.

We were always accompanied on these journeys by Roger, the squadron dog. Roger had been captured from the Germans by the French, and presented by them to 100 Squadron, when both they and 55 were at Ochey; however, he showed his good taste by attaching himself to 55, and travelled to Tantonville with the squadron.

One night, when some members of 100 Squadron had been dining with us, it was discovered that Roger was missing. We guessed at once what had become of him but were too late to prevent his captors driving off, although Waller fired his revolver at the tyres of their Crossley in his anxiety to stop them.

Next day a party went over to the Ochey to recover the dog; unfortunately they were detected and had to escape into the woods, with practically the whole of 100 Squadron after them, and an F.E. doing contact patrol close overhead. Their car was captured, but they managed to bag another and get home safely.

A few days later Miller, our equipment officer, was over at Ochey on business. It so happened that, during the course of his duties, he was standing on the aerodrome with Roger close at hand; at this moment a D.H.4 came in and landed, pulling up not 10 yards away. Miller seized up the Pom. and, before 100 Squadron realised what was happening, Roger was flying home again in Waller's machine.

We were so pleased that we immediately set off to Ochey in formation. Walmsley, our leader, took us across the aerodrome at 50 feet, and we bombarded the eight inhabitants with Verey lights, our fire being hotly returned. It was great fun, the danger of having one's machine set on fire or of burning down a perfectly good hangar containing valuable F.E.s hardly occurred to us.

Farrington managed to get his raids off the ground on 27 January. This was a very smart piece of work; they were all in the air within half an hour of being called! I was not given a place in this show, although I was now perfectly familiar with the country; it seemed to me that I was being kept back, but I thought it wisest to say nothing.

We had returned from taking photographs of desirable sites for aerodromes, and I was talking to A.M. Hodge, my observer, when we heard the distant drone of engines. Everyone began to search the northern sky, wondering if all our people would get back.

'There they are!' the flight sergeant was pointing; we made out four little dark objects flying together, then a fifth a little way behind, as it swept past a small fleecy cloud. After what seemed an age, another group appeared. As they landed we were amazed to see that many machines were still carrying their bombs. We learned afterwards that the second raid had lost touch with Farrington so badly that they had failed to notice when he dropped his bombs and had sailed over the objective without seeing it through the haze! Even so, it is difficult to understand why they did not get rid of their cargo on the way home.

That evening when Gray put up the orders in the mess, I found that I was to go to Kreuznach with the next show, but bad weather again set in. As it happened this was just as well for me, for on my next flight I noticed that my engine was not running perfectly. I mentioned this to Gray on landing, and he at once tested the machine himself. When he came down, he told me that the engine would have to be changed, as the reduction gear was damaged. Had I been on the way to Kreuznach, I might have been taken prisoner on my very first show.

CHAPTER 2

OFFENBURG AND TRIER

The weather cleared before the new engine was ready, so that I was obliged to set out in old Diana 3 on my first show. As soon as we left the ground, I got into my position slightly above and behind Captain Fox on his right, while Van der Riet took up the corresponding position on his left.

We soon saw that the weather was hopeless over Germany. The Rhine Valley was entirely filled with low clouds, but the view of the snowy Alps, rising into the clear air, was magnificent.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Don't Let them Bag the Nines"
by .
Copyright © 2019 Captain Williams and James Coyle.
Excerpted by permission of The History Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Foreword by Patrick Bishop,
Introduction by James Coyle,
1 A Prodigal's Return,
2 Offenburg and Trier,
3 Solo Photography,
4 Mainz, Stuttgart and Coblenz,
5 'A Cartload of Monkeys',
6 B Flight,
7 Cologne,
8 A Case of Mistaken Identity,
9 Karlsruhe, Trier and Coblenz,
10 Charmes and Metz,
11 Friendly Clouds,
12 Oberndorf and Mannheim,
13 Dulce et decorum est ...,
Appendix: Letter from Captain Williams to his mother, dated 15 March 1918,