OTT Daring Young Men – Introductions.
“Where’s the bally flag thingy, the damn windsock, I can’t see it anywhere, they must have one, what sort of airfield is this, I’m just going to have to land not knowing which way the bally wind is blowing”!!! “There can’t be much, the trees aren’t moving – good grief my first landing in France and it’s probably going to be my last, oh well let’s go, another brown pants day in my currently, very short flying career”.
“Hells teeth, that was OK I’m down but OH NO I’m not slowing down, must be running down wind, these FE2b’s are big planes, lots of windage, by heck that hedge is coming up fast, I think it’s going to be alright, yes yards to spare”. I was so relieved to have got myself and the plane down in one piece that I turned the engine off before I realized how far away the hangers and the rest of the buildings were.
This was going to be embarrassing, I could see a lone figure start the long walk to where I was parked, just as another chappie raised the wind sock and the 2nd FE2 that was following me realised what was happening. He pulled up sharply, the engine was making a hell of a row but he gaining altitude as he turned, then flew low over my head just as the engine cut out, but he made a perfect landing, coasting over close to the hangers, and is probably getting a round of applause right now. The 3rd FE followed his lead but appeared to try and land 2’ below where the ground actually was, there was a huge crack as the under carriage failed to stand the strain of the impact, but it held together long enough and there was no major disaster. Well Bouncer Berry had survived another landing.
I have to say he made me feel slightly better about my fiasco of a landing, that is, until the lone figure trudging towards me arrived. A man twice my age with a huge walrus moustache and muscles the size of pineapples, he said “welcome to the Drome Sir” in a soft Devonshire burr. “If I could just swing the prop to start the engine and then we can get you turned in the right direction, do you think you could give me a lift back to the hangers Sir, it’s an awfully long walk”. Yes embarrassing.
I suppose I’d better start at the beginning, well the arrival in France, the rest can come later. I was so proud to have earned my wings, the training was shorter than I’d expected and when they signed off the last few sections on my papers without me actually doing the exercises I did wonder if something was amiss, but they said no, it was standard practice with a pilot of my capability!!
There seemed to be a bit of a flap on and unusually I received my travelling papers the following day. Lots of hanging around in draughty railway stations and I was sick on the ferry crossing, but recovered quickly in time to be loaded onto a tender bound for the Depot. I’d heard about the Depot, everyone waited around, sometimes for weeks until there was a seat to fill at some airfield or other, and that pretty much decided what you were going to fly in France.
I was praying it wasn’t going to be BE2’s, they were supposed to be death traps, I was hoping for a Bristol and being a scout pilot, they were the chaps that attracted all the French Fillies, or so I’d heard. Of course that information came second hand from chaps who hadn’t yet been to France, but it was common knowledge in training so it must be true!
I was a bit surprised when I alighted from the tender to be shouted over by a short, fat, bad tempered Captain, “Are you Flying Officer Vagabond” “Yes Sir” I responded standing stiffly to attention and giving him my best salute, which he barely acknowledged. “Ever flown an FE before” “No – well OK they are fairly easy to fly, grab your flying gear and take that one 2nd in line” “What do you mean your gear is following you, for Gawd sake there’s a war on you know, take these and let’s get going. You and those other 2 lost souls are going to 6 Squadron, follow me. I’ll fly twice round the airfield when we arrive and then I’ll leave you to land there on your own, think you can do that”. He didn’t wait for an answer but flung me a pair of goggles and set off for the first machine.
Rushing after him I had a quick glance at the other 2 pilots and started a bit when I recognised Wilfred Berry, I thought he’d been sent back to the infantry, he’d broken so many planes in training that he’d earned the nickname Bouncer, the other good looking chap I’d never seen before but he had a dashing air about him that I couldn’t help but admire, that was my first sight of Liam O’Flynn.
Following our arrival we were greeted by a square jawed, powerful looking fellow.“Well chaps, listen up, I don’t have long, my names George Drummond, Lieutenant Drummond to you for the time being, I can give you 10 minutes and that’s all, I’m just waiting for a couple of Frenchies to arrive, then I need to be off. Things have been a bit fraught round here lately, the squadron has 2 flights of BE2’s”, - my heart sank, “but you’ve been posted to my flight and we fly FE2b’s, usually escorting the BEE’s”, - my heart leapt
.
“It gets dark early here and there’s no time to take you up tonight and having seen how you land I haven’t the heart to see how you fly but I have orders to destroy a couple of German balloons tomorrow at first light”.
“O’Flynn that was a perfect landing, if you fight like you fly you’ll be most welcome here, sounds like the mechanics are going to have a bit of a job on with your engine though so you can sleep in tomorrow and we’ll become acquainted later. Berry, we can’t afford you to break anymore airplane’s, you’re grounded until I can assess your capability. Vagabond, looks like you’re the lucky one, meet me in the Opp’s shed at 6:30, kitted out and ready to fly at first light. I’ll brief you on the mission then. Find Jack Cowan, he’ll be in the mess drinking, tell him he’s your gunner tomorrow, he’ll make sure you don’t get lost, he’s an A.M.1 but a bally good gunner, so don’t lose him because he’s valuable.
“You may find this a bit brutal Vagabond but in 1 sentence tell me your life story, I need to be able to say something personal if I need to write to your parents after tomorrows mission”. “Well Sir I was born in Yorkshire spent my first 5 years in Leon a French town and then back to Blighty for 12 years finishing my schooling and joined up as soon as I was old enough”.
“Well done lad, and were you any good at maths”, “Not really Sir”. “Thought not, 5 and 12 are 17 aren’t they and you need to be 18 to join up lad”. “Sorry Sir I’ meant 6 years in France” “Hummm, and do you speak French, because that will be most helpful as I’m waiting for 2 French Officers with a couple of Morane monoplanes who should be here any minute, in fact that must be them now”. So saying two of the sweetest little monoplanes flew over the field, climbed, did a fast fighting turn and dove straight down, pulling up at the last minute and landed side by side in a perfect display of flying.
“Cocky Buggers - Good grief, who painted the nose of that plane, the C.O. will have a fit when he sees it.” This was muttered underneath Drummonds breath as we strode across the field but I heard it well enough, although I was admiring rather than condemning the bright red nose of the nearest Morane.
“Bon jooor museuire, je m’apellee Drummond, Lieutenant Drummond, weeelcom a ma aerodrome, noose amie a vu vouz”.
“Och aye man we ken English as weel as any mon, we can speek that if you’ve a mind. Me and the wee lord here have it as our native tongue don’t ye ken. A sight better than you have the French, na offence to you”.
What ho Drummond old chap, here’s our papers, so said the other airman, they were a strange couple, the Scotsman, tall, freckled and with a shock of red hair, almost as bright as the nose on his plane and the short almost plump, dark haired, aristocratic one, who was speaking now.
Drummond looked totally confused but took the papers. “My apologies, I was expecting 2 French airmen on secondment for the next month, to act as liaison with the squadron to the south of us, and I’m your Flight Commander so Sir or Lieutenant will do. At that sparks seemed to emit from the ice blue eyes of the red haired one. “Och I think ye’ll find secondment means we fly with ye, not for ye. When the pigeons hit the airscrew we’ll be with ye, but weel no be taking daft orders fra ye” “Have ye been running the flight for long noow”
There was a slight pause “Err no, about 10 days ever since Captain Beckenridge was sent home with a busted up leg”. “Weeel it’s a hard thing to tak responsibility fray other men and tak’s a while to get used ta, so weeel let it pass. I met Beckenridge a while back and he said you were a bit stiff necked but spoke well of you, saying he’d rather have you covering his back than anyone else he knew”. Drummonds face lit up at the complement.
“Ok - so you are Henry De Lacy” Drummond addressed the dark haired one “and you must be Rory MacNair, I’ve pronounced that right have I”. “Yee have the Gaelic then do yee said Ruairidh MacNair”. “Not really but I used to spend a lot of time in the Scottish Mountains with my Grandfather when I was younger and he taught me that certain couplets of letters were not pronounced, the dh in your case, he lived near the Monadhliath Mountains, pronounced more like Monalai, with the dh and th silent”. “Weel I grew up in Badenoch said Rory, I know the Monadhliath well, I ken see we’re going to get on jest fine”.
Drummond was looking a bit sheepish by now “Well look I have to get off but before I do, can you explain what an Englishman and Scotsman are doing flying for the French”. The plump one whom Rory referred to as the wee Lord said “it’s a long story, but the short version is we joined the French Foreign Legion together, we were serving in North Africa when this shindig started over here in Europe and we wanted to lend a hand, applied to leave but they wouldn’t let us go, so we applied to serve in the French Air Service, we had to tell a few white lies to get in but here we are. They sent us on this secondment business because we speak the language and no one else would fly with the English, it was more to do with the food and wine you serve in the mess I believe, rather than a nationalistic thing”.
“Well your more than welcome” rumbled Drummond, “I’m taking a patrol over at first light on some balloon busting and we’re very short handed, Flying Officer Vagabond is coming with me and I’d like one of you two as well”.
“That’s going to have to be me said Rory because his lordship doesn’t like mornings, he’s more an afternoon sort of person”.
“Right ho, I’ll brief you properly in the morning, see the adjutant he’s got all your billets sorted out but I must dash”, and with that he set off at a fast pace towards the tender, jumped in and was gone.
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