Post by Dave Homewood on Dec 6, 2017 21:51:30 GMT 12
Here is a syndicated article that appeared in several newspapers including the WOODVILLE EXAMINER, on the 6th of August 1915
BRITISH AIRMEN'S DARING.
AFTER THIS “ROOSTING HOUR.”
The “United Press,” of New York, of May 21, published the following article by its correspondent with the British army, Mr. William G. Shepherd;
It’s after “roosting hour” at night, when everybody is down out of the death-filled sky, that you can get the English flying man to do what little talking there is in him. Dinner is the time for chatting with them. I sat down at a small table full of them this evening. They were all young fellows out of England’s best homes. One of them I had known in Texas, some years ago, when Orosco, the Mexican rebel, had employed him to fly for the rebel army; the others had all learned flying since the war began.
“I know your country pretty well," said a young man next to me. "I go there every year to play cricket. I like Philadelphia and Boston, and the fellows there play cricket artfully well.”
I wanted to talk about wartime flying, not cricket, and I asked him to point out to me the young fellow who had come back to the flying field late, for whom I had seen the other airmen waiting anxiously as darkness drew on.
“I guess that must have been me," he said, laughing. “I suppose there are times," I said, "when you wait and wait and the fellow doesn't come back?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “That does happen. But we don't ever give up hope. See that fellow over there,” he said, indicating a young man down the table. “Well, one night he didn’t come back. We put out the flares, and waited and waited, but there was not a sign of him. We gave him up for good. Ten days passed, and one day a strange aeroplane appeared in the sky, coming from the direction of England, and we thought this was a new flyer coming to join our camp. The machine lighted, and out stepped our old friend, who had been missing for so many days, and whom we had given up for dead. . . . Then he told us his story. He had come down in the German lines, and when he alighted no one was around. He ran away from the place. . . and finally reached --------. After that the rest was easy; he took a boat for England, got another machine there, and flew hack to us.”
I found that the most popular story of the British air camp had to do with the most daring of General Sir John French’s flying men. It was told me at least six times by different flyers. “Id ------- ,” the story goes, "had a close call the other day. About two months ago, you know, he came down in the German lines and was arrested. He got away though, after some weeks, and got back into the English lines. The German officer who had him in charge was a stickler for military courtesy, and so remembered the other day that he hadn’t paid his respects to the German. So he sat down and wrote a note, saying that he regretted that he hadn’t been able to pay his farewell respects and begged the German officer to pardon him. The next day he flew over the officer’s town and dropped the note. And then, the next second, his engine went wrong and he began to come down.”
The airmen who told one the story would always roar with laughter at the thought. “Just as he’d given up hope, the engine started again, and he got away. But suppose he’d followed that note down.”
BRITISH AIRMEN'S DARING.
AFTER THIS “ROOSTING HOUR.”
The “United Press,” of New York, of May 21, published the following article by its correspondent with the British army, Mr. William G. Shepherd;
It’s after “roosting hour” at night, when everybody is down out of the death-filled sky, that you can get the English flying man to do what little talking there is in him. Dinner is the time for chatting with them. I sat down at a small table full of them this evening. They were all young fellows out of England’s best homes. One of them I had known in Texas, some years ago, when Orosco, the Mexican rebel, had employed him to fly for the rebel army; the others had all learned flying since the war began.
“I know your country pretty well," said a young man next to me. "I go there every year to play cricket. I like Philadelphia and Boston, and the fellows there play cricket artfully well.”
I wanted to talk about wartime flying, not cricket, and I asked him to point out to me the young fellow who had come back to the flying field late, for whom I had seen the other airmen waiting anxiously as darkness drew on.
“I guess that must have been me," he said, laughing. “I suppose there are times," I said, "when you wait and wait and the fellow doesn't come back?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “That does happen. But we don't ever give up hope. See that fellow over there,” he said, indicating a young man down the table. “Well, one night he didn’t come back. We put out the flares, and waited and waited, but there was not a sign of him. We gave him up for good. Ten days passed, and one day a strange aeroplane appeared in the sky, coming from the direction of England, and we thought this was a new flyer coming to join our camp. The machine lighted, and out stepped our old friend, who had been missing for so many days, and whom we had given up for dead. . . . Then he told us his story. He had come down in the German lines, and when he alighted no one was around. He ran away from the place. . . and finally reached --------. After that the rest was easy; he took a boat for England, got another machine there, and flew hack to us.”
I found that the most popular story of the British air camp had to do with the most daring of General Sir John French’s flying men. It was told me at least six times by different flyers. “Id ------- ,” the story goes, "had a close call the other day. About two months ago, you know, he came down in the German lines and was arrested. He got away though, after some weeks, and got back into the English lines. The German officer who had him in charge was a stickler for military courtesy, and so remembered the other day that he hadn’t paid his respects to the German. So he sat down and wrote a note, saying that he regretted that he hadn’t been able to pay his farewell respects and begged the German officer to pardon him. The next day he flew over the officer’s town and dropped the note. And then, the next second, his engine went wrong and he began to come down.”
The airmen who told one the story would always roar with laughter at the thought. “Just as he’d given up hope, the engine started again, and he got away. But suppose he’d followed that note down.”
