Letters From the Front

Dated:

Not a camel of the desert but of the air. No machine is undergone so many and such rapid changes as the airship. The ship of today bears no resemblance to that of five years ago. There are constant improvements being made and the perfected machine is still in the distance. Each new machine gets a name, and these form a long list. The camel is regarded in the British service as the best to date and in this letter and an aviator tells his experience with one.

Four weeks after I came to England, I had been put through my turns on an aero (note 1) until I could fly her both with and without engine going, which means I could loop, spin, roll, innerman turn (note 2), half roll, hang on my back, dive, split-ace turn, climbing turns, falling leaf, in fact do everything a machine will do, and yet I was not pushed on to a camel as I had expected. I used to sit in one and wiggle the controls. I knew all about her engine, her rigging and her gadgets, and talk to pilots who flew them, and heard some thrilling experiences. One chap told me how he had spun from a right hand turn, turning on his back and being thrown under his engine, having to undo his belt before he could get back to his seat and regain control. Another said he felt as though they had fastened to him a power plant, and all he could do was hang on and go. There were those who get scared of the machine and absolutely refuse to fly in it again. No one said they like their first two trips. Among the older heads I heard, "Yes, that's right; at first you hate a camel, but the longer you fly her the better you like her". They were rebuilding a camel in our flight and I spent much time watching them, and one fine morning Lieut. Anderson took her up to test her. When he came down I had hoped to go up but my chum Frank Reid got ahead of me and asked for her. So up he went and he kept going up till he was out of sight. In a bit over an hour he returned ok, made a rather bumpy landing but nothing broke. Extorting a promise that I should have her after breakfast, wind or no wind, Frank and I went to our hut where he told me his experiences. "Less, I can't turn her to the right. Every time I tried she spun". This is not news to either of us, but we had not expected it to be so serious. However, after breakfast I climbed into her and pulled my belt as tight as I could, ran the engine up, while the Lieutenant watched me. The last thing he said was, "You'll be alright, Less. Get her tail up and don't let her swing". McDonald, another instructor, came along and said, "Who's going up, Andie? Andie replied, "Seller", and the reply was "Oh, he'll be all right". Of course I knew it was a little confidence stunt, but, even though I knew their game, it made me feel more at ease. A wave of the hand and I opened my engine full out, simultaneously shoving my stick while forward. Instantly she jumped and tried to swerve to the right, but I was prepared for that swing, and it never started. Truly I was all eyes and ears, for I ran the engine by sound and feel, never looking at the adjustment, though my eyes kept fixed on the altometer and airspeed dials. Gollie, what vibration and such a climb! I simply couldn't keep her nose down. What! 4000 feet already. Well, I'll try a left turn, that's supposed to be fairly safe, so I did try a very gentle one, and then got more bold and soon had her over to an angle of 45 degrees. 6000 feet up, well now for a right hand turn and, remember Less, if she spends stick while for work, everything central, engine off. But she did not spin, for fortunately, and very few tries, I had found the secret of the right hand turn on a camel. Then I tried glides, just ticking over. I found her very sensitive fore and aft, and if her nose was put down at all she immediately gathered at terrific speed. I'm sure that once I must have gone as fast as 140 miles an hour. I climbed and glided, and climbed again. Then I thought I would try a dive, so I put her about half way down. It wasn't so bad and I decided to try a little steeper. Well, like a streak, down went her nose, and I was standing straight on end, being thrown violently forward in my seat. Instinctively I pulled back on the joystick, and as violently, hit back into my seat, while her nose came up so quick that I feared for my wings and shoved her down, and, as usual with beginners, shoved too far. Down I went, but I learned my lesson, and this time drew her up, oh so gently. Truth to tell, I was all shaken up, and on edge. "Safety in height", I remembered, so I went up again, to try more turns and glides. Now I must land is devil, I said to myself. Guess I will try one on a cloud first. So I picked out a very small one and tried it twice, then slowly worked my way down to the aerodrome, made sure the wind had not changed, and while there were few machines on the floor I shot in. Shot is the word, for I took no chances at a stall and came in at a 90 mile pace, ran her low on the ground and held her off making and not too bad all landing quite close to her own shed.

Lieutenant's Anderson and McDonald and Frank were waiting, and we were all happy, for if a pupil can solo a camel and live and not be afraid of her he can usually succeed in flying one. It was a big day for me; a load seemed to have been lifted off and my worry was gone. From then on, I took her out once or twice every day and tried my stunts on her, first a roll, then a loop, and so one. Her quickness at first alarmed me, but gradually I got speeded up till the time came when I could drive without goggles at 90 miles per hour. Of course my stunts were at first wild affairs and I did some terrible and alarming capers to regain control. Frank Reid seemed to get along faster. He went at the difficulties bullheaded, while I felt my way and try to figure out the why and wherefore of every trick, swerve, or slip. Now and then I would fly as Sapworth pup (note 3) or an aero (note 1) for a rest, but always we returned to the camel problem and, true enough Frank and myself began to love her, and in her peculiarities, found ways of out maneuvering other machines. Soon we were posted to the finishing or fighting flight, when we had to fire from our guns on targets in a pond or on the sea, and if we didn't dive steep enough we were told about it. We went on formation, and we fought one another, using camera guns instead of lead, and we also fought any strange buss that would fight, dearly loving a combat with the dolphins (note 4), whom we always defeated, much to their disgust. Reid and I came to the conclusion we were the bad men in the squadron at that time, for we licked everyone else. We only fought one another once. The Lieutenant watched us from a pup. He said we were both too stubborn to give in, and had so many close shaves by both holding on to the last-minute that he laid down the law that we would not fight again, if not for our own good, for his. He said his hair was red, but he didn't want it white. "Well old top, it will soon be France for ours, so he must get in all the time here on camels we can, for our lives depend on how we are able to fly them", so we worked early and late, never missing a favorable day, while several times we flew in rain and wind storms. We had accidents but they were minor affairs, and from each learned a lesson.

Then I got sick with the Spanish influenza, recovered and was sent on five days' leave, but before going the major had a talk with me, asking that I return as an instructor. It didn't appeal to me one bit, for I had it in for Fritz and for a reason. Several of my chums [fellow pilots] had been killed while learning to fly, and as I stood at their graves, each time, the thought seemed to come, "One more, Less; it's one more Hun you've got to get". Then tell those killed in a camel, and I wanted two for that. Rather a revengeful spirit to say, but I assure you it wasn't, it was just mathematics, my share of duty as I saw it. But the major kept on to make me see I could do more to help fight Fritz here than in France. With reluctance I consented to remain and do my best to try and help make good pilots fast. When I returned from my little holiday, Frank Reid was gone to the gunnery school, which meant France in a week, and I was dismayed to find I've been listed as an instructor and had a class who had been anxiously waiting to get a look at me. I'd not bargained on that, expecting to go to a special school of flying first, a place where they instruct instructors. However, the wing examiner took me up a few times and shortly I took a couple of the boys up for their first flip. I was very careful, but acted before them with abandon so they felt at ease and confident and we got along all right.

Leslie