  XIV.
To his Mother. No. 1 Naval Aeroplane Squadron, B.E.F. 1st March, 1915. Dearest Mum, I only had time to scrawl off a few lines to you this morning, as the mail was just going out. We have been pretty busy the last day or so getting things shipshape. I am at last settled in a quite nice house with seven others. Maude and I are the two senior inmates, so are running the establishment. Unfortunately, we have no bath, but five minutes' walk from here there are some public baths, where we can get a hot tub any time between 8 a.m. and 7 p.m. We are acting as our own censors here, and also have to censor all the men's letters—some of them are most amusing. There is nothing exciting at all happening. Weather has been pretty bad and shows signs of getting worse. Have just run out of ink, am now writing with coffee! We are settling down by degrees. Our house is really beginning to get quite comfortable. Wilding has been staying here with us the last few days. Had my first letter from you this morning, dated the 3rd, for which many thanks. It's the first news of any sort from home since we have been out here. Weather still continues very bad and, personally, I shouldn't mind a little more of it still. Did I tell you that my Gieve lifebelt had turned up? You can't imagine how firmly attached I am to it. I can't bear parting with it at night. The flask I have filled up to the stopper with rum—brandy and whisky are unprocurable. We don't get much in the way of light literature, so any weekly papers, such as Sketches, Tatlers, Punch, are looked on as great luxuries. By the way, is the watch keeping good time? I had the chance of being inoculated the other day, but didn't think it worth while. I may be done later, possibly. Love to all at home. P.S.—There is a rumour that we get a week's leave after being out here three months. XV.
To his Mother. No. 1 Aeroplane Squadron, B.E.F. 7th March, 1915. Dearest Mum, Have just got your letter of the 4th inst. It arrived late in the day, after Dad's. I am afraid this has missed the mail; so won't go off for a couple of days. I have just come off duty; we get three days at it on end. There's no baccy to be procured out here, so could you send me on a ½ lb. tin of Friars' Mixture (medium)? Am just back from a little bomb-dropping stunt over Ostend, but keep it quiet until it appears in the papers, or if it doesn't, allow say a week. It was bitterly cold and took about 1½ hours. I pushed the old bus up to 8,000 ft., right above a terrific layer of clouds. It was a most wonderful sight. I only got occasional glimpses of the earth and sea, and was not fired at at all—in fact, I don't think I was ever even seen. It's quite impossible for me to let you know my whereabouts in France, but I seem to have a vague recollection of telling you where I was going before I left. If you can remember, all well and good. If not, put two and two together, and the answer is ——? Heaps of love to all, and Cheer O! for my week's leave in 3 months' time. Note. The following is the Admiralty's official account of the raid described in the foregoing letter:— "Wing Commander Longmore reports that an air attack on Ostend was carried out yesterday afternoon (7th March) by six aeroplanes of the Naval Wing. Of these two had to return owing to petrol freezing. The remainder reached Ostend and dropped eleven bombs on the submarine repair base and four bombs on the Kursaal, the headquarters of the military. All machines and pilots returned. It is probable that considerable damage was done. No submarines were seen in the basin. The attack was carried out in a fresh N.N.W. wind." XVI.
To his Father. No. 1 Aeroplane Squadron, B.E.F. 8th March, 1915. Dear Dad, I have struck rather an unfortunate day to-day. To begin with, this morning I was taxying my machine to the far end of the aerodrome, to start off into the wind, when I got into some very soft ground—result, before I knew where I was, I found the machine standing up on its nose. Fortunately, the only damage was a broken propeller, which didn't matter, as it was already chipped and was going to be replaced. In the afternoon I had quite a good trip, just over an hour, and quite long enough, as it has been pretty nearly freezing all day long. I made a good landing, but a second or so after I actually touched the ground, a tyre burst, and I all but turned a complete somersault. For several seconds I was quite vertical, and then the machine fell back. One or two things were bent, but on the whole remarkably little damage. The skid broke and leading edge of one wing tip. A wheel also buckled up, but I should be going strong again by tomorrow. Still going strong and things on the whole keeping fairly quiet. There has been another little bomb-dropping episode, in which I didn't take part, however, as my machine was undergoing some repairs. Please send on my fur coat at once, as my leather one has given out suddenly—am sending it back to Gieve's immediately on receipt of other. Many thanks for letter, Flight, and the Aeroplane, received yesterday. The days are lengthening out tremendously now, and we manage to get in quite a good walk after tea along the front. There is an excellent promenade, crowded with the town folk, and most gorgeous sands with heaps of very pretty shells. The sands make a most perfect landing ground and have already come in very useful in emergency. I flew a Vickers gun bus [gun-carrying biplane] the other day (you saw one at Dover, I think). I didn't like it much. For one thing it was very badly balanced, and secondly, I don't like a monosoupape [engine] (100 h.p. Gnome). My own machine I can get so perfectly balanced that I can let go the controls for minutes on end. Had a delightful trip to-day to.... It's most interesting watching the shells burst. Somebody's beginning to push pretty hard in places, I can tell you. We hear the guns hammering away day and night now. Our aerodrome here is a beastly small one. I have had several narrow shaves already of running into things, and feel sure that before long I shall "crash" something. I think that I shall shortly have an opportunity of flying a monoplane. Am looking forward to it "some." Love to all. XVII.
To his Mother. No. 1 Aeroplane Squadron, B.E.F. 15th March, 1915. Dearest Mum, Have had a great time to-day. First thing in the morning the C.O. gave Maude and myself the whole day off. We promptly secured a car, passports and pass-words, had an early lunch, and then sallied forth full of hope to see the War. Our password held good until we got into Belgium, and then proved "dud." The sentry, however, very kindly supplied us with another. We were rather unfortunate in getting a tyre punctured, but half a dozen Belgian soldiers rushed up and asked us if we wanted any help, and how many men. They carefully explained they would do anything to help the English. Eventually they did everything for us. The place we visited was the same as I went to when over here before. This afternoon it was being rather heavily bombarded. We left our car outside the town, shells bursting within 50 yards of it. We then sallied forth on foot into the town—terrific bangs from the French guns firing near us, and shells fairly whistling overhead. You can tell when they are coming near you by the sound they make. The French soldiers are quite wily, and scuttle away like rabbits, when they hear one coming near. In the town several shells burst very near us, and fragments of stone and dust fell freely around us—rather too warm for my liking. There was quite a difference since I was last there, several more buildings being reduced to ruins. One shell hole would have concealed 40 or 50 men easily. We only stayed half an hour, and saw quite enough. Two Frenchmen were killed here this evening. They stalled and side-slipped from about 80 feet in a Voisin and were killed instantly. From what I heard they were smashed to bits. It's all luck. B—— fell 400 feet and only sprained his ankle, and these two fellows broke every bone in their bodies. The machine caught fire on the ground and was burnt to bits. I saw the remains this evening. Two French machines and four pilots are missing from a little bomb-dropping stunt of theirs yesterday. You never hear of these things at home, but flying casualties are heavier than one is led to believe. A short time back the R.F.C. [Royal Flying Corps] lost five in a week! Have just discovered that the Duchess of Sutherland and Lady Rosemary are running a hospital out here. French sanitary arrangements are really extraordinary. I don't believe there is a drain in the place. Such things are unknown in small French towns. Am sending you a cheque for £20, as it is an awful nuisance getting cash here. I want you to send me on £5 at once in notes and the rest as I ask, as I don't want a lot of money about me. Also I expect I owe you something for flea bag, etc., and I am sure to be wanting other things later. Am sending you on the pins and brooches. Very best love. XVIII.
To his Mother. No. 1 Aeroplane Squadron, B.E.F. 16th March, 1915. Dearest Mum, Whatever induced you to do it? The tobacco, etc., arrived, but the toffee had all melted, and a more sticky mess you can't conceive. It was as much as I could do to read your letter. I managed to rescue some of the toffee and the general opinion on same is that it is very good. Two letters from Dad and the sleeping bag arrived by same mail, for which many thanks. I had to make a hurried landing on the sands to-day owing to an exhaust cam [valve operating mechanism] breaking. Flew my machine back in the evening. Have just started another three days' duty. Love to all. XIX.
To his Father. No. 1 Aeroplane Squadron, B.E.F. 21st March, 1915. Dear Dad, Very little news of interest to tell you. I was sent out suddenly yesterday afternoon late to look for a Zepp, but saw nothing. It was dusk by the time I got back, and an inlet valve went just as I was coming in. I couldn't reach our aerodrome, but just managed to scrape into the Belgian one alongside. The French brought down a Taube to-day and one yesterday (anti-aircraft guns). They are getting nearly as hot as the Germans. I can tell you that some of us are beginning to think our chances of seeing England again are somewhat remote. To-day has been the most perfect day we have had out here so far. This afternoon I shot a wild duck with a Webley-Scott pistol at 50 yards. It was the 6th shot, but the others were all very close—not bad shooting, eh? The Punches turned up alright, but much later than the other papers—all much appreciated. Best love. XX.
To his Mother. No. 1 Squadron, R.N.A.S., B.E.F. 23rd March, 1915. Dearest Mum, Another fine day, and let's hope the weather will last. The town this afternoon is crowded with small girls all in white—long skirts and veils—confirmation, I suppose. Have spent a very busy day tuning up my bus, and am not over satisfied with it now. To-morrow at the crack of dawn I am off on another stunt, this time more hazardous than ever. When I start thinking of the possibilities, or rather probabilities, I go hot and cold by turns; so endeavour to switch off on to something else, but it keeps coming back to the same old thing. Am not posting this until just before I start, but all the same can tell you no details. By the time you get this, I shall either have returned safely or be elsewhere. The papers will no doubt give you more news than I can at present. Suffice it to say, that my journey will be round about 200 miles and will last 4—5 hours. It is even doubtful whether we shall have enough petrol to bring us back. It's a first-rate stunt though, and I suppose a feather in my cap, being one of the chosen few. Very best love to all. XXI.
To his Mother and Father. No. 1 Squadron, R.N.A.S., B.E.F. 24th March, 1915. Dearest Mum and Dad, Another successful little jaunt. Five of us were chosen to go—Capt. Courtney [Major Ivor T. Courtney, Squadron Comdr., R.N.], Meates (who travelled up to town from Dover in the train with Dad), self, and two subs named Andreae and Huskisson. Courtney and I got there and back, Meates [B. C., Flt. Lieut., R.N.] came down in Holland with engine trouble, and is interned.... Andreae [P. G. Andreae, Flt. Lieut., R.N.] lost his way in the clouds and fog, and came back, and Huskisson [B. L. Huskisson, Flt. Comdr., R.N.] did the same, only dropped his bombs on Ostend on the way. Our mark, by the way, was the submarine base at Hoboken, near Antwerp. Yesterday morning we were to have gone, but the weather was not good enough, and last night we slept at the aerodrome, so as to get off at the "crack of dawn." This morning we got up about 3.30 a.m. (thank goodness, the weather was warm), and breakfast followed. It's mighty hard to get down eggs and bread and butter at that hour. We cut for the order of starting, but decided to keep as near one another as possible. I went off last but one, at 5.30 a.m., and streaked out straight across the sea. We were pretty heavily loaded, and my bus wouldn't climb much. I saw one machine ahead of me, but lost it almost immediately in the clouds, which were very low (2,500 feet), and it was also very misty. 076jpg Photo: Russell, Southsea SQUADRON-COMMANDER IVOR T. COURTNEY, R.N. (MAJOR R.M.L.I.)
Who led the raid on Hoboken, described in the accompanying letter Our course was right up the coast, past Zeebrugge, and then cut in across the land. At the mouth of the Scheldt I got clear of some of the clouds and saw Courtney behind and 2,000 feet above me, my machine then being about 5,000 feet only. He rapidly overtook me (we were all on Avros, but his was faster), and from then on I followed him over the clouds. Unfortunately, over Antwerp there were no clouds. Courtney was about five or six minutes in front of me, and I saw him volplane out of sight. I had to go on some little way before I spotted the yards myself. I next saw Courtney very low down, flying away to the coast with shrapnel bursting around him. He came down to under 500 feet, and being first there, dropped his bombs before he was fired on. As the wind was dead against me, I decided to come round in a semi-circle to cross the yards with the wind, so as to attain a greater speed. I was only 5,500 feet up, and they opened fire on me with shrapnel as soon as I got within range. It began getting a bit hot, so before I got quite round I shut off my petrol, and came down with a steep volplane until I was 2,500 feet, when I turned on my petrol again, and continued my descent at a rate of well over a hundred miles an hour. I passed over the yards at about 1,000 feet only, and loosed all my bombs over the place. The whole way down I was under fire, two anti-aircraft in the yard, guns from the forts on either side, rifle fire, mitrailleuse or machine guns, and, most weird of all, great bunches (15 to 20) of what looked like green rockets, but I think they were flaming bullets. The excitement of the moment was terrific. I have never travelled so fast before in my life. My chief impressions were the great speed, the flaming bullets streaking by, the incessant rattle of the machine gun and rifle fire, and one or two shells bursting close by, knocking my machine all sideways, and pretty nearly deafening me. On my return I found my machine was only hit twice—rather wonderful; one bullet hole through the tail and a piece of shrapnel buried in the main spar of one wing. I have now got it out. I found myself across the yards, and felt a mild sort of surprise. My eyes must have been sticking out of my head like a shrimp's! I know I was gasping for breath and crouching down in the fuselage [body of the machine]. I was, however, by no means clear, for shrapnel was still bursting around me. I jammed the rudder first one way and then the other. I banked first on to one wing tip, and then on to the other, now slipping outwards, and now up and now down. I was literally hedged in by forts (and only 1,000 feet up), and had to run the gauntlet before getting away. I was under rifle fire right up to the frontier, and even then the Dutch potted me. My return journey was trying. Most of the time I had to fly at under 500 feet, as I ran into thick clouds and mist. I pottered gaily right over Flushing, and within a few hundred yards of a Dutch cruiser and two torpedo boats. I got back home about a quarter of an hour after Courtney, having been very nearly four hours in the air, and having covered, I suppose, getting on for 250 miles. Have not yet heard what damage was done. The C.O. was awfully braced. I had some breakfast when I got back, wrote out my report, had lunch, and then a very, very hot bath. To-morrow I am going out with Courtney to see the War, as we have been given the day off to do as we please. My engine gave me several anxious moments. For some reason it cut right out over the Scheldt, and I had actually given up all hope when it picked up again. It was pretty risky work flying several miles out to sea, only just in sight of land too, but our surprise (or I should say Courtney's) of the Germans was certainly complete. Must really stop now. The following is the Admiralty's official account of the Antwerp raid:— "The Secretary of the Admiralty yesterday afternoon [24th March] issued the following communication from Wing Commander Longmore:— I have to report that a successful air attack was carried out this morning by five machines of the Dunkirk Squadron on the German submarines being constructed at Hoboken near Antwerp. Two of the pilots had to return owing to thick weather, but Squadron Commander Ivor T. Courtney and Flight Lieutenant H. Rosher reached their objective, and after planing down to 1000 feet dropped four bombs each on the submarines. It is believed that considerable damage has been done to both the works and to submarines. The works were observed to be on fire. In all five submarines were observed on the slip. Flight Lieutenant B. Crossley-Meates was obliged by engine trouble to descend in Holland. Owing to the mist the two pilots experienced considerable difficulty in finding their way, and were subjected to a heavy gunfire while delivering their attack." The French official communiquÉ gave precise details, thus:— "At Hoboken the Antwerp shipbuilding yard was set on fire and two submarines were destroyed, while a third was damaged. Forty German workmen were killed and sixty-two wounded." XXII.
To his Father. No. 1 Squadron, R.N.A.S., B.E.F. 26th March, 1915. Dear Dad, I had quite a good time yesterday with Courtney, although the weather was so bad. We started out gaily through Bergues, a ripping little town, then Cassel, a most delightful spot. It is perched up on a hill in the middle of a plain and you get a grand view around. We visited some R.F.C. people at St. Omer, had lunch there and then went out to Wipers (Ypres). There was nothing doing there, but even though we had all sorts of passes, we could not get near the firing line. The Cloth Hall and Cathedral we thoroughly inspected though—most lovely places, utterly in ruins. The remainder of the town is really very little touched—nothing like Nieuport, where there is not a whole building anywhere. We got back home about 6 p.m., having enjoyed ourselves immensely and feeling quite tired out. My troubles weren't over though, as I found a little "chit" awaiting me, asking me to dine with the Commander. The First Lord wired his "congrats" to us through Longmore—some feather in our caps, what! This morning I see all sorts of garbled accounts in the newspapers. My photo in the —— is awful. —— ought to be shot. Must close as the mail is just going out. Best love to all. XXIII.
To his Mother. No. 1 Squadron, R.N.A.S., B.E.F. 31st March, 1915. Dearest Mum, We can hear the guns when the wind is our way, and on a clear day we can see shrapnel bursting in the air. What do you think of this story, the latest from the trenches? It's not quite a drawing-room one! One Tommy, speaking to another over the trenches:—"Ello, Bill, got a lice over there?" "Garn, we ain't lousy." "I mean a boot-lice." Love to all. P.S.—Meates did get to Hoboken and came down in Holland on return journey. Tell Dad to let me know when he is coming, as near as possible, so that perhaps I can arrange to meet him. The boat does not cross here every day, but he can also come via Calais. Think I can fix up a room over the road. XXIV.
To his Sister. No. 1 Squadron, R.N.A.S., B.E.F. 1st April, 1915. Dear old Girl, I really feel I owe you a few lines, as you have honoured me with several epistles lately, which I fear have remained unanswered. Did my last letter to Mother arrive very sticky? It left here sopping wet, and thereby hangs a tale. I hadn't time to re-write it, as the mail was just going out. I unfortunately had the letter on me and, in conjunction with myself, it got rather a bad ducking. I was sent up with an observer this morning in a Vickers gun bus (a pusher machine), and all went well until coming home, when my engine petered out, when I was only 400 feet over the town. I hadn't much choice of landing grounds, and preferred to come down in one of the docks to landing on a house-top or in a maze of telegraph wires. I pancaked [flattened out] as much as possible, but hit the water with a bit of a biff. Things then began to happen pretty suddenly. I remember seeing my observer shot out into the water about twenty yards ahead, and the next thing I knew was that I was under the water and still in the machine. I was scared "some," and the water tasted beastly salt, but I pulled myself together, and says I to myself, ses I, "Harold, my boy, if you don't keep your head and get out of this damn quick, you'll drown for a cert like a rat in a trap." So I carefully thought out just where the top plane would be, and disentangled myself from things in general. It took a long time though, and I was relieved "some" when I bobbed up to the surface. I was rather surprised at keeping afloat very easily, as I had heaps of clothes on. 084ajpg ONE VICKERS FIGHTING BIPLANE PHOTOGRAPHED FROM ANOTHER 084bjpg A VICKERS FIGHTING BIPLANE
It was on a machine of this type that Lieut. Rosher plunged into the Docks at Dunkirk On arrival at the surface, I found my observer hanging on to the machine, and it didn't take me long to get a hold on it myself. We were only about 40 yards from the side of the dock, but didn't venture to swim, as the sides were twenty feet high, and the ladders only just reached to the water. There were no boats at all there, but we soon had a hundred or so dock hands around the side, all of whom seemed to talk very volubly, but were very incompetent. The water was icy cold and we were very cold before coming into it. With some difficulty I managed to undo a button or so and blow out my Gieves waistcoat, but it wasn't really necessary as I was keeping afloat well. After a bit some life belts were thrown out, and two men came out on a little raft. I swam to a life belt and my observer (Collen) [Lieut. A. R. Collen, R.M.A.] got on the raft. We both had to be hauled up out of the dock with ropes, and by the time we got on terra firma, it was as much as we could do to stand up. We were in the water about 20 minutes, and I don't think I have ever been so cold before. We walked rapidly off to the aerodrome, half a mile away, and there had a stiff rum and milk, and stripped in front of a fire and had a good rub down. We had lunch wrapped up in towels and were then rigged out in blue jerseys and blue serge trousers. This afternoon we have both had a hot bath and are feeling none the worse. The C.O. was very amused about the whole proceeding and laughed heartily at us. The machine is but very little damaged, but will take some salving. My pocket book, cheque book, etc., are all in a nasty sticky state. Thank goodness! I hadn't my gold watch. My clothes (including new fur coat) are, I am afraid, all ruined. This afternoon Garros [Lieut. Roland Garros] shot down a Taube from his Morane. The poor wretches were burnt to death. Two of our people raided Zeebrugge and Hoboken again this morning. Love to all. XXV.
To his Father. No. 1, Naval Aeroplane Squadron, B.E.F. 12th April, 1915. Dear Dad, Many thanks for letter received yesterday telling of your safe return. I think you must have omitted enclosure. By the way, the papers turned up the day after you left. Have been very busy the last two days with our new busses. None have been flown yet, but we are prepared for fireworks. Three men have been killed on them in Paris in the last month. Babington and Sippe are both back. S—— G—— turned base over apex on landing his tabloid [fast scouting machine]. Sad to relate, I have decided to part with old 873. She was really getting too ancient, and has now been packed up and is going to be sent home for School work; too bad, isn't it? It would have been a far better ending had I crashed her. I have written up her raids inside the fuselage—(1) Friedrichshafen, (2) Zeebrugge, (3) Ostend, (4) Ostend again, and (5) Hoboken—some record! I asked permission to fly her home, but the C.O. didn't bite. I was awfully disappointed. My new bus is a Morane parasol, 80 h.p. Le Rhone. They are supposed to climb like fire and do over 80 miles per hour, but are very touchy on the elevator and rather trying to fly. I have not yet been up in her. Garros brought another machine down to-day, and a Frenchman managed to fly back to our own lines after having one foot smashed by shrapnel over Ostend. Very little news of interest to tell you, but here goes for what there is. My Morane parasol was ready to-day and Babington tested it. If the weather is fine to-morrow, I shall float forth on it into the "ethereal blue." Not having flown a monoplane before, I am all of a "doo-da." Yesterday I went out to see the War at N——. Though a fine day, the Bosches were not bombarding, so we went around in peace, and I brought back a few shell fragments with me which you may find interesting. For the rest, our miserable lives continue much as before. The Frenchmen here have lost a machine to-day, but the R.F.C. brought down an Aviatik at Wipers, so that makes us all square. I have flown my Morane twice. It is a most comic affair, but I think I shall like it when I get more used to it. It is very light on the controls, especially the elevator, and gets off the ground before you can say "squeak." Garros was missing last night, and there has since been a rumour that he is a prisoner of war.[9] This is, of course, a nasty knock for us. A Frenchman had rather a bad accident here this morning. He ran over the bank at the top end of the aerodrome in a Voisin and turned a complete somersault. The machine immediately caught fire. The passenger got off all right, but the pilot was badly burnt. Five minutes after they got him out one of his bombs went off with a terrific bang. The machine was entirely wrecked. Just a few lines to let you know I am still in the land of the living. I see in the papers that Colonel Rosher (Dorsets) has been killed in the Persian Gulf. The Dorsets seem to have had a pretty rough time. Spenser Grey [Squadron Commander Spenser D. A. Grey, D.S.O., R.N.] and Marsden [Flt. Lieut. M. S. Marsden, R.N.] paid a visit to Ostend to-day with bombs, and Sippe was turned upside down on the ground in a Morane by a gust of wind this afternoon. He was unhurt, but the machine was badly damaged. Many thanks for the torches, papers, etc. There is nothing much doing here at the moment. According to the papers, the Germans are making another dash for this place. There is certainly a hell of a row going on. We hear the guns day and night. Not a line from anyone for quite three days! Whatever has become of you all? There has been some excitement here to-day. To begin with, three enemy aircraft came over here before breakfast, and then another between eleven and twelve o'clock. It was most comic to see our infuriated machines dashing off into the atmosphere in pursuit, with not an earthly chance of catching them. Soon after eleven o'clock there was a big explosion in the town and we all did a great leap into the air. From then, for nearly three hours, we were shelled with the greatest regularity at five minute intervals. We all climbed on to the roof of one of our sheds and watched through glasses the explosions, occurring to the second almost; big stuff it was too, 12 I should say, and fired from the back of Nieuport, quite 20 miles away. The total bag was 40 killed and 60 wounded. They put about 20 shells into the town, one only 500 yards from the Sophie.[10] To give you an idea of the damage they do, one shell wrecked two houses entirely and half of both houses on either side. Windows were broken in the streets all round—"some" mess, I can tell you. Love to all, 090ajpg THE OVERTURNED MORANE
To which reference is made in the accompanying note. Lieut. Rosher was under the machine when the photograph was taken 090ajpg A SNAPSHOT OF LIEUT. ROSHER
Taken about the period of this accident Note. About the end of April Lieut. Rosher crashed on his Morane at Dunkirk. The machine overturned and was completely smashed, but he came out uninjured.
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