The morning of Saturday, July 7th, 1917, was beautifully bright, a perfect English summer morning with a cloudless sky. The people of London made haste to finish the morning’s work, looking forward to as pleasant a week-end as war-work and thoughts on war would permit.

But before they left their places of business they had an experience which few quiet Londoners had ever expected to pass through. Something happened which for a time seemed to blot out the light of the sun and which brought death and destruction into the very heart of the ancient city.

Suddenly the word was passed along, “An air raid!” and in many places there was a rush for cover. The city had been raided before and many lives had been lost among people in the streets.

In a very short time the boom of the traffic was hushed; but now the boom of the guns was heard and the terrifying crash of falling bombs. For about twenty minutes the strange fight went on. Then silence fell and people looked out to see the enemy squadron of aeroplanes.

It consisted of about twenty machines which kept in more or less close formation and could be distinctly seen as if poised over the Thames. At the height at which the squadron was flying it looked like a covey of wild duck or geese flying over a moor.

Londoners learnt later in the day how the enemy was headed off and driven to the coast after having caused a number of deaths and done a great deal of damage. And a few days later the story was told of Lieutenant Young of the Royal Flying Corps who had, as his officer said, “the heart of a lion.”

He was one of the British air squadron which went up to chase off the enemy from what they called “the fortress of London.” He flew almost by himself right into the middle of the German squadron, and both he and his observer at once opened fire upon the enemy. The Germans replied and Young’s machine was literally pelted with bullets on all sides.

But there was no retreat for the young British airman. “He flew straight on,” wrote the officer in command, “until he must have been riddled with bullets. The machine then put its nose right up into the air and fell over and went spinning down into the sea from 14,000 feet.”

The brave boy was entangled in the wires of his machine and though a patrol boat dashed out to the rescue he could not be saved. The observer shared the same fate and the same glory.

For it was a glorious death to die for the mother city of the Empire and to fall upon the sea which knits that Empire together, but which no longer serves England