Having just finished a 7000 word history on No.2 Sqn Australian Flying Corps, I can sympathise with F.M. Cutlack in the difficulty he faced in translating the history of the Australian Flying Corps without it being a series of combats. Cutlack wrote the eighth volume of the; "Official History of Australia in the War of 1914-1918". Charles Bean was the editor for the history and wrote six of the volumes himself. In his 1916 book on the ANZACs he wrote;

".... it was on 25th April, 1915, that the consciousness of Australian nationhood was born."

Charles Bean was largely responsible for beginning the myth of the ANZACs, but to focus on the myth of nationhood through blood-letting is to lose the true value of the ANZACs in Australian history. Never before had so many Australians left the country's border at the one time, nearly 9% of the nation - they left thinking they were Britons, and came back knowing they were Australian. The ANZACs and the Australian Imperial Force's experience of World War I was a cultural revolution.

The ANZAC Spirit

One of my favourite Australians is Richard Williams - he was a century ahead of his time, being completely devoid of any cultural cringe. His firm belief in the principle that Australian solutions to Australian problems were superior led him through World War I as one of Australia's greatest leaders to the Air Marshall position in the Royal Australian Air Force.

It comes as no surprise the Robert Menzies removed Williams in the 1930's from Air Marshall and replaced him with a retired British hack that the Royal Air Force didn't even want. In the Menzonian world-view, the British did it better, whereas the ANZAC spirit determined that Australians do it better.

One of the areas that point to the cultural shock and cultural clashes the ANZACs went through was in discipline. The battles the British hierarchy and Australian soldiers had with each other were largely cultural battles over how things should be done. Australia provided a great deal of the teeth, while the British had a good deal of the Commonwealth's tail. So there was bound to be clashes in this area with British Officers commanding Australian soldiers.

Not all British Officers were blind to the Australian culture of collective discipline; Lt Colonel Louis Strange who commanded 80 Wing in France had two Australian squadrons under his command. He commented;

In individual squadron fighting these Australians had no equals in their best days, and more than once they raised the record for numbers of enemy aircraft destroyed in one day by any squadron. The secret of their success was, in my opinion mainly due to their sense of initiative ....

Nevertheless, we had our differences of opinion at times. One of them was due to the unofficial use of service cameras, and another time there was the trouble over the bartering of rations with the local inhabitants. No one minds the swapping of a tin of bully beef for a few fresh eggs, of course, but a Wing Commander has to draw the line somewhere when he finds one of his Australian Squadrons running the village grocers shop and general store. Even so, my Australians were discreet enough in the way they went about their business, so that I might have ignored it, had it not been for the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages. When the latter got to hear of the bargains, they turned our place into a sort of fair and market on Sundays, and so I was compelled to put my foot down.

I do not want this to be considered a reflection on Australian discipline, which was good - good enough in fact, to ensure the highest efficiency in their work, but it was a different standard of discipline to that in force in our own squadrons. I cannot put down Tom Purdey's remarks about the combat reports sent in by these Australian Squadrons; suffice to say that they were couched in such language which would have shocked the sedate officials of the War Office, but the number of victories they related covered a multitude of sins.

What Strange recognized, was that Australians held themselves to a different form of discipline. It was a collective form of discipline that was without the strict hierarchy of British discipline. The Australians were without the respect that the British officers believed that they were due simply because of their rank.

One commonality that is the usual is that of the uncouth, larrikin Australian soldier who doesn't care for regulations, convention or rules. This is an outgrowth - if stereotypical - view of the culture clash. Australian World War I history is full of these anecdotes. Cobby relates;

It was near the end of May that the GOC Army, General Plumer, visited us [4th Squadron AFC]. He inspected the squadron and addressed the officers, apologising with frequent grunts for the fact that the Distinguished Flying Cross, which a number of us had gained, was not available to hang upon our chests.

He was particularly interested in "X", one of our on-flying officers, who wore the King's and Queen's South African ribbons [from the Boer War], until he questioned him as to the unit he served with in South Africa. It appeared that the officer concerned had been a sergeant and later reduced to a trooper by the General himself, the reason was asked.

When that it was for riding along the lines in voluminous underwear, obviously at some time the property of a Dutch Vrau, the General gave another "Howk" and moved off. It was the only time we saw him.

Another funny story from Private Miles of the Royal Fusiliers;

The Colonel decided that he would have a full dress parade of the guard mounting. Well, the Aussies looked over at us amazed. The band was playing, we were all smartened up, spit and polish, on parade, and that happened every morning. We marched up and down, up and down.

The Aussies couldn't get over it, and when we were off duty we naturally used to talk to them, go over and have a smoke with them, or meet them when we were hanging about the road or having a stroll. They kept asking us: 'Do you like this sort of thing? All these parades, do you want to do it?' Of course we said, 'No, of course we don't. We're supposed to be on rest, and all the time we've got goes to posh up and turn out on parade.' So they looked at us a bit strangely and said, 'OK, cobbers, we'll soon alter that for you'.

The Australians didn't approve of it because they never polished or did anything. They had a band, but their brass instruments were all filthy. Still, they knew how to play them.

The next evening, our Sergeant-Major was taking the parade. Sergeant-Major Rowbotham, a nice man, but a stickler for discipline. He was just getting ready to bawl us all out when the Australians started with their band. They marched up and down the road outside the field, playing any old thing. There was no tune you could recognise, they were just blowing as loud as they could on their instruments. It sounded like a million cat-calls.

And poor old Sergeant Rowbotham, he couldn't make his voice heard. It was an absolute fiasco. They never tried to mount another parade, because they could see the Aussies watching us from across the road, just ready to step in and sabotage the whole thing. So they decided that parades for mounting the guards should be washed out, and after that they just posted the guards in the ordinary way as if we were in the line.

Both those stories represent the cultural clash at its core. The basis for British and Australian society were different at their core. The Australian behaviour in a group was much more egalitarian and easy-going. It should be noted, that the Australian attitude did not stop the Australian units or soldiers from achieving on the battlefield either. The Australia Corps on the ground, the Lighthorse in Palestine and the Australian Flying Corps in the air, all earned well deserved reputations for military effectiveness.

The ANZACs were the first to put Australian culture under the spotlight - on the world stage - and in large numbers. Australian culture and the Australian manner of doing things was put under the incredible stress of combat, with average Australian folks. In this stressful and dehabilitating environment, the Australian way of doings things - not only survived - but was sufficient for Australian units to over-achieve.

The Australian, General John Monash wrote on this issue;

Very much and very stupid comment has been made upon the discipline of the Australian soldier. That was because the very conception and purpose of discipline have been misunderstood. It is, after all, only a means to an end, and that end is the power to secure co-ordinated action among a large number of individuals for the achievement of a definite purpose. It does not mean lip service, nor obsequious homage to superiors, nor servile observance of forms and customs, nor a suppression of individuality... the Australian Army is a proof that individualism is the best and not the worst foundation upon which to build up collective discipline.

The ANZACs, the Lighthorse, the Australia Corps, the Australian Flying Corps and the Australian Navy all validated the Australian manner of action and achievement during World War I. In essence, they validated Australian culture. This is the true value of the ANZACs - not the creation of a nation - but the domestic cultural validation of Australian values, action and beliefs. They achieved by doing it the Australian way.

We often treat ANZAC Day selfishly. Trying to determine cultural meaning from our celebration of it. I am guilty of this too. We throw an ANZAC Day party each year in the US; inviting our friends along to partake in meat pies, sausage rolls, pavlova and ANZAC biccies. In our selfishness we often rob the ANZACs and other former veterans of their humanism. This diminishes their efforts, and often sacrifice.

I spent several years researching the Australian Flying Corps. I published between 1999 and 2002 on a website, and then later between 2002 and 2004 on a different website. It is currently a dynamic site in the hopes it will morph into a historical journal with a vibrant research community. So far that has not happened.

Researching an area of history puts you in touch with the words of those that were a part of that history. It is humanising, often emotional and always leaves you in wonder for the daily courage of the folks that made history. Last year I wrote about the cultural aspects of the ANZACs, this year I think it fitting the WWI veterans have their own voice.

Captain John "Jack" Wright

John Wright was a pilot who flew with No.4 Squadron Australian Flying Corps (AFC). He flew the Sopwith Camels with the squadron in 1918, and then later became a flight commander when the squadron moved to Sopwith Snipes.

Wright was originally a member of the 12th Australian Light Horse. The AFC recruited heavily from the Lighthorse believing horse hands made for a better pilot. The Australian air services were no different from others in this respect. The famous Manfred von Richthofen aka "The Red Baron" had been a member of the cavalry before flying.

My favourite recollection of Wright's was his memory of what happened on September 11th, 1918;

On the morning of 11th November, 1918, I was sitting in my Snipe at 8 a.m just about to "wave the chocks away" and take off to bomb and shoot-up the busy rail junction of Ath, which was an important link in the German line of communications. Just as I was about to give the signal to the other five machines, I noticed signs of a commotion on the tarmac, a lot of waving of arms by the people there. A figure detached itself and with much furious waving of arms, came galloping out on the airfield in my direction. I waited until an orderly from the Sqd. office arrived very much out of breath, and gasped out his message, "Flight 'washed-out' Sir, Cancelled! Peace has been signed!" When he got his breath back, he gave me more details. The Armistice was to operate from 11.am, no more offensive moves were to be made.

I sat for a minute or two in the machine while the news sank in, trying to grasp all the implications, while my prop ticked over. I thought to myself, "perhaps its only a false alarm, but it washes out this flight, anyhow". I detached my Verey pistol [flare] from the fitting, inserted a white cartridge, and aiming into the air away from the other machines and the Airfield buildings, fired the regulation signal "washing-out" the flight, and taxied back to the tarmac in front of our hangar, followed by the other five Snipes. I still felt dubious about it, I felt there must be some mistake.

For the rest of the morning, I, with most of the other pilots of the Sqd. zooned around the airfield buildings and our quarters feeling like fish out of water. We still doubted the news, we really were unable to think clearly. However, when 11 a.m. came we began to show a little more interest. We began to notice the unearthly silence from the direction of the front line, where previously the dull roar of guns, and crackle of musketry fire was the familiar sound; there was now a dead silence. We began to think, it must be right after all; the war could be over!

The aircraft in World War I didn't have radios. The pilots communicated by hand signals or flares in the air and the ground.

Lt Colonel Richard Williams

Richard Williams is in the running for the greatest Australian in the short history of this country. His firm belief that Australian solutions to Australian issues led him to lead the Australian Air Force for many years. He was laid low by political manoeuvring by Robert Menzies, at a time when Australia needed someone like Williams the most. Williams was a century ahead of his time, and an inspiration for Australians today. In his auto-biography he recounts an episode in the air over Palestine in 1916.

The next day, accompanied by Lieutenant S. Headlam as observer, and with [Lieutenant Adrian "King"] Cole in a Martinsyde as escort, I reconnoitred the Hareira-Shellal area. This time Cole was hit by anti-aircraft fire and forced to land. This he did on a good piece of ground in enemy country and we went down and landed alongside. Cole set his aircraft alight by firing a Verey light [flare] into it, then dropped the pistol and ran toward us. I knew we were short of Verey pistols in the squadron and sent him back for it. He did not take long to get it and we took off before any Turks got near enough to stop us, but I think Cole thought it a bit tough to be sent back for that pistol.

This understates the level of danger that is involved in landing a WWI era aircraft behind enemy lines on an uneven desert surface. Many aircraft that tried this after Williams suffered from their undercarriage breaking and the aircraft and crew being captured. It takes a pilot of great skill and courage to not only undertake such a rescue effort on the spur of the moment, but also to carry it off. Richard Williams earnt the Distinguished Service Order for this.

Aircraft Mechanic Joe Bull

Joe Bull was a Queenslander who worked on the aircraft of No.1 Squadron Australian Flying Corps. During most of 1918 he maintained the Bristol "Biff" Fighter of Ross Smith. Smith was the leading ace in the Palestinian theatre, and later was the first to fly from England to Australia. On Bull's ocean trip back to Australia in 1919 he wrote in his diary for the 19th of March;

There seems to be some dissatisfaction among the men on account of the O.C. [Operational Commander] going ashore whereas we had a cable posted stating that noone was to go ashore on account of the Spanish Flu. When he went ashore the second time, they pelted him with vegetables and counted him out. Left Colombo at 10.

When Bull reached Melbourne at the end of the sea trip he was quarantined along with others because of an outbreak of smallpox. In the Australian Flying Corps the enlisted men were at most danger from disease, whereas the officers, who did the majority of the flying, were in most danger of dying a violent death.

Lieutenant E.J. Goodson

In a world of air-bags and airlines which will cancel a flight if there is a crack in anything, it is hard to imagine the level of danger the pilots of World War I faced. Their aircraft were wood and linen; held together by wire. They wore no parachutes and their aircraft broke up if subject to high g-forces or high acceleration.

Goodson was flying in a flight of Sopwith Snipes in early November 1918. His aircraft was hit by anti-aircraft fire and he was captured. He recorded the details of the day in his repatriation report;

I was one of a patrol of four machines that left the aerodrome at Ennetieres at 9 am on the 4th of November 1918, led by 2/Lieut Cato, to do a line patrol. Whilst patrolling the line we were being shelled by anti-aircraft guns from the German artillery. When at 13,000 feet I was hit in my lateral controls and bottom of control lever. The machine immediately went into a left hand spin from which it did not recover. When at about 3,000 feet, I received two more direct hits under the right wing. I spun into the canal between two bridges in the centre of Tournai. One wing of the machine was carried away by the bridge and the machine became a total wreck on striking the water.

I was pulled out of the canal by some German soldiers. I was wounded slightly by a piece of shell in the head and badly shaken by the fall of the machine.

Remarkable accuracy by the German anti-aircraft gunners to hit his aircraft twice, even more remarkable that he survived a spinning aircraft that fell from 13,00 feet, hitting a bridge before leaving him in the water.

Captain Arthur "Harry" Cobby

Cobby ended up being the Australian Flying Corps' leading ace in World War I, Rod Dallas and Robert Little recorded more victories than him, but they flew in the Royal Naval Air Service. Cobby was described as an "imp of mischief" in later years when he rose through the ranks of the Australian Air Force. With his mate, Roy "bow" King, they formed a larrikin cabal in No.4 Squadron.

In 1919, shortly before many of the Australians were demobilised, the Australian Imperial Force marched through London to commemorate the landing's at Gallipoli. This is probably the first ANZAC Day march, where the tradition stems from. The Prince Of Wales and General Birdwood were to salute the march in front of Australia House at the Strand.

The Australian Flying Corps pilots had been told they could do a flypast as well, and aerodromes with a choice of aircraft were available. The pilots took advantage of the celebratory nature of the march by filling up the local pubs before picking up their airplanes. Cobby relates;

We had won the war and could now bid farewell to Blighty, where we had had such a glorious time. One could not think of anything more fitting nor anything more stupid than the authority that permitted it [the flypast].

The head of the march would reach Australia House at 2.30 pm. At 2 o'clock odd aircraft started to appear over the Strand, getting lower and lower. At 2.30 about fifty or sixty machines were jockeying around the sky over Australia House, and more kept on arriving. Aircraft were looping and rolling and spinning everywhere, but the libations of the morning [drinking] had added more verve than sense to the manoeuvres. As the head of the column approached the saluting base, there was a mad scramble to pass the Prince, and some of us went down into the Strand in order to do the thing properly. It was probably the most foolish thing I have ever done, but having got down, I had to stay down for about three quarters of a mile before I could get out again.

Somebody else in a Pup, well known to those who participated, also got down, but fortunately some distance behind me. If he had been in front, we would have been involved in a frightful smash as I was in a Camel, which was of course much faster than a Pup and I would have run him down in a couple of hundred yards. The overhead wires from building to building kept us down and I would not have been able to avoid him, and with the roads packed like sardines with onlookers, the casualties would have been terrible. Finally I was able to zoom up just short of Trafalgar Square, but by that time all I wanted to do was get back onto the ground as soon as possible, and I did. The first ANZAC Day will live long in the minds of many people. The other chap got out too - but how I don't know.

The Pup and Camel were rotary engine aircraft, and have no throttle. Richard Williams was the officer who made the request for aircraft, but on the proviso that the pilots maintain a safe height. When Williams saw the aircraft dip out of sight below the buildings he worried that they had made forced landings, but when he saw them pop out again he was relieved. The next morning he met Wing Commander E.L. Gossage at the Air Ministry; Gossage remarked to Williams, "I didn't mind your fellows looking through my window when they were passing yesterday, but I did object to the fellow who winked at me".

Lest we forget.

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Aerial Fighting

Flying has of late years been a muchly discussed topic, and to-day the interest in the subject is even more keen, owing to the successful termination of the war and the striking part that the aeroplane played in bringing about that happy conclusion. Again, the problem of commercialising the aeroplane for the peaceful work of trade, and of rapid transit from place to place, has been very much before the public, culminating at the moment in the trans-Atlantic flight. All these things have made the man in the street cognisant of the powers and possibilities of flying, and have awakened in his mind thoughts which five years ago it would have been impossible for him to have imagined.

War flying has been dealt with by scores of writers. Some of the them have been familiar with their subjects by actual personal experience - and some have not. Many of them have derived their knowledge from hearsay, which - from my experience of Flying Corps messes - they must have gathered from yarns told well on in the evening after a good dinner, as some of the high-flown stories indicate. But there are many very fine points in aerial fighting that have not yet been expounded.

The experiences of all pilots preparing for active service are alike in the main; their feelings are similar on the whole. When he takes off for his first solo flight it is not fear which grip shim - rather a very sensitive realisation that he knows very little about what the machine is doing, and nasty, sinking apprehensions every time he feels a bump. Thoughts career through his mind of rudders coming off, tail planes twisting, etc. coupled with the knowledge that the ground is a long way off. Then he recollects that a body dropping through space rushes earthwards at the rate of thirty-two feet the first second, double that rate the next second, and so on. He wonders what he would look like if he dropped 3000 feet. Presently, as nothing very startling occurs, his thoughts come back to nearly normal, and he remembers that hundreds of others have successfully done a first solo. So he more or less contrives to continue his flight without accident. Eventually he makes up his mind to land, shuts off his engine, and glides towards the aerodrome. Realising presently that his machine is travelling dangerously fast, he jerks back his control lever, and gets a fright accordingly. Approaching the ground, he is assailed with all the old fears, and recollects having often heard instructors say : "Any blithingly ass can fly a machine, but it takes a pilot to land 'em." However, he gets down more or less successfully - according to the way his guardian angel is looking at the moment - and so another prospective sraafer of Huns is started on his way, the length and breadth of which is determined mainly by luck, but an appreciable amount by his own judgement and discretion.

Before he finally gets overseas to a service squadron, he has to do an aerial fighting course, which invariably gives him a fair amount of "wind up." Perhaps his fighting instructor ( whose business it is to go up in another machine and fight him ) eventually refuses to go into the air with him as he is frightened that during one of the many strange, uncontrolled evolutions of the pupil's machine they will both collide - the fighting instructor being a wise young man in his generation, and knowledgeable of the habits and faults of the young and eager. So he passes the pupil as qualified in category "B".

He proceeds overseas, and experiences another period of fear. Every time he sees a strange machine near him in the sky, he dies - metaphorically. Frequently during a patrol he got lost, and his Flight Commander vainly endeavours to catch him up and attract his attention. But the new hand is vary hard to catch; and finally the leader gives him up, collects the remainder of the formation, and continues the patrol - cursing all new pilots generally, and with simple directness. In the meantime, the newcomer either manages to come to earth some fifty miles from home, or to get safely back and recount the story of how the patrol was attacked by numerous machines that shot down all the remainder of the patrol, and then chased him all the way home. Eventually when the patrol returns, and a very worried Flight Commander sees his lost machine peacefully resting outside the hangars, he opens out - and a keen, but highly imaginative, youth has his past life his future hopes, and his capabilities as a pilot, hurled at him by a direct but blasphemous, Captain. Next time the erring ones don't get lost.

Fighting in the air has dozens of different phases, governed, of course, by existing circumstances - and these circumstances can be divided into a number of different classes. The main ones only will I dwell on here. The principle factor which decides whether one should engage the enemy is position. The position to have before commencing a fight ( and this includes the sun in your favour ) is to be at a greater height than the enemy machine - that is; go into the fight from above, if possible. To illustrate my meaning clearly, take two men, each armed with a stout stick. One man is in a steep ditch, and the other on a bank above. The man in the ditch would be foolish to commence a fight with the other; whereas the man on the bank has the advantage of being able to commence a scrap if he so desires, or run away. The man below could not catch him, as he would lose time in scrambling out of the dith. This simple parallel governs the entire tactics of aerial fighting.

However, before one can take advantage of this knowledge, he must conquer a far greater enemy, and that is personal fear. I do not mean funk - it is physical shrinking from meeting the Hun, a feeling which disappears directly after your first engagement. I do not care who the man is, or how stout of heart, his early days of flying over enemy country are characterised by fear, and it is the sort of fear that robs a man of his initiative and determination, the two greatest factors in the character of a successful fighter. Perhaps his early days of war flying have been all patrol work, probably very seldom meeting the enemy. Consequently he knows nothing about his foes, and they become to some pilots an ever-present menace - something that drops through space and shoots you down before you have a chance of defending yourself. Thus his abilities and prowess are magnified. The news of a good British stunt pilots "going west" and the deeds of the Huns filter through and help to alarm him. Probably one or two pilots whom he knew were shot down by an enemy aircraft or anti-aircraft fire; and this all helps to make him undesirous or scrapping. Of course this does not last long; probably in normal circumstances about two or three weeks, or, in the case of where a squadron is in the thick of much aerial fighting,, it may not last a day. Then the feeling gradually becomes predominant that the enemy is not so good a pilot as you thought; probably on one occasion he refused to come near you when circumstances were in his favour - and so on. Then you realise that he is but human after all, and that if you have been more or less chary of meeting him, he is evidently more so, You have always considered a Britisher better than a German in your own mind, and you have no reason to change that opinion.

Then one day you have a fight thrust upon you, and again your old apprehensions return. You probably have become separated from the rest of your patrol, owing to clouds or some other cause, when suddenly an enemy machine lurches through the murk from behind a cloud or out of the sun, and before you quite realise it, you hear the "clack-clack-clack" of a machine gun. My first experience of this kind almost stopped my heart beating. I had been out having a look at the lines, when quite an inexperienced pilot, and had unintentionally wandered over Hun-land. Flying under pleasant conditions is very insidious, and very often one becomes quite drowsy and inattentive. On this occasion I had been studying the ground, and had been very interested in this whitish brown patch formed by the ruins of Ypres. I recollected how my friends had often bombed fish on Dickebush Lake; and following this line of rumination, I had fallen to wondering what retribution would fall upon the Germans for destroying these towns.

Suddenly I was frightened almost out of the cockpit by the "Whoof! Whoof!" of the enemy Archie. Naturally, I lost my head and endeavoured to dive for the line, but was cut off by a barrage of anti-aircraft bursts right in front of me. This suddenly ceased, and, with the egoism of youth, I congratulated myself upon outmanouvering his fire; but I had taken a look at the ground below I would have seen that I was still well over Hun-land. Then came the "clack-clack-clack" of machine gun fire right on top of me, and, spitting lead for all he was worth, was a yellow and black German scout of the Pfalz type. Of course, I moved very quickly, and, without worrying about the strength of my machine, I pushed the stick hard forward, and I went into a vertical dive with the engine full on. So sudden was the bump that I was nearly throw out of the machine. I shut off the engine, I zoomed u as high as I could. There was a rush of wind, and the roar of the Hun's engine as he swooped over me. I kept climbing away from him under his wing, and he kept twisting and turning to try and find me, but he did not do so until I was almost his level and about three hundred yards away. Then we both turned, and came at each other, both machines doing over one hundred miles an hour. It does not take long to cover one hundred and fifty yards at that speed, and one does not have very much time for thought. We were firing at each other the whole distance, my two guns aggregating twelve hundred rounds per minute. I was dreading the possibility of crashing into the Hun, when he suddenly put his nose down and went under me. I zoomed up again, half rolled on the top of a loop, and came out about three hundred feet above and behind the Pfalz. He commenced to travel around in a circle, and I went after him trying all the time to maintain the advantage of my extra height. Now and then I would almost get a bead on him, and would fire a short burst. Sometimes I would hear the rat-tat-tat of the Hun's two guns behind me. Round and round I went in a circle of about two hundred and fifty feet, sometimes on my back, and sometimes feeling very light in the seat as I did something wrong, and slipped round the turns.

A little explanation of the relative machines should be of value here. The Sopwith Camel I was flying was a wonderfully quick manouvering 'bus' whilst the German Pfalz was, if anything faster on the level, but could not turn so quickly. Then again, the guns on most scout machines are firmly fixed, so that the machine is but a gun-mounting, and it has to be pointed at your target in order to align your gun-sights. This all means that the more flexible machine has the advantage in a dog-fight.

Well, neither of us had been able to bring things to a decision, so I determined to put a stunt up on my opponent. I knew that with his heavy engine in front, the nose of his machine must go down when he got too far over on one side. So I manouvered to get infront of him almost, and tried to entice him to put on a little too much bank in order to get around after me. This he did, and exactly what I anticipated happened - the nose of his machine went down. I immediately flattened out, pulled my machine up vertical, and then kicked it over sideways with the rudder, finishing up directly over the Pfalz. Then I commenced to be very deliberate. I examined my guns, opened up my telescopic sight, put my engine full on, and coming up to within a few feet of my opponent, I took a careful aim, and fired a burst with both guns. Then the end came. The right wing of the Pfalz came off, and the machine went hurtling earthwards, and finally burst into flames when about 2000 feet from the ground. I felt very sick when I saw this happen, and I just leaned out over the side of my cockpit and was just about as ill as I have ever been in my life. Then the enemy Archie batteries opened up, and commenced to throw grand pianos and iron foundries at me; but I was past trying to dodge them. So I put the nose of my machine down, and beetled off for the line just as hard as I could.

Of course, in this early kind of fighting, the man who wins is just the better of a couple of very dud fighters. You fly all possible ways except the right, jerking the machine about, yanking it here and there, and so on. Later when one has become accustomed to the enemy tactics, and has had perhaps a dozen combats, and been in a good many dog-fights, he deliberates, and never goes into a scrap unless he has the Hun where he wants him. When an experienced pilot is out waiting for single enemy machines, the hostile pilot he is stalking is as good as dead before even a shot is fired, and it just requires that final impetus to send him under - to such a fine art has his aerial fighting been reduced.

In conclusion, I would like to mention that the most successful is the most aggressive; but, at the same time, a cool head and a fine sense of judgement are essential. Angles are so fine, and speeds are so tremendous in the air, that a very accurate burst of fire must be put in to be of any use. I have seen pilots "sitting on the tail" of enemy machines, and only a few feet off, fire all their ammunition, and still the Hun tootles along unhurt. Then again, I have seen a careful pilot fire only about ten shots - and down goes his opponent.

To Capt. "Mick" Mannock ( of No.74 RAF and afterwards Major and CO of No.85 RAF ) , 4th Squadron AFC owes a large amount of its success. This Officers squadron was for some time stationed on the same aerodrome as 4th AFC Clairmarias, and he took upon himself the task of making all the pilots around him keen and aggressive . Several talks of his to the Australian pilots there were responsible for some fine aggressive shows against the enemy, and numerous combined affairs were successfully carried out. I regard Major Mannocks character and spirit as the finest I have met in the Air Force. He was practically blind in one eye, yet he could recognise various types of enemy aircraft when the average person could barely see machines. No matter how great the odds, Mannock always managed to extricate his patrol without losing machines. I was extremely pleased to see that the Air Board officially recognized him as the greatest of all British pilots, with the wonderful record of seventy-two enemy machines officially confirmed as destroyed. Unfortunately, this very gallant officer was shot down in flames and killed just a few months before the Armistice; but his wise teachings and splendid example bore abundant fruit after his death amongst those pilots who were privileged to be associated with him in his work.

By Captain Arthur H. Cobby DSO, DFC

Cobby writes:

In the air a pilot's job is a strangely isolated one. Although formation flying and fighting demanded a very close cohesion among the members of the flight, in the early days one felt very much alone and at the mercy of chance.

Lack of means of communication with one's fellow was, I think, the principal cause of this. You could not communicate with other chaps about what was going on.

Every possible eventuality had to be studied before leaving the ground. Plans had to be made to meet each contingency that might arise, and then your memory and a thorough understanding of the characteristics of your leader and your comrades had to be relied upon to dispose of each bit of trouble as it presented itself.

There was no means of talking over what you were going to do; once something started you just went ahead and did it and the firm reliance one placed on one's comrades later on was the result of long and continuous association in the air under all sorts of conditions.

In those early days [1917] we lacked this strong background of mutual support and understanding.