The Australian Squadrons

Nos. 2 and 4 Squadrons of The Australian Flying Corps need no praise of mine for their work in the summer of 1918. Their records show that they were the finest material as an attacking force in the air, just as their infantry divisions on the ground were the best that the war produced on either side.

It became the practice for our Australian Squadrons to lead the 80th Wing's bombing raids. When later in the year over a hundred machines set out on one of them, the spearpoint was always formed of Australian Airmen, led by an Australian. Major McCloughry[McClaughry], Major Murray-Jones, Capt Cobby, and Capt King are the names I remember best, but the others that were equally famous have slipped my memory for the moment.

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, which they inherited from ancestors who had been cattlemen, sheep-ranchers, poachers, trappers, outriders, overland post and transport drivers. You only need to read the tales of the early Australian Settlers to realize the conditions under which these men grew.

They had to fend for themselves against known and unknown dangers in the wide, open, lonely spaces of the continent. It was nothing to them to be in the saddle for days and days when crossing mountain ranges. deserts, or forests; their sense of direction never faltered on these long trails, and they were equally at home when cutting out their cattle at a round-up or shooting the rapids in a canoe. In fact, they were all good scouts, and what ideal training their life in their native country gave them for work in the air!

On the ground I must admit this same sense of initiative proved a source of much trouble to their superiors at times. It was impossible to convince an Australian that a nice piano in a deserted and half looted house was loot if he decided to take care of it temporarily without troubling to find and get permission from the absentee owner. It also might have been insulting to hint at cattle-stealing ancestry, but when we others were existing on tinned milk, the Australians always had their own fresh milk from their own two cows and a spare lorry to transport the cows whenever a move had to be made. Moreover, these cows always had calves with great regularity. Of course, it would have been bad form to question the origin of the new piano, the cows and the calves which they had invited a Wing Commander to see. These accessories meant so much to the amenity of their life on the ground and so the Wing Commander could only let them get away with it, even though he knew it was his pidgeon if anyone raised awkward inquires.

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.

Taking it all round, we got on amazingly well with our Australians, and from the day they joined the 80th Wing I would not have exchanged them for any other squadrons on the western front. Perhaps I have some sheep-stealing and cattle-lifting ancestors, whose blood gives me a sneaking sympathy with their habits of feloniously purloining anything they take a fancy to.

I learnt to value them for their wonderful sense of direction. In spite of all that is said about navigation and map reading as aids to aviation, it is a great thing to have squadron leaders who can take their formations safely home in thick weather by that so called "sixth sense". You need that extra quality badly when you have to break out of a dog fight suddenly with a failing engine and every second saved may mean the difference between landing on our side of the lines and coming down in Hunland, especially if visibility is too bad for you to spot that river or wood on your map and a bullet has smashed your compass. Those Australians were natural pathfinders; they did not need to look at a bush twice to know where it was the next time they saw it. Having flown once over a tract of country on a clear day, they would think you deserved all you got if you failed to know your whereabouts the next time you came that way just because it was a bit foggy, and I suppose they were right.

I often used to think of Murray Jones and his squadron as the sheriff and his posse going out to catch some bushrangers who had been reported to be stealing horses and cattle in the neighbourhood, and if matters became desperate - as they did with us later on - searching them out in their lairs, burning their strongholds, and giving them no quarter. They were uncommunicative folk, for they always had some plan or other that had to be kept a secret. Whether they thought the enemy would get wind of their schemes if they discussed them too openly or whether they preferred to hush up possibilities of failures, I cannot tell, but the result was always the same - they never advertised their intentions.

I often wondered what was in Cobby's mind when he went off on his own in the dark, a good hour before the dawn patrol was due to start. In all probability he was spying out the land - sitting high above von Leutzer's aerodrome and waiting to see how many machines were being run out on the tarmac by the other side for their dawn patrols. Then he would pass on the numbers by signal to his own squadron when he met them over the appointed rendezvous, after which they would go back to Recklingham for more petrol and warn Murray Jones that there were plenty about that morning.

But sometimes he was out to play the lone hand. The mechanics, pilots and observers at Fives or Lomme would be too busy seeing to the machines on the tarmac that were to take them up for the dawn patrol, and so they failed to notice the high pitched note of the Clerget and the screaming wires of Cobby's Camel as he streaked down on them from the first glimmer of dawn in the east to pour out a stream of lead from his two Vickers guns and release his twenty-pound bombs. Just a momentary vision of destruction he was; then he would disappear again into the still murky west, leaving behind him one or two machines in flames, some bits and pieces of two or three more on which his bombs had got home, and a number of dead and wounded foeman on the hard cinder track in front of the hangars.

In short when an Australian Squadron went out to fight, someone had to suffer or else the business was not worthwhile, and the Australians were not going to be sufferers if they knew anything about it. It was the old game of getting the first blow in at a time when the other fellow was not looking for it.

They continually laid traps in the air; you could depend on it that the simplest-looking Australian patrol was part of some scheme or other. If, for instance, they decided to attack a balloon, it was a dead certainty that you would find a party of them high above the assailant, watching out with eager eyes for any misguided Huns who might be foolish enough to interfere with him and thus lay themselves open to sudden deadly streams of lead. They used to take it in turns to attack balloons, and when you sent one down in flames you earned an extra turn, but they never made a habit of indulging in balloon hunts everyday, for that would have given the Hun time to get a surprise packet ready for them. They had plenty of variations to keep themselves amused and the enemy annoyed; his trains, for example, were continually interrupted on their journeys by Australian airmen and always in a different part of the line. Another playful little trick of theirs was to attack an enemy aerodrome in the evening, just when its machines were being put away for the night and the light was fading too quickly for any chance of pursuit.

In fact, Nos 2 and 4 AFC, were past masters in the art of guerrilla warfare, but it was only by becoming one of themselves, so to speak, that I could manage to adapt Wing Routine Orders to suit the methods and at the same time satisfy the demands made from higher up. Consequently I spent a good deal of time with my Australians, and my admiration for them increased daily.

I found that there was little chance of them getting rattled by persistent ill-luck or a series of heavy losses. Likewise there was no fear of their morale deteriorating from the monotony of routine work, because, given a sufficiently free hand, they could be relied on to take care that it did not become monotonous. "We came all the way from down under to help you win the war." their actions seemed to say, "and we're in a hurry to get back again, so just leave things to us, because we know what is good for ourselves and bad for Fritz."

Lieut-General (Now Field Marshall) Sir William Birdwood, who commanded the Australian Division at the time, often used to come round to Recklingham aerodrome and tell us all about the doings of other Australian units in the field. But I think his real motive was to glean the news and successes of those wonderful Australian Pilots who were making history and establishing a tradition that will never fade as long as Australia has an Air Force.

Lt Colonel Louis Strange

Charles Copp was a flight commander with No.2 Squadron AFC. He ended the war with four victories and a huge number of flying hours amassed over the front lines. But every ace pilot has to learn first, and Copp learnt from fellow Australian Arthur Conningham.

Conningham was a Brisbanite flying with the Royal Flying Corps. He served with No.32 on DH5s and then later commanded No.92 RAF with SE5a aircraft. Copp relates his training experience with Conningham;

After completing the ground course at Reading we were sent to Shawbury for flying instruction. Here after only two or three hours of dual instruction on Maurice-Farmans we were sent up solo. After learning to handle the slower machines, Avros and Sopwith Pups, we were posted to Castle Bromwich and transferred to S.E.5a's, which were very much faster than the above machines.

Our instructor was Captain Arthur Conningham, an Australian, who was credited with over 20 enemy machines destroyed during the war.

After we had learned to handle the S.E.5a's fairly well, he called us together and said, "Now, I want you to do some fast diving with your engine full on, and diving vertically. You can get up to nearly 300 m.p.h., but I must tell you how to do it without losing your wings. The airspeed indicator only registers up to 180 m.p.h., so after that has been passed, you simply look at the fabric on the lower wing. When you see one buckle appear in it, you are probably doing something like 200 m.p.h.; when there are two buckles, you are probably doing about 250 m.p.h.; but you want to be careful not to get three, because then the wings will undoubtedly fall off. Now, go up and do some real diving."

We thought that we were doing very well, but when we landed he stamped his feet, swore at us pretty fluently and stated, "I said dive, not glide." He then took off in his machine and showed us how it should be done.

Our hair fairly stood up on end when we saw what he did. He came down vertically at a terrific rate and flattened out about 10 or 15 feet off the ground! However, having seen this demonstration, we all had a go and surprisingly no one was killed. That was one of the ways we learned to dive fast - something that is sometimes necessary for attack in a scrap.

It is fortunate for all the passengers of modern airliners that monitoring technology has surpassed the World War I technique of eyeballing how many creases were in the wing.

You wouldn't know it to look at him, but Frank Alberry only had one leg. He is also one of two known one-legged aces in World War I. Alberry was born in Hobart and grew up in Port Arthur and as a young man worked his way from Burnie, to Melbourne, to Bendigo, to England and Edinburgh. Eventually he ran out of work and joined the English Regular Army. In 1911 while on leave he got the opportunity to return to Australia on a ship - he reconciled his desertion by telling himself if war broke out he would return.

Three years later that event happened and he turned up at an Australian recruitment station and was given the option of returning to his English unit or joining the Australian Army; he chose the latter and posted to the 1st Division's 8th Battalion. In July 1916 the 8th Battalion were involved in the Somme offensive at Pozieres, Alberry was awarded a Distinguished Conduct Medal in the battle but a bullet shattered his kneecap and his leg was amputated above the knee.

Alberry writes;

After a few weeks practice [with an artificial leg], I became fairly active on it and I was employed doing clerical work at our Headquarters in Horseberry Road, London. During lunch hours planes would be seen flying around overhead and occasionally they would do stunting. The thought came to me - if I cannot walk, I will fly.

I went to the Air Board office to obtain a transfer but they would not listen to me. They stated that they did not have the authority to accept me with one leg, although I was otherwise fit, and informed me, 'Only the King could do that." So I went to see the King, and his Majesty after hearing my story instructed his secretary to give me a letter to the Officer-in-Charge, Air Board, requesting that I be accepted for training in the Air Force.

I think it is pretty obvious Alberry was not going to accept no for an answer. Alberry passed flight training and was posted to No.2 Squadron Australian Flying Corps in June of 1918. No.2 Sqn was flying the SE5a in France. The SE5a was a powerful aircraft with two machine guns that was not as manoeuvrable as its German opponents but was strong in a dive and faster in a race. This meant the Australian pilots adopted the tactics of getting high above an opposing flight, often as high as 18,000 ft, and diving through them at speed.

Frank Alberry's combat report for September 16th, 1918 reads;

As the patrol dived on the formation of enemy aircraft encountered 1 mile NW Lille, I singled out one and dived on it firing about 50 rounds at close range. The enemy aircraft did a side-slip, left hand turn, and flames and smoke were coming out of the cockpit.

That combat took place at 17,000 ft - a very cold and inhospitable place for open aircraft without cabins or internal heating. Alberry scored seven victories which makes him an ace. After the war he returned to Australia and settled in East-Gippsland. He worked as a timber feller and machinist before returning to the Army in World War II as a recruiter. Frank Alberry passed away in 1969 at the age of seventy-seven after having lived a quite remarkable life.

No.2 Squadron's DH5 aircraft were pressed into the ground attack role during the Battle of Cambrai. It was dangerous work as the linen and wood aircraft were susceptible to small arms fire at the low levels they worked at. Harry Taylor was shot down while performing a ground attack mission, and surviving the crash had quite an adventure before getting back to the squadron's aerodrome.

On the morning of the 20th of November the Battle for Cambrai was well under way. The dawn horizon clammered with the sound of artillery shells from both sides being fired in never ending barrages and through the impenetrable mist. At the crack of dawn a flight of six aircraft from 2 Squadron Australian Flying Corps took off from their Warloy aerodrome in their DH5 aircraft to strafe and bomb the German rear and offer tactical air support for the allied soldiers. The mist was so dense, as it had been for the whole of the month, that formation flying was impossible and the six aircraft split up into pairs and went off to find for targets of opportunity.

Of this first flight Captain Bell who had been a pilot with 1 Squadron AFC in the Palestinian theatre , in company with Lieutenant McKenzie attacked a series of German Artillery positions at low altitude. The ground attack work was dangerous, often the DH5's would be less than 30 feet off the ground due to the heavy mist. McKenzie after releasing his bombs on a position strafed another with his Vickers gun until he was low on ammunition, his partner however had received a bullet wound in the chest from ground fire and was forced to land near the front lines. Bell unfortunately was to die of his wounds in a hospital, but his downed aircraft was to play a role in another escapade that occurred later in the day.

Before this first morning flight had returned a second flight was taking off from Warloy to attack German positions under the command of Phillipps and Wilson. In the formation was a well respected pilot by the name of Lieutenant Harry Taylor. Taylor had been a Mechanic before the war having found himself in Australia after being born and living much of his life in Birmingham, England, and joined the A.A.S.C on the outbreak of hostilities. Later he transferred to the Australian Flying Corps and was posted to France with 2 Squadron. On November 20th he was flying as a pair to Captain Wilson, who says of the initial attack;

Close together we dived down and opened our machine guns on the Germans, pulling up to the level of the fog again ( about thirty feet off the ground ), and letting a bomb drop as we rose.

After another zoom , Wilson noted he had lost Taylor and was looking for him when Wilson saw a red rocket fired up into the sky meaning Taylor was in distress. Wilson wrote;

That he was sufficiently alive to fire those rockets was amazing. His machine was just a heap of wreckage. One wing lay 20 yards from the rest of the heap." Wilson also noticed that 50 yards from Taylor were groups of enemy infantry who had been watching Taylor come down, uncertain as to whether he was crashing or going to strafe them. As he crashed they lifted their rifles to fire on Taylor.

Taylor had crouched behind a small mound after crashing and with his automatic starting firing back at the German soldiers. Taylor would run and fire with each strafing run of Wilson's until he was close to a small group of British soldiers who quickly clamoured around him and started firing back at the German soldiers. Wilson saw Taylor pick up the rifle of a fallen soldier and fire alongside the British soldiers at the German infantry who was now surrounding the British position.

Wilson continued to strafe the German infantry in an attempt to get them to disengage the British soldiers and break up their attack , but offering himself as a target eventually had consequences. Wilson writes;

Then there was a crashing sound and I was blinded. Two bullets had pierced the wind screen in front of my eyes and dust from the triplex glass had been flung into my eyes. ....... For a while I flew about anywhere, certain of one thing only, that I was climbing up clear of enemy fire. Gradually the glass dust got washed from my eyes and I was able to see again.

When Wilson returned to the crashed aircraft the surrounding land was in the control of the Germans and neither Taylor or the British soldiering party could be seen. The men that Taylor had found had lost their Officer and Taylor fought with them as they edged their way back to more easily defensible lines and the main body of troops they were attached to. Taylor left the group once they reached safety and began the long trek back to the advanced landing ground when he came across Captain Bell's machine. Taylor with the help of some troops attempted to get the engine started but they were unable to. Taylor walked back to the airbase , reaching it in time for dinner.

The official description of Taylor's escapade for that day read;

attacked parties of the enemy with a German Rifle , joined an advanced British infantry patrol, led it forward, and brought in a wounded man. He found Captain Bell's machine and tried to fly it , but without success. He then rejoined the squadron at the advanced landing ground.

Unfortunately Taylor was to die in an aeroplane accident on the 18th of August 1918 while flying as an instructor with the Training Wing of the Australian Flying Corps in England.

Griggs was an American who joined the Australian Flying Corps and flew with No.2 Squadron. Unfortunately he lost his life during the Battle of Cambrai.

Griggs is fourth from left in the back row.

The Australian Imperial Force [AIF] in the First World War was monoracial, but outside that policy, the AIF was multi-ethnic. Consequently there men of many different nations that served in the AIF; Russians, Danes, English, Singaporeans, Canadians, New Zealanders, etc - and Americans. When the gold rushes in California had petered out, many Americans flooded the Victorian goldfields, and then migrating on to the Western Australian goldfields before ended up in the South African goldrushes. It should be remembered that the groups which resisted the British most at Eureka when it came to arms were Americans.

Albert Griggs was from Meridian, Mississippi and was living in Hobart when he signed up to the AIF. He went through the Fifth (flying) Training Course at Point Cook, which was rare too, as the common path for joining the Australian Flying Corps [AFC] was to be recruited from the Australian Light Horse. After completing his training in Britain he was posted to No.2 Squadron AFC.

No.2 Squadron flew the Airco DH5 which was unusual for having 'back-staggered' wings. This caused some problems in a fighter aircraft design as the pilots couldn't see what was behind them, or what was on their tail. To add to the concern of the wing design the DH5 was not a fast aircraft by any means which meant it was easy for German aircraft to catch them up if they wanted to.

The advantage was that the pilot had an excellent view in-front as no upper wing obstructed their vision. Partly as a consequence of this realisation, and the fact that during the Battle of Cambrai all available aircraft were needed to support the offensive on the ground, the DH5s were pressed into a ground attack role. It was very dangerous work and the casualty rate in No.2 Squadron was high during this period.

Griggs, unfortunately, was one of those who were lost during the support of the offensive. On November 23rd the allied offensive stalled at Moevres where three Irish Battalions where trying to take the town. An Irish company was pinned down by a German defensive position and they watched a back-staggered DH5 return to attack the position again and again; until it crashed into ground; killing Albert Griggs.

Two weeks later, the Irish Fusiliers put a notice in The Times: "To an unknown airmen, shot down on November 23rd, 1917, whilst attacking a German strongpoint south west of Bourlon Wood, in an effort to help out a company of Royal Irish Fusiliers when other help had failed."