LOST IN THE AIR.

Manawatu Herald, Volume XLVIII, Issue 3667, 19 July 1927, Page 4

LOST IN THE AIR.

AND “ALL AT SEA.”

AIRMAN’S STORY OF GALLIPOLI CAMPAIGN.

The tragic loss of Captain de Saint-Roman and his mechanic on the Africa-Brazil flight and the disappearance of Nungesser and Coli in their White Bird have startled the world and will open up old memories among those who flew in our air services during the war; to them the hair’s breadth which separates success from fatality, in these endeavours will be known, writes an English air pilot in the Manchester Guardian. In the winter of 1917 I was a pilot in an anti-submarine and night-bombing squadron based on one of the islands of the Aegean Sea. Our work consisted of hunting by day the elusive submarine and, on suitable nights, bombing various places on the Gallipoli Peninsula. It was a happy life, and we had a mess of the brightest spirits in the service.

The machines we used were French aeroplanes built mainly of steel, which, because of their generous proportions, were nicknamed “flying marquees,” and the'reliability of their engines was unequalled. In these we spent hours each day, month in and month out, and since our island was only a small one, and our business lay elsewhere, we flew almost the whole time over the sea. "We flew in them at first cautiously, later with indifference, and later still with caution again.

In the beginning, we went up encircled in the angular embrace ot a cork life-boat, and after a few weeks we would notice, on some patrol, that we were a hundred or so miles froyi land and had omitted to bring our life-belts. On fine summer nights we would do a nightbombing raid in pyjamas, slippers, and a leather coat —until we got some snapshots of some of our friends (whose engines had taken them one way only) in this rather embarrassing attire in captivity in Turkey. So does faith in flying increase and diminish. ON A NIGHT RAID. One night in winter when a bleak north-east wind accompanied by driving rain had sent the camp early between blankets in their wet tents an order for a special raid was telephoned through. The camp tumbled out like a highly trained fire brigade, the hangars were unlaced, the njaehines run out on the sodden grass, bombs clamped on, and in about the same time as it usually took in daylight the engines spluttered, whined, spluttered again, and fell into that steady drone which was their warming-up song. When this died down and the engineer reported O.K. we climbed in, the observer behind me with his maps and gear. I opened the throttle and we jolted over the ground. Up in the air it seemed this was no ordinary night; soaring bumps and vast, seemingly bottomless, pockets kept my whole attention on keeping the machine level. We climbed slowly and warily with our heavy load to 2,000 feet, steering out over the sea on a course which allowed for the wind. The night was intensely dark, and the lain whipped into our faces. After flying some 25 miles and not seeing the dark loom of another island which should have served as a guide on our course, 1 steered more to the north, and after a few minutes discerned almost beneath us blacker than the night, the outline of land. At that instant the engine died down to the accompaniment of a noise which sounded as though the propeller was striking some part of the aeroplane. We glided steeply for the sea beneath. DROPPING RAPIDLY. At 1,000 feet there was no improvement, so I shouted to the observer to release one bomb. At 750 feet, the engine being no better, we let go the second bomb. We held the third bomb until 500 feet. We were gliding flatly now, playing for time, and after dropping the third bomb the observer shone over the port side and well ahead of us the beam of a fairly strong lamp which we rsed on patrols. At 200 feet I got the observer to release with one hand my safety belt and advised him to do the same with his own. We sat waiting for the surface of the sea to show up within the range of the lamp, 1 anxious to make the best landing I could, and he anxious to do his best with the lamp. After what seemed a very 'long time the white-capped water showed up on the end of the beam. I remember thinking that the observer, who was a -.young rating, was a good chap for keeping a steady hand on the lamp. The water tore up towards us as we watched, our eyes held by the successive ridges of white foam Hashing past the beam from the lamp. At 20 feet from the water the engine amazed us by bursting into a hearty roar,- the revolution indicator flicked back to its place above the customary figures for full flight, the knocking noise ceased, and we flew normally.

We had a shouted consultatio* and decided that here, not far away, was land, and that we had better stick to it for a time until the engine had a fair test, rather than steer off at once across the 25 miles of sea. We did a circuit of the great black blob which represented the island, and after that, finding the engine to be running normally, we agreed to steer for home.

THE WRONG ISLAND. Unfortunately (though we did not know then) we had got hold of the wrong island, so that when we had flown back 25 miles oil a course that should have taken us over our own island, there was nothing beneath us but water, and any amount of it. The engine again became troublesome, dropping to about two-thirds of its power every four or live minutes, so that it became very difficult to maintain our height, which was then about 800 feet. Knowing that we were neither north or south of the aerodrome, and seeing an apparently large flare to the south, we flew towards i( for perhaps ten miles before it resolved into a planet on the horizon. We kept on steering south for another ten miles without seeing our aeroplane flares; then, knowing that a .southerly course continued too long could only take us over the most open part of the Aegean, we turned hopefully to the north, and after an hour’s flying we sighted lights ahead. On going down to 200 feet to inspect them we found them to be in houses and that the houses were on an island, and, further, that the island was certainly not ours —of all the islands we ‘know in the Aegean this one was not amongst them. We flew round it at about 200 feet, being the most our faltering engine would take us to, and the bumps and pockets in the air were terrific. ON THE BEACH. Two things now occupied our minds, the examination of the island and the watch, which as it beat out the minutes also measured, 10 me rapidly decreasing petrol. A circuit of the island revealed nothing familiar to us; he did not know whether it was in French, British, or Turkish possession. We flopped rather than flew round a second time in search of a likely spot on which to land. It was land, and 11 had a nice solid appearance after the long empty stretches of water. Down there in the dark we had picked out what looked like a stretch of sandy beach. I shut oil the engine and glided for the wafer near the beach. It seemed deadly quiet with the engine shut ofi, and it seemed to take an appallingly Jong time to get down. We sat tight and held on. At about 20 feet from the water I pulled the control lover hard back, the machine stood up on its tail and flopped with a shower of spray the sea. We stood up, wet to the ankles bv the sea coming in through the broken floor, and clung to the swaying machine as she drove on the surf towards the beach. In a few minutes we were able to wade ashore waist deep. We sat side by side on the beach, where we tore up and buried our large map (a secret document), we ate our small code chart between us, and it was while we were having a welcome smoke that we were picked off hv the island’s French patrol boat/

A subsequent examination of the wrecked machine showed that the clip holding down the lid ot one of the carburetters had slipped off, and that the petrol tank contained between ton and fifteen minutes supply.