A web log, an æthereal scrap-book if you will, with a somewhat vintage flavour. News items, occurrences, experiences, thoughts and opinions related to Victoriana through to Fifties Americana can all be found here.
It seems suitably fitting on this Remembrance Day to feature this fascinating article detailing the remarkable discovery of a tiny First World War relic that has defied the ravages of time to be unearthed by chance in a French field a century on.
This is the frankly incredible story of a small metal capsule, as used to send messages by carrier pigeon and no larger than a cigarette end, being found by a couple out walking in the French countryside back in September. Having remained undiscovered for over 100 years it had against all odds survived in the mud of eastern France where it fell until, as with many remnants of the Great War, the movement and turning over of the earth revealed it to some people of today who happened by. The miraculousness doesn't end there, however, for preserved within the miniscule container, which continued to protect it from ten decades of decay, is the original message sent off via carrier pigeon by an unknown German soldier.
That this little slip of paper has managed to survive for so long is nothing short of extraordinary and despite being understandably extremely fragile and barely legible it still offers a fascinating insight into the activities of a small section of the German Army during the era of the Great War. Sent from the town of Ingersheim - at the time part of Germany but now in the Alsace region of France - it details for the benefit of an unnamed staff officer the movements of "Platoon Plotthof", which seemed to be advancing and retreating under heavy fire in an area referred to as "Fechtwald". So faint is some of the writing that unfortunately the precise date cannot be determined, with only the 16th July being clear while the year is still up for debate - either 1910 or 1916. While on the face of it 1916 would seem the more likely - being in the middle of the war when German troops would have been engaged in battle - the curator of the museum to which the couple took their find, M. Jardy from the Linge Museum in nearby Orbey, is inclined more towards the 1910 date. On consideration I can understand why since Ingersheim was within German territory at the time and reference is made in the message to a parade ground, which suggests that it was sent as a part of some military training manoeuvres. Even so that is a striking fact in itself, since it adds to the knowledge that Germany was practising for war years before it finally broke out (and indeed as any student of military history will know, with its Schlieffen Plan Germany had been prepared for another conflict with France for decades - practically since the end of the Franco-Prussian War of 1870, in fact).
This noteworthy find has proved to be a timely yet sombre reminder during this period of remembrance of the build-up to "the war to end all wars" and the sacrifices made in the four years of bloody battles that ensued over one hundred years ago. It also gives one to wonder just what other interesting artefacts are still lying beneath the mud of France waiting to be rediscovered in a similar manner. In the meantime I remain astounded by this particular discovery and delighted that it has found its way to a local museum dedicated to remembering the fallen from both sides in battles both near and far and hope that it can be preserved for the benefit of generations to come.
With the BLM movement still very much at the forefront of people's minds these two interestingly linked articles are a welcome and timely reminder of the sacrifices made by black men and women for the cause of freedom in the many battles fought by the Commonwealth countries in support of the British war effort, in this case the stories of two Jamaicans who left their Caribbean home to fight in the First World War.
William Robinson Clarke, c.1914 source - Wikipædia
The first report is of particular appeal inasmuch as it tells the story of an RFC sergeant pilot, William Robinson Clarke, who at the age of only 19 and out of his own pocket sailed to England to enlist in the Royal Flying Corps - in the process becoming what is thought to be the first black pilot to serve in that branch of the service. Originally employed as a driver he retrained as a reconnaissance pilot in late 1916 and in April of 1917 was posted to No. 4 Squadron, based at Abeele in Belgium and operating the R.E.8. The story of his time in the RFC is a fascinating one and I was pleased to note that he survived his run-in with five German scout aircraft and despite being wounded in the back made a full recovery - albeit subsequently only able to work as a mechanic - returning to Jamaica after the war to take up a building trade and eventually becoming the president of Jamaican branch of the Royal Air Force Association before passing away at the age of 86 in 1981.
Now his story has come fittingly into the limelight again thanks to the recent auctioning of his original RFC I.D. bracelet at - in of further interest to me personally - a local Kent auction. Just what the link to Ashford is, or the reasons behind the sale, is not made clear. It may just be that the owner had decided to sell and was based nearby, with the auctioneers being specialists in militaria. Even so, their initial valuation of the bracelet seemed almost disgracefully low even by the conservative standards of most auction houses, so I am delighted to see that it sold for a much more respectable figure (over 30 times the estimate, in fact) and I hope whoever bought it appreciates it for the remarkable piece of black British military history that it represents (as I'm sure they must do to have paid such a sum for it). I for one am grateful for it making the news as it has introduced me to the enthralling story of yet another World War One airman, as well has hopefully perpetuating his name and deeds far beyond the sphere of military or Jamaican historians.
The second article is of equal interest - and perhaps of even greater importance as it potentially has the scope to rewrite accepted First World War history that currently has Walter Tull as being the first black commissioned officer to serve in the British Army during the conflict.
This is the story of another young Jamaican soldier, Euan Lucie-Smith, who enlisted in the Jamaica Artillery Militia in 1911 before shipping to England on the outbreak of war three years later to serve as a Second Lieutenant in the Royal Warwickshire Regiment (a full three years before Walter Tull was gazetted into the Middlesex Regiment with the same rank). Arriving in France in March, 1915 Lucie-Smith was sadly killed in action on the Western Front barely a month later on the 25th April at the age of 25.
His story may also have remained forgotten had it not been for the chance discovery online of his memorial plaque (issued to the next-of-kin of all fallen soldiers in the First World War) by a military historian, James Carver. Now it has been unearthed thanks to Mr Carver's efforts and, as well as adding an important record to the annals of black British martial history also has the tantalising possibility of completely revising it. While it is regrettable to note how the plaque had languished, seemingly overlooked, for so long I am pleased to see its importance recognised and hope that when it comes up for auction next month it receives as much value and appreciation as William Robinson Clarke's I.D. bracelet.
Both of these stories are very poignant reminders of just how strong a pull the "mother country" had over its outlying colonies - in the First World War and in other conflicts before and since - and the strong urge and desire of their young men to leave their homes and travel thousands of miles to join up and "do their bit". They are incredibly relevant and apposite at this time of racial inequality and it is to be hoped that both accounts will take their rightful places in the history books as a result of these finds, which I trust will be suitably respected and preserved for future generations.
For part two of my umbrella-themed post we pick up from where we left off in part one with a further fictional proponent of umbrella self-defence, something of a 21st century John Steed in many respects and another welcome practitioner of Bartitsu-inspired moves in film.
This is the character of Harry Hart (Codename: Galahad) from the Kingsman series of films. A slightly more updated take on the gentleman spy genre it nevertheless successfully (in my view) mixes the traditional and modern elements and nowhere is that better illustrated than in the Kingsmen's (and Harry Hart's in particular) dapper style, tailor's shop base of operations and - yes, you've guessed it - wielding of a tightly-furled umbrella. Although quite adept at belabouring gobby villains and megalomaniacs' henchmen with his trusty gamp Galahad's example also has a few more novel tricks up its shaft compared to Steed's hidden rapier, including an electric-shock chain built into the ferrule, the ability to fire both live or rubber bullets and - the pièce de résistance - a bullet-proof canopy.
While the cartoon violence and strong language of the Kingsman films may not appeal to everyone's taste I think it is more than offset by the style and panache displayed in both films (although I do prefer the first one over The Golden Circle) and the successfull homage to the '60s spy films and TV series (including The Avengers) that director Matthew Vaughn has gone on record as having been his intention. Fellow fans of the films - and especially of the well-dressed "gentleman spy" æsthetic and "manners maketh man" ethos - will be pleased to know that a third and final sequel featuring Colin Firth's and Taron Egerton's characters is in the works. Even more exciting, though, is the forthcoming prequel The King's Man, set around the First World War and showing the origins of the Kingsman Secret Service. Originally due for release back in February, covid-19 put the kybosh on that and it is now scheduled to be in cinemas early next year (provided things improve, of course). You'll remember when I apologised for raking up the 1998 Avengers film in my previous post by saying that if you still liked the idea of Ralph Fiennes in three-piece suit, bowler hat and topped off with an umbrella then to hold that thought? Well here he is again, nearly 25 years later (and looking quite at home in a variety of dashing ensembles) taking over the Colin Firth role as one of the founding Kingsmen in what is a very exciting-looking trailer (complete with a couple of umbrella action sequences). Personally this is one I can hardly wait for and if it makes it to the cinema (it's already been postponed twice, so I'm not holding my breath) I'll be going, coronavirus or not.
Quite obviously an electrocuting, bullet-proof ballistic brolly would be even more frowned upon by the authorities than a swordstick one (even if it would be equally desirable); of course in this day and age of tie -in movie merchandise it is possible to get an "official" Kingsman umbrella from the likes of Mr Porter and even Briggs themselves, although for the price one would expect them to have all of the aforementioned functionality (sadly they don't). Stick to your standard gamp and keep practising your Bartitsu, is all I can suggest.
Major Digby Tatham-Warter (left) and his umbrella-based exploits immortalised
(as Major Harry Carlyle) in A Bridge Too Far.
One extraordinary chap who clearly thought he had a bullet-proof umbrella was the distinguished Second World War British Army officer Major Digby Tatham-Warter, whose wartime service saw him first taking part in the Western Desert campaign before volunteering for the Parachute Regiment, a decision that would lead him to take part in one of the most famous engagements of the war - Operation Market Garden, or the Battle of Arnhem. Clearly a top fellow and splendidly eccentric, Tatham-Warter would brandish a hunting bugle during the battle and trained his troops to recognise its various calls (as had been common military practice during the Napoleonic Wars) since he was - rightly as it turned out - worried about the unreliability of the battalion's field radios. More pertinently to this article, however, he also carried an umbrella with him as he frequently had difficulty remembering the various passwords he was supposed to use and reasoned that any Allied unit would recognise that "only a bloody fool of an Englishman" would bring a brolly into an active war zone. In the event it did also turn out to have a practical military application - during one engagement Tatham-Warter was able to take out a German armoured car with his parapluie by the simple expedient of shoving it through the vehicle's viewing slit and incapacitating the driver!
As the Battle of Arnhem raged on, Tatham-Warter could continually be seen moving nonchalantly among his men - sometimes in the face of fierce mortar and sniper fire - while still holding his trusty umbrella. At one point he led his men in a bayonet charge across Arnhem Bridge against advancing German infantry - brolly in one hand, pistol in the other and wearing a bowler hat that he had contrived to obtain from somewhere. Steed in battle, more or less! Still later, he observed the company chaplain trapped by enemy mortar fire while trying to get to some injured soldiers. Managing to make it to the chaplain's position, Tatham-Warter uttered the immortal line "Don't worry, I've got an umbrella" and proceeded to successfully escort the chaplain back across the street under the protection of its canopy. Upon returning to the front line while holding the still open gamp, the remark from fellow officer Lieutenant Pat Barnett that "that thing won't do you much good" drew from Tatham-Warter the equally brilliant response - "Oh my goodness Pat, but what if it rains?".
Tatham-Warter's exploits served as the inspiration for the fictional character of Major Harry Carlyle in A Bridge Too Far, Richard Attenborough's famous 1977 retelling of the Battle of Arnhem. In the film Carlyle dies but, perhaps [un]surprisingly, Tatham-Warter survived to be taken prisoner. He promptly escaped (naturally!) and for a time worked with the Dutch Resistance before eventually returning to England. He is certainly fully deserving of - and will one day get - a blog post in his own right but for now we can simply marvel at his brolly-based shenanigans in the face of incredible odds.
Another great bumbershoot-brandishing military eccentric who will also one day get the full Eclectic Ephemera treatment is Lieutenant-Colonel Alfred Daniel Wintle MC (left), whose service covered both world wars (and the period in between - which, to give you some idea of the man, he described as "intensely boring") with some quite amazing - and amusing - incidents occurring throughout his life. A staunch believer in "England and the English way of life" Wintle felt that the umbrella was one of the cornerstones of an English gentleman, a conviction that was established at the tender age of seven when an aunt bought him his first brolly - as he relates in his autobiography The Last Englishman:
"my Aunt Carrie... gave me my first umbrella, purchased at the Army and Navy Stores. This was to be, for many years, the apple of my eye. It made me feel I was well on my way to becoming a complete English gentleman.
I could hardly bear to be parted from my umbrella. I would go off at odd intervals of the day to admire it in the hall-stand and I used to take it to bed with me every night for years. The feel of the leather handle beside me as I fell asleep gave me the comforting sensation that I was already one of the... breed of Englishmen"
If you can find a copy, GET IT - it is one of the best
autobiographies I have ever read but sadly also one
of the rarest, only published once in 1968.
Although Wintle never went so far as to take an umbrella into battle his firm attachment and strong opinion never left him. He would go on to say:
"The Englishman... always takes his umbrella with him, anyway, for the good and simple reason that no gentleman ever leaves the house without it."
Mind you, he was also resolute on another point - "no true gentleman ever unfurls his umbrella". To Wintle, the brolly was a status symbol - the mark of a real English gent - and if it meant getting thoroughly soaked to prove it then so be it. So convinced was he of this theory that, in later years, before tightly furling it up he would insert a note into the canopy of his gamp that read "This umbrella was stolen from Colonel A. D. Wintle" presumably on the basis that any un-English malefactor who dared to pinch his brolly would be instantly undone upon opening it and so promptly nabbed by the constabulary.
While I wouldn't go so far as to never unfurl my umbrella (and therefore, sadly, in the eyes of Colonel Wintle am not a true Englishman) I would at least extol his instruction to take one with you wherever you go, the weather in this country being so unpredictable (especially at this time of year) and the forecasts generally useless (I find looking out of the window of a morn far more instructive). Nor would I recommend it as your sole form of armament should you ever find yourself facing off against a hostile tank, although as Major Tatham-Warter proved it couldn't hurt. If you can take anything away from these posts, be inspired by these chaps both fictional and - however unbelievably - genuine and carry your umbrella with pride whatever the weather.
Finally, to finish on a still lighter note - at the end of the previous post I described Steed's actions with the brolly as "umbrella jousting". I knew I had heard the term somewhere before and it afterwards came back to me. It is of course the sport invented by those sterling coves over at The Chap magazine as part of their annual Chap Olympiad and the perfect way to end this post. Surely it will only be a matter of time before the International Olympic Committee see sense and include umbrella jousting in future Games. Could we see well-dressed participants with tightly-furled brollies and reinforced newspapers charging each other on bicycles in time for Tokyo, perhaps? The Japanese would love it! I leave you with footage of last year's event and let you make up your own mind...
For this post I thought I would do something a bit different and publish a little essay I first wrote nearly 17 years ago, on the 23rd November 2003. Done purely for my own personal enjoyment (long before I became aware of such a thing as blogging) and to keep my writing - and handwriting, it originally having been handwritten - skills from college honed, it was one of two pieces I composed for a planned series based on people I considered my heroes and which features as its subject one of my abiding interests - aerial warfare in the First World War. I'm on a particular kick in that direction at the moment and as it happens to be close to the 103rd anniversary of this chap's death on the 23rd September 1917 I thought it would be quite apposite to give it the light of day here (and possibly continue the series in future). So without further ado I give you:
Leutnant Werner Voss (German Air Service), 13th April 1897 - 23rd September 1917
To some people, my choosing as a hero a man responsible for shooting down so many aircraft and sending many gallant Allied pilots to their deaths during the First World War may be seen as odd and unpatriotic. However I hold many Allied fighter pilots in equally high regard; [Lanoe] Hawker, [Louis] Strange, [James] McCudden, [Arthur] Rhys-Davids and [Albert] Ball to name but a few. In fact, I have the greatest respect and admiration for all the pilots of both air services, British and German, who took part in those early aerial combats. Voss’s story in particular, though, is the stuff of legend.
I do not intend to go into great detail regarding Voss's military career, but merely give a brief résumé of his war service up until the awe-inspiring dogfight in which he died.
Voss was only sixteen when the war began in 1914, but he managed to join the German cavalry (Uhlans) and saw action against the Russians on the Eastern Front (later earning him the nickname "The Krefeld Hussar"). The Eastern Front was a notoriously tough battlefield (though not nearly as hellish as the Western Front) being a snow-covered frozen wasteland, with no trench system to speak of; attack and counter-attack alike being constantly made by either side's cavalry. For a 16-year-old to be mixed up in this kind of warfare is quite impressive.
In 1915 Voss transferred to the German air service, no doubt attracted by the newness and excitement surrounding this emerging type of warfare. Like many of his peers he began by flying in two-seat reconnaissance aircraft, before becoming a scout pilot and joining [Oswald] Boelcke's Jasta 2 in November 1916. This squadron was a breeding ground for hero aces; aside from Boelcke, Manfred von Richthofen was also present, and soon befriended the young Voss.
By April 1917 Voss had shot down 28 Allied aircraft, a feat that earned him the coveted Pour le Merité (also known as the Blue Max), an award also gained by Richthofen. At the latter's personal request, Voss was given command of his own squadron, Jasta 10, in July; Jasta 10 being part of Richthofen's much larger Jagdgeschwader, or "Flying Circus". All of this while he was still only 19.
His rate of scoring slowed at this point as the pressures of command were felt by him, but he soon received a boost in the form of the latest type of fighter aircraft, the Fokker D.R.1 triplane, which began to replace the ageing Albatros and Pfalz machines. Voss's, in fact, was one of only two pre-production models, delivered to him in August. Richthofen, who now also flew the new Fokker, found it slow and difficult to fly, but Voss revelled in its amazing manoeuvrability and fantastic rate of climb.
This differing opinion regarding the Triplane helps to show the different personalities and temperaments of von Richthofen and Voss, despite their friendship. Von Richthofen's dislike of the new aircraft probably stems from his tactics, that of the hunter – cunning and analytical; hit and run, don't take on what you can't handle and make the enemy fight on your terms, not theirs. Voss's methods were markedly different. Like the British aces Albert Ball and Arthur Rhys-Davids, Voss would attack regardless of the odds. He was a great believer in breaking up formations of enemy aircraft; fighting at close quarters so that the pilots would be more concerned about the risk of colliding with, or shooting down, one of their own rather than the silver-grey Triplane of Voss. His style of fighting played to the strengths of his aircraft, that of manoeuvrability and climb rate. Voss's attitude was gung-ho, atypical and the opposite of von Richthofen's. Who is the better fighter pilot is a matter of opinion; each had their strengths and weaknesses. Voss's tactics, however, stir the imagination more.
It was these tactics that enabled him to pile on another 20 kills by the end of September 1917, bringing his total score to forty-eight, a mere 13 less than von Richthofen. Indeed, von Richthofen called him "my most redoubtable competitor" – high praise from Germany’s top-scoring ace of World War One.
Voss was due to go on leave on the 23rd of September, but was desperate to reach the half-century before he did so. He flew a patrol in the morning, when he shot down his 48th victim. Some pilots were fearful of flying when they had leave imminent, believing it to be tempting Fate and therefore bad luck. Voss evidently did not believe this, for he took off again that evening, a little after 6 o'clock, in his Fokker Triplane with two Pfalz DIII scouts for company. There was a great deal of aerial activity that evening, with several British squadrons flying. It was the rearmost flight of one of these, 60 Squadron flying the fearsome SE5a, which first spotted Voss's formation. This flight included two up-and-coming aces, Captain Robert Chidlaw-Roberts and Lieutenant Harold Hamersley. Avoiding the two Pfalz they dived in to attack Voss, whose amazing aerobatic skills now became apparent. Manoeuvring free of the attack, Voss turned the tables, firing on the two SEs and scoring hits. As he drove the enemy back towards the lines, Voss's antics attracted two flights of the well-documented 56 Squadron, also flying SE5as. With Captain James McCudden leading and Lieutenant Arthur Rhys-Davids also in attendance they tore down after Voss at close to 200mph.
Voss was not unaware of the danger, so he turned to face it. Flying at McCudden, firing as he came, he scored several hits before he flashed past. The British pilots, unable to understand what had just happened, swung round to get after him, only to find that Voss had also turned and was coming back at them. Firing once more, he scored several good hits on Keith Muspratt’s machine, irreparably damaging the engine and forcing him to land.
By this time Voss was by himself, the Pfalz pilots having departed. He too could have left at any time, the climb rate of his Fokker being superior to that of the SEs'. He elected to stay and fight on, confident in his ability to out-manoeuvre his antagonists. Whilst some people may put this down to typical German arrogance, I rather think it was an act of the greatest bravery and selflessness to take on such overwhelming odds. Said Bowman after the fight, "that left him in the middle of six of us, which did not appear to deter him in the slightest."
Time and again the British pilots were forced onto the defensive by Voss's tactics; another SE5a was forced to retire, a write-off, thereby giving Voss a claim of 50 aircraft destroyed. Slowly but surely, however, the fight was drifting westwards, towards the Allied lines. At this point, a red-nosed Albatros joined the fight, and eleven more enemy scouts were seen at high altitude, but six Spads and four Sopwith Camels were keeping them otherwise engaged. McCudden was afforded a brief chance for another attack, but as he did so Voss had already lined up and was firing in return. Another SE attacked at the same moment as McCudden, yet Voss was able to manoeuvre free from both attacks. Arthur Rhys-Davids persistently tried to dive into attack Voss, yet each time the Triplane dodged his bullets. After one such occurrence Voss appeared at a broadside position to another SE pilot, Flight Commander G. H. Bowman. Bowman tried to press home his attack, but in an outstanding move Voss applied full rudder, slewing sideways and firing on Bowman, much to his amazement. This manoeuvre, however, took up much of Voss's concentration. Enough, in fact, for him not to notice that Rhys-Davids had managed to get on to his tail. For a distance of thirty yards Rhys-Davids emptied an entire drum of ammunition into the Triplane, fatally wounding its pilot. "Oh", said Rhys-Davids after the event, "if only I could have brought him down alive!"
Every pilot who faced Voss that day held him in the highest esteem. Bowman wrote, "It was not until later that we actually heard that it was Voss in the Triplane. Our elation was not nearly so great as you would imagine." McCudden's diary entry says it all, and is in many ways a fitting epitaph:
"As long as I live I shall never forget my admiration for that German pilot, who single-handed fought seven of us for 10minutes. His flying was wonderful, his courage magnificent,and in my opinion he was the bravest German airman whomit has been my privilege to see fight."
Dear me, has it really been three months since my last post? I suppose there's no getting away from the fact that I've had something of an impromptu blogging break, but here I am - like the proverbial bad penny - turning up again and I must say it's already beginning to feel like I've never been away. Let's hope I can sustain that feeling, get back to a post every once in a while and not become stuck in another rut!
So, what has caught my vintage eye (I actually have two you know) in the last few weeks? Read on to find out!
In my local seaside town, no less, came the discovery at the end of May of a part of the hugely important and super-rare coding machine used by the Germans in the Second World War - the Lorenz encryptor, bigger and even more complex brother of the famous Enigma machines. Discovered, in of all places, eBay! Misidentified as a telegraph keyboard, and up for auction at a mere £9.50, it was only sheer luck that the National Museum of Computing at Bletchley Park came across it - sitting in the seller's garage under a pile of junk! Surely this must rank as one of the ultimate eBay "finds"?! Well done to those eagle-eyed museum chaps for spotting this important part of computing and Second World War history, even if it is incomplete. Proof, if proof were needed, that there are still treasures to be found on that site - and on that note, while we're all searching around for that next bargain, keep an eye out for the Lorenz's motor, which is still yet to be found.
In related news a Second World War messaging post, one of 30 set up at the behest of Churchill in the face of the expected invasion of Britain in 1940, has been given listed status following its rediscovery in a disused Norfolk country house in 2012. One of only twelve so far discovered, it was sadly damaged by fire in 2014 but with this latest news and the encouraging noises being made by Historic England (previously English Heritage) one hopes that it can be restored and opened to the public as a museum detailing that pivotal point in our nations history and the important part these "In Stations" and there civilian operators would have played had the worst happened.
One man doing his best among hundreds to ensure the worst did not happen was Czech fighter pilot Emil Bocek, who trained as a teenage ground mechanic in 1940 before going on to earn his wings and fly Spitfires in combat from 1944. Later rising to the rank of General and now aged 93, he returned to Biggin Hill last month to fly a dual-control Spitfire over the skies of South London - the first time he's taken the controls of that wonderful aircraft in 70 years. Dobré pro vás, General Bocek!
Work continues apace on the reconstruction of Eric, the world's first functioning robot (as previously reported here). It sounds as though both the Science Museum and the chap building the replica are unsure of just how things will turn out, so it sounds like the plans that have been found are either incomplete or not detailed enough. Nevertheless I look forward to hearing of Eric's reawakening, in what will no doubt be the closest form to the original that the existing information will allow.
This last article is an absolute pip, just the kind of feel-good vintage news story I enjoy featuring on the blog. In this four-year centenary of the First World War there have been - and no doubt will continue to be - many such stories of descendants of Great War combatants uncovering fascinating accounts or honouring their relatives in some way (and rightly so!). This story of two brothers recreating the very aeroplane their grandfather flew in the Royal Naval Air Service during the Gallipoli campaign is a particularly stirring example and I'm delighted to see them make a success of it in time for a local air display. A more perfect way of honouring their grandfather's memory and providing an important glimpse into his life and exploits in the RNAS I couldn't imagine. Well done chaps!
That's me done for this post, then, but I sincerely hope and intend it not to be my last for another three months! I'm looking forward immensely to getting back into this blogging racket and with stories like these to choose from I certainly shouldn't be short of inspiration. Until next time folks, tinkerty-tonk!
With the the centenary of the First World War now well underway and the first Remembrance Sunday of the four-year long commemorations today, events and projects marking this momentous milestone and remembering all those involved in the conflict are coming thick and fast.
The subject of this post is one of the smaller projects in the grand scheme of things, but no less important for that - the latest replica of Baron Manfred von Richtohofen's infamous red Fokker Triplane. I say "latest" as the Fokker Dr.1, to give it its proper designation, is one of the most popular World War One aircraft on the reproduction circuit thanks to its distinctive design and association with the greatest fighter ace of the time. Indeed in many respects the red triplane has almost become synonymous with the Great War in the air, especially in the United States where many of them reside and where companies exist to manufacture kits.
The Dawn Patrol Rendezvous reenactors' Dr.1 at the National Museum of the U.S Air Force, Dayton, Ohio, 2009 (source)
This new addition to the ranks resides and was built in Britain, however, by two enthusiasts at the Derby Aero Club. Unlike some other replicas, which are often ¾ or 2/3 scale, this one is also full-size and remarkably accurate to the original design - a testament to the owners' knowledge and attention to detail. Hopefully we will see it at events around the country over the next four years (and beyond) - having experienced first-hand the Great War Display Team any further airworthy replicas are always welcome - perhaps they will all fly together one day!
With several high-profile examples of flyable aircraft surviving from the Second World War it is easy to overlook the machines from the earlier conflict - original and airworthy types of which are few and far between. Thus it falls to these modern replicas, built where possible to the highest detail, to remind us what flying and aerial fighting was like during the First World War and to honour the young men who flew them. This Derby-built example is a worthy inclusion, and may there be many more!
Golly gosh, I'd forgotten just how time-consuming a full working week can be! Still, here we are again, what? The first week of a new job is under my belt and now I've got some time to sit down and write a few lines of this and that - all that has been leading up to this week just gone.
The week previous - that is, two weeks ago now - I spent some time nosing around my local branches of Debenhams, Marks & Spencer and BHS hoping to score some bargain items for m'wardrobe in the summer sales. I was not disappointed, either, as Debenhams' sale was in full swing (they don't seem to call it the Blue Cross Sale any more, unless they're saving that for Christmas/January?) and I picked up two smashing pairs of cotton trousers that will go well with the majority of my jackets for a casual summer look. Most importantly, Debenhams' men's trousers go up to a 34" inside leg - perfect for the long of limb such as myself!
Maine New England Navy twill chinos, £12 from £20 at Debenhams (**sold out**)
The navy blue is a nice, muted colour - giving off an almost workmanlike vibe - but the terracotta twill is my absolute favourite, adding a welcome and different dash of colour to my outfits.
Maine New England Terracotta twill chinos, £10 from £20 at Debenhams
Marks and BHS had less on offer (and M&S wonders why its year-on-year clothing sales keep taking a battering - definitely a "could do better" on the men's clothing selection, at least) but I was still able to score this beautiful "Autograph" knitted silk tie for a frankly unbelievable £4 (it was actually still marked up at £7.50 on the ticket - I do like pleasant surprises!).
It actually goes quite well with the terracotta trews, don't you think? It's wonderful to the touch, of course, and knots well too - something that's not always a given with knitted ties, I've found.
Saturday last found me in Rayleigh for the town's first ever Antique & Vintage Street Market, run by the same people who put on the local Runnymede Vintage, Antique and Retro Fairs that I have been to many times in the past and enjoyed, as has been mentioned on this very blog. Alas I can't see this street market becoming a regular one as it was really very poorly done with barely half a dozen stalls in the high street (which had not been closed as I was expecting), largely selling stuff that would have better been described as bric-a-brac. There were supposedly more stalls around the corner outside the local auction house (Stacey's, occasional star of Antiques Road Trip and Bargain Hunt) but we - mother, sister and I - we so disappointed we didn't bother with that but instead hit the charity shops. There I was able to pick up a nice T.M. Lewin shirt for £3.50 and an interesting CD for £1.
Twenty-four songs from The Radio Rhythm Club, a name I'd never come across before but actually that of a B.B.C. programme broadcast during the Second World War. The Radio Rhythm Sextet was led by a young Welsh clarinetist called Harry Parry(!) who greatly admired American bandleader Benny Goodman, to the point where he emulated him with his own group of top British instrumentalists of the time. Sadly Harry Parry died in 1956 at the age of 44; The Radio Rhythm Club and Sextet seem to have been lost to the mists of time, since I can't seem to find out much about them. The Benny Goodman influence is obvious (but just with a soupçon of British smoothness) and it maybe this overt similarity, plus changing musical tastes after the war, that ensured The Radio Rhythm's obscurity.
Still, after all that, I'm glad I bought the CD as it certainly does bubble along. I do like the Benny Goodman sound anyway and was only recently thinking about finding some more 1940s music, so this ticks the boxes. Have a Boogi to this:
What else has happened? Oh yes, I marked the 100th anniversary of the start of the Great War on the 4th August with a single candle and the "lights out" motif, as did most of the country I think. The B.B.C.'s coverage was rather good, I thought - slightly reserved rather than overdone and all the better for it.
This was the same candle that I burned (we were all given one) at my granddad's funeral back in 1997. I'd never lit it since but it somehow seemed right to use it on the anniversary of WW1
Well, that's all for now, I think. There's going to be a bit of disorder around here for a little while longer as I continue to settle back into a 5-day working week and get comfortable in the new job but as long as I can post at least once every weekend I'll be happy - and hopefully you, my readers, will be too! I've already got posts planned featuring the two surviving Lancaster bombers flying together for the first time in 50 years, plus a 61-year-old woman driving a 110-year-old car across Australia! In the meantime I do still enjoy reading your blogs when I get the chance - usually now a special treat after work! - and I hope you'll continue to stick with mine during this transition.
Since 2009 there has been a special Armed Forces Day in Britain, with events held around the country to honour the men and women of the British armed forces past and present. While not an official national holiday it certainly seems to have become an annual event, observed nationwide usually in the last week of June (to coincide with the anniversary of the first ever Victoria Cross).
Chances are there's an event or three near you (if you're UK-based), be it a simple town centre march-past or a weekend of packed commemorations. Both of the above are occurring locally to me this weekend (28th/29th) but it is an earlier experience that will form the basis for this post today.
One of the biggest events - THE biggest, in fact, according the promotional material - in Essex took place last weekend at my local showground, Barleylands in Billericay. I first became aware of the event as long ago as February, when the tickets began going on sale, and bought my entry there and then. (This didn't stop TicketWeb and/or the Royal Mail trying to thwart me by losing my ticket - cue much frantic 'phone-calling in the week leading up to it and the last-minute sending of a replacement e-Ticket... only to find they were being sold on the gate after all!). One thing in particular had ensured my attendance - the Great War Display Team would be making an appearance (OK, so the Spitfire and Hurricane attracted me too, of course)!
Three fields to the east of the car park were nothing to write
home about. The field to the south and the green marker were
the places to be.
Come the day itself I availed myself of the free bus service and found myself at the Barleylands ground shortly after 11'o'clock. I really had no idea what to expect from the day, having never been to an Armed Forces Day event before, but I kept my hopes suppressed following my previous less-than-positive experience a couple of years ago. As it turned out it was probably for the best, for the overall layout could best be described as your standard funfair with a bit of militaria tacked on. In one corner of a field there was a very interesting display of military vehicles - of which more momentarily. But then one had to walk through three fields of the usual merry-go-rounds, shooting galleries and ice cream vans, past a music stage empty and audience-less save for a fat man in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt who was belting out (admittedly in good voice) 1950s Rock'n'Roll numbers, just to get to the display area - which was encircled by innumerable burger vans (which at £4 for the cheapest burger-in-a-bun were a prime example of playing to a captive audience) and sunglasses sales tents.
I did a couple of circuits just to make sure I didn't miss anything, stopped for a cup of tea and my own lunch and then headed back to the first field where I - very happily as it turned out - spent the rest of the day. Why happily? Well, that one field was worth the £10 price of admission in my book.
To start with, there was a Spitfire sitting bang in the middle of it! Although only a static replica (built over 20 years by a father and son team, using an old airframe and various parts) it was still beautiful to behold. It was possible to get quite close to it (for £2 one could look - but not sit - inside the cockpit) and having not been so near a Spit for quite some time I'd forgotten just how big an aircraft it is.
Around the perimeter of this field (and the small adjacent one) were the majority of the military vehicles (and armed forces', associations' and charities' stands). Two of the more interesting vehicles were a 1942 Cadillac staff car and 1950s Austin Champ jeep.
At one end was a group of Second World War re-enactors, representing the 2nd Battalion Essex Regiment and complete with Jeep and tents, while at the other end was the fascinating display of the Great War Society. Despite having only enough room for two pitches their re-enactment was striking in its simplicity and gave a good idea of conditions for, in this case, an RFC officer and a cavalry veterinarian. The RFC johnnie was done up to the nines splendidly - complete with swagger stick, a beautiful pipe (with equally lovely-smelling tobacco) wind-up gramophone playing music hall numbers and a framed photo of Lady Edith!
Who parked that German staff car there?!
He recognised in me a fellow Chap (I think it might have been my cravat!) and we had a good long chat (he both in and out of character!) about the re-enactment scene, the centenary and my particular interest in the period and late 19th/early 20th century socio-cultural history in general. If you're reading this, Trevor, good show!
The cavalry vet also had a few handsome displays on show in the form of three pack mules, representing the equine aspect of the First World War. These three imposing beasts happily stood for being stroked and petted and were really quite beautiful animals. When you think of mules you might think of little donkeys and suchlike, but these three fellows were proper American-bred - such as the type that was used in the Great War to carry and pull all manner of things from provisions to artillery pieces - and stood an impressive 15-16 hands high! Very docile they were, though, and one in particular was only too pleased to pose.
Turn, aaand... smile for the camera!
At around 1:30pm the Hurricane suddenly appeared, announcing its arrival by roaring overhead. Here I found myself in a fortunate position, quite literally, away from the crowds and main display area on the perimeter of the public area - and right next to the field over which the Hurri was flying! I was one of maybe only half a dozen people who found this sweet spot and it was like having your own personal airshow! Even with my ancient, worse-than-a-smartphone digital camera I was able to get some half-decent shots, although they don't show the wonderful proximity of this and later displays.
Suitably buoyed I hung around the same patch of grass sitting and enjoying the glorious June weather (and ruing not having brought a fold-up chair - the lack of seating except around the main display area being another nuisance) until 2:30, when looking to the eastern horizon this stirring sight met my gaze:
What happened for the next twenty minutes I won't forget in a hurry. The last time I saw First World War 'planes (replicas) in the air was nearly 20 years ago, at the nearby North Weald Aerodrome with my dad, when there were only two or three airworthy examples. Back then they flew so high and far away that it was really impossible to make them out clearly, let alone get a sense of speed and immediacy. Added to that they did a mock bombing raid that meant they were hundreds of yards the other side of the 'drome. Well, there were no such problems this time!
British and American SE5as
Sopwith Triplane
Junkers CL.1
Fokker and Sopwith Triplanes
BE2c and Sopwith Triplane
I literally didn't know where to look next. The Great War Display Team (for 'twas they) put on one hell of a show. They must have choreographed it with military precision but it all looked so "natural" that my heart was in my mouth more than once. It was likely the closest I'll ever get to seeing a proper dogfight. I must have taken over 100 photos in those twenty minutes and it was a struggle to pick out which ones to feature in this post. Considering I was just pointing and shooting with a fifteen year old 5x zoom camera I'm delighted how few of them I had to delete (I must admit to being a trifle embarrassed when I noticed nearby two young teenage girls both with proper professional-looking zoom lens cameras - oh for the day when I can afford a new box brownie!).
What with them and the GWS my existing passion for the Great War - and particularly the air war - was enhanced even more and I've now made it my mission to get to the original Stow Maries WWI aerodrome in mid-Essex, the restoration of which I wrote about in an earlier blog post and at which the Great War Display Team sometimes appears. Perhaps an August birthday treat...?
The afternoon was topped off in style at 4'o'clock when the Spitfire turned up and proceeded to wheel and bank over our heads for the next 15 minutes. By that time I was aching, suntanned and a bit hungry so as the Spit disappeared to the west I hopped back on the bus and was home in time for tea, feeling well satisfied with the day and with renewed appreciation of the armed forces from all eras.
**Are you going to an Armed Forces Day event this weekend? Let me know in the comments below and I'll look forward to reading any subsequent posts!**
Regular readers of this blog will know that among the many aspects of socio-cultural history that interest me World War I looms large - and in particular the aerial warfare of that period. I make no secret of my continued enjoyment of the Biggles series of books nor that my Great War library is heavily stacked in the favour of aeronautics. Posts about this and other aspects of the First World War are therefore naturally littered throughout this blog - and long may that continue!
It'll continue right now, in fact, with another tale of selfless heroism in the skies above the trenches and the current attempts to honour one of the airmen involved. The story of Flight Sergeant Thomas Mottershead was brought to my attention recently by one of the people involved in getting him recognised and I'm glad, since it has made me aware of another brave pilot and a further fascinating and poignant episode in that four-year conflict.
Thomas Mottershead hailed from Widnes (then in Lancashire, now part of Cheshire), where he was born on the 11th January 1890 at number 6 Vine Street. By the beginning of 1914 things were looking very rosy for 24-year-old Tom Mottershead who, like many young men of his generation at the end of the Edwardian era, was a fit and athletic chap who played football for his local league side and was also a Bible reader at his local parish church. In February he married a young girl from nearby Birkenhead named Lillian Bree, the two of them setting up their own home in Widnes. A keen engineer, educated at the local technical school and apprenticed at Widnes' main employer the United Alkali Company, Mottershead had begun working at the Birkenhead shipyards in the summer of 1914 before moving to Portsmouth Naval Dockyard in August. With war declared on the 4th Mottershead enlisted six days later on the 10th, immediately joining the fledgling Royal Flying Corps as an air mechanic.
By June of 1916 Mottershead had been promoted to sergeant, returned to England for pilot training and awarded his "wings". In July 1916 he was sent to 25 Squadron, based at Auchel in northern France and flying FE2b fighter-bombers, where he took part in the Battle of the Somme. By October he had been made Acting Flight Sergeant and moved to 20 Squadron, piloting FE2ds.
The FE2-series of aircraft were what is known as "pusher" types - that is, the engine was mounted at the back, pushing the aeroplane along. This was the British answer to the problem of firing a machine-gun forwards without hitting the propellor, a problem which had long ago been solved by the Germans with their Fokker "synchronisation gear" but which took us a little longer to perfect. With the engine behind the pilot/observer and a "bathtub"-style cockpit, a wide field of fire was possible - except, of course, towards the rear! Observers and pilots of FEs were able to fire back over the top wing, but it was a very precarious undertaking (and don't forget the pilot would most likely be throwing the machine all over the place at the same time!). Pilots would take some small crumb of comfort in the thought that any bullets coming from behind would (hopefully!) be stopped by the engine and not them.
Although reportedly a somewhat cumbersome and unwieldy aeroplane to fly, the FE's weight was an advantage inasmuch as the airframe could take a fair bit of punishment. Its layout was put to good use in the event of attack by hostile fighters; pilots would form what was known as a "defensive circle", flying round in an aerial "follow-my-leader" - all the while trying to get closer to the Allied lines and safety. In this way each aircraft covered the rear blind spot of the next, making attack very difficult.
By the beginning of 1917, when Flt. Sgt. Mottershead - recently awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal - had returned from Christmas leave, the FE was completely outclassed by German fighters. Nevertheless the FE2ds that he flew at 25 Squadron continued to see service until the middle of the year, when they were largely replaced by the Bristol F2.b Fighter, with the earlier FE2b variant actually surviving until the end of the war as a night bomber.
One of the other flaws of the FE's design was the location of the fuel tank: directly underneath the pilot's seat. It was this that was to prove fatal for Thomas Mottershead when, on the morning of Sunday 7th January 1917 he took off Clairmarais with his observer Lieutenant William E. Gower on a contact patrol (observing and reporting troop movements). They were attacked by a Leutnant Walter Göttsch from Jasta 8, flying the far more manoeuvrable Albatros fighter. Göttsch quickly scored hits on Mottershead's FE2d, including puncturing the fuel tank. In spite of frantic signals from Gower, Mottershead was not able to turn off the fuel feed quickly enough and the petrol tank burst into flames. It was every pilot's worst nightmare and despite his observer's best efforts with a fire extinguisher Mottershead was quickly engulfed in flames. Even in the middle of all this he did his best to try to land the aircraft safely behind Allied lines. Unfortunately the undercarriage had been damaged and collapsed on landing causing the aeroplane to flip over ("turn turtle"), throwing Gower clear but trapping Mottershead beneath the wreckage of the cockpit. Nearby British troops were able to save the unconscious Gower and, eventually, Mottershead too - who, amazingly, was still conscious. Removed to the nearest Casualty Clearing Station he sadly succumbed to his wounds five days later on the 12th. He was buried the following day at Ballieul Cemetery, "...one of the bravest men who had ever fallen in war..." according to the words of his commanding officer.
Exactly one month later, Mottershead was posthumously awarded the highest military honour in the British Armed Forces - the Victoria Cross. His widow accepted the medal from King George V in Hyde Park on the 7th June 1917, in the company of Lt. Gower. Flight Sergeant Thomas Mottershead has the distinction of being the only non-commissioned officer (i.e. an enlisted man, a corporal, sergeant etc.) in the Royal Flying Corps to have received a VC during the war.
Now a local committee of interested parties has set up an appeal fund to help properly honour Thomas Mottershead and all those who fought and died in the Great War. In an admirable display of civic pride they hope to be able to erect a statue of the pilot in Widnes' Victoria Park in time for the centenary of his death, in January 2017. Local government and business are involved and as the supporters quite rightly point out, it is important that the sacrifices of men like Tom Mottershead are remembered - especially in this centenary year of the war's beginning - and someone with as unique a record as he certainly deserves to be commemorated. The website contains a wealth of information - I wish them the best of luck with their appeal and feel sure we will be reading of the statue's unveiling in a little less than 3 years' time.
