#the real flyboys of ww1

[waldopeircegoestowar]

                                                      Ma, don’t worry, it will do no good.

“I always want to tell you everything because if anything happens to me you would be glad to know of all my experiences. This is war and war is in itself dangerous; everybody knows that.

I want to tell you that yesterday I had the most thrilling experience in my life, but don't allow yourselves to worry; it will do no good. We chasse pilots run many risks daily and they are all in the game.

Now I know what a chasse pilot goes through! And in addition I learned something that I am very glad to know — I don't wilter under gun fire nor do I lose my head in even an unequal fight with bullets shrieking and whistling all around me & hitting my plane!

Rat-tattat-tat! What a sound! I'll bet a hundred bullets came within six inches of my body. And yet through it all I never thought so quickly or so clearly in my life. My head was just as cool as could be. It was a game to outwit the huns and get away. I decided it was best to make for our aerodrome and land. My landing was terrible and bouncy, because among other things the boche had shot off my left tire.

Gee, I wanted to go right up again after a boche!”

WW1 American ambulance driver who became a pilot and enlisted in the US aviation in a “do not worry” letter to his mom -- The Story of the First Flag: An Acount of the Mission of Arthur Clifford -- Photo; WW1 American aviator - San Diego Air & Space Museum

[waldopeircegoestowar]

“Today I was patrolling over No-Man's-Land when I came upon a Boche plane doing the same stunt.

His machine was in speed and gunfire almost exactly equal to mine. He also turned out to be my equal, either in efficiency or inefficiency, as the case may have been, and for fully twenty minutes we maneuvered about one another, doing all the tricks known to aviation and apparently having chances innumerable to dispatch one another. Every one of them went to waste, and at last I fired my final cartridge and turned toward home, fully expecting him to pursue and make the most of his opportunity.

Instead, he too, turned homeward, and I concluded that he, like myself, had exhausted his ammunition.

And as we parted we waved each other farewell.”

WW1 American aviator in France -- Go, Get 'em!: The True Adventures of an American Aviator -- Photo: American aviator -- Cool photo taken by his observer. San Diego Air & Space Museum

[waldopeircegoestowar]

Early 1918, the importance of aerial photography --’At the front officers in bombing squadrons find that photography is one of the most important branches of their work. In fact, next to bombing, it is their most important work. Furthermore, commanders look more and more for photographs to prove the value of bombing squadrons.

A squadron may go out, drop their bombs with excellent results, and do a considerable amount of destruction, but if on returning they have no photographic record of the destruction done, they can hardly be expected to receive credit for what they did. Obviously, it is to the interest of the pilots and observers concerned to perfect themselves in aerial photography.

Now, the camera is the best observer there can be. If handled properly, it will bring back records of such detailed nature as no observer, no matter how well trained, can; and furthermore the records will be accurate. The human observer is bound to be affected by external conditions; he will be on the lookout for enemy aircraft, and he will probably be, to say the least, somewhat flustered by antiaircraft fire. Needless to say, he cannot be expected to see the many details which the camera records.’

WW1 Air service information circular – Photo: February 22 1918 near Arras, a seemingly satisfied Canadian aviator serving with the Royal Flying Corps, examines an aerial photo. Gouvernement du Canada

[waldopeircegoestowar]

                                      “Maybe i'm not so darn unlucky to be unloved.”

‘February 5 1918 -- Every time Shorty has tried to fly he has gotten sick all over the plane. If he don't get a good rest he'll be out of flying for good. He told me that he thought of his girl all the way down the other day and figured he wouldn't ever think of her again, much less see her. Maybe i'm not so darn unlucky to be unloved.’

David Sinton Ingalls, U.S. Navy's First Ace -- Photo and text: Hero of the Angry Sky: The World War I Diary and Letters-

[waldopeircegoestowar]

                                                                “A great little joy ride”

“February 17 1918 - I flew my machine out to the front, and it was a great little joy ride. Followed the Marne most of the time, and it is the crookedest river I've ever seen! I know the geography of the war pretty well and it was very interesting to see the whole famous battle-ground spread out beneath.

From my altitude you could see nearly from  Meaux to Soissons, and it was very interesting to pick out the ground, the roads even, by which the Boches made their great day-and-a-half retreat from Meaux to the Soissons, Reims, Argonne line. It was like an enormous map spread out beneath your gaze!”

WW1 American aviator, initially ambulance driver, in France -- A Year for France -- Photo: WW1 American aviator having great fun. SDASM Archives

[waldopeircegoestowar]

‘January 22 1918

Dearest Dear: — Just a word to tell you how my world is turning around. It is turning around very rapidly, as I have been doing spirals. Meaning you're hung up in space some three thousand feet when you cut down the motor and start. For a second, everything is silent as the silence of night, when you're walking towards a precipice. Then I tried to think of my instructions — absolutely useless. I was thoroughly frightened and nearing the precipice. I pulled the plane over and down and made her spin lightly. And off she went, the clouds whirling by as in a cyclone — a war of the gods and the wind roaring at me like a fog-horn and pulling on me hard. Down, down towards the earth, as in a falling merry-go-round the plane led me like a bolt, through space.

I remember thinking that if the bus did smash, it was still a great adventure, 'midst the wild, invisible forces of the clouds, high up from other humans.

The spiral was increasing in rapidity and the wind was roaring so loudly and the plane whizzing me around so fastly and downwardy that I started to wonder whether I was in a "vrille" or not.

I looked back inside the machine again and recovered promptly, with another one thousand and one prayers to something, someone, somewhere.

Enfin — I felt the machine grip earth again, I felt as though I had just finished a heated debate in the Senate, and won; had just finished a complicated trial for suicide, and won; had just finished a desperate suit for a star in the Century, and won.’

American volunteer in France, initialy a truck/ambulance driver, in aviation training. He died in a training accident 2 days after this letter, January 24 1918. -- A Poet of the Air

[waldopeircegoestowar]

                                                          “I thought my last hour had come.”

‘Had quite a panne yesterday. I was on a patrol with the captain and another chap, when my engine began to growl a bit -- all of a sudden there was a crash, the grinding of metal being torn, grating, and rattling. I didn't know whether my plane was falling apart, or what happened.  For a few seconds I thought my last hour had come. I instantaneously cut the contact, then to stop the propeller and engine turning, pulled the machine up as far as possible, and managed to kill the engine. Then I turned and started piquing for home. I was at 6,500 feet, and I wasn’t sure whether my machine would hold together or not, which made the volplaning more or less unenjoyable. I was too far away from home to make the piste, so piqued for the aviation field where the Lafayette Escadrille was stationed. It's a bit of a knack landing exactly where you want with no motor, but luck was with me and I brought up right in front of the hangars!’

January 1918, in Marne, France, American Ambulance volunteer who became an aviator in the French army. – A Year for France – Photo: WW1 American pilot in the cockpit of his plane -- War History Online

[waldopeircegoestowar]

‘February 1 1918 -- The spirits in camp are exceedingly low, two fellows were killed in a collision today. This brings up the total to five in three weeks and there is a mighty big epidemic of nerves among the flyers. To see men killed is one thing, and to see your friends, fellows with whom you have been eating, singing and living, is another. This brings a man up with a jerk to the bitter realities of war.’

Issoudun, France - American ambulance driver, then flight trainee’s awesome diary: “Diary of a WWI Pilot. Ambulances, Planes, and Friends.” – Photo:  WW1 aviators at camp – Library of Congress, The Veteran History Project

And the same day from another American aviator:

“February 1 1918 -- I almost crashed. Coming into the field the pressure tank went and the motor stopped. I switched on the little extra gravity tank but the darn thing was empty and no help. I got into the field by the grace of God or something without crashing.”

American aviator Hero of the Angry Sky: The World War I Diary and Letters of David S. Ingalls , America's First Naval Ace

[waldopeircegoestowar]

“Early this morning, we could hear the big guns going full blast, and I saw my first air battle, and it was a thriller — four French planes and two Germans! The French bagged both of the Huns' machines, one falling only a short distance from us, and before dark we saw five more air battles.”

WW1 American marine’s letter home “Dear Folks at Home—The Glorious Story of the United States Marines in France as Told by Their Letters from the Battlefield” – Photo : February 15 1918 – In the Aisne Region, Chemin des Dames sector, American soldiers stopping their chores to watch an aerial dogfight. Source: Bibliothèque de documentation internationale contemporaine.

[waldopeircegoestowar]

‘The ground is white with snow. Early in the morning, cold and hungry, I walk down to the American Red-Cross.

Breakfast is served! A bowl of coffee that is real coffee. 2 sizzling shirred eggs, 1 little dish of home-made jam, bread and fresh butter. And it is served with a smile.

Boy, that's our home!’

1918, Issoudun, France, American Aviation Camp -- The Literary Digest Volume 57 -- Photo: 1918, Issoudun Aviation Camp - American Red Cross ladies serving breakfast with a smile!

[waldopeircegoestowar]

‘February, Issoudun -- Sunday is the only day in the week that differs from any of the others. There is no flying or formations. Sunday is reserved for us to stand inspections of every sort in front of a number of officers who attempt to instill us with the fear of God by glaring at us and trying to pick apart our appearance and to criticize the condition of our bunks. Unfortunately, they succeed in terrorizing very few of us, and we remain as complacent and self satisfied as we believe all aviators should. The days are passing so swiftly that I lose all track of them until suddenly it is Sunday, we stand inspection, and walk aimlessly about the camp, our time hanging heavily on our hands because we have nothing to do.’

February 1918, Issoudun, American volunteer ambulance driver who later became a highly decorated combat pilot – Diary of a WW1 Pilot – Photo: 1918, France, American pilots resting in a tent. National Museum Of The US Air Force

[waldopeircegoestowar]

‘I just wrote my little wife last night and I would write again if I wasn't so cold. I can't think of anything but her. I long for her to forgive all my faults and help me to be better and above all to love me, because that is all I live for.’

WW1 American aviator’s beautiful diary -- Marine Flyer In France - Illustration: Pensive -- American aviator and artist Penrose Vass Stout sketchbook – Alabama Department of Archives & History -- See more on the WW1 Centennial website. His fun sketchbook is  here.  

[waldopeircegoestowar]

                                   January 5 1918, aviation field near Paris, -14°C (6.8°F)

“No one knows what cold is till they have climbed to above 5,000 metres in a swift chasseur on a biting, way-below freezing January day. Whew! On my feet I wear heavy woollen socks, a pair of slippers, and then the heavy woollen chaussette fourrées the army gives us. Comme ça j'ai assez chaud aux pieds. On my legs I have two pairs woollen underdrawers, heavy breeches, woollen leggings. On my body I wear two undershirts, a jersey, a shirt, a sweater-vest, Mother's sweater, a leather coat, and over everything the excellent heavy fur combinaison the army gives. My gloves I stuff with paper, and my fur helmet keeps my head warm. I don't know exactly what the temperature is up there, but one of the boys has a centigrade thermometer which averages between fifteen and twenty below zero. I don't know waht it is in Fahrenheit, but I know it's cold, especially considering the speed with which we rush through space!

January 5 1918, Marne, France -- American volunteer aviator, Escadrille 94 – A Year for France -  Photo source: Bibliothèque de documentation internationale contemporaine

[waldopeircegoestowar]

‘The wind had carried me west of Paris. I landed in a field where several women were working, and found that the aviation field was not far away---about 10 or 11 miles. They pointed the direction, I set it by compass, and went up to look for the aerodrome, being guided only by compass. It had grown dark, but there was a full moon, and I could see the country by its light when I flew low. Several times while passing over forests I was anxious, but it ran splendidly. It was great sport flying by moonlight, but a little mist started to hang over the earth, and I decided to come down before it would be too difficult to find a good landing ground.’

1917, near Paris, American volunteer aviator’s letter – A Year for France – Photo:  Early December 1917, airfield near Paris, airplane returning to camp at night. Gallica-BnF France

[waldopeircegoestowar]

‘Today I had to make an atterrissage en campagne. This was easy; I picked a good field and landed without difficulty. Left the appareil in charge of the gendarme, and went to have my papers signed at the Mairie. When I got back I found hundreds of people, mostly children, gathered around my machine, so I took their picture. They were pretty much scared of the avion, so after rising and making a turn I dove straight down on top of them, redressing above their heads, and shot up into the air again. Some of them threw themselves on the ground, and I could hear a few scream before I put on the motor again. I turned around and waved in reply to their waves and dropped my handkerchief as a souvenir. The last I saw was a crowd running forward to get it.’

October 1917, France, American volunteer in flight training - A Year for France

[waldopeircegoestowar]

“It's awfully cool flyin' these brisk but golden autumn days. And the sheep won't get out of the way. Nor the people either, when you feint a landing right on them. They just stand frozen on the field admiring you, and when you land, all the girls from Tours, just "Ah!" and "Oh!" at you. Why, when our truck goes through town, the ladies rush out to the street and cheer to us from their dainty balconies and holler "Les Americains!—Je vous adore!" And "Vive nos Americains!" I'll get scared and think that my job nust be dangerous if the ladies keep up such cheering and smiles of praise out on the field! It's real fun; no novel reading, but the real stuff.”

September 1917 - American ambulance/truck driver who joined the French aviation. He was killed in action January 24 ,1918 -  A Poet of the Air - Photo: 1917, France, at dusk, a Farman biplane just landed in the fields!