14 August 1896 – 7 May 1917
Portrait of Captain Albert Ball V.C. Oil on canvas Artist Noel Denholm (1876-1950) (Nottingham City Museums and Galleries NCM_1990-624)

25 April – 6 May, 1917, over France

On the ground, fighting on the Western Front had been static since late 1914, with set piece battles by each side achieving gains measured in yards against casualties counted in the tens of thousands. In 1914, air power was virtually non-existent – aircraft barely able to support the weight of their pilots.

As the aircraft slowly evolved, so did their military use. First use was for reconnaissance – ‘what is over the next hill?’ – by the pilot taking paper notes. And artillery spotting, dropping target corrections to the artillery. Then they began to evolve. Reconnaissance aircraft with cameras.

But you don’t want to let the enemy see what you are doing. So scout aircraft (now called fighters) to prevent them. And ground attack, with the development of role-specific design: scouts, reconnaissance and ground-support, then finally bombers. By 1917, air power was a tangible part of the fighting forces on both sides.

Albert Ball’s medals (Nottingham City Museums & Galleries NCM 1954-77/1=8)

Albert Ball was awarded his RFC ‘wings’ brevet on 22 January 1916 and rapidly developed into a very dedicated and proficient fighter pilot, and perhaps amongst the best known and publicly admired. For a full description of his career and successes, see Bowyer’s ‘For Valour, the Air VCs’, a copy of which may be seen in the Reading Room of the RAF Museum, Hendon.

On 25 February 1917, Ball was appointed to 56 Squadron at London Colney as commander of A flight, then re-equipping with Royal Aircraft Factory SE 5a scouts, and on 7 April, the squadron moved to its war station, Vert Galand airfield, near Amiens.

At 6 pm on the evening of 7 May, 1917, Ball flew his personal SE 5a, serial A4850, on a ‘fighting patrol’ hunting for German aircraft. He encountered Jadgstaffel [fighter squadron] 11, commanded by the famous ace Baron Rittmeister Manfred von Richtofen but that day led by his younger brother, Lothar. The exact events that evening remain uncertain.

Ball’s personal SE 5a, in which he won his VC and died. (RAFM P012329)

Lothar crashed with a defective engine and three German infantry officers saw Ball’s aircraft emerge from low cloud, inverted and emitting a thin plume of smoke. Ball was killed in the crash but examination of the aircraft showed no combat damage and Ball’s only injuries were from the impact.

The London Gazette Friday 8 June 1917

‘Lt. (temp. Capt.) Albert Ball, D.S.O., M.C., late Notts, and Derby. R., and R.F.C. For most conspicuous and consistent bravery from the 25th of April to the 6th of May, 1917, during which period Capt. Ball took part in twenty-six combats in the air and destroyed eleven hostile aeroplanes, drove down two out of control, and forced several others to land.

In these combats Capt. Ball, flying alone, on one occasion fought six hostile machines, twice he fought five and once four. When leading two other British aeroplanes he attacked an enemy formation of eight. On each of these occasions he brought down at least one enemy.

Ball with squadron colleagues 17 April 1917: he died just 20 days later.
(RAFM X004-7598)

Several times his aeroplane was badly damaged, once so seriously that but for the most delicate handling his machine would have collapsed, as nearly all the control wires had been shot away. On returning with a damaged machine he had always to be restrained from immediately going out on another.

In all, Capt. Ball has destroyed forty-three German aeroplanes and one balloon, and has always displayed most exceptional courage, determination and skill.’

Memorial and grave (© The War Graves Photographic Project www.twgpp.org)

He is buried in Annoeullin Communal Cemetery And German Extension, the only British casualty there.

His VC is held by City Museum and Art Gallery, Nottingham

Credits:

• Citation: The London Gazette Friday 8 June 1917
• Additional biographical details: For Valour: The Air VCs Chaz Bowyer, Grub Street Publishing.

In two previous blog posts (see here and here) I investigated the ‘Zepp’ attacks and the subsequent ‘Gotha’ attacks which were aimed against London. This final blog will look at what happened when the EnglandGeschwader reached London. It was these daylight raids, and one in particular, that in the words of Richard Overy ‘triggered the British government move to form an independent air service’. This was the birth of the Royal Air Force.

Following reports of good weather conditions on the morning of 13 June 1917 Hauptmann (Captain) Ernst Brandenburg and 20 Gothas of the EnglandGeschwader took off from airfields in Ghent. Two turned back due to engine problems but the rest carried on. One Gotha broke formation and dropped bombs on Margate. Three more Gothas left the formation soon afterwards, two dropped bombs over Shoeburyness and the other followed the Thames towards Greenwich. 14 aircraft carried on towards London, so far unhindered by any defences. Many on the ground watched the aircraft passing overhead with their distinctive engine noise, assuming they were friendly aircraft.

Squadrons were ordered to take off to intercept and anti-aircraft (AA) guns in Romford were the first to open fire on the invaders. Brandenburg and his Squadron were soon over London and the first bomb dropped landed harmlessly in an allotment in Barking. Seven more then fell in East Ham. 42 houses were damaged, and four people killed. A bomb that fell on the Royal Albert Docks killed eight dock workers and damaged buildings. The City of London was clearly in view of the Gotha squadron and soon 72 bombs fell in a radius of one mile of Liverpool Street Station, as recalled in Ian Castle’s ‘London 1917-1918: The Bomber Blitz’ (Osprey, 2010);

‘From every office and warehouse and tea shop men and women strangely stood still, gazing up into the air.’

Liverpool Street Station was hit three times, 16 were killed and 15 injured. Siegfried Sassoon was at the station at this time and commented that bombing made one feel more helpless then trench warfare.

Thomas Burke (as recalled in ‘London 1917 – 1918’) was working in his third-floor office and saw at first hand the horror of bombing;

‘Looking out of my window on to a street that seemed enveloped by a thick mist…a girl who had been standing in a doorway of a provision shop, next door, having now lost both her legs…, a certified accountant, who had offices near mine, lying dead besides his daughter, who had tried to help him’

Worse was to come.

Having passed over the City of London the Gothas unloaded the rest of their bombs over East London as they made their way back to base, still not challenged. One 50kg bomb would hit Upper North Street School in Poplar. It would fall through three floors, killing two children on its way before landing on the ground floor and exploding in the middle of a classroom of 64 infants.

Frederick Pepper aged 10 remembered a terrible explosion and then red dust everywhere, where his schoolfriend had been sitting was now a large hole.

Agnes Hill, aged 14, remembered ‘the horror of it, and the unbelief, it couldn’t be, you know that class was there and then it wasn’t.’ Mrs Watkins was the teacher in the infants class and stated that three boys had fallen through the ceiling into her infants class below.

One girl, Rose Symmons was rescued from the rubble three days later. Her brother Jimmy, aged 12, refused to leave the school and carried on looking for her. She was found badly injured but alive.

It took several days to remove all the bodies from the rubble. One of the teachers, Mrs Middleton was injured but stayed on the scene to point out where children may be found. In total, this casually dropped bomb killed 18 children, most aged between four and six. 15 children were buried in a common grave in East London Cemetery, three children were buried privately. Another coffin with unidentifiable parts of remains was also buried.

The funeral for these 18 children took place on 20 June and was a focus of grief and anger. Thousands lined the East India Dock Road and the coffins were carried in horse drawn hearses covered with flowers, and over 600 wreaths were laid. This event is remembered today with the memorial erected on 23 June 1919 in Poplar Recreation Ground which was paid for by public funding, some of the funding also paid for the upkeep of the childrens’ graves and a bed in the childrens’ ward in Poplar Hospital. One of the last victims of the bombing was the caretaker of the school, Mr Batt, who died on 1 November 1917; he had recovered his son’s body from the building.

German High Command were pleased with the outcome of the raid, hitting the centre of London at last, all the Gothas had returned to base and this one raid had killed 162 people and injuring 426. Hauptmann Ernst Brandenburg flew to Germany the day after the raid to report to the Kaiser and to receive the ‘Pour le Mérite’, also known as the ‘Blue Max’, the highest military medal awarded in Germany during the First World War. However, on the flight home his aircraft crashed and Brandenburg lost a leg due to his injuries. A new man would take over directing the raids on London, Hauptmann Rudolph Kleine.

In England, the bombing of the school and the killing of children had focussed anger at the military for seemingly not being able to do anything about daylight raiders. 94 Royal Flying Corps (RFC) sorties took place but only 11 got close enough to attack the Gothas due to the time it took them to reach the Gothas’ height, none of these attacks had any effect. There was also anger that the government still did not approve air raid warnings. Sir George Cave, the Home Secretary responded on 28 June to questions that there was no plan to have air raid warnings in London with the Government being concerned about people coming out to watch the raid or panicking. In response to a question regarding having a special constable stationed at every school to give a warning, he replied that;

‘I had not received representations to this effect, but I have communicated with the Commissioner of Police since the question was put down. As there are 2,400 schools in the Metropolitan Police district it would not be practicable to detail a special constable for duty at each in anticipation of a possible air raid, and I have no reason to think that the schools are in need of such assistance.’

In this reply one can see that air raids were still seen as novelties. Another however was to come on 7 July 1917. The defences around London were still weak, a request for more AA guns had failed due to the lack of guns and manpower and Haig was reluctant to release RFC squadrons as he wanted them for offensives on the Western Front.

Hauptmann Rudolph Kleine led his formation of 22 Gothas towards London. This time they had a reduced bomb load to allow them to fly higher and faster. No. 37 Squadron intercepted the formation coming towards them but only four Sopwith Pups could reach them. However, of the three that attacked the formation, one gave up with guns jammed, another had engine problems and guns jamming, while the third had engine problems.

AA fire forced the formation to open up and start evasive manoeuvres but still the bombs rained down. In total 81 bombs exploded with 54 people killed and 190 injured. The area around Liverpool Street station was peppered with bombs as was Shoreditch and Kings Cross Station. The RFC launched some 79 aircraft to attack the raiders but they were constantly hampered by jammed guns or lack of speed. Anti-aircraft shells landing in the City also caused casualties.

This raid and the deaths caused in daylight caused rioting with mobs turning on anyone or any business with a German sounding name, smashing shops and attacking innocent people. Four days after the raid King George V announced that the Royal family name had changed from Saxe-Coburg-Gotha to Windsor.

Soon after this raid a committee was approved by the Prime Minister Lloyd George to look at Home Defence and organisation of aerial operations. This Committee was named ‘The Prime Minister’s Committee on Air Organisation and Home Defence Against Air Raids’. Lieutenant-General Jan Christian Smuts, a member of the British War Cabinet, was an enemy turned ally. He had fought against the British in the Boer War and was admired for his tactical ability. He was appointed to this committee which really just consisted of Smuts. However, he relied on Director General of Military Aeronautics David Henderson for advice on the air force. Henderson was the first commanding General of the RFC.

Smuts had been in London when the first raids happened and toured the bombed areas seeing the destructive power of bombing at first hand. He produced his first report within eight days following interviews.

This report looked at improvements to London’s defences and saw the formation of the London Air Defence Area on 31 July 1917 organising gun batteries, RFC squadrons and observation posts into one command over seen by Major-General Edward B Ashmore, a former RFC officer and commander of artillery. Air raid warnings were also finally approved.

On 17 August 1917 Smuts and Henderson produced another report. This report is known as the ‘Smuts Report’ and is arguably the most important document in the history of the RAF. This report recommended that British air policy and air operations should be placed under a new air ministry and a combined air force. These ideas were approved and passed in the Air Force (Constitution) Act on 29 November 1917. In early 1918, Lord Rothermere become the first Secretary State for Air and an Air Council was established. On 1 April 1918, the RFC and the Royal Naval Air Service were amalgamated and became the world’s first independent air force, the Royal Air Force.

‘Thus, I joined the Flying Service at the end of May 1915. My greatest wish was fulfilled.’
In Hangar Two of the Royal Air Force Museum London, in the First World War in the Air exhibition is a Fokker D.VII. This is one of the most colourful aircraft in the collection, it catches the eye due to its abstract paintwork. It has a stark reminder that the First World War was not fought in black and white but pure, raw colour. On a different scale nearby is displayed a small delicate blue dog made of glass.

This was a mascot owned by Manfred von Richthofen, known to the Allies as the Red Baron, and was carried with him when he flew. On 21 April 1918, some 102 years ago, the Red Baron would meet his fate. The Times of 24 April 1918 paints a rather beautiful and moving picture of the funeral:

‘Captain Baron von Richthofen’s funeral yesterday afternoon was a simple but impressive ceremony. The coffin, which was borne by six officers of the Royal Air Force, was deposited in ground in the corner of the French cemetery in a little village from ground near which, before the ceremony, one could look at Amiens Cathedral, standing very clear and beautiful in the afternoon sun. The English Service was read, and the last salute fired over the grave.’

Footage of this service can still be viewed online today.

Respect was certainly evident between the aviators. Wreaths and notes would often be dropped over lines and military services given to the fallen enemy. This is evident in an entry in The Aberdeen Daily Journal of 23 April 1918:

‘The funeral was a very impressive spectacle. The fallen airman was buried in a pretty little cemetery not far from the spot where he was brought down. A contingent of the Royal Air Force attended. We may not feel that it is our national role to try and impose Kultur [sic] upon the rest of the world, but we certainly do continue to practise chivalry towards our enemies.’

The term chivalry leads us to the concept of the First World War in the air being fought by Knights of the Air. The Knights of the Air approach has fallen out of favour in historiographical terms, due to the push from the 1960s onwards of the ‘Lion led by Donkeys’ approach to First World War history. However, there is some truth in this concept, the men who flew on all sides came from similar backgrounds, had a shared way of life and in the majority of cases mutual respect for each other. However, this approach should not hide the fact that these men were engaged in violence in a new area of combat, using new technology. As stated by Peter Hart ‘pistols, rifles, bombs, grenades, were all tried’ in the pursuit of killing their fellow aviators before the machine gun. The Red Baron’s ‘remarkable record’ is witness to this also.

The Yorkshire Evening Post of 22 April 1918 comments that the Red Baron’s funeral is anticipated to be ‘very impressive, and worthy of the fallen airman’s remarkable record.’ This ‘remarkable’ record was the 80 victories claimed by the Red Baron. Many of these shot down aircraft would have been crewed by freshly trained pilots and many would not have known, quite literally, what had hit them.

When investigating someone as iconic as the Red Baron a major obstacle encountered is how do you get past the hype and myths. In this instance we have the tool of his own memoir, Der Rote Kampfflieger.

Der Rote Kampfflieger was published in 1917, translated by J. Ellis Barker and republished in English in 1918 under the name The Red Flier. The object of the translation being as stated in the foreword by CG Grey, editor of The Aeroplane, ‘It gives our flying people an opportunity of comparing notes with one of Germany’s star-turn fighter pilots.’

Before his death Richthofen thought that this book showed him as more of an insolent character then he now was, however it does capture his thoughts and views at the time and offers us an insight into the mindset of a fighter pilot in this period.

Manfred, baron von Richthofen was born on 2 May 1892 in Breslau, Germany (now Wroclaw, Poland). His was a prosperous family and one of his great joys was hunting in and around the family estate. Hunting is a theme that we will come back to.

Richthofen first saw action in the First World War with a cavalry regiment of the Prussian army and fought in Russia at the start of the war and in the invasion of Belgium and France. In the cavalry he won the Iron Cross for courage under fire. His role in the cavalry soon become one of transporting supplies rather than action due to the new trench warfare. He recalls in The Red Fighter Pilot when at Verdun:

‘At the beginning I was in the trenches at a spot where nothing happened. Then I became a dispatch bearer and hoped to have some adventures. But there I was mistaken…. After having paid a short visit to the fighting men, my position seemed to me a very stupid one… I had enough of it. I sent a letter to my Commanding General and evil tongues report that I told him: “My dear Excellency! I have not gone to war in order to collect cheese and eggs, but for another purpose.” At first, the people above wanted to snarl at me. But then they fulfilled my wish. Thus, I joined the Flying Service at the end of May, 1915. My greatest wish was fulfilled.’

His first flight as an observer did not go smoothly,

‘The next morning at seven o’ clock I was to fly for the first time as an observer! I was naturally very excited, for I had no idea what it would be like. Everyone whom I had asked about his feelings told me a different tale. The night before, I went to bed earlier than usual in order to be thoroughly refreshed the next morning. We drove over to the flying ground, and I got into a flying machine for the first time. The draught from the propeller was a beastly nuisance. I found it quite impossible to make myself understood by the pilot. Everything was carried away by the wind. If I took up a piece of paper it disappeared. My safety helmet slid off. My muffler dropped off. My jacket was not sufficiently buttoned. In short, I felt very uncomfortable. Before I knew what was happening, the pilot went ahead at full speed and the machine started rolling. We went faster and faster. I clutched the sides of the car. Suddenly, the shaking was over, the machine was in the air and the earth dropped away from under me.’

On 10 October 1915, after experiencing combat in a two-seater, Richthofen would undertake his first solo flight. He would not pass his final examinations until Christmas Day 1915 and Manfred von Richthofen would then be a fighter pilot and reap devastation on all who opposed him. He was known as being a deadly shot. By early 1917 he had become Germany’s highest living scoring pilot. This was with 16 confirmed victories and he was subsequently awarded the Pour le Mérite, more commonly known as the Blue Max, after the great German fighter pilot Max Immelmann.

In January 1917 Richthofen was given command of his own fighter squadron, Jagdstaffel 11 (No. 11 Fighter Squadron). The pilots were handpicked and included many of the leading fighter pilots of their day including his younger brother Lothar, who would shoot down the great British ace Captain Albert Ball, VC, who trained at Hendon where the RAF Museum is now located. Of the 26 pilots who were attached to this Jasta, 20 achieved five or more victories. The squadron were known for their colourfully painted aircraft and as they travelled to where the fighting was the thickest by train. They soon gained the nickname ‘The Flying Circus’.

Amongst all this death there was mutual respect between the pilots as evident in the description of the Red Baron’s funeral. There is another aspect of his death, the fascination that was evident in the allies for this man whose aircraft could evoke fear when spotted. This comes across in a fascinating article in Cross and Cockade, Vol, 20, no.3 regarding an interview with Vince Emery of the Australian Imperial Force by Geoffrey Hine. Vince was one of the first on the scene when the red Fokker of Richthofen crashed.

‘On reaching it he walked around it, passing between the nose and the beet heap, to the low side and stood on the twisted back lowest wing. The pilot was bareheaded, the head lying back. Vince, no doubt at this moment, souvenired the small binoculars which were slung around the airman’s neck on a very short dark silken cord, the glasses being tucked down into the front of the pilot’s coveralls. These glasses Vince slipped into his tunic side pocket. Jeffrey took a pistol… Vince remembered that the pilot had the clearest blue eyes that he ever saw. He was not wearing a helmet, though the coveralls may have had a hood attached; he had close- cropped hair and was wearing gloves. After about three minutes there were some one-hundred men about the plane.’

Of course, soon a lot of souveniring begun, pieces taken off the plane and pilot and as Vince memorably described the men were ‘just like kangaroo dogs around a roo.’ One wonders if any of these souvenirs still exist, perhaps not recognised for what they are.

A reissue of the Victoria Cross owned by Major Hawker, after the original was stolen in France in 1940 is owned by the RAF Museum, Hendon.

To Richthofen the conflict was an extended hunt and the skills of the hunter were needed. He often kept trophies of his victories, including the registration numbers cut from downed aircraft and propellers.

‘During my whole life I have not found a happier hunting ground than in the course of the Somme Battle. In the morning, as soon as I got up, the first Englishman arrived, and the last did not disappear until long after sunset. Boelcke once said that this was the El Dorado of the flying men.’

It was calmness in combat that marked out Richthofen from other fighter pilots;

‘My former excitement was gone. In such a position one thinks quite calmly and collectively and weighs the probabilities of hitting and of being hit. Altogether the fight itself is the least exciting part of the business as a rule. He who gets excited in fighting is sure to make mistakes. He will never get his enemy down.’

‘It followed that the victory would accrue to him who was calmest, and who had the clearest brain in a moment of danger.’

Richthofen was a brave, fearless fighter, experience learnt through the great German aces of their day influenced Richthofen and his approach of being calm and working as a squadron were learnt from the men that he had worked with including the aforementioned Oswald Boelcke. Known as the father of the German fighter air force and a great tactician, Boelcke was killed in a mid-air collision. A wreath dropped by the Royal Flying Corps simply read; ‘To the memory of Captain Boelcke, our brave and chivalrous opponent.’

Perhaps one of the luckiest pilots of the First World War was Wilfried Reid May. It was May that the Red Baron was attacking when he was himself shot down. May, in an example of the lives those killed in combat on both sides could have had, went on to become an Ace himself with 13 confirmed victories, winning a DFC (citation) but after the war undertook a mercy flight in Canada, in atrocious winter conditions, delivering serum saving men, women and children from an outbreak of Diphtheria. May was a pioneer in the field of bush pilots and set up the first air service out of Edmonton in Canada. During the Second World War he worked with the Royal Canadian Air Force training pilots. In 1973 he was submitted into the Canadian Aviation Hall of Fame. By this time, he had also been awarded an OBE. None of this would have happened of course if he had not weaved his aircraft the correct way at the exact time required to avoid becoming the 81st victory.

The colourful Fokker is a reminder that this was a conflict that was not fought in black and white in bygone days but fought in the air by your men from all backgrounds. Richthofen starkly states in The Red Battle Flyer that ‘the blood of English pilots will have to flow in streams.’ The war above the trenches was just as vicious as the war in them and the men who flew these aircraft, on all sides, were just as brave and young. At his death Richthofen was 25, Hawker when shot down was 25 and Ball 20.

I will leave the last word to Captain Roy Brown, the Canadian RAF pilot who was given the credit for the shooting down of the Red Baron, although to this day debate continues as to whether it was Brown or ground fire that downed the infamous Fokker tri-plane. It is also known that Richthofen had suffered a head wound in July 1917 which never properly healed, and this is thought to have had serious long-term effects.

Brown viewed Richthofen, laying in a tent soon after his death and wrote this in a letter to his mother:

‘The sight of Richthofen as I walked closer gave me a start. He appeared so small to me, so delicate He looked so friendly. Blond, silk-soft hair, like that of a child, fell from the broad, high forehead. His face, particularly peaceful, had an expression of gentleness and goodness, of refinement. Suddenly I felt miserable, desperately unhappy, as if I had committee an injustice. With a feeling of shame, a kind of anger against myself moved in my thoughts, that I had forced him to lay there. And in my heart, I cursed the force that is devoted to death. I gnashed my teeth; I cursed the war. If I could I would gladly have brought him back to life, but that is somewhat different than shooting a gun. I could no longer look him in the face. I went away. I did not feel like a victor. There was a lump in my throat. If it had been my dearest friend, I could not have felt greater sorrow.’

[Quoted in Mark C. Wilkins, Aero-Neurosis: Pilots of the First World War and the Psychological Legacies of Combat, Pen & Sword, 2019]

My thanks once again to Peter Devitt, Curator, RAF Museum for his comments and observations.

On 19 February 2020 I met three extraordinary people, whom without the RAF Museum I would never have had the opportunity to meet and hear some incredible stories.

Aviation artist Tim O’Brien, former RAF pilot David Learmount, and David’s son Charles met at the RAF Museum London in February to celebrate the re-creation of a little bit of aviation history.

David’s grandfather, Major LW Learmount DSO MC, was a pilot and squadron commander with the Royal Flying Corps (RFC, the predecessor of the RAF) during the First World War. He survived two years and ten months flying over the Western Front before being badly wounded in air combat and sent back to Blighty.

But LWL, as we will call him here, had kept no diary, no records, and had no photographs of himself from his RFC service (unless someone reading this has one – in which case please get in touch with us!). David Learmount, an aviation journalist since leaving the RAF in 1979, found this void of information disturbing, and began researching the work of this unsung officer.

Finally, David commissioned Tim O’Brien to turn history into a painting of a specific crew preparing a specific aircraft for a real photo-reconnaissance sortie over the Hindenburg Line.

What David had discovered in researching his grandfather, was a man who represents the spirit of the RAF in a way that the exceptional heroes – the famed aces like Captain Albert Ball in the Great War and Group Captain Douglas Bader in the Second World War – somehow don’t, simply because most of
us are not exceptional.

LWL wasn’t recorded as an ace, wasn’t a fighter pilot, he flew mostly on reconnaissance – particularly photo-reconnaissance. He was frequently involved in air combat, but didn’t end up dying for his country!

And when the war was over, he went quietly back to being the businessman he had been before he volunteered for military service.

But in the RFC, he worked extremely hard, first flying for No. 7 Squadron, then No. 15 during the Somme campaign. In January 1917, he was promoted to Acting Major and given command of No. 22 Squadron, based then at Chipilly, north-east France, just a year and ten months after joining the RFC as a 2nd Lieutenant.

Tim O’Brien’s oil painting brings all this to life, and it was so he could hand the artwork over to David that they agreed to meet at the RAF Museum.

On the 10 May 1917 sortie for which the crew is shown preparing in the picture, LWL and his observer/gunner were to fly their FE2b aircraft at dangerously low-level over the Hindenburg Line, making themselves even more of a sitting duck by flying rock-steadily to get high-quality oblique photographs of the enemy positions.

They did just that. LWL was wounded by ground-fire but got his aircraft back to base with superbly exposed photographic plates to hand over to the photography unit for processing.

In the citation for the Distinguished Service Order (DSO) that he was subsequently awarded, it says this: ‘On nearly all the other occasions on which this officer took oblique photographs his machine was literally shot to pieces and his escape from injury really miraculous.’

He wasn’t an ace, but his risky, exacting work was vital. And now, at least, there is a picture to remind people of it.

When Curtiss H12 and Felixstowe F2A Large America flying boats entered service with the Royal Naval Air Service (RNAS) in 1917, their six-hour endurance and 400 mile range enabled them to patrol the southern sector of the North Sea very effectively. However, from the East Coast of the UK, where the RNAS flying boats were based, the Heligoland Bight and the enemy naval bases on the north German coast were at the extreme limit of their range. Wing Commander John Porte, who directed RNAS flying boat research and development, proposed using specially-designed lighters to tow flying boats the 100 miles across the North Sea where they could take off from the open sea close to the Heligoland Bight.

The Admiralty was quick to see the potential of Wg Cdr Porte’s idea and in October 1916 his initial lighter design was developed further. The main requirements were: ease of loading and offloading the flying boat; protection of the aircraft from being damaged by spray while in transit on board the lighter; and the lighter’s good performance when being towed by destroyers steaming at speeds of up to 35 mph.

The resulting design included an open transom with ballast tanks incorporated in the sides of the steel hull near the stern. When these tanks were flooded the lighter became partially submerged so that the five-ton flying boat could be winched on board at the start of the voyage, then slid off again upon reaching its destination. When loading or unloading had been completed, the lighter’s trim could be readjusted for towing by blowing out the water in the ballast tanks with compressed air.

In order to deflect spray from the shipped aircraft, the bow had a concave cross section below the hard chine, which rose sharply upwards. To improve performance at high speed the bottom of the hull had a shallow v-section and two large fins were fitted underneath near the stern. In January 1917 the first four prototype lighters were ordered from Thorneycroft of Southampton. These were delivered in June 1917 and following the completion of their trials a production order for 50 lighters was placed at the Government shipyard at Richborough. The first production lighters were delivered in May 1918.

The first operational use of lighters was on 19 March 1918, when Curtiss H12 8677 and Felixstowe F2As N4282 and N4513 were towed to the Haaks Light Vessel near Texel off the Dutch coast. Squadron Commander TD Hallam, DSC, Commanding Officer of the Felixstowe War Flight, was on board the leading destroyer during this first ‘lighter stunt’ and in his book ‘The Spider Web’ he describes the North Sea crossing in detail, followed by the launching of the three flying boats: ‘the destroyers slowed down to three knots, and the boats were slid off the lighters backwards into the water. The destroyers made a right-hand turn and drew away from them. The warships formed a four-mile circle, travelling at speed in case a U-Boat, a German submarine was lurking about. In the centre, bobbing up and down on the water, were the three boats, looking incredibly small. Presently I saw white water breaking beneath their bows, they ran along the water, bucketing a bit in the swells created by the ships, and took to the air.’

After successfully taking off the three flying boats flew over the British minefields surrounding the Heligoland Bight, noting where German minesweepers were clearing channels for a possible breakout from Wilhelmshaven and Kiel by the German High Seas Fleet. During a brief skirmish with two German seaplanes, Flight Lieutenant Norman Magor’s crew in F2A N4282 shot down one of the German aircraft and the second was driven off by Flight Lieutenant Cyril Clayton. However, during the exchange of fire the starboard engine of Flt Lt Magor’s aircraft was damaged and had to be shut down. While Flt Lt Magor kept the F2A in the air on one engine, Leading Mechanic Sydney Anderson climbed onto the starboard wing and worked on the damaged engine in the 90 mph (145 km/h) slipstream. After 1¾ hours he succeeded in repairing and restarting the starboard engine and for his courageous action, which enabled N4282 to return to Felixstowe with the other two aircraft, LM Anderson was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal.

A second patrol by lighter-borne flying boats led by Flight Commander John Osborn ‘Tiny’ Galpin, DSC was carried out on 21 March, 1918. While observing naval activity in the Heligoland Bight the three RNAS flying boats were fired on by German minesweepers and promptly retaliated by strafing them. On 18 May Flt Lt Clayton led a third patrol. On this occasion the Harwich Force was shadowed by a Zeppelin, which Flt Lt Clayton tried unsuccessfully to drive away. Recording the episode in his diary afterwards he wrote: ‘At 4.50 we got into the air, and old man Zepp immediately started to beat it. We were all heavily loaded and … there was not much chance of catching him, but I didn’t want him following us and giving our position away, so proceeded to chase him… followed him (south-east) for about 30 miles; he then steered south-west towards Heligoland. We were still a considerable distance below him, so I turned off and started on the patrol we were to carry out. All the time the Zepp was wirelessing to beat the band, so we expected to see a bunch of Hun machines around at any time.’ However, despite picking up wireless signals from enemy aircraft, none were seen and Flt Lt Clayton led his patrol over the Heligoland Bight and back to Felixstowe without incident. They covered 756 km (470 miles) and were in the air for 7 hours and 35 minutes, topping up their fuel tanks in flight with extra cans of petrol carried inside their aircraft.

On 29 June 1918 the first of a new type of ‘lighter stunt’ involving coastal motor boats (CMBs) was carried out. Cruisers of the Harwich Force, each carrying two CMBs, dropped them just outside the British minefields around the Heligoland Bight. The small, fast CMBs armed with a machine gun and a single torpedo then carried out surprise attacks on German minesweepers and their escorting warships. The role of the flying boats was to protect the CMBs from German aircraft and to guide them back to the waiting Harwich Force warships after their attacks. A number of similar operations were carried out before the War ended, but in nearly every case the flying boats were prevented from taking-off by heavy swells or insufficient wind. On the first of these operations Lieutenant Harold S. Boulding’s F2A N4393 was the only one of the three flying boats which managed to take-off in the unfavourable conditions. One of the others was so badly damaged while attempting to take-off that it sank and the third had to abandon further attempts due to the damage it sustained. After completing his reconnaissance patrol, Lt Boulding’s luck finally ran out too when the starboard engine of N4393 failed and he had to make a forced landing in which the aircraft was badly damaged and sank. Fortunately, Lt Boulding and his crew were rescued by a Dutch trawler and were later transferred to a British destroyer.

Ensuring that conditions were suitable for the flying boats to take-off once they had been towed to the Dutch coast was one of the greatest difficulties encountered during lighter operations. Oil was sometimes pumped out of the destroyers’ fuel bunkers into the sea in an attempt to give the lighter-borne flying boats a smoother take-off run. However, in practice the oil was found to be as much a hindrance as a help, as Lieutenant John M Vorys discovered. In 1918 Lt Vorys was seconded to the RNAS from the US Navy and his description of what it was like to take-off from a rough sea covered with oil appears in ‘The first Yale Unit’ by Ralph D Paine: ‘My boat poked its nose under the first wave and got a thick layer of crude oil. It was plastered all over the wind-shield, the first pilot’s goggles and the compass. He bravely tried to take off without being able to see a thing. I was spitting oil and counting the bounces. Fourteen of them before we staggered blindly out of the oil and managed to get into the air!’

The most successful of the ‘lighter stunts’ occurred on the night of 10-11 August when cruisers and destroyers of the Harwich Force crossed the North Sea with six CMBs on board three of the cruisers and four lighters towed by destroyers, three carrying flying boats N4302, N4533 and 8689 and one fitted with a wooden take-off platform carrying Sopwith Camel N6812.

Two hours after reaching Terschelling, the largest of the Frisian Islands, the flotilla was joined by Zeppelin L53, cruising overhead at 19,000 ft (5,790 m). Eager to grasp the opportunity to attack the Zeppelin, Lieutenant Stuart Culley immediately took-off in the Camel from its modified lighter and began the long climb. After almost an hour he had gained enough height to attack, his approach having gone unnoticed by the crew of the L53. Lt Culley fired his twin Lewis guns from 300 ft (91 m) below the Zeppelin and within seconds the hydrogen gas inside L53 ignited and the 644 ft (196 m) long airship plummeted towards the sea in flames and crashed 10 miles south-west of the Borkum-Riff light vessel, with the loss of all but one of her 19-man crew. Lt Culley then faced the problem of locating the British warships and had almost run out of fuel by the time he spotted them. He ditched in the sea next to the destroyer HMS Redoubt with its now empty lighter and both he and his Camel were recovered. This was the crowning achievement of the North Sea lighter operations for which Lt Culley was awarded the Distinguished Service Order. To this day his Camel can be seen on display at the Imperial War Museum.

Sadly, however, the planned part of the operation did not go well. Sea and weather conditions prevented the three lighter-borne flying boats from taking off and the six CMBs were left to proceed without air cover. The element of surprise was lost when L53 reported the presence of the British ships and German seaplanes from Borkum and Nordeney attacked the CMBs sinking or disabling all six for the loss of one seaplane shot down.

The final lighter operation of the War took place on 24 October 1918 when four flying boats and four Sopwith Camels on lighters were towed to Terschelling with the intention of avenging the British CMBs lost on the 11 August by luring German seaplanes from Nordeney and Borkum into a trap. Unfortunately the operation had to be abandoned when neither the heavily-laden flying boats nor the Camels were able to take-off due the weather and the sea conditions.

In 1916 the Admiralty had eagerly adopted the concept of towed lighters to enable flying boats to harass German warships and bomb naval bases in the Heligoland Bight. When the United States entered the War in 1917 the US Navy was equally enthusiastic and intended to operate its own fleet of 50 lighters from its flying boat base at Killingholme. However, by mid-1918 the practical difficulties of conducting lighter operations in the North Sea were better understood, besides which more effective means of carrying out long range bombing attacks had been developed, such as the land-based Handley Page V1500 bomber and aircraft carriers like HMS Furious and HMS Argus. As a result in July 1918 the idea of mounting bombing attacks on Germany’s naval bases by lighter-borne flying boats was abandoned and the US Navy’s plans to develop its own lighter force were also shelved. Of the 50 lighters ordered only 32 were built, the other 18 being cancelled when the war ended.

In 1913, Lanoe George Hawker was one of the very few British people to receive his ‘Aviator’s Certificate’ after paying for his own flight training at Hendon, the current location of our London site.

He joined the fledgling Royal Flying Corps and was sent to France at a time when both sides operated only few aircraft. In 1915, he was awarded the Distinguished Service Order (DFO) for attacking a German zeppelin shed by dropping hand grenades at low level.

Not only a capable pilot, Hawker was a resourceful inventor of new devices, such as fur-lined thigh boots, a ring gunsight and a simple ‘rocking fuselage’ for practice on the ground. He managed to install a machine gun on his aircraft, a Bristol Scout ‘C’, effectively turning it into a fighter aircraft. However, the gun had to fire in a 45 degree angle to prevent the bullets hitting his propeller.

Despite this awkward configuration, on 25 July 1915, he managed to attack and overcome three German aircraft in succession, earning him the Victoria Cross, the U.K’s highest and most prestigious military award.

Hawker remained a successful fighter pilot and squadron leader and became the very first British ace. However, by late 1916 his Airco DH.2 fighter aircraft had become obsolete with the Germans flying more modern aircraft. On 23 November 1916, in an unequal fight against a faster and better armed aircraft, flown by the soon-to-be legendary German ace Manfred von Richthofen (‘The Red Baron’), he was fatally struck in the head and died.

His plane spun from 1,000 ft (300 m) and crashed 200 metres (220 yards) east of Luisenhof Farm, just south of Bapaume on the Flers Road, becoming the German ace’s 11th victim.

German Grenadiers reported burying Hawker 250 yards (230 metres) east of Luisenhof Farm along the roadside.Richthofen claimed Hawker’s Lewis gun from the wreck as a trophy and hung it above the door of his quarters. Major Lanoe George Hawker is listed on the Arras Flying Services Memorial for airmen lost with no known grave. His V.C was donated to the Museum and now forms part of our collection.

This weekend at both our London and Cosford sites we will be holding a series of events to commemorate those who fell in the First World War. For further details please go to:

– Cosford Remembrance Weekend 2019

– London Remembrance Weekend 2019

Both of our sites be open from 10.00am to anyone who wishes to participate in these activities and to pay their respects. We look forward to welcoming you.

Large America flying boats like the Curtiss H.12, Felixstowe F.2A and Felixstowe F.3 normally had a crew of five: two pilots, an engineer, a wireless operator and an air gunner. In action the engineer and radio operator also acted as air gunners.

The first and second pilots were normally officers who had qualified as seaplane pilots and had also been trained on flying boats. The engineer, wireless operator and air gunner were either non-commissioned officers or air mechanics who volunteered to fly in addition to their normal ground crew duties.

The two pilots shared the work of flying the aircraft on long flights, which could last up to six hours. There were dual controls, although the co-pilot’s control column had to be folded down to allow access to the nose gun position.

Although there was no automatic pilot, elastic bungees were used to keep the controls set for straight and level flight on long patrols. As well as flying the aircraft the two pilots were responsible for navigation, using a compass, a watch, a course and distance indicator and a chart overlaid with a search grid. The only way of calculating drift was by estimating the wind speed from observations of the surface of the sea. In the North Sea lightships moored at fixed positions were important points of reference.

The engineer’s position was on the port side of the fuselage between the two wing spars and his job was to see that the engines ran smoothly. Gauges and controls enabled him to regulate the temperature and water levels of the radiators which cooled the engines. He was also responsible for making sure that the gravity petrol tank in the top wing centre section, which held 26 gallons, was kept filled. This tank directly fed both engines and was normally replenished automatically by a wind-driven pump which kept petrol flowing from the 400 gallons of petrol in the main fuselage tanks. However, if this failed the engineer had to pump the petrol by hand.

If a U-Boat, Zeppelin or enemy seaplane was spotted, the engineer manned the Lewis guns mounted in the side gun ports in the rear fuselage, giving him a field of fire to left and right behind and below the aircraft.

The wireless operator’s position was on the starboard side of the fuselage just behind the pilot. The wireless sets fitted to flying boats at that time had a range of up to 250 miles, enabling aircraft on patrol to notify shore wireless stations of enemy submarine sightings, drifting mines or merchant ships which were in difficulties. Signals could not be sent in plain language because German wireless stations monitored the frequencies used by British aircraft and intercepted their transmissions. Therefore, before the wireless operator could tap out his signals in Morse code, he had first to encode them with the help of a code book, which had specially weighted covers so that it would sink if the aircraft came down in the sea and was in danger of capture.

German wireless stations were able to plot the position of British aircraft over the North Sea by taking cross bearings on their wireless transmissions. This could result in interception by enemy seaplanes, so flying boats normally maintained wireless silence when near the enemy coast. Whenever he could leave his set, the wireless operator went forward to the front gun position, where, as well as helping to keep a look-out, he manned the forward machine gun, took photographs and send signals to ships and aircraft with the Aldis lamp.

The fifth member of the crew – the gun-layer or air gunner – normally manned the dorsal gun position in the rear fuselage, where he could fire at enemy aircraft attacking from above and behind. He stood on a step ladder or sat on a folding seat with his head and shoulders above the fuselage decking. When not in use his Lewis gun was dismounted and a wooden hatch cover was slid over the aperture in the upper fuselage.

A description of the crew would not be complete without mentioning the four homing pigeons which were carried for use in emergencies. To save the weight of accumulators the aircraft’s wireless was normally powered by a small propeller-driven generator and in the event of engine failure power for the wireless was lost. If the aircraft had to come down in the sea it was also deprived of its trailing aerial, which drastically reduced the range of wireless transmissions. It was in circumstances like these that the homing pigeons came into their own. Even in bad weather – provided that visibility was not too bad – they were capable of flying at 25 miles per hour for long distances, carrying messages summoning help to the crews of stranded flying boats. In April 1919 an official list of pigeons who had distinguished themselves in wartime service on RAF flying boat and seaplane operations was issued.

The North Atlantic trade route to the USA and Canada was a vital lifeline for Great Britain during the First World War. Meat, sugar, flour, iron ore, wool, munitions and oil were just some of the essential supplies which were brought across the Atlantic by sea. In 1917 the German government decided to try to starve Britain out of the War by removing all restrictions governing her submarine attacks on shipping in British waters. This meant sinking not only British merchant ships but also ships of any country – allied or neutral – which sailed into British ports, Although this policy risked bringing the neutral United States into the War, Germany was confident that with Britain blockaded by U-Boats, there would be neither the ships nor the time available for the USA to bring her troops to Europe before a the German army defeated her remaining opponents on the Western Front. However, after the initial success of the U-Boats in the Spring of 1917, British counter-measures quickly began to take effect. The convoy system was introduced in April 1917 and merchant ships now sailed in groups escorted by warships and aircraft, rather than individually. This not only reduced the number of targets for the U-Boats to attack but also made their attacks more difficult and dangerous to carry out. By 1918 anti-submarine defences were also taking a heavy toll. The Dover Barrage protecting the entrance to the English Channel was one of the most formidable of these. It consisted of a line of anti-submarine nets and minefields barring the entry of submerged submarines to the Straits of Dover. During 1917-1918 it accounted for 13 U-Boats (almost 10% of the U-Boat losses during this period).

The only way U-Boats could avoid the Dover Barrage was to remain on the surface when they went through the Straits. However, naval patrols made this very hazardous in daylight and even in darkness searchlights and flares were used to detect any U-Boats trying to slip through on the surface at night.

In February 1918 the large, ocean-going U-Boats based at Kiel were ordered to stop going through the Straits of Dover and to enter the North Atlantic by the northern route round the top of Scotland, which was not so well-defended. In September 1918 the smaller, shorter range U-Boats based at Bruges and Ostend were given the same orders, but to try and stop U-Boats using this alternative route into the Atlantic the Northern Mine Barrage was set up This was an anti-submarine minefield stretching 230 miles across the North Sea from the east coast of Orkney as far as the approaches to Hardanger Fjord off the Norwegian coast. It was laid by vessels of the United States Navy assisted by the Royal Navy between March and November 1918. At a conference involving the First Sea Lord and the Commander-in Chief of the Grand Fleet held in August 1917 it was decided to establish a flying boat base in the north of Scotland so that long range aircraft as well as naval vessels could patrol the minefield and further harass U-Boats using Scottish waters to enter the Atlantic. The existing seaplane station at Houton Bay was an ideal site and work was begun immediately to prepare it for flying boat operations.

Sheltered from the worst of the Atlantic gales on the western shores of Scapa Flow, Houton Bay had been chosen as the location for a seaplane station in 1916. With the addition of facilities for flying boats in 1917-1918 it eventually occupied almost quarter of a square mile of land and was equipped to operate 18 flying boats and seaplanes. Facilities included a seaplane hangar, two larger hangars for flying boats, two slipways, a jetty, workshops, a meteorological section, storage buildings, a wireless station and accommodation for 30-40 officers and about 350 men.

Houton’s Flying Boat War Flight and Seaplane War Flight operated a variety of aircraft between late 1917 and May 1918, including Curtiss H.16 Large Americas and Felixstowe F.2s and F.3s. Yet despite the high priority placed by the Admiralty on air patrols over the Northern Barrage, difficulties in aircraft production kept numbers of operational flying boats smaller than had been hoped until the late summer of 1918, by which time 430 Flight, equipped with Short 184 seaplanes, 306 Flight, with Felixstowe F.2A and F.3 flying boats and F Boat Seaplane Training Flight with Felixstowe F.3s had been formed there.

One of the pilots who flew from Houton Bay was Captain Henry Kendall. Though only 21, Kendall was already a seasoned flying boat pilot when he arrived at Houton Bay in May 1918. He had joined the RNAS in 1916 and after completing his flying training in late 1917 he spent several months at Calshot flying patrols over the English Channel and instructing new pilots. When he was not flying, the flamboyant and popular Kendall enjoyed putting on shows with the Houton Bay concert party to provide welcome entertainment for the camp’s personnel. On one occasion he had to break off from rehearsals when a U-Boat was spotted 50 miles off the Shetlands and Kendall – as duty pilot – was tasked with investigating the sighting report. An hour after taking-off from Houton he reached the location of the sighting and found a U-Boat on the surface. He immediately attacked and dropped two bombs on the submarine as it was submerging. At the time it was believed to have been sunk, but like so many others it managed to escape. For his good work in carrying out the attack Kendall was awarded the Air Force Cross. He remained at Houton Bay for the rest of the War, finally departing in early 1919 with the rank of Flight Lieutenant.

Lieutenant Thomas Crouther Gordon, a Scot, was delighted to be posted from Lee on Solent to Houton Bay in July 1918. His wartime reminiscences and photographs were published as a BBC book entitled “Early Flying in Orkney” based on the entries he made at the time in his flying log book and diaries. He describes the constant difficulties the ground crews faced in repairing damaged aircraft and in keeping them airworthy despite the often poor weather and occasional severe gales. This badly effected the men’s morale until efforts were made to improve their working and living conditions and to organize off duty activities for them.
Hockey matches with teams from the warships anchored in Scapa Flow were a particularly popular pastime when the weather was too bad for flying.

The dangers faced by the flying boat crews during their patrols are apparent from Gordon’s account of one flight which he describes as “the most exciting, dangerous and perplexing day of my whole career”. On September 15^th 1918 he was on patrol in a Felixstowe F.3 flying boat 60 miles out over a North Sea mine field, unable to see land due to low cloud and with no ships in sight when the petrol pipe supplying one of the engines became disconnected – a not uncommon occurrence. The engine was not completely starved of fuel and continued to run, but leaking petrol caught fire when it came into contact with the engine’s hot exhaust pipe and flames threatened to set fire to the wing. Deciding to remain airborne for as long as possible, Gordon succeeded in bringing the aircraft home just as the starboard engine cut out. Writing of the experience in his diary, he recorded, “No hour of my life was so crowded with prayer.” In January 1919 Gordon was one of the four Houton Bay pilots decorated for gallantry in the New Year’s honours list. He was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.

In early 1918 building work began on the island of Shetland to construct what was intended to be another large flying boat base for aircraft patrolling the Northern Mine Barrage. The site chosen was nine miles north of Lerwick on the eastern shores of Cat Firth, making it the most northerly flying boat base in Britain. Its facilities included a hangar for flying boat maintenance, two slipways, workshops and stores buildings, a wireless direction station, pigeon loft and huts to accommodate the personnel stationed there. 300 (Flying Boat) Flight was formed at Catfirth on 14 June 1918, operating Felixstowe F2As and F3s. Had the war continued Catfirth would have been considerably enlarged and at least five flying boat flights were to have been based there. However, building plans were scaled back as the War drew to a close and the proposed additional hangars and some of the accommodation huts were never built.

Both Houton Bay and Catfirth were abandoned by the RAF shortly after the end of the First World War. A few of the buildings are still standing at Catfirth but at both sites most have now gone and only their foundations are left along with the remains of a slowly disintegrating pier and slipways. Apart from these physical remains, a few surviving photographs and documents are now the only reminder of the vital role played by the flying boat crews based at Houton Bay and Catfirth in defending the UK against Germany’s U-Boats during the First World War.

I will never forget my first trip to the Claude Grahame-White Factory, I was so excited to become Blogger in Residence for the First World War in the Air exhibition. My first glimpse of the factory was really as it should be: full of people working; hard hats; fluorescent jackets; planes being moved into position; tools and work gear strewn across the space. I remember vividly how they opened up the doors to the hanger and instantly it reminded me I was in an original aircraft factory. The people working around me a faint echo of the hundreds of people who worked for the entrepreneur airman Claude Grahame-White all those years ago.

I don’t know if buildings have a soul, if you get a sense of their history from walking their floors, touching door handles and running your hand up a banister. But there was an atmosphere, a sense of history, the aeroplanes didn’t feel out of place here, they weren’t a relic of a bygone era. It didn’t feel like a sterile museum exhibition, a dusty forgotten time. You could believe they were being readied to go out and fly, perhaps to entertain the crowds at Hendon as they did in 1911, those exciting early aviation years before the First World War. Or part of a vast factory line assemblage, the rush to meet demand for new war machines and reconnaissance weapons.

It wasn’t till later, when I was in the archives and talking to staff that I found out the Claude Grahame-White office and watchtower had been moved brick by brick to a new destination. Much of the original Hendon Aerodrome has been given over to development, new flats and housing. Suddenly I questioned everything I looked at, how could I get this feeling from bricks and mortar that had been dismantled, moved and put back together all over again.

Standing in Claude Grahame-White’s office, seeing the painstaking reconstruction from a photograph, you begin to get a sense of how important this exhibition and this story really is. When I look at the sad pictures of neglect, the broken windows, weeds growing and the peeling paint, you realise how easily this story could have been lost. There was a fantastic BBC story on forgotten RAF bases in June 2015, when you look at those pictures you can see how easily that could have happened here. It makes the First World War in the Air exhibition even more remarkable and even more important.

Is a building special? Do you need to know the history and see the pictures to understand its true importance? The First World War in the Air exhibition felt special to me from the first moment. When I found out the true history it made me question my feelings, look even harder and think even more about our past. I have spent ages looking at the picture of women working in the drawing office during the First World War only to look up and see that same roof above my head and imagine their daily lives, their working world, their hopes and fears.

For me the very best parts of the building are not the large spaces and public places, I love the quieter, unremarkable corners, my favourite parts are the stairwell and, believe it or not, the toilets. When I am in these spaces I can imagine a worker just ahead of me, their hand touching the same places as mine, they glimpse out of the window at the passing day. I hear the ghost of a voice just behind me, a quick look in the mirror to check her hair, a straightening of a skirt. The building is a living breathing history and you can feel those lives all around you.

The First World War in the Air exhibition won a National Lottery Award for a story that was very nearly lost, a story of early aviators, of the First World War and the role of cutting edge aircraft and human bravery. But ultimately it is a story of hundreds and hundreds of ordinary men and women who worked in the factories here, who built aircraft, lived their lives and left their memories behind for us to cherish.

Our First World War in the Air exhibition is supported by the Heritage Lottery Fund and the BAE Systems.

Recently as part of the Museum’s Research Programme we hosted an international conference where I presented a paper exploring aircrew accounts of aerial reconnaissance on the Western Front during the First World War. Below you can read a summary of my research.

Opinions are influenced by many factors, especially the individual’s background and experience. A result of this is that aircrew opinions are likely to change as their experience of war increases. Experiences are open to interpretation and as a result of their different backgrounds and attitudes; individuals are likely to form unique opinions from the same experiences. It is also important to note that there may be factors affecting aircrew opinions which are not apparent from the documents as the aircrew chose not to record them.

Aerial reconnaissance was in its infancy during 1914; however as it was the sole purpose of the Royal Flying Corps, its importance was readily recognised by the aircrew involved. Lt William Read a pilot with 3 Squadron records in his diary on 20th August that:

“A good deal of reconnaissance has been done … and some important information obtained.”

Lt Phillip Joubert de la Fetre, also a pilot with 3 Squadron, recounts how during manoeuvres in 1913, he dropped a reconnaissance report on army headquarters and it was ignored but in September 1914 when he dropped a similar message on a marching column everyone rushed towards it. This suggests that although aerial reconnaissance was still developing, and despite the lack of pre-war recognition of its value, commanders were now coming to recognise its usefulness. The recognition by aircrew that their aerial reconnaissance work was valued is important as it suggests that they would have been more likely to experiment with new techniques to gather more detailed or accurate information as they felt it was worthwhile.

Recognition of the importance of the information acquired by aerial reconnaissance became increasingly relevant as the dangers faced by aircrew increased. Without this motivation there would have been a risk that operational efficiency would have decreased significantly as anti-aircraft artillery improved in range and the gunners improved their accuracy. As early as 16 September, Read records:

“…When we were 4000 feet over Vailly the Germans opened fire on us with anti-aircraft guns and they made surprisingly good shooting…”

Read also records on 30 September his dissatisfaction with the lack of Allied anti-aircraft artillery as the

“… miserable pom-pom … is no use for putting the fear of God into one, in the way that Archibald does.”

By 1915, anti-aircraft fire had become a much greater threat than in 1914. Fear of the expanding range of anti-aircraft fire caused aircrew to fly higher to avoid it but increased height led to difficulties in observation. 2Lt Francis Adams a pilot with 7 Squadron, records on 21 April 1915, a debate regarding operational height:

“The Colonel has suggested – through the O.C. that the height at which reconnaissances are being carried out is excessive. He suggests that for satisfactory observation height should not exceed 7000 feet. Personally I think that height should be granted by conditions.”

On 14 June, Adams records an error in reconnaissance which he attributes to excessive operational height:

“A report had been received this morning that some hundreds of large gas cylinders had been collected … and we were sent out to confirm this … keeping under 8000 feet. No cylinders were seen but only transport wagons. It is probable the previous observer … had been too high to identify these.”

Some pilots such as 2Lt William Sholto Douglas, originally an observer but then a pilot with 8 Squadron, found that low flying resulted in a decrease in the amount of hits achieved by anti-aircraft gunners.

“As I could not get above 1500 feet, I rather expected to be shot down from the ground on the way back. But although heavily fired at, the machine was only hit once or twice. Other pilots were having similar experiences, and it was recognised that the dangers of flying low over enemy A.A. … were not so serious as had been anticipated.”

Experiences like this one described by Douglas, encouraged aircrew to use low flying tactics whilst carrying out reconnaissance flights, thus negating the problem created by their earlier fear of anti-aircraft fire. Their experiences were able to change their opinions and improve efficiency.

Aircrew soon began to report a developing threat from enemy aircraft. Douglas records that increasing numbers of Fokker aircraft combined with more experienced pilots led to more Allied aircraft being lost in aerial combat. Allied pilots took it upon themselves to develop tactics for dealing with enemy aircraft. A tactic partially developed by Douglas, concerned what to do when returning from a long reconnaissance when low on fuel and attacked by several enemy aircraft.

“If you fly straight for home, you are likely to be shot down, presenting as you do an easy target to the enemy scouts: your gunner can perhaps deal with one, but not with two or three diving at once. If on the other hand you start turning and dodging, you will never get back at all, as you will have to go on flying in circles until your petrol runs out. Some of us … suggested that it would be best to come down to within … ten feet of the ground and fly back at that height.”

Douglas’s opinion that low flying could be the solution to this problem was based on his previous experience. He would have an opportunity to test this tactic on 29 December 1915 when returning from a long reconnaissance.

“…Child, my observer, downed one Hun. We fought three for half-an-hour. Petrol began to run low and sump was hit, so relying on the stability of B.E.2c against Fokkers, came down in a steep spiral to 10 feet. Came back … just over the trees. Fokkers left us a mile from the lines.”

Clearly Douglas’s operational experience had allowed him to develop an effective tactic which could be disseminated and used by all aircrew in similar situations. This mission resulted in both Douglas and Child being awarded the Military Cross.

Increasing losses as a result of enemy aircraft prompted the order that all reconnaissances over the lines should be accompanied by at least one other aircraft. This would later develop into fighter escorts for reconnaissance machines. Douglas recorded the initial resistance of aircrew to this change in procedure.

“Whenever … our work took us far behind enemy lines, two machines were always sent out for mutual protection. This practice … at first roused a certain amount of opposition among us pilots.”

The pilots argued that by sending out two aircraft the risk of one being lost was greater than sending out one; however experience soon changed their opinions as demonstrated by the numerous complaints recorded in 1916 and 1917 when escort aircraft were not available to support reconnaissance.

Both anti-aircraft and enemy aircraft activity resulted in aircrew and aircraft losses which unsurprisingly had psychological effects on the aircrew. Lt Gerald Jamieson a pilot with 16 Squadron, for example records that his “Nerves are in a terrible state” after his observer dies from wounds sustained during aerial combat. However, although Jamieson is affected by the death of his observer it does not appear to impact on his operational efficiency as he is flying the next day.

The mental state of aircrew was not only affected by losses, the rate of operations also appears to have caused psychological strain. Adams records on 24 April 1915 that “Life is becoming somewhat strenuous” after four reconnaissance flights in four days; he only began flying in France on 16 April. The intensity of operations indicates that reconnaissance information was highly valued by commanders thus suggesting that they are likely to encourage any recommendations to improve the accuracy or level of detail gathered.

Accidents and near misses also increase aircrew stress levels. Lt Charles Smart a pilot with 5 Squadron, reports being affected by fear after a near miss on 4 March 1917. He and his observer are flying approximately six miles beyond the German lines when they are hit by anti-aircraft fire.

“…the machine was lifted bodily about twenty feet into the air, a shower of wood splinters flew into my face, streams of petrol squirted all over me up to my waist and a cupboard fixed in the pilot’s seat above my feet fell down on to my left foot and partially jammed the rudder. … I was frightened to death …”

Smart records that throughout the flight back to his airfield he was “all the time in fear and trembling should the machine catch fire”. Somewhat ironically his inexperienced observer did not notice that anything had happened to the aircraft at all. This perhaps reflects that the observer, potentially due to lack of experience is in a more positive state of mind and is less aware of danger as a result.

Lack of confidence is another psychological factor which affects aircrew efficiency and opinion. The importance of this was recognised by Royal Flying Corps commanders and recorded in a letter from RFC HQ on 22 May 1916.

“…the General Officer Commanding wishes you to gradually increase the distances of the reconnaissances … but not to go to distant points … until Squadrons have gained confidence in their ability…”

It was not just a lack of confidence in their own ability that affected aircrew morale. A lack of confidence in their equipment also had a negative effect. Douglas records this in January 1917 when 43 Squadron was dispatched to France equipped with obsolete aircraft.

“If the pilots of a squadron feel that their machines are inferior to those of the enemy the morale of that squadron is diminished…”

Obsolete aircraft provided yet another opportunity for aircrew to use their experiences to develop new tactics. Douglas writes of the aircrew of 25 Squadron who developed a ‘tail chasing formation’ which allowed each aircraft to be protected by at least one of its companions. The circle they formed would then be spiralled back towards the Allied lines.

The determination demonstrated by aircrew in developing new tactics to deal with obsolete equipment also showed when they had to deal with equipment failure. Adams records a reconnaissance on 20 May 1915, after several abortive attempts due to issues with the engine in his aircraft:

“Again the engine ran very badly. Being absolutely tired of turning back without finishing our work we kept on – neither of us daring to discuss our fears! We returned safely but 3 hours with a dud engine is a great strain.”

Although Adams is concerned by the potential of his engine failing and having to make a forced landing behind enemy lines, he is so frustrated by the mechanical failure that he and his observer continue with their reconnaissance in spite of the risk. This also reflects that he recognises the value of reconnaissance.

It was not just engine or armament failures that could prevent a reconnaissance from being successful. After the introduction of aerial cameras, a camera failure could prevent a reconnaissance. Smart records a camera failure on 20 May 1917:

“My camera went dud and I did not get a single picture, most annoying to go over the line and risk your life for no result.”

Three days later another camera failure prompts him to record that he “told the photographic sergeant that he had better learn to fly and then go up and do the job himself.”

Smart is evidently frustrated by repeated camera failures as it leads to him having to make multiple flights, often over the lines to get the photographs he has been ordered to procure. The risk of camera failure resulted in the continued use of visual reconnaissance until the Armistice.

Despite the annoyances caused to aircrew by camera failures; it was the aircrew themselves who first used cameras to support reconnaissance. The first use of cameras for reconnaissance over the Western Front was unofficial; the aircrew believed that photographs would help them produce more accurate and detailed reconnaissance reports. An opinion which experience would prove to be correct.

The development of photographic reconnaissance, despite initial scepticism from some senior officers, was driven by aircrew opinions of its potential to record detailed and accurate information. The development of the technology and tactics used to capture aerial photographs was also led by the aircrew themselves as they knew what the operational demands on the equipment and the aircrew using it were. Maj Charles Campbell, a pilot and one of the originators of aerial photography reported the importance of this in a letter on 25 April 1917:

“The scientific and chemical knowledge at the disposal of the originators of photography in the Royal Flying Corps, combined with their experience in the field, has enabled them to gain a very close grip on their subject, the best proofs of which is that all the cameras … have been produced entirely by ourselves.”

The value of the camera to support visual reconnaissance was quickly recognised by aircrew as reports reinforced by photographs could be proved to be accurate. Capt Paul Maltby, a pilot with 15 Squadron, records an incident on 1 July 1916 when his visual reconnaissance report was not believed, but was later proved to be correct:

“They wouldn’t believe me when I said the whole front line with the exception of the Quadrilateral was in German hands. This has proved since to be correct.”

It was also found that some camouflaged positions or buildings were more apparent on photographs than to visual observers, thus making the combined use of photographic and visual reconnaissance more necessary. Sgt Maj Fredrick Laws, a prewar pioneer of aerial photography who flew as an observer on several occasions, records this in a lecture that he delivered after the war:

“In attempting to render objects … invisible to the eye and camera it will be found impossible to accomplish both at the same time. Camouflage invisible to the eye is usually visible to the camera and vice versa.”

In 1918 the French General Anthoine stated that:

“Whenever possible visual observation should be confirmed by photographs of the most important stations flown over”

This statement suggests that experience has changed the opinions of commanders as well as those of the aircrew involved.

We can see from the accounts considered that some of the opinions of aircrew are affected by the development of new tactics such as formation flying. It also appears that some aircrew opinions can lead to the development of new tactics such as low flying to avoid enemy aircraft and to the implementation of new technology such as cameras. Other opinions such as reactions to stress and loss, although they do affect operational efficiency do not appear to have a significant relationship to the development of tactics or technology.

For someone who played such a significant role in shaping the Royal Flying Corps, and hence the Royal Air Force, David Henderson appears somewhat overlooked by history. There is limited biographical information about him, but he receives numerous mentions from several contemporaries in their biographies and memoirs. Here I attempt to sketch out something of his life.

Henderson’s early years did not suggest the course he would eventually take: he was born into a fairly affluent family where his father was a joint owner of a Clydeside ship building business, David and William Henderson & Company. The younger David entered Glasgow University at the age of fifteen, to read engineering – presumably in preparation for a role in the family business. In his fourth year he was reading civil engineering, mechanics, office and field work, but left university without graduating.

Almost directly, Henderson entered the Royal Military College from where he was commissioned into the British Army in August 1882, joining the 1st Battalion Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders the following year. In 1884-1885 Henderson took part in the Nile Expedition as ADC to General Wolseley, in what proved an unsuccessful attempt to relieve the besieged city of Khartoum. (Khartoum had become the refuge for General Gordon’s forces following his failed campaign to rid Sudan of the Mahdi Muhammad Ahmad)

Henderson was serving as an intelligence officer in South Africa during the Boer War when he was besieged at (November 1899 – February 1900) here he was wounded whilst leading an assault on enemy guns: this episode earned him a Mention in Despatches and promotion to Lieutenant-Colonel. About a year later he was appointed Director of Intelligence under Field Marshal Kitchener, a post he held until 1902 at which time he was awarded the DSO. In the following years Henderson wrote two military handbooks, Field Intelligence: Its Principles and Practice (1904), and The Art of Reconnaissance (1907). These volumes earned Henderson his reputation as the Army’s authority on tactical intelligence. Subsequently Henderson undertook Staff Officer duties to the C-in-C Mediterranean and the Inspector-General of Forces, adding to his already impressive record.

In 1911 Henderson was being troubled by wounds he had received during the Boer War and he underwent an operation to remove some shrapnel, while recuperating in Harrogate he had a chance meeting with a pilot who was competing in the round Britain air race, with whom he had a long talk, this chance meeting opened Henderson’s mind to the opportunities that aeroplanes could offer the military; on his return to London he quickly enrolled as a student at the Bristol Flying School at Brooklands, so as to avoid special favours he enrolled under the pseudonym of Henry Davidson, he promptly passed and was awarded RAeC Certificate 118 on 17th August, aged 49, making him the oldest pilot in Great Britain. His enthusiasm for flying was to prove important in the following years.

The British government had in the first decade of the twentieth century shown a remarked indifference toward aviation, but in response to developments in aviation in France and Germany and pressure from the press the government asked the Committee of Imperial Defence to examine Britain’s military aviation capabilities and to consider the establishment of an aviation service. A technical sub-committee was appointed in December to examine and report on the matter. The chairman of the committee was Col J Seely but the actual work was conducted by three officers Brig Gen David Henderson, Captain Frederick Sykes (another pioneer aviator) and the Director of Military Training Maj-General Duncan MacInnes. Henderson was recommended to Col Seely by Sir John French saying of him

‘Without doubt David Henderson – for two reasons, the first that he has learned to fly, a very rare thing nowadays- and I suppose an air sense to an airman is important as sea sense to a seaman- secondly, he is a faithful man. He will not fail you in a tight corner’.

The report was completed in February 1912 advocating the formation of a dedicated air corps, it was approved by the Committee of Imperial Defence at the end of April, and the Royal Warrant forming the corps was signed by King George V on 13th May 1912.
Henderson briefly returned to his work as a staff officer, in July he was appointed Director of Military Training which also oversaw the new aeronautics branch. Henderson’s background in reconnaissance and his open minded attitude to aircraft ensured that the new service was nurtured. In September 1913 a newly created department for military aviation was created and Henderson was appointed as its first leader in the role of Director General of Military Aviation in this role he was responsible for all aspects of military aviation including aircraft procurement that had previously been the domain of the Master-General of the Ordnance.

Despite meagre budgets and continuing opposition from various diehards the search for, and development of, suitable aircraft got underway. Henderson’s initial objectives were founded in his knowledge of tactical reconnaissance: he fully recognised the value of providing information about enemy troop positions to land-based forces.

In 1914, in addition to his role as Director of Military Aeronautics, Henderson took command of the Royal Flying Corps in France. Although he made frequent journeys between France and England it was not possible to carry out both jobs effectively, and his absences in France allowed some parties to undermine his directorial authority in England. In August 1915 Henderson handed command of the RFC in the field to Brigadier-General Hugh Trenchard. This allowed Henderson to resume his fight for the RFC’s autonomy, and limit the damage caused by rival demands for resources from the Royal Naval Air Service.

In June 1917 the first of the day light bombing raids on London was made coupled with revolution in Russia, mutinies in the French Army and heavy losses incurred by U-boats on merchant vessels supplying Britain the new government under David Lloyd George were worried that the tide of the war may be flowing against them. A South African politician Jan Christian Smuts was appointed to investigate and report on the state of Britain’s air defences, the Air Board and the dual air forces of the RFC and RNAS and to make recommendations for improvements. It was obvious that Smuts would seek the advice of those most experienced in air power for help, one of who was Henderson. Henderson had already sent his thoughts to Smuts, when he wrote

It is difficult to indicate any method of overcoming the present illogical situation of divided responsibility in aeronautics, except by the formation of a complete united service dealing with all operations in the air, and with all the accessory services which that expression implies. A department would have to be formed on the general lines of the Admiralty and the War Office, with a full staff, and with a full responsibility for war in the air.

The Smuts report was largely accepted by the government in which a single unified air force was advocated along with an air ministry to organise it. Henderson left his post in August 1917 as DGMA to concentrate on the work of the Air Organisation Committee, helping Smuts draft the Air Force (Constitution) Act 1917. The act was placed before parliament in November and passed without opposition, receiving Royal assent on 29 November. The Air Ministry and Air Council came into being in January 1918, the RAF being established in April 1918 with the amalgamation of the RFC and RNAS.

Henderson suffered a personal tragedy shortly after when in June his only son, Ian, was killed in a flying accident at Turnberry, the death affected him greatly. In August he was appointed Area Commandant, British Forces in France a post he held until October, when he was made Military Counsellor at the British embassy in Paris serving on the Peace negotiations, when his work had finished in Paris he moved to Geneva to take up the post of Director-General at the newly created League of Red Cross Societies, he relished the new post where he sought to bring unity of purpose and direction to the old International Committee of the Red Cross, with his diplomacy, tact and administrative skills Henderson succeeded in so doing and received much acclaim for his efforts, it was thought that Henderson would occupy this role until his retirement, however less than a week after his 59th birthday, in August 1921 and ten years to the day on which he qualified as a pilot, he died. Many felt that the stress of the war years had taken its toll, his passing did not go unnoticed, the Times said that he was ‘The maker of the RAF’ the editor of the aeroplane Charles Grey an often fierce critic of Henderson’s, wrote of him

There will ever remain as a memorial to Sir David Henderson the fact that it was he who among General Officers realised the vital importance of Military Aviation, and took steps to set up a separate corps to develop the new arm. Whether as a third service or as branches of the senior service, British ai power will always owe its first debt of gratitude to him. As an adversary he was to be respected and feared, as a man he was to be respected and admired.

Henderson’s ashes were scattered at Girvan cemetery in Ayrshire where his son was buried, he was given a Commonwealth War graves headstone being deemed as to have died due to the effects of the war.

In the course of Henderson’s career as a ‘flier, it seems that his star often flared and faded: this brief account of his military life omits many of his ups and downs. In the memoirs of some of his contemporaries there are suggestions that he was ruthlessly ambitious, and abrupt and incommunicative. At times he upset both the military establishment and Government officers; nonetheless he was instrumental in defining the shape of an air force that has remained largely unchanged for almost a century.

The Museum has a large collection of papers and artefacts that belonged to both David and Ian Henderson.