The next few paragraphs will show how this manœuvre struck one of the pilots at this time:
“60 SQUADRON R.F.C., “B.E.F., FRANCE. “_July 1917_.
“The tennis-court we made three months ago is now in topping condition, so we decided to get up a tournament amongst ourselves. Yesterday we drew lots for partners. The unlucky lad who drew me is a ‘coloured troop,’ that is he hails from South Africa. He is quite good at the ‘Willies,’[24] and so I think we have got a fair chance. I expect you wonder where all these weird names come from. They are invented by one of our flight commanders, who is also a ‘coloured troop’ and one of the leading lights of the squadron. All jobs are washed out to-day as the weather is ‘dud,’ so two of us are going over this afternoon to the village near-by to purchase articles of furniture for the ‘Hôtel de Commerce.’
“You will be pleased to hear that we are getting a new kind of grid. It is supposed to be a good deal faster than the Hun, and can dive to 300 miles an hour, so I’m told. We shall probably have a quiet time while we are getting used to them, and only do ‘line patrols’ for the first fortnight or so. A French ‘Ace’[25] landed here to-day; he says the Huns are getting a pretty bad time down south. Jolly glad I’m not a Hun airman these days, with men up against me like some of our chaps. Most of them are fairly old hands at the game now, and we are really beginning to properly annoy our friends across the way. The work has been fairly hard lately: two patrols in the morning, one generally at dawn and the other about noon, with ‘wireless interruption’ in the afternoon. The latter is rather a strenuous job. This is how we work it: When a Hun two-seater begins to register on any part of our front, a telephone message, giving his height and locality, is immediately sent through to the wireless squadron. Each scout squadron in the wing takes it in turn. As soon as the Recording Officer[26] receives the message, he sounds a horn. Three of us who are standing by in readiness immediately jump into our machines, and the leader gets hold of the position and height of the Hun. Then we push off as quickly as possible to the lines, and a sort of ‘hide-and-seek’ begins. We try if possible to hide in the clouds and approach the Hun when he is off his guard. He, on the other hand, departs hurriedly into Hunland when he spots us, and as soon as we go he comes back to carry on his job. We then turn on him again, but he is off like a flash, and so it goes on until the next three machines relieve us. It is really quite amusing at times, and, although we do not often bring our man down, we give him such a devil of a time that he hasn’t much of it to spare for his companions on the ground. Our ‘stunt merchant’[27] is good at this game, and continues to add to his score, seldom coming back without firing his red light. He works by himself a lot now, preferring to surprise the Hun by hiding rather than by trying to get him in a scrap. Wish I could do the same. I always feel so fagged after a patrol, that I haven’t got the energy or the patience to sit up in the clouds waiting for a chance to bag a ‘lone Hun.’