by Guy Warner
However, the expedition’s senior Royal Engineer, Colonel Edwards, remarked:
‘The detachment deployed was numerically too weak for the duty and it is absolutely necessary that the men should be thoroughly drilled and instructed in handling the balloon in a moderate breeze. On 2 April we were obliged to supplement the detachment with men from the Royal Engineer companies, who had never worked a balloon before, consequently they were unable to keep it steady.’49
It was noted that the effect of the balloon on the morale of the enemy was such that the aerially escorted convoy was free from any attack, whereas the two previous ones had met with considerable opposition. On the following day, Scout accompanied a convoy of 1200 camels, escorted by the Berkshire Regiment; not a camel was lost. Fly later went further up-country and was used with success for reconnaissance. Templer was mentioned in dispatches for his actions during the expedition in the engagement at Hasheen. He also had an eye for the main chance. On his way back to England he noticed a couple of traction engines lying at Suakin, apparently ownerless. He decided that they would be a useful asset and laid claim to them by the simple but effective method of chalking, on the boilers of both, the address, ‘The School of Ballooning, Chatham’, to which they were shipped in due course, along with a fine marquee, which later saw much service as the RE Officers’ Mess when at balloon training camps.50
Back in England, experiments were made with artillery spotting, aerial photography and with towing the balloon wagons by the newly acquired traction engines. The experiences in the field in 1885 proved that a balloon detachment should be supported by at least thirty sappers to work the balloon properly. Detachments also took part in camps, one of which was at the artillery practice ground at Lydd in Kent, where members of the public often showed some interest, but rather less comprehension. An officer once spent some considerable time explaining military ballooning to a lady visitor; when he had finished she said that she thought she understood everything, but had one question, ‘How do you breathe inside?’51 Remarkably, much of the cost of maintaining the Balloon Establishment had been met by the enthusiastic and reasonably wealthy Templer, out of his own pocket. He bought some ground at Lidsing, a few miles from Chatham, where a pit was dug in the chalk of sufficient depth to take a large balloon and keep it completely secure from the wind. This anomalous financial arrangement was rectified by the War Office in 1887, when ballooning activity was split into two parts, the military flying side under Major Elsdale and a civilian manufacturing section under Templer, the whole being named the School of Ballooning. Templer was gazetted major and given a salary of £600 a year.
Major Templer (second left) stands proudly atop one of the traction engines which he had acquired.
A Royal Engineers balloon being filled with hydrogen in the field.
The establishment was as follows:
1 Officer-in-Charge
1 Instructor in Ballooning
Balloon Detachment:
1 Lieutenant
1 Sergeant
15 Rank and file (corporals and below)
The Balloon Factory:
1 Military mechanist
1 Gas maker
1 Storeman
1 Driver
10 balloon-making hands (including women)
Specialist transport was to be provided, but without horses. These were to be drawn from the Army Service Corps along with general service wagons.52 A balloon train consisted of a balloon wagon with hauling down gear, three wagons to carry forty-four gas cylinders each, an equipment wagon with spare balloon envelopes and stores, and a water cart. All the wagons were fitted with draw bars so the entire train could be towed by a traction engine.53
A balloon flown by Lieutenant Bernard Ward, RE, took part in the Aldershot Summer Manoeuvres in 1889, receiving the approbation of Lieutenant General Sir Evelyn Wood, VC, after a successful night attack made on the basis of the aeronaut’s report. Sir Evelyn later remarked that it was likely that balloons would henceforward play an important part in military campaigns of the future. He also advocated that the Balloon Establishment should be relocated from Chatham to Aldershot.54 At a parade held in honour of the German Emperor, Ward ‘marched past’ at a height of 300 feet (91 metres), towed by a wagon.55
Naval Developments
Royal Naval matters were also progressing. The Naval Defence Act of 1889 gave naval architects the opportunity to concentrate on producing standard designs for different classes of ship as Lord Salisbury’s government provided sufficient funding (£21.5 million) to order ten battleships, nine first-class cruisers, twenty-nine second-class cruisers, four third-class cruisers and eighteen torpedo gunboats. Ships were to be designed around their weapons rather than have them fitted into the hull as an afterthought. A countermeasure to the torpedo boat was also conceived with the laying down of the first torpedo boat destroyer, HMS Havock, in 1893. The balance of advantage was again altered by the introduction of a gyroscopic control mechanism for torpedoes in 1896.
Chapter Two
From the 1890s to the start of Neville’s Aviation Career
Naval Service
On 14 April 1897, Neville came fourth in the competitive exam held by the Civil Service Commission in London for entry as a cadet in the Royal Navy. He scored well in Arithmetic, Algebra, Geometry, English, French, Scripture, Latin, English History and Geography, gaining 1614 marks out of a possible 2150. His lowest marks were in handwriting.
The previous year, on 28 August 1896, the first petrol-driven dirigible (an airship that could be steered as opposed to a balloon which travelled where the wind took it), powered by a 2 hp (1.48 kW) engine, had undertaken its maiden flight, Dr Karl Wöelfert’s Deutschland in Berlin. This was an important moment in aviation history – an aircraft had flown which could not only be steered, but had a power unit light enough to be carried aloft with ease and with development potential. Sadly, on 4 June 1897, Wöelfert, who was born in 1852, and his mechanic, Knabe, were killed in an accident on the Deutschland, when the engine vaporiser set fire to the envelope, causing an explosion of the gas within; so becoming the first dirigible fatalities. Also in 1897, the Hungarian engineer, David Schwarz (1852–1897), built a rigid dirigible with both frame and envelope constructed entirely from sheet aluminium only 0.008 inches (0.02 millimetres) in thickness – the Metallballon. It was 156 feet (47 metres) in length and its volume was 130,500 cubic feet (3693 cubic metres). It was powered by a Daimler 12 hp (8.88 kW) engine driving three propellers. In appearance it resembled a fat pencil stub. It took off on 3 November for its maiden flight from Tempelhof in Berlin and circled several times, but descended rapidly and broke up, fortunately without injury to the crew. The following year, 1898, the first pilot to be shot down by enemy forces was Sergeant William Ivy of the US Signal Corps Balloon Section. He was flying in Cuba during the Spanish-American War and, while observing the Spanish positions on San Juan Hill, he came under fire. The balloon’s envelope was holed and splashed into the water, fortunately for the aeronaut; he lived to tell the tale and to fly another day. [Author’s note: It was not until 1 August 1907 that the Aeronautical Division of the US Army Signal Corps was formed, the first dirigible being No 1, which took to the air for its maiden flight on 4 August 1908.]
Wöelfert’s Deutschland at Templehof in 1896.
Schwartz’s dirigible at Templehof in 1897.
Further Naval Developments
The Royal Navy, in the last decade of the nineteenth century, had undergone immense technological changes in the previous fifty years – the transition from sail to steam propulsion; the change from solid iron cannon balls to shells filled with high explosive; the development of rifled and breech-loaded guns; the change in position of the location of the main armament from batteries mounted inside the hull to turrets mounted on the upper deck, with the consequent greatly increased arc of fire; the introduction of armour plate to protect ships’ hulls, and the most vital and vulnerable machinery contained therein; the replaceme
nt of wood in the construction of ships by iron and steel; and, as previously noted, the invention of the torpedo and small vessels to launch these, which could pose a formidable threat to the largest battleship; the introduction of torpedo boat destroyers as a countermeasure; armoured cruisers for the protection of commerce around the world; lighter cruisers as scouts, and the development of homogeneous classes of warships which could operate tactically as a fleet. Soon to come were the sea mine, the submarine and aviation. To match all of the above, tactical doctrine and the training of officers also needed modernisation, which did not always find favour with senior officers who still hankered after the age of sail.
Naval Training in HMS Britannia
Usborne entered the training ship HMS Britannia in May 1897. This was just a few years before it was replaced by the Britannia Royal Naval College, the foundation stone of which was laid in 1902. An old three-deck, ship-of-the-line, had been moored in the Dart estuary since 1863, being joined (by means of a bridge between them) by the two-decker, Hindustan, in 1864, though the first Britannia was replaced by a larger and more modern vessel in 1869.
Britannia & Hindustan on the River Dart in the 1890s.
In 1897 the ship was under the command of Captain the Hon A.G. Curzon-Howe, ‘a dignified aristocrat of the old school’1 who had the reputation of being one of the politest and most gentlemanly officers in the navy. Mrs Curzon-Howe also lived on board with their small son and was loved by the boys for the kindness she showed to them.2 The second in command was Commander Christopher Cradock, who was always immaculately dressed, with a pointed, neatly-trimmed dark beard, which reminded the boys of Sir Francis Drake.3 He was also a popular Master of Beagles and would die a gallant death against hopeless odds at the battle of Coronel in 1914. Both were fine role models for a cadet to follow.4 The Naval Instructor, the Reverend N.B. Lodge, was remembered as the best teacher one cadet, who would have an illustrious career, ever had.5
Few records remain from Neville’s time there, with results for only two of his four terms having been retained in the college archive:
The staff of HMS Britannia in 1898.
Classes would have included navigation, astronomy, topographical and mechanical drawing, the understanding of steam and steam machinery (described by one cadet as, ‘the steam picket boat and other such oily delights’),6 and a considerable amount of mathematics; in what would have been a spartan existence, ‘in which boys learnt to sail, navigate, command and, above all, be commanded.’7 The cadets slept in hammocks slung below deck in the fashion of Nelson’s seamen. A cold saltwater wash on deck marked the beginning of a long working day, which began with a bugle call at 0630 and ended with lights out at 2130, devoted to inspection, meals, classes and exercise – including gymnastics, boating, games and swimming. The cadets were referred to by their progression through the four terms as ‘New’, ‘Three’, ‘Sixer’ and ‘Niner’. Usborne was fortunate to experience sea time on Britannia’s tender, HMS Racer, a handsome barque-rigged sloop of 970 tons, which had arrived in 1896, and took the third and fourth terms’ cadets on cruises in the English Channel to improve their seamanship, engineering and navigation skills. He would also have been present during Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee celebrations in June 1897. The procession in London allowed for the participation of 100 cadets and those who were not chosen for this were taken to the Review of the Fleet at Spithead. In the term ahead of Usborne was Cadet A.B. Cunningham (later Admiral of the Fleet Viscount Cunningham of Hyndhope, KT, GCB, OM, DSO), who later recalled that the review took place on a brilliantly fine morning, followed by an afternoon of lightning, thunder and torrents of rain. The Royal Yacht, Victoria and Albert, passed through the fleet, arrayed in line after line, with ships’ companies cheering and bands playing:
‘What a brilliantly fine day, all the ships dressed overall with flags and painted in the old-time colouring of yellow masts and funnels, white upper-works, black hulls and salmon-coloured waterline, divided from the black by narrow white ribands. The senior cadets, in the Racer, manned yards as the Queen went past.’8
Cadets at Britannia in the 1890s.
As a cadet Neville would have had sea time on board HMS Racer.
That evening the cadets, who were accommodated on board the old stores ship, Wye, changed out of their best uniforms and white gloves, and, refreshed by a saltwater bath on deck, spliced the main brace and drank the Queen’s health with a glass of 1848 port.9
Discipline was strict, but there were instances of bullying of younger cadets by their seniors, though in the years following the Jubilee these were much less than in the decade before.
Splice the Main Brace – cadets celebrating the Diamond Jubilee in 1897.
Bullying had not been stamped out in 1897–98, but it was not severe; an expression of the element of sadism with which many boys seem to be endowed in their youth.10
Indeed, Captain Curzon-Howe showed his attitude to bullying right away when he ordered three bullies to be flogged before all the assembled ship’s company and cadets. It is reported, however, that he also had to deal with over-protective mothers, as in the case of one who wrote to him asking that he make sure that her son wore his drawers in cold weather, a wise precaution perhaps, but not, it may be thought, a normal part of a captain’s duties.11
Be that as it may, a future admiral noted that this regime was likely to suppress independence and initiative in, ‘our future naval officers’. The most notorious example of this had been on 22 June 1893, off Tripoli, when HMS Victoria was rammed and sunk by HMS Camperdown, resulting in the deaths of the C-in-C Mediterranean Fleet, Vice Admiral Sir George Tryon, twenty-two officers and 336 ratings. The admiral had given an order for two columns of ships to turn towards each other, which was a tricky and hazardous manoeuvre; the captains of the two leading battleships carried out the order without questioning its desirability and, when the collision seemed inevitable, did not react swiftly enough without a direct countermanding order from the admiral, by which time it was too late. Tryon remained on the bridge as his flagship sank, and was heard to murmur, ‘It’s all my fault.’ The executive officer of HMS Victoria was fortunate to escape unscathed, as indeed was the Royal Navy, as the officer concerned was Commander John Jellicoe (1859–1935). (Jellicoe subsequently became Admiral of the Fleet and an Earl, holding many major naval appointments between 1905 and 1917, and will feature more than once in this story.) At the subsequent court martial of Rear Admiral Markham, who was aboard HMS Camperdown, he was asked, ‘if he knew it was wrong, why then did he comply with the fatal order?’ He replied that he thought, ‘Tryon must have something up his sleeve – a triumph of hope and obedience as compared to logic, experience and initiative.’ The court found Tryon to blame, but accepted that it would be fatal for the navy to encourage subordinates to question those set in authority over them.12
It should be noted, however, that in the 1890s, efforts were being made to modernise the tuition given in Britannia; for example, reforms were instituted by Captain A.W. Moore in 1895, giving his lieutenants much greater direct responsibility for the cadets’ welfare and progress. A near contemporary of Usborne was the distinguished naval airman, Vice Admiral Richard Bell Davies, VC. He recalled the curriculum at Dartmouth as having:
‘Remained unchanged for very many years, and consisted almost entirely of mathematics and seamanship; we had our full measure of the myriad names of the standing rigging, little of which specialised knowledge was to be of any use to my later career.’13
A few years earlier, at the start of the 1890s, a cadet writing as ‘Navilus’ was of the opinion:
‘On board HMS Britannia, one day is very much like another, which, though somewhat monotonous, has the advantage (if it be one) of making the time fly fast.’14
Another cadet, William Henry Dudley Boyle, who would become Admiral of the Fleet, and also the 12th Earl of Cork & Orrery, later wrote:
‘The education given to us was almost entirely technical, o
r directed to that end; and, though it is true that English literature figured in the curriculum, as during our four terms there we never got beyond Southey’s, Life of Nelson, in this it hardly extended our horizon.’15
Yet another gives a much more favourable and positive view:
‘The elite of the Navy, in its various ranks and ratings, was on hand to guide us, with a lieutenant in general charge of each term and a naval instructor taking his class in trigonometry and navigation throughout. These instructors kept control and imparted knowledge in a manner I have never known excelled. From a varying acquaintance with arithmetic, algebra and Euclid, we were introduced to plane, and later to spherical trigonometry, advancing to celestial navigation. After four terms of three months, they sent forth boys who could not only solve spherical triangles and prove the formulae they employed, but who could also work a ship’s reckoning by the sun. We learned French and drawing from civilian teachers, steam from an engineering officer and we looked to the chaplain for the weekly lesson in scripture. But we had already been well grounded in that subject, a high standard being demanded in the entrance examination. Brisk petty officers attached to each term, the very salt of the earth and sea, were perhaps our widest and most shrewd counsellors on board. Others of the same rating taught us seamanship in a delightful model room and showed us how to row or sail.’16