One evening I fell into a very nasty trap indeed, just at dusk. I had suddenly seen a single machine of the enemy in front of me, and slightly below. It seemed too good to be true, and I should have known that there was something funny about it; however, down I went on top of him, but somehow missed with my first burst of fire. He dived away a bit and I kept on after him, but by continually diving he kept just out of my reach. This started at ten thousand feet down, and I finally found myself at two thousand, and well in the enemy territory. Then, at last I suspected a trap, and looked about to see what was likely to happen. Sure enough, from above enemy machines were coming down after me, so I turned toward my own lines. There in front of me were twelve more of the Huns. This left nothing to do but turn back and fly further into enemy territory. This I did, losing height so as to increase my speed. Along I went, with the whole swarm behind. It was lucky for me that my machine was so much faster than theirs. I had to zigzag in my course until I was at least four hundred yards in the lead of their first machine, then I flew straight. Dusk was coming on and I was late, and worried as to what to do.
However, there was no advantage in giving in, so I went on as fast as I could tear. I was terrified that I would meet another patrol, but after I had gone about twenty miles straight east, I realised the chance for that was very slight, and this comforted me a great deal. But I was still worried as to how I was to get home, as I knew they would wait higher up for me if I climbed. As dusk settled down, I managed to shake off the pack and get completely out of their sight. Then I climbed steadily and turned back toward our own lines. It was light in the upper sky, but quite dark near the ground, and I was at least thirty miles over the German lines. I was never so mad in my life, the annoying part being that such a simple little trick had fooled me into getting into such a nasty position. I had to fly by compass in the approximate direction of home and just as I reached the lines sighted a lighthouse which I knew, flashing in the dusk. I was happy then and able to land in the last five minutes of light. If I had been just that much later, it would have meant a bad crash landing, for I would have had no idea as to the exact spot where the aerodrome was; but luck was with me still, and I came down without even straining a wire of my machine.
I was disgusted with myself, as it was a bad show, taken all around, and so mad that I would not hand in a report to tell the shameful tale on me.
The day that I learned I was likely to return to England I went out in the evening, and in a very short space of time crammed in a lot of excitement. Flying around beneath the clouds, I had been unable for a time to find anything to fight. There was a complete layer of clouds all over the sky, and this made flying in enemy territory very difficult. The dark sky was such a good background the anti-aircraft guns could pick you out with great accuracy. I forgot about such troubles quickly when I saw several of the enemy some five miles on their side of the lines. Wanting to surprise them, I climbed up to the clouds and then through them. At first I went into what seemed a very sullen cloud, with dark grey and heavy mist all about me, the view being limited to a space of ten feet. As I climbed higher up, the colour grew lighter and lighter until at last above me was nothing but blue sky and sunshine. The top of the clouds was as flat as a table. It looked as if one could land on it and sit there all day.
I kept flying along, carefully watching my compass to get the correct direction, also gazing at the beautiful cloud pictures around me, when suddenly, just above, I heard the old wicked rattle of a pair of machine guns. Pulling up, I looked about and saw coming down straight on me from in front, three enemy scouts. The leader, to my great joy, I recognised as the man who had trapped me so badly in the fight just told of. He was well ahead of the other two who were trailing behind him, and I knew if I could only shoot well, I would have a chance to get him without being worried by the others, until they could reach the fight. On we came, head on, both firing as fast as we could. I saw his smoking bullets going streaking by about four feet above my head, and what annoyed me a bit was the fact that they were passing that spot in a well concentrated group, showing that he had his shooting well in hand, and was quite cool. I have never fired with more care in my life. I took sight on the engine of his machine, knowing, if I hit it, some of the bullets would slide along its edge and get the pilot, who was just behind. On we came toward each other, at tremendous speed. I could see my bullets hitting his machine, and at the same instant his bullets scattered badly, so it was obvious he had become nervous, and was not shooting as well as before. Suddenly he swerved, and tried to pass slightly to my left. I kept going straight at him, firing both guns. My bullets were all around the pilot’s seat now, and seemed to be hitting him. The next machine had come in now, firing at me, and too near for me to turn after the first one, so I turned toward the second Hun. My third opponent did not like the look of the fight, and kept well off to one side, diving away to escape, a few seconds later. I looked over my shoulder to see what was happening to the first man, and was overjoyed to see his machine a mass of flames and smoke, just commencing to fall. The second man I manoeuvred with, doing almost two complete turns before being able to get in the shot I wanted. Then there was no trouble at all. With the first round, he also burst into flames, and fell, following the other through the clouds. I looked for the third man, who had just dived away, anxious to wipe out the whole crowd. I dived after him. Down through the clouds we plunged and emerging I saw he was well out of my reach. So I turned to watch my two victims. They were both falling within a thousand feet of each other, two flaming masses, crashing in death to the earth.
In a few days I was to go on another leave to England, so I put in every moment that I could in the air, trying to increase the number of machines to my credit. In this way, one evening, I came upon three, and managed to surprise them in the old way that I had done so often when I was flying a Nieuport. I dived on the rear and highest one, but found I did not have the patience to crawl up to my usual range. Two guns hardly made it necessary as before, so I opened fire at a little over a hundred yards. As in the old days, there was no second stage to it at all; down he went completely out of control, and I stayed above, the other two having escaped, and watched him falling eight thousand feet.
This was my forty-fifth victory, and the next day I had my forty-sixth and forty-seventh, in two fights shortly following one another.
It was the evening before I was to leave for England, and to my great disgust, I had been unable to catch sight of a single German. So I flew north to watch a Canadian attack at Lens. There was a great battle going on, and for fifteen minutes I watched it raging. Then, chancing to look up above me, I saw a two-seater of the enemy, coming toward our lines. It really seemed to be just a godsend, so I went straight at him almost head on; that is, coming up slightly from below, but in front of him. I fired at him as I came, and as no result appeared, when I was one hundred yards away, I dived and came up, pointing my nose straight up into the sky, as he flew across over me. Then I fired again. Suddenly the planes on one side of the Hun appeared to break and fall back, then to sweep away entirely, and the machine fell in fragments. It was not a nice sight. I had evidently hit the machine in a lucky place, which had caused it to break, but in all probability the occupants were still alive. However, it was not for me to pity them, at that stage of the game, and I could not put them out of their misery, so I remained above and watched them fall.
Two scouts had appeared just before I attacked this two-seater, but when I went toward them they had flown away. A minute later I saw them flying toward me. They did not want to fight, though, and turned away, heading in an easterly direction. The range was too far for me to open fire, so I chased them a bit, a distance of about two miles. They managed to keep three hundred yards away and as the wind was blowing me into Germany at the rate of sixty miles an hour, besides my own speed, I decided it was not worthwhile. Before leaving off the chase I thought I might as well send a few shots after them, as it m
ight be my last chance to fight in France. I took very careful aim on the rear machine and opened fire. The Hun suddenly went into a spinning nose dive, and fell toward the earth. I did not think for a moment I had hit him at that range, but watched to see just what game the German was playing. Down he went all the way from thirteen thousand feet to the ground, and crashed—a complete wreck. A lucky bullet must have hit the pilot and killed him instantly. It was indeed my last fight in France, and the next day I went to England on leave, and also to attend an investiture at Buckingham Palace, at which I was to receive the whole three of my decorations.
Chapter XXII
When I left the aerodrome to start for England, I had a vague feeling I would not be back again. I had heard nothing more about my transfer, but the very fact that there was a great deal of uncertainty made me anxious, and I remember when leaving the old place, turning around to have a last look at it. I was lucky to find a car going all the way to Boulogne that day, and with four others, one of whom was going back to England for good, we made the trip. On the way we stopped off at a village where there was a famous farm for French police dogs. We spent an interesting hour there, while the French lady who owned the dogs showed us all around her beautiful place. The dogs were of all ages, from two-weeks old puppies to full French champions. We left there just in time to reach Boulogne for luncheon—my last meal in France, as I managed to catch a boat for England at two o’clock.
Eight o’clock that night saw me in London, and I was certainly glad to get there. At nine o’clock I was in the middle of a big dinner, given by several of my friends, after which we went to a dance. It seemed years since I had been near London, and every sight and every sound was joyful to me. A few days later, though, I left town and went to the country.
About this time word came through that I was not going back to France. I was very disappointed. I reported for duty, but was given a few weeks more leave in which to rest up. During this time I went to the investiture by the King. I had, on the previous day, received a telegram of instructions, telling me to report at Buckingham Palace at ten-thirty in the morning dressed in service uniform. At ten-ten I was there, not wishing to be behind time on such an occasion, and realising I had better find out before it happened, just what was expected of me. Walking into the Palace I came to a hat-stand, where everybody was checking things. I handed in my hat, gloves and stick, whereupon I was told to hang on to the gloves, wearing one on my left hand and carrying the other. Then, following a number of other officers, also there to be decorated, I came to a room in which a General was standing. I asked him where I was to go, and he asked me what I was getting. I began the long rigmarole of V. C., D. S. O., and M. C., but before I had finished he told me to go in with the D. S. O.’s, as I was the only V. C. So I slipped away into a room where there were about one hundred and fifty other officers. After waiting there for over half an hour, another General came in, and gave us explicit instructions as to what to do in the King’s presence. It was a terrible moment for all of us.
Finally the doors opened and we were headed toward the room in which the King was standing with his staff. Following some Generals and Colonels, who were being admitted to the Order of St. Michael and St. George, it came my turn to march in. I knew my instructions well. Ten yards across to the middle of the room, and then a turn to the left and bow. Imagine my consternation, when, at the first of those ten paces, one of my boots began to squeak. Somehow or other I managed to get to the proper place, where I was facing His Majesty. Here I had to listen to an account of my own deeds, read by one of the staff, while I myself stood stiffly at attention. Then, approaching the King, he hooked three medals on my breast. These he had been handed on a cushion. He congratulated me upon winning them, and told me it was the first time he had been able to give all three to any one person.
After a short, one-sided conversation, in which my only attempt to speak failed utterly, although all I was trying to say was “Yes, sir,” he shook hands with me, and I bowed and backed away, turning and walking thirty squeaky paces to a door in the corner of the room. The moment I reached the outside of this door, I thought I had been thrown into the arms of a highway robber. A man suddenly stepped from one side and before I could stop him, had snatched the three glittering medals off my chest, and was fifteen yards ahead of me on the way down the hall, before I realised what had happened. I took after him, not knowing what to do, but he picked up three boxes from a table, put the medals in, and handed them back to me. Then he returned to meet the next man coming out, who incidentally was a great friend of mine, and also in the Flying Corps. The next thing to be faced was the crowd at the Palace gates, and the photographers. Luckily, I had a car waiting in the enclosure, and by getting into this managed to evade everybody.
A week later I was promoted to the rank of Major, and also learned that I had been awarded a bar to my Distinguished Service Order ribbon. Good news, like bad luck, never comes singly. A few days after that I heard I had been granted permission to go home to Canada for a visit. The notice was short, but within eighteen hours I had made all arrangements, and was on a train to catch the boat sailing from Liverpool next day. Within two weeks I was home.
THE END
About the Author
William Avery “Billy” Bishop was born in 1894 in Owen Sound, and went on to become Canada’s most famous First World War aviator. Bishop attended Royal Military College in Kingston with his brother, but left when the war broke out to join the Mississauga Horse cavalry regiment. In England, Bishop quickly transferred to the Royal Flying Corps and became an observer. After recovering from a knee injury, Bishop trained at the Central Flying School and gained his wings in November 1916. Over the course of his war career, Bishop is credited with shooting down seventy-two enemy aircraft and was awarded the Military Cross, the Distinguished Service Medal, and the Victoria Cross for his service. Upon his return to Canada, Bishop wrote his autobiography Winged Warfare. He died in 1956 at the age of 62.
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EPub Edition April 2014 ISBN: 9781443435338
This title is in Canada’s public domain and is not subject to any licence or copyright.
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