by Taffy Thomas
LEGEND OF THE SKIES
The Story of Gilbert Insall
Gilbert Stuart Martin Insall (14 May 1894– 17 February 1972) was born and educated in Paris. Having first joined the army through the University and Public Schools Brigade of the Royal Fusiliers, he then became a second lieutenant in 11 Squadron of the British Royal Flying Corps at the age of twenty-one. After just four months in that post, he was sent to the Western Front. Later that year, on 7 November 1915, he did something so courageous that it earned him the highest award for gallantry in war – the Victoria Cross. The following tale of Insall’s brave actions is adapted from an account written in March 1918 by Captain James Price Lloyd of the Welsh Regiment, who served with the British Military Intelligence unit known as MI7. Central to the role of this department was censorship and propaganda, so it is no surprise that Captain Lloyd was given the task of recording the kind of events which led war heroes like Insall to be awarded the Victoria Cross.
We are fortunate to have this account today. The typescript was among those propaganda archives which MI7 destroyed after the war in an attempt to prevent sensitive information from reaching the general public. However, Captain Lloyd kept his own handwritten version of the story.
Gilbert Insall was one of the few lucky ones who saw and survived two world wars. He died in England on 17 February 1972, at the age of seventy-seven. His headstone can be seen in the graveyard at All Saints church in the village of Nocton in Lincolnshire, while his Victoria Cross is on display at the Royal Air Force Museum at Hendon.
This is the true story of how two British airmen and two German pilots fought a duel in the skies over Northern France, and what became of them.
On the afternoon of 9 November 1915, Second Lieutenant Gilbert Insall and his gunner, 1st Class Air Mechanic Thomas Donald, were on patrol in their Vickers biplane over the town of Achiet, south of Arras. At about 2.30 p.m., Donald, keeping a lookout from his cramped cockpit at the front of the plane, spotted a two-man, enemy Aviatik craft some 1,000 feet above, heading south. He shouted to his pilot, who at once lifted the Vickers’ nose and began to climb steadily after the German plane.
Whether or not the German pilot and his companion were immediately aware of the danger of attack, we cannot be sure, but either way they appeared to have other business to attend to that day, for they carried on their way south, without diverting from their course. Having the faster plane, the German pilot was soon putting more and more distance between himself and his two British pursuers.
Seeing that the German plane was too remote a target for his machine gun, Donald reached for his rifle in the hope that a lucky shot might reach its mark. Once, twice, three times he fired, each time missing his target but succeeding in both alerting and annoying the enemy pilot. When the German responded by turning and speeding back towards the British plane, Insall banked and flew westwards towards Achiet. The German followed, the hunted now the hunter.
Just as they flew over the town, Insall suddenly turned again, sharply this time, catching his adversary by surprise.
Before the German pilot had a chance to respond, bullets were whistling by his head. But he still had one more card to play. Just a few minutes’ flight to the north, near the village of Heninel, lay a certain rocket battery, whose job it was to shoot down any British aircraft which dared to come their way. The German knew that if he could lead the British airman into this deadly trap, he would be safe.
He sped northwards, drawing Insall closer and closer towards the battery. Then, just before he reached it, he turned, hoping that the Vickers would not have time to react and would fly blindly into a hail of enemy fire. But he was too late. As he banked, he was caught in Donald’s firing line.
Strafed with bullets, the engine of the Aviatik spluttered and cut out. For a moment everything was silent, then, with smoke streamers trailing, the plane began to spin, over and over, dropping from the sky like an autumn leaf. However, to the amazement of Insall and Donald who were watching intensely from above, the German pilot managed to control the spin and brought his aircraft into a steep glide towards the earth, 6,000 feet below.
With the roar of the Vickers in his ears and bullets grazing his wings, the German airman knew that this time he did not have the luxury of choosing his landing site. But drawing on all the lessons he had learned during his hours of flying, he managed to land safely, although heavily, in a ploughed field.
In panic, the pilot and his companion scrambled out of the damaged plane, taking their machine gun with them, and made off across the muddy furrows. Then, as they heard the Vickers descending rapidly behind them, they halted, turned their gun on the British airmen and opened fire.
Insall had had enough. Flying as low as he dared, he swooped down like an eagle about to snatch its prey and screamed at Donald to cut the pair down. Donald let rip with his gun and the two Germans were sprayed with soil as bullets tore into the ground around them. Dropping their machine gun, they fled for their lives into the shelter of a clump of trees on the far side of the field, one of them taking a wounding bullet before he disappeared into the greenery.
With the airmen chased like scared rabbits into the undergrowth, Insall brought the Vickers about again. He descended to 300 feet and slowed sufficiently to enable Donald to drop an incendiary bomb on the crashed Aviatik, transforming it into a blazing inferno.
However, 300 feet is not a healthy height at which to be flying over enemy lines, and Insall knew that he had to gain altitude again as quickly as he could and head for safety. But they were not out of danger yet. Their return route meant running the gauntlet; flying over lines of enemy trenches.
Recognising the markings of a British craft, the Germans below opened fire without a moment’s hesitation. Shells exploded above and below the little plane and bullets whistled between the struts of the wings. The Vickers rocked dangerously but Insall kept her steady, while Donald returned fire at the enemy below, emptying three drums.
On they flew, crossing right over the German line. Then, just when safety seemed assured, the engine stopped. The Vickers been hit. There was nothing for it but to glide down, hoping for as safe a landing as the Aviatik had enjoyed just minutes before.
Matching the German pilot’s skill, Insall made an emergency landing near a small wood just 500 yards inside the Allied lines, but the plane had barely touched the ground before the first German shell came screaming through the air. Anxious to save their precious plane and maintain a means by which to continue their voyage home, Insall and Donald dragged the craft into the trees, just managing to keep it out of reach of the falling shells which rained down on them for the rest of the afternoon. More than 150 shells landed on the edge of that wood, but thankfully not one of them made a direct hit.
After radioing their nearest aerodrome to send the parts they needed, the two British men waited bravely for darkness to fall. When it finally did so and the breakdown party arrived, Insall and his mechanic set to work on the plane, fixing it quietly by torchlight.
As soon as dawn came, the gallant pair took to the air once more and, after a final swoop along the German trenches, turned for home.
For his share in this adventurous enterprise, Second Lieutenant Gilbert Insall was awarded the Victoria Cross, while his companion, 1st Class Air Mechanic Thomas Donald, was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal.
But, before he collected his award from the king at Buckingham Palace, Insall had further wartime adventures to face. Barely a month after his exploits at Achiet, he found himself once again chasing an enemy aircraft behind German lines. But this time he was not so lucky. He did not come out unscathed. A shell which exploded below his biplane sent fragments slicing through the floor and into Insall’s spine. Nonetheless, even while drifting in and out of consciousness, he managed to land the plane safely, only to be captured by German soldiers on the ground.
Insall was operated on while in a prisoner-of-war camp, and as soon as he was back on his feet was causing trouble
for the enemy once again, escaping twice over the next two years. Finally, on a third attempt, he made it to freedom, travelling on foot with two fellow escapees into Holland. The ordeal took them nine long and dangerous nights.
Seeing active service in one war, and earning a Victoria Cross, might have been enough for most men. But the amazing Gilbert Insall not only survived the Great War; he also went on to serve in 51 Squadron in the Second World War.
Even when he was not in military action in the air, Insall still made his mark as a pilot, for it was he who, while flying near to Stonehenge one day in 1925, first noticed an unusual arrangement of pits in the ground below. Insall recorded what he saw in photographs that were later used by archaeologists to identify the Bronze Age site of Woodhenge.
Gilbert Insall – the man who had become a legend in his own right, had discovered a land of legends dating as far back as 2300 BC.
THE STORY OF EDITH CAVELL
We should not be surprised how many stories and legends have their roots in the First World War. Those tumultuous years of 1914–18 created thousands of heroes – people from all walks of life who showed amazing bravery, tenacity and selflessness when it mattered most. Stories about them were often shared among those fighting on the battlefield; some travelled home to families and friends, written in letters and diaries or immortalised in lines of poetry or prose; a few were passed down through generations and have found their place in legend.
Millions of war heroes never made it into the pages of our storybooks, and they lie quietly in unmarked graves, their stories long forgotten, but one person whose story did secure a place in legend is British nurse, Edith Cavell (4 December 1865– 12 October 1915). Edith did not become famous until after her death and, although undeniably deserving of her legendary status, it is possible that her story would have been buried hurriedly along with her body, had the British Government not chosen to champion her as a war hero.
This is Edith’s life story.
Edith Cavell was born on 4 December 1865 in the small Norfolk village of Swardeston. Her father, Frederick, was the vicar of the village church, and her mother, Louisa Sophia, was the daughter of Frederick’s housekeeper.
Edith’s first home was a temporary one, for not long after she was born, she and her parents moved into a brand new vicarage next to the church. This was no lavish statement, no needless spending of Church funds, for the money for the building of the vicarage came from Edith’s father’s own pocket.
Frederick’s desire to leave a legacy for his community took all of his family’s savings. But even so, Frederick continued to display generosity towards his parishioners, demonstrating to them and his family that charity really did start at home: Frederick and Louisa Sophia were even known to share out their Sunday roast with their neighbours.
More Cavell children soon followed, in the form of Florence, then Lilian and finally little John, whom they all called Jack. The Cavells were a close family and Edith benefitted from a caring and loving start to her life. Within this nurturing environment, she grew into a confident and enterprising young teenager. No teenage rebellion for her; rather she channelled her energies into positive things. One day, while helping her mother in the Sunday school, Edith noticed how cramped the children were. So that very same afternoon, she wrote to the Bishop of Norwich, asking his approval for a new Sunday schoolroom.
With permission granted, Edith promptly set up a fundraising campaign, selling greetings cards which she painted herself. In no time at all, the new schoolroom was in place and Edith and her mother could be found there every Sunday, teaching the village children in brand new, more spacious surroundings.
But like a young bird, which inevitably grows too big for its nest, the time came for Edith to leave home and start to find her own way in life. At the sweet age of sixteen, she waved goodbye to her mother and father, and to Florence, Lilian and Jack, and headed off to boarding school.
Edith missed her home, but she was hungry to learn and she showed herself to have a natural talent for speaking French. She longed to be teacher, so as soon as she had passed all her exams, she found a job as a governess.
Edith enjoyed her new role, but was keen to learn more about the world, to expand her knowledge and become the best teacher she could be. So when the generosity of a kind, departed soul saw Edith inherit a modest sum of money, she leapt at the opportunity for her first taste of travel and exploration. She headed for the snow-capped mountains and the lush green valleys of Austria and Bavaria, soaking up the language and culture like a sponge.
It was while on her travels that Edith first came upon a venture which was to change the course of her life. She visited a hospital whose doors were open to everyone, rich or poor, no matter what their background or status, and where all treatment was free. It was run by a man with the memorable name of Doctor Wolfenberg. So impressed was Edith with his charitable approach to medicine that not only did she decide to donate her remaining inheritance to the hospital; she also made up her mind that she was going to become a nurse.
But with no more money to spend, Edith knew she must first return to work as a governess. For the next five years, she cared for the children of a French-speaking Belgian family in the beautiful city of Brussels, using the opportunity to perfect her French.
Although now a mature woman, approaching thirty years of age, Edith still missed her home back in Norfolk and, whenever she had time off, would return to the peace and tranquility of Swardeston and the beautiful vicarage with its moat. And it was during these happy days back home that Edith fell in love with her second cousin, Eddie.
If Edith thought she had found her perfect soulmate, her heart was about to be broken, for on broaching the subject of marriage, she discovered that Eddie had different ideas about their future together. Making excuses about his poor health and his unsuitability as a husband, Eddie instantly retreated to the role of cousin and friend.
However, there was little time for Edith to dwell on her cousin’s rejection, for soon all her emotions and her attention were on her father’s ailing health. Terrified of losing him, Edith swapped her post in Brussels for a chair by her father’s bedside and devoted her time to nursing him back to health. The joy of seeing her father getting better and better each day convinced Edith that nursing was really where her future lay, and as soon as her father was strong enough, she headed for London and signed up at nursing school.
Once again, Edith threw herself into her studies, learned fast and worked hard. She was not afraid of a challenge, no matter how big or small, even risking her own life to help the victims of a typhoid fever outbreak which was threatening to devastate the seaside town of Margate in Kent.
So fine a nurse did Edith show herself to be that she was soon back in Brussels, passing on her skills in a new nurses’ training school. But life for Edith – and for the people of Belgium – was about to change again, and for the worse.
Edith’s beloved father, Frederick, fell ill once more, and this time lost his battle for life. Then, in August 1914, while she was in Norfolk comforting her widowed mother, Edith heard the shocking news that Germany, under orders from its power-hungry Kaiser, had invaded Belgium.
The grief-stricken Louisa begged her daughter to stay in the relative safety of Britain but Edith, whose sense of duty was strong, knew that the teaching hospital now needed her more than ever, and she hurried back across the sea to Belgium.
If the German Army had expected an easy passage through Belgium to France, it had a nasty surprise, for the people of Belgium, outraged at the invasion, put up a serious fight. Snipers laid in wait for the invaders to arrive, civilians poured into the streets when they did, and the fighting was bloody and merciless. The German soldiers’ response was even more ferocious and, in a desperate attempt to maintain control, they swore to take ten Belgian lives for every German soldier lost.
The wounded and the dying poured into Edith’s hospital which had now become a Red Cross station and, remembering the
neutral approach of her mentor, Doctor Wolfenberg, she refused to turn anyone away. Man, woman or child, patients on both sides of the conflict lay next to one another and benefitted from her care.
Despite the Belgians’ best efforts, Brussels fell after only a few days of fighting, and one after the other, Edith’s nurses returned to England. With all the German and Dutch nurses sent home, only Edith and one faithful assistant remained, determined to care for the wounded and the sick, whatever their allegiance.
Aware of the dangerous situation she was placing herself in, Edith put pen to paper and scribed a letter to send home to England. ‘My darling mother and family,’ she wrote:
If you open this, it will be because that which we fear has now happened, and Brussels has fallen into the hands of the enemy. They are very near now and it is doubtful if the Allied armies can stop them. We are prepared for the worse. I shall think of you to the last, and you may be sure we shall do our duty here and die as women of our race should die. God bless you and keep you safe.
Edith’s safety was further put into jeopardy when, one night that autumn, two dishevelled British soldiers turned up at the clinic. On the point of exhaustion, the men told Edith how they had become separated from their battalion in the retreat from Mons. Lost and hungry, they were now stranded in enemy territory, desperately trying to make their way home.
Taking pity on her poor countrymen, Edith gave the men food and water and hid them in her quarters. For the next fourteen days, they remained there in secrecy, recovering from their ordeal, while Edith sought help.
It did not take her long. Soon there was an underground network of forgers, safe houses and guides, ready to furnish the two soldiers with the money, identity papers and maps they needed to make an escape. With the help of this secret team, the soldiers headed north out of Belgium, escaping across the flat fields, canals and dykes of Holland, to the coast.