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Aviation History
1916
1916 - 0510.PDF
JUNE 15, 1916. To an Unknown Pilot* To speak of the weather is supposed to be a sign of weakness in the conversational art, yet strong indeed would be the oratorial powers of the man who could pass through the kind of weather we have been blessed with for the last two weeks, without making some reference_to it. Whether the heavy cannonading off Jutland on that never-to-be-forgotten Wednesday has anything to do with it, I do not know. Opinion is about equally divided on the question of the ability of gunfire to produce rain. Yet years ago, in the vine countries, rain producing by concussion was tried, and pronounced a complete success. In whatever manner or degree it has come about, there is not much doubt that for variety, the weather has been abnormal, even for England. Rain and sunshine, heat and cold, storm and calm have succeeded one another at such short intervals that on frequent occasions we have run the whole series many times over in one day. A few years ago, when pilots used to watch the flags run up on short poles above the hangars, and did not care to venture up unless the said flags were hanging down in a state of idleness, such weather as we have recently experienced would have effectually put an end to any idea of venturing aloft, and those pilots would have sat about in groups, consuming innumerable cigarettes. To-day it takes something more than a strong breeze to stop flying. Even the risk, as has obtained during this spell of indecision on the part of the gods of the elements who have played fast and loose with us to their heart's content, of going up in a dead calm only to be engulfed in a howling hurricane in less than ten minutes, has made little or no difference to the number of machines in the air, or the amount of practice put in by our pilots and advanced pupils. It would be extremely difficult to pick upon any one day of the past fortnight as being worse than its fellows, but last Sunday was bad enough in all conscience. Bright sunshine with summer zephyrs, and forty-mile gales accompanied by thunder, lightning and deluges of rain followed each other with such rapidity as to be almost bewildering. One would hardly have expected flying men to take the air on such a day, yet there were many who did, and it is to one of them I venture to more especially address this appreciation. I have not the slightest idea who the pilot was. Had the same thing happened a year or two ago, I should have been in no doubt as to his identity, for there were those who would have attempted such flying, only in numbers such as could have been counted on the fingers of one hand and left a few over. It was somewhere between five and six o'clock on Sunday evening, during one of the most severe storms on a very stormy day, that a B.E., apparently fighting its way from Chingford to Hendon, flying rather low, and possibly driven by the wind far south of its proper course, gave me an exhibition of superb piloting such as I shall probably never see equalled in a lifetime. The wind was terrific, and the rain almost blinding. The machine was buffeted about like a piece of paper, and was at times almost hidden in the downpour. With masterly skill the pilot wore his way round on to a straight course, and the last I saw of him he was making well away for his destination, apparently quite master of the situation. It was a splendid example of airmanship, and the unknown pilot has my heartiest appreciation of his pluck and skill. Here's to him. To Another Unknown. Not entirely unknown, because I know his name:— 2nd-class Air-Mechanic W. J. Woodland. Not entirely to him, because the poor fellow has gone to his last rest, but to his friends and relations, and to those of his class in the Flying Services, an appreciation, and an intima tion to them, which was brought vividly home to me on the day of poor Woodland's funeral, which it fell to me to meet accidentally, that Though This Be The Price Of Empire, It Carries Its Own Reward. Woodland met his death at the Central Flying School when flying as a passenger with Lieut. E. Ie Sauvage, who, unfortunately, also was killed. It is a part of the duties of these Air-Mechanics to go aloft as a passenger whenever they may be called upon. Unfortunately accidents must happen on occasion, and the life of one or other of these men in their lowly capacity be given to King and Country, although under such circumstances of rank as to escape the notice of the general public, given nevertheless freely, and to such good purpose as any, no matter of what rank. The saluting of officers by those of lower rank is of such frequent occurrence in our main streets at the present moment, owing to the number of those wearing the King's uniform, as to seem almost painful. I, myself, have thought that perhaps something could be done to excuse this when so many men and officers are in our midst. Truth to tell, the men do not seem to mind, and the officers, all honour to them, will avoid seeing the man if they possibly can, so as to make a salute unnecessary. I met the funeral procession of Mechanic Woodland in Islington. Just a simple coffin covered by the beloved flag. What respect it brought from the passers by ! Three officers were standing talking on the pave ment—one a major. One saw the flag-covered coffin and called the attention of the others. Did they look on casually ? No ! All three walked to the edge of the pavement, drew themselves up as though on parade and stood to the salute, hand to cap for at least twenty seconds. Had they been saluting their King, greater respect could not have been shown. Poor Woodland could not know of this respect from his high officers, his own people in their grief probably failed to notice, but I noticed, and I felt, and I understood : IT WAS THE RECEIPT FOR PAYING THE PRICE OF EMPIRE, and more, IT WAS THE RESPECT OFFERED by the high to the lowly in that glorious body of men, Britain's pride, who are day in and day out giving their lives for their Country. Let us see to it in the future, when the necessity for these sacrifices is no more, that those who are gone are not also forgotten. 510
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