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Aviation History
1918
1918 - 1148.PDF
OCTOBER IO, 1918. By DOUGLAS W. THORBURN. ONE only has to stroll into Claridge's or the Regent Palace, or talk to a German prisoner, to realise that the American Air Service has arrived. Thatjs to say, some of it. And Gee !—as Clifford Prcdger would remark—they are Some Boys, ber-lieve me ! The only way to endure the horrors of this war is to extract from it as much humour as may be found. Our British Tommies have realised this from the very beginning, and now their American friends have come over evidently filled with the same deter- mination. And when a bunch of husky American ginks start in to be funny—well, tear-gas hasn't a ghost of a chance. In the last Christmas issue of " FLIGHT " I endeavoured, in response to an invitation, to dedicate a page or so by way of welcome to the aviators from the U.S.A. I have been repaid a hundred-fold. In fact, to be brief—for paper is scarce-—I have become a regular reader of 157th Shrapnel, a magazine published somewhere in England by the 157th Aero Squadron of the American Expeditionary Force. Nothing has given me such genuine delight since my grocer got black-listed by the local food committee for overcharging me for condensed milk. The magazine is written obviously by the men of that squadron for their own edification, and doubtless to appreciate fully each point—and every issue, is a veritable literary porcupine—one would have to know the men personally. As a matter of fact, after reading a few issues one begins to know them quite well, for the editorial contents are mainly of a most personal nature. I should like to give a few extracts. Let me start with what I consider the real gem of the lot. I ought to keep it to the last, but really it can't wait. It is from a column of specially personal items : " Talbot says there are only two things in this world that he hates, and Haynes' singing is both of 'em." Surely nobody but an American would have thought of that. And here's another personal paragraph positively palpitating with pathos : " Private Valcourt walked in his sleep one night and took his shirt off and threw it in the rain. Next morning he accused everyone in the shack of swiping his clothes. Is there no cure for this ? " The somewhat cosmopolitan nature of the force is indicated in the following libellous extract : " The Swi s Yodellers Urell and Nilsson give nightly performance! at the Mess Hall at 8.30. For close harmony these two lads get more out of a cup of soup than Gantert gets from his whole flute." Of course there are poems—many of them. As might be expected, they defy description. The rhyming would scarcely pass the A.I.D., but the ideas at any rate are refreshing. My favourite is a twelve- verse account of a visit to London by Moynahan, who is one of the most irrepressible of the regular contributors. A few samples must suffice : Last week we went to London Town, myself and Sergeant Streep, And talk about excitement, boys, I'll say we had a heap. We first hit King's Cross station and we took the Under- ground, But soon discovered it was tough to find our way around. So we came up to earth again and grabbed a flying 'bus— Streep felt like he was in New York, you should have heard him cuss. He lamped the Nelson Monument up in Trafalgar Square, And we got off at Charing Cross, it was a two d. fare. Next day we got up early—started in to see the City, We saw where Hen. the Eighth killed all his wives, it was a pity. The Traitor's Gate and Bloody Arch made Streep feel melancholy. And then we saw the cell which once confined Sir Walter Raleigh. » • • * The streets were filled with officers of every Allied nation. With every kind of uniform and every decoration. And I saluted every one, but Streep does me one better— The fish salutes a door-man out in front of a theatre. * » • » And now we're back in camp again, we're happy but we're broke. Can't even get our laundry out of hock, and that's no joke. We walk around the aerodrome and work and eat and sleep— But we went big in London—don't believe me ? " Well, ask Streep. There you have glimpses of the beginning and the end of a perfect day. To turn from the Poets' Corner to the Society Column, we get some excellent side- lights on the life of the camp from the domestic point of view. For instance : " Private Yocom is to give a coming-out party in the near future, and Society in general is looking forward to this event with much anticipation. He will come out of the sleep he has been in since he joined in the war work. This will probably be the surprise America has promised for Germany." And again : " Private Wootton threw discretion to the winds a few days ago and bought himself one of those hair-cuts. He is now impersonating Hashimuru Togo, the Honest Jap School- boy."There is a very touching Matrimonial Column, "Free Advice to the Love-Lorn, or Hart to Heart Talks by Murray Hart." It seems to indicate an amorous tendency on the part of the men of this squadron, to which the maidens of the nearest village appear to be most responsive. The answers, as this sample will show, are intended to be helpful: " Dear Murray, " Please advise me what to do about this matter. I met this girl about two weeks ago down by the canal. She has introduced me to her folks, and we had our picture taken together with my hand in hern. She has teeth and three dresses. She wants to go back to America with me, and her folks approve of it. As my wife is very sensitive I don't know what to do. Please advise. (Signed) Grady Allgood." " Well, that's pretty good, Grady. Find out if her folks have any money or a meat-card. If not, above all things don't argue with her. Push her in the canal." Another correspondent has his troubles dealt with in another column devoted to miscellaneous enquiries : " Dear Editor,—To-day by mistake I saluted an English Sergeant-Major. What can I do to redeem myself ? " (Signed) IMA Mutt." Reply : " This is a common mistake. As the Sergeant- Major in the English Army has more power than both Houses of Parliament, the King, Scotland Yard and the Bricklayers' Union, you should congratulate yourself on your cunning." -[Ed.] Here is a passing reference in an article by Brackctt which will appeal to some of our own training squadrons : " These De H. 6 joy-boats may look heavy and give the appearance of an ocean-greyhound on a mill-pond, but they're as safe as brass knuckles in a bird-cage, and why should a man loop the loop if he can't enjoy a sandwich when he comes . down ? . . . I hear that the Army has made plain, spoken, or in other words written or rotten an order that the poor suckers who raised their right hands and promised to go hungry for thirty-three per, can, after such and which date, no longer wear black, white or other shaped neck-ties. My think-box wanders back to that hell on earth in Texas where the poor rookie, just turned loose from the home corral, was told that he would be shot at sunrise if caught out of bed 1149
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