Norman Macmillan The Great War Interviews

BBC Four Collections,

specially chosen programmes from the BBC Archive.

For this Collection, Max Hastings has selected interviews

with Great War veterans, filmed in the 1960s.

More programmes on this theme

and other BBC Four Collections

are available on BBC iPlayer.

The essential feature of our work

in the air was constant attack.

Unlike the Infantry,

who had moments

of quiet

and occasional bouts

of combat,

every

time we crossed

the lines, we were engaged in combat.

All our work was aggressive.

And every time we went, we went into battle.

One of the most thrilling

moments, I think, of my flying life

occurred at Passchendaele.

We had instructions that

we were to

attack ground targets,

whatever we saw.

No specific target,

anything of the enemy within sight.

We were told that the

height

of

flight of the field gun shells

was 600 feet

maximum above the ground.

The guns were ranged

practically wheel

to wheel

along the front

on which

we were engaged.

Our task was to fly into that

tunnel

below the flight of field gun

shells,

look for any target we could

see,

any Germans in trenches,

enemy machine gun posts,

anything at all, shoot it up,

fly through the tunnel

and come out the other end.

We were warned that

we must not try

to fly out sideways.

If we did, we would almost certainly

meet our own shells in flight

and be brought down by them.

That would apply

whether we turned right or left.

Once we entered

the tunnel, there was nothing for it

but to carry on

and go through to the very end.

We flew in pairs, and I led,

being Flight Commander.

I and my companion

flew to the south of the tunnel,

turned left, entered it,

and instantly we were in an inferno.

The air was boiling with the turmoil

of the shells flying through it.

We were thrown

about in the aircraft,

rocking from side to side,

being thrown up and down.

Below us was mud, filth,

smashed

trenches, broken wire,

broken machine gun posts,

broken limbers,

rubbish,

wreckage of aeroplanes,

bits of men, and then,

in the midst

of it all,

when we were flying at 400 feet,

I spotted a German

machine gun post and went down.

My companion came behind me,

and as we dived, we fired four

machine guns straight into the post.

We saw the Germans

throw

themselves on the ground.

We dived at them and sprayed them.

Whether we hit them, we didn't

know - there was no time to see.

There was only time to dive

and fire,

climb and zoom,

and on to the next target.

There we saw a number

of the grey-green

German troops

lying in holes that were battered

trenches that had been trenches

and were now shell holes.

We dived on them,

fired

and again we were firing at

a

target which we could not assess.

We were being thrown about

and again, a third time,

we dived on another

target, and our ammunition was finished.

We flew on rocking out

of

that inferno,

out of the tunnel

and escaped, turned left,

and I felt

that never, at any time,

had I passed through

such an extraordinary

experience,

an experience when we ourselves

were shut

in by a cloud of shells,

although a

heap of rubble,

mud, filth,

destruction...

and real damnation on

the ground,

and there we were,

in the

midst of that inferno,

shooting at men

who'd cast themselves into the

mud

to try and escape our bullets.

And as we came out of it,

having

taken not more than ten

minutes

in the passage

through that

tunnel,

I felt that we had escaped

from one of the most evil

things

that I had ever seen

at any time

in any of the flying

that occurred to me during that war.

Passchendaele brought

new

responsibilities to us.

We had a variety of tasks

to perform.

They were detailed for us -

we were not freelance.

We were sent out

on distant

offensive patrols,

or close offensive patrols

at stated

heights above the ground,

their object being to attack

any enemy

aircraft that we might see.

And they involved us in combats.

At other times, we were sent

out on ground attack patrols

and sometimes we were sent to escort artillery observation

machines

carrying out

shoots for the gunners.

One of the combats

which

I was involved in

was of particular interest to me personally,

because I used tactics

which

I had evolved myself.

I decided that the only way

in which

we could ensure

that our Camels would be

above the Germans when we met them

was to...

give them a false idea of the

height at which we were flying.

So I decided to make three sweeps

over the enemy lines, returning

each time to our side and climbing

before making the next sweep.

I swept over on the first

sweep at 11,000 feet,

and we saw no enemy aircraft at all.

Coming back,

I climbed for

2,000 feet

and swept over at 13,000,

and again we saw no enemy aircraft.

On the third sweep, I went 2,000 feet higher

and crossed over at 15,000,

and when we were

well back behind the German lines,

well away from the trenches, we saw

an enemy fighter squadron coming up -

eight Albatross scouts

with their noses pointing up at us

climbing for all they were worth

to

try and reach our height.

But we had succeeded

in getting above them.

When we were in

within

striking distance,

we still had 300 feet in hand and

we went down on them straightaway.

I led our six Camels

straight

in amongst them,

singling out the leader for myself,

and went

for him with both my guns blazing.

The other Camels

on either side of me

each picked out

one of the German aircraft.

I dived down and shot that fellow

and went on past him down below.

Next instant, I found

an enemy

aircraft on my tail

and I heard the machine guns rattling,

and splinters were

going off

the rear spar of my Camel

just inches above my head.

I saw the centre section rip up

and I turned and swerved

and got out of his line of fire

and back into

position

and back into the fight.

Within two minutes

of the beginning

of that fight,

there wasn't an enemy machine

to be

seen in the sky anywhere,

and some little distance

away, 22 Squadron,

flying Bristol fighters, was passing

not far from us and they reported

that they had seen one of those

German machines go down in flames.

That, I believe,

was the German leader.

Every other German machine

was

completely scattered.

Our formation re-formed, got back,

finished our patrol.

We had used up

almost

all our ammunition.

When we returned to the airfield,

every machine returned safely,

and not one of the

other

aircraft was damaged.

My centre section was soon changed,

and the aircraft was

ready for flying

again within

a couple of hours.

That was one of the most successful

snap combats

in which I was ever engaged.

There were others, of course,

which

lasted very much longer.

The longest flight

was

a running fight

which lasted for 23 minutes,

engaged

against the Richthofen Squadron.

That was a running fight

to enable us

to get photographs of men on railway

stations for Army headquarters.

We escorted the photographic

machine back safely,

but, unfortunately, in doing so,

we lost three of our own aircraft,

two of which went down in flames,

and we were only able to bring

down two of the German aircraft

on that particular occasion.

During this fighting,

there was,

undoubtedly,

a sense of chivalry in the air.

We did not feel

that we were

shooting at men,

we did not want to kill men -

we were

really

trying to shoot down the machines.

Our enemies were not

the men in the machines -

our enemies were

the machines

themselves.

It was a case of our machine

is

better than yours

and let's down yours,

almost like a game of ninepins.

A game of skill, a game in which

we pitted ourselves against them,

and they pitted

themselves against us,

each to prove

the other

the better man.

It was a...difficult game,

a game in which, in combat,

we were swirling round

without regard for horizon

or any other

aspect of flight.

We had been trained to fly

with our noses on the horizon

so we could keep our aircraft level,

so that we could turn right or left,

roll the machines in accordance

with

the horizon which we could see,

but in flight, in combat, there was

no horizon - there was only a sphere.

We flew like goldfish in a bowl,

in all directions,

swimming around the sky,

sometimes standing on our tails,

sometimes with our heads right down,

sometimes over on our backs,

sometimes at right

angles to the ground.

Any attitude.

The only attitude which

enabled

the nose of the aircraft

to point where we wanted it to

point in the direction of the enemy

so that the guns could

register hits.

It was an fantastic type of flying,

and our machines could turn

in such tiny circles

that we simply swerved

round

in an amazingly small space

of air,

missing each other sometimes

by inches as we swerved,

missing enemy aircraft,

missing our own

aircraft,

dodging in and out

amongst

the others in the sky,

weaving

in the most fantastic patterns

and aiming, all the time, to place

our noses where they ought to be.

There was a world of difference

between work in the trenches and work in the air.

I spent 16 and a half months

in front-line trench work

and ten and a half months

on

front-line service in the air afterwards.

Both combat service, of course.

The idea of trenches

and the idea of fighting in the air

involved two different

sensations,

two different complexes,

mentally and even physically.

The conditions were so entirely different.

In the trenches, on the ground,

one had the comradeship

of men

all about one.

One knew they were there,

at a moment,

ready to support one.

They were a moral support

as well

as a physical support.

One had the sense

of communication with them,

one could speak to them,

they spoke to one.

And we knew that, all the time,

they were there,

and each one helped

the other,

bearing the other up,

almost like a pyramid of strength.

In the air, things were different.

We were far more individualistic.

Even when we flew in formations,

we'd no means of communication,

one with the other,

except by rocking

the wings

or making some particular

motion

of the aircraft

or by firing

a Very light or by waving a hand.

We'd no other

means of communication at all.

And the sensation

was

entirely different.

Spiritually

and emotionally, we were shut in,

we were self-contained individuals.

We did not have the feeling

of the community spirit

that we had known on the ground,

and everything had to be

thought

and actioned

on the part

of the one individual.

He was entirely

and inseparably alone,

even when he looked outside and saw

the known machines beside him,

even then,

he still felt himself

shut in

in this machine,

responsible, almost entirely,

for himself and every action.

In combat,

it was the individual

in the machine

who had to make the decisions, not the man outside.

It might be that the leader led

others into action,

but once action was joined,

every man

had to fend for himself.

On the ground, on the other hand,

you had the sense of all men working

together, going over in a line.

You were not separated,

you were not individuals,

you were one of a multitude,

acting as a multitude acts,

and there was not the same

sense

of being thrown into

spiritual

and emotional isolation,

as we found in the air.

On the ground, we had

the comradeship

of the men around us.

We had the intimate society of

being

thrown together all the time,

both in the line and out of it.

In the line, one had

the constant

support of the men

who were beside one.

One knew that they were there,

they would back one up,

and one would back them up.

And we had a feeling of community,

a feeling that we were all

together in the same thing,

each helping the other,

each one the intimate

and immediate companion

of all

the men about him.

In the air, when we were

flying, at that time,

there was no question

of any contact

with the ground.

Once we left the ground,

we were individual and alone.

We could transmit

signals by means of Very lights,

but those Very lights

had only four

colours at the most,

and that restricted us

to four types of signal.

We could drop message bags

to

forward reporting stations

where we had to drop messages

of what we had

seen in the air

so that the people

on the ground

could obtain that

information

as quickly as possible.

These message bags

were simply

coloured streamers,

red and yellow, of canvas,

linen canvas,

lead-weighted

in a heavy canvas pocket,

and

we scribbled a message in pencil on

paper,

stuffed it in the pocket and

threw the message bag overboard

so

that it would arrive on the ground

very near the reporting station.

These were the only

means of communication

that we had with the ground.

The aircraft I

flew

never carried wireless,

so we had no means of transmitting

any messages in that way at all.

Our aircraft were fighting aircraft.

First of all, two-seater Sopwith,

one and a half strutters,

with 110 horsepower and

then 130

horsepower rotary engine,

and they were called

Fighter

Reconnaissance Aircraft.

And our duty

was to fight our own way

over the

German lines to any designated point

where photographs were required or a

reconnaissance by eye was necessary.

Later, we were equipped in exchange

with single-seater

Camel scout fighters,

and their work was quite different

from the two-seater.

The two-seaters

could fly for over four hours,

the Camels could only fly

for about two

hours,

and their duty was to fight.

The extraordinary thing,

in my experience,

was that, in all my

time in France,

I

never met a German

scout on our side of the lines.

Every German fighter I ever met

was on his side of the lines

and usually well behind.

We did find German

reconnaissance aircraft

come

over our side of the

lines

very high

up and very difficult to attack

because of the extreme

height at which they flew.

I found that, in the trenches,

we lived a totally different

kind

of life

from that which

we knew in the air.

In the trenches,

we had work to do day and night.

We had vile conditions.

Sometimes, in the summertime,

the conditions weren't too bad.

When we took over from the French,

on one occasion, down south,

we found ourselves in trenches

cut out

of solid chalk,

and in front of us

stretched 800 yards of open ground

between our trenches and the German.

And that open stretch was scattered

with red, blossoming poppies.

A very lovely sight.

The French, we learned,

did not believe in getting close

until they wanted to attack.

Our policy, in the British Army, was

always to close up

as fast as we could and get into

immediate contact with the Germans.

No sooner did we take

over from the French there,

than we started to sap out,

dig out

trenches, throw out forward

lines

and gradually close up until

we were within contact with them.

Further north, where the

ground conditions were very wet,

we entered trenches where the

water was swilling about our feet

and sometimes up to our waists.

One trench in which I entered

was

nothing more than a field

ditch

with the mud

from the bottom

scooped out

and thrown up

to make

a slippery parapet.

As we marched up that trench

and up to the observation post

that we had to man,

the water was running past us,

rising higher and

higher

until it reached our chests.

When we reached the observation post,

there we had to place tables

and chairs on the ground

and stand on the chairs and tables

to keep as much as possible

of ourselves out of the water.

We found, in the winter,

when it froze,

that our difficulty

was to prevent frostbite.

We could find even our gumboots

filled with water

and in the morning, sometimes we

could not strip them off,

because they were

frozen to our feet.

Frostbite in the feet

and trench feet

were the enemies of the infantryman

in the front line trenches.

In the air, the airman faced

frostbite on his face and hands,

not on his feet.

We were warmly clad in the air

and, except for winter clothing,

which was issued to the

troops

in the form of sheepskin

coats or leather jerkins,

we were not warmly clad

in the regiment

I was in which wore the kilt.

We wore the kilt and we had

no

protection under the kilt at all.

We were bare under the kilt.

And when we came

out of muddy

trenches,

our kilts were caked

and plastered with mud

that

dried as we marched along.

And as

we moved back to our billets

behind

the lines,

we found the swinging kilt

rubbing on the back of our thighs

and the back of our knees

until the

caked mud and the kilt

cut the skin

and made our legs raw at the back,

gradually erasing the skin by minute

cuts every time the kilt swung.

We had no such

experiences in the Flying Corps.

In the Flying Corps, we lived

in comfort on an airfield

some way behind the lines.

We had a comfortable mess,

we had regular nights' sleep,

unless we were disturbed by bombing,

which was not very frequent.

Flying in the war

bred

a new type of man,

a man whose attitude to living

and fighting was distinct

from that

of any other men in the war.

We who fought in the air

had to

fight two things.

We had to fight the element

we flew in, in frail machines,

and we had to fight the enemy.

We had tremendous isolation

that

drove us in upon ourselves,

and it was only when we were

on the ground, in our messes,

enjoying the companionship we had there

and the music we had

on

our gramophones,

that we felt again

the companionship of other men.

It was, I feel,

the tremendous isolation in the air,

the fact that we were

continually on the alert,

both for the safety of our

own aircraft

in stormy weather

and against the enemy

whom

we had to fight.

And the fact that we had

to

look in front of us, above us,

around us, behind us and below us.

We had to develop an entirely

new

sense of sight, of vision.

The enemy might be anywhere.

On the ground, the enemy was ahead.

In the air, he might be anywhere.

And so we had to manoeuvre,

we had to live

an entirely different

kind of life -

we had to live a life

within a sphere

instead of a life

which was horizontal on the ground.