BX September 10, 1918

A Flyer in France – Flight Lieutenant Arthur Curtis Hardy Interestingly Tells of His Experiences in the Air – A Daring Hun Bomber Which Came a Cropper before a British Plane

Flight Lieut. Arthur Curtis hardy, R.A.F., writes most interestingly to his parents, His Honor Judge Hardy and Mrs. Hardy as follows:

August 13, 1918
France
R.A.F., B.E.F.,

Dearest Father,

On receipt of letters from Minn and yourself of July 24th and 5th respectively which, I might add, I enjoyed immensely, not having had anything but boxes and papers for nearly three weeks previous. I am going to attempt, as you ask to expound and make as clear as possible to you my exact work and all concerning the honorable one who now holds pen in hand and thought in readiness, and is enrapt in the delightful occupation of writing to dearly loved ones at home. Of course you know that I arrived in France on 4th of May and proceeded from there to the Artillery Observation Squadron where I now am, and have been for exactly 14 weeks and two days to date. Of course I have my thrills here, we all do as far as shelling and night bomb raids, conducted under the auspices of the German army in general go, but why should I write letters home filled with wild chatter about such subjects which would only serve to destroy any well-founded sense of ease and happiness on the part of the recipient, for my position out here. My idea is to make you believe that I am having an invaluable experience out here, which is, undoubtedly the case. The only things that annoy me most intensely are night bomb raids and German “Archie” (if you don’t know what the latter is, Mum will tell you as she knows).

Artillery Patrol

My particular jobs are artillery patrols, that is, patrolling the German lines, to the extent of the width of my particular corps front and watching for enemy movement –i.e. or trains, troops, transports (motor and horse), on which if any are seen, I have to direct our artillery fire by wireless telegraph. Another job of an artillery patrol is “flash-spotting,” that is watching for the flash of the discharge of a German gun or battery and “pin-pointing” it on maps purposely divided into squares and sub-squares to enable speed and ease to travel hand in hand during this operation as it is very essential work is “flash-spotting” and immediate “pin-pointing.”

After a patrol of the pilot comes down and goes to the artillery office and hands in his “bumph” or notes, and pin points and the artillery office wires through to counter batteries office and a “pre-arranged artillery shoot” is arranged with your pin points as the objective, to be carried out next day and so on as the days go on one by one.

The Big Attack

I suppose you have already heard the news of the big counter attack which was launched by us on a front extending from Albert on the north to the northern edge of Foch’s great “Rheims and Soissons push,” on the south. We have gone ahead into Hun territory in this district to a depth at the deepest point of 17 miles, and at the shallowest point, of 7 miles. I have flown over the whole of this front while the push was at its zenith and also when the sky was absolutely black with our machines which were engaged in bomb rids. There were S.E.S.’s, Camel’s, French Spads, Dolphins, French Baby Nieuports, Scouts, D.H. 45, D.H. 95, Handley Pages, Bristol Fighters, A.W.’s, R.E. 8’s, two-seaters and bombers. All in huge formations, sailing sublimely on over the Hun soil and making their lines a perfect living “hell.”  I have never seen such a glorious sight before or any other sight in which the Allies’ supremacy of the air was so clearly marked. During this advance and up till the present we have captured in all 10,000 prisoners, 500 guns, several thousand machine guns, three railway trains complete with supplies and personnel, two divisional headquarters with staff, one corps headquarters with staff and are generally, waling right into them.

It seems so funny when I get papers from home telling me all about such places as Amiens and Albert and Arras, Vimy Ridge, Cambrai, Bapaume and places which I know so well on account of flying over them. Of course they are not all inside our lines but then we have to fly over enemy territory too.

I received a paper from you the other day with a map in it, and on the map as bold as you like was the very place where we are stationed, exactly where our airdrome is.

A Raider Caught

You would have cheered and hoorayed your life away entirely had you been here the other night during a bomb raid when the raider was caught and held by our searchlights for over 40 minutes. In the mean time one of our night flying scouts having seen the easy mark, signaled to our Archie to stop firing and immediately began to climb up to the raider, who was about 8,000 feet, as fast as he could. The Hun never suspected anything at all and must have been delighted when for no apparent reason whatever, the Archie ceased firing, but alas, poor Hun. He knew not what was in store for him. In the meantime our Camel, for such was he had gotten well up and was slightly above his tail (the Hun’s) and of a sudden in he dashed into the rays of light, not ten yards from the Hun’s tail and then five red balls of fire spurted from the Camel’s nose and lodged in the Hun’s petrol tank and in two seconds he burst into flame, did a half-loop and came straight down, one burning mass of fire. When the Hun reached a height of about 4,000 feet both his wings folded back and tore away from the downward racing machine, only to continue burning in mid-air and come down more peaceably by themselves.

The Hun’s engines were wide open during the dive to ground and during a silent moment among us on-lookers you could hear the engines over racing themselves and thereby causing a moan which started at a low pitch and ascended to a shrill shriek as the flaming machine sped to Death who was waiting it on the ground, with outstretched arms and scythe over his shoulder. He finally hit the ground and one of his bombs went off on impact and blew him up pretty badly. He burned gloriously for about 15 minutes and then an aerial torpedo took it into its head to go off and off it went, with the best of luck and a terrible crash. Of course after that there was not much left of the poor machine, but I was sorry to hear that in going off it killed one of our men who became very curious and wandered to within 150 yards of the burning mass.

Eight Huns, Five Engines

The next day when we considered it safe to venture near, we went and had a look at what was left, and what do you think we saw. It had been a new brand of Hun heavy bomber machine and was apparently a perfect monster and carried no less than five 500 h.p. engines, one of which came up to my chin in height. There were also four other aerial torpedoes which had not gone off and three 112 lb. bombs also in the same state, and about one dozen 25 lb. bombs which hadn’t gone off either. The wreckage was cleared away from the crater that the aerial torpedo had made and no less than eight poor Huns were laid to rest in the centre of a crater that their own dear bomb had made for them as their grave. Five of the Huns had jumped out when the machine burst into flames and, although not marred very much, were instantly killed on arrival. The other three stayed in, and well, there was hardly anything left and I think it more delicate not to go into details concerning their state. However, I don’t suppose that those chaps, who ever they were had the faintest idea that the hole made by their own darling bomb was to do them their last earthly service, that of supplying them with a “grave.”  I can quite imagine how that plucky little devil of a scout pilot must have felt when he did them.

We have been having some grand weather lately and although very nice and warm and sunny our work is prevented from being carried on fully on account of the very thick autumn haze which accompanies these delightful days.

I motored yesterday with our O.C. who went on leave and after a most enjoyable trip with the country at its best and a good day in ---- I arrived back here at 11.30 p.m. I will be going on my first leave in three weeks more – with luck.

There is a Hun photographer over the camp at present and although I can’t see him, I presume he’s having a hot time as I can hear “Archie” flying off at him.

Remember me to all who ask and give my love to Mummy and Doris. I remain, as ever, your devoted son,

Arthur Curtis Hardy