BX July 26, 1916

Canadian Battalions Broken Up to go to Firing Lines in Drafts – Parting Was Regretted but Reserve Divisions Had Been at Low Strength Owing to the Urgent Calls for Men – Review of the Canadians by His Majesty

“Borden Camp”
England

I have not yet got over the blow that headquarters gave up in taking away all our men. Our one comfort is that we were not the only battalion to get that medicine dished out to us. The 51st, 53rd, 55th, 71st, 77th, 84th, which were here, all got the axe. The battalions at Bramshott have had their men and junior officers taken away and sent over to France and we have had to supply them with their refills. The battalions at Bramshott comprise the fourth division, and the infantry units are the 38th, 44th, 47th, 50th, 64th, 72nd, 73rd, 74th, 75th, 78th, 87th. It is very improbable that they will be sent to France as a division, as it takes a large number of reinforcements to keep the other three divisions in the field. We are told by headquarters that we shall be maintained as a battalion and that we shall be receiving drafts from Canada to refill our ranks. However I fear that the battalion will be broken up completely and the officers left located elsewhere. What it took us nine months to build to a splendid state of efficiency was smashed into fragments in the course of a few days. I would like to have seen us go to France as a unit, for I think that the 80th would have made a good account of itself. All we have left now is the colonel, senior major, quartermaster, paymaster, medical officer and myself. The rest of the officers have been scattered about the various other battalions. We have the band of 45 left and a few men medically unfit. The band has been chosen for a brigade band, so we shall lose that also shortly. Borden camp is the cemetery for the relics of the broken battalions, and we have little meetings each day, when we get out our hammers and do some knocking. I can get no satisfaction as to when they are going to let me get out of here, as I am sick of hanging around doing nothing. I have made an application to be transferred to the first division in France and stated my willingness to revert to the rank of lieutenant, so I hope to get into the scrap before very long. Here’s hoping. I could hang around here for an unlimited time, but I am afraid that I would soon get rusty on my work.

On Dominion Day the fourth division was reviewed at Hankley Common (about nine miles from here) by the King. I rode up there in the morning on my trusty nag and saw a sight worth seeing. It was not known that the King would be at the review, so the crowd there was very small. I picketed my horse and strolled over to where the King’s horse was being held awaiting his arrival. I had only ten minutes to wait when a limousine drove up and the King and General French stepped out. The King wore the khaki uniform of a field marshal. The party then rode out on to the common, and by taking a short-cut across the field I got a place right beside the saluting base. The division of 25,000 was drawn up on the common three hundred yards in front of the saluting base. Upon the arrival of the King at the base three cheers were called for the King, and the noise following was deafening. It sounded like thunder. The artillery then began to march past, four guns abreast. It took 27 minutes for them to pass by. They had guns of every description and size, and made a splendid sight. The infantry followed in column of half companies (about 60 abreast in each row) and it took 30 minutes for them to swing by. I had a splendid viewpoint and only ten feet away from the King and General French, and I could hear all their remarks. The King was looking awfully well and appears to be quite recovered from his fall last year. He has very peculiar looking blue eyes, which would make you take a second look at him even if you did not know who he was. Queen Mary was there also, but remained in her limousine, which was drawn up at the base. She was wearing one of those nobby “Princess” hats which the royal family, but no one else seems to have a special liking for. Our 80th boys in the 74th and 75th battalions marched as well as any of them, and it made me peeved to see them along with another unit.

On Sunday, Harper and I got our six days leave, so we went up to London, a two-hour trip by train, arriving there in time for lunch. The railway tickets cost more than we had expected them to, and we arrived in London with only two shillings between us, and a prospect of a 24 hour wait before we could get into the bank to draw out some money as our pay is deposited each month in the Bank of Montreal, London, instead of being paid to us direct. We went to the Strand Palace hotel to stay, and after some difficulty got a cheque cashed to keep us going until the morning. That afternoon we went to St. Paul’s Cathedral for the afternoon service. The singing of the choir was something never to be forgotten. I found that although I had not been in London for four years I could find my way around without any trouble whatever. Of course, there have been very few changes since I was last there.

Soldiers fill all the streets and “la vie militaire” rules London. On Monday morning we moved over to the Cecil Hotel, which though not being much more expensive is far better appointed, and a very popular abode for the Canadian officers while in London. One meets all one’s friends there; in fact, more than would be in a Canadian hotel. The Cecil is a wonderful place. They have one large room fitted up for a club for officers solely, and it is a great rallying place for the clan.

Capt. Harper and I went to the House of Parliament in the afternoon and got a seat in the gallery in the House of Commons. I saw all the law-givers of England – Asquith, Bonar Law, Carson, Churchill, Lloyd George and others. We sat there for two hours listening to the debate, and very interesting it was. We saw so many wonderful things in London that it would take a book to put all our doings in. We went to the theatre every night and had no two meals in the same place.  When Saturday had arrived we were very loath to leave, but our leave had expired. 

The news which we have been receiving from the front the last week has been very reassuring and I hope that the British have the Huns on the run now. The British aerial service appears to be obtaining splendid results now. All the prominent buildings of London have huge searchlights mounted on the roofs, and at night these light up the sky almost as clear as day. The parks of London have anti-aircraft guns mounted for business.

N.S. Caudwell, Capt.
Adjutant 80th Batt., C.E.F.,
Army Post Office
London England
“Borden Camp”

BX January 27, 1917
 
Initial Flight of Local Aviator – Capt. Norman S. Caudwell Tells of Some of His aerial Experiences – Bumping in the Air

Captain Norman Stewart Caudwell of the Royal Flying Corps. Writes to his brother here as follows –
 
Dear Gordon,
 
I had my first flight yesterday in a Caudron machine and still alive to tell the tale. It was a very poor day for flying being windy and bumpy, I just had to sit in the machine and admire the scenery, and the instructor drove. We climbed into the machine at the aerodrome and taxied out to the starting ground, wheeled around to face the wind, and then the pilot let the engine out. We bumped along the ground and the air seemed to rush by at a terrific rate. I was all bundled up in a leather coat, leather hat and goggles and looked like nothing on earth. It was impossible to tell the exact moment we were off the ground, but I had the sensation of lifting up, and then came an awful bump, and I had an awful feeling in my internal regions like one gets in a rapidly descending elevator. This put my wind up, and I absolutely detested it for the moment, as we mounted up and up. I recovered myself in a minute or two and enjoyed it more and more. But those first two minutes the thought ran through my mind, “How long will he keep me up” and “why did I ever transfer from the infantry?”

When we were at 12,000 feet I was enjoying myself thoroughly, but it took a little nerve for me to peep over the side of the machine to see the country underneath. We wheeled around and about, and it was fascinating to watch the ground underneath; to see the river shining like silver, the roads running in all directions like ribbons, and the small villages at the cross-roads looking like splashes of mud on mother earth. Then the pilot shut off the engine and forced the nose of the machine downwards, and I had to brace my feet to keep from sliding forward out of my seat. It felt as though the machine were stationary and the ground rushing up to meet us. Just as we were about to plunge nose-first into the ground, the machine flattened out and we were on the ground and my first “joyride” was over. The trip was of 19 minutes duration, and seemed like five minutes.

The aerodromes are a few miles from our quarters. We are quartered at ---- and go out to the aerodrome in the early morning in a rubber-neck wagon, returning to town at six in the evening. There are eight Canadians at this squadron, and I knew most of them before, so we have a considerable time together.

When we are through our course in flying here we return to England for course in fighting in the air and night flying, and we then get the “wings.”  I shall be here for about two months, but it all depends on the weather.

I shall write again soon, giving my experiences of life in France and how we dispose of our time.
 
When the call went out in England last fall for more aviators, Capt. Caudwell resigned his staff captaincy to the 9th Brigade post at Bramshott, to join the Royal Flying Corp.

BX March 22, 1917

First Solo Trip in Air as Told by Local Aviator – Capt. Norman Caudwell’s First Experience as a Flyer by Himself – Mother Earth Appreciated 

Intensely graphic is the account by Captain Norman Stewart Caudwell of his experiences and feelings in his first trip alone in a flying machine. Very narrow was his escape from a “crash,” on the first trip alone, but now his greatest pleasure is “joy riding” at 60 miles an hour in the air. Capt. Caudwell expects shortly to return to England for a few weeks to complete his instruction before he gets a “poke” at the Boches. He writes:

Paris presents a very sorry aspect these days, being quite dead. As for Vendome, it has been cremated for the period of the war and 20 years after. There is absolutely nothing to do in the evenings except to go to bed, which lately is one of the best places I know of after a day spent in the air. I have progressed considerably in flying since I last wrote you. I am now flying a machine by myself and amuse myself during the day chasing sparrow hawks through the air. I did my first solo on the 10th. It was a fine day so my instructor, Carr, gave me a final flip with aim and then said “Up you go.”  I clambered into a vacant Caudron and tried to let on that I was feeling quite at ease, though in reality my knees were quivering. The mechanics held my machine while I opened up the throttle and tested the running of the engine. After this and a few wrangling of the lever and foot controls to see that my controls were working properly I motioned to the mechanics to pull the blocks from under the wheels and let go. I was scared stiff and said to myself ‘Well, here goes, if I do break my neck.’

I yanked the throttle full open, the machine quivered and then bounded forward like a thing possessed with a legion of devils. She gathered up speed much faster than I had anticipated, and I bumped along the ground, swerving first to the right and then to the left. I could feel her turning a somersault, the nose down and the tail going up. This all happened in a second and the crowd of onlookers, instructors and fellow-pupils looked the other way to avoid seeing the crash, which is a very sickening sight. I at last got it into my stupid head that I was going over, so just in the nick of time I yanked back the lever, and shot up into the air off the ground as if I were on a blooming switchback. I soon steadied myself and the machine and felt all right. I made a couple of circuits of the aerodrome, keeping my eyes glued to my instruments, fearing that I might be climbing at too steep an angle. When I did look over the side of the machine I gasped to find the ground so far beneath for unconsciously I had been climbing at a very steep angle. Then I had to puzzle how I should get down to earth again. Dear old mother earth – I had never before fully appreciated her merits. It was sickening to look at those two little wings held together with bits of wire and to think that they were the only things holding me up so far above the ground. I made another circuit and came to the place where I judged I would have to shut off my engine so as to glide down to the aerodrome. I hated to shut off that dear old engine, and I thought to myself ‘Life is sweet, let’s go around once more.’  So around we went. I figured that I had to come down some time, so on the next round, I closed the throttle and pushed the nose of the machine to earth. Down we glided at 60 miles an hour. The dead silence save for the wind cutting through the wires seemed in strange contrast to the noisy throbbing of the engine just ceased. The earth loomed nearer and nearer and when a few feet away from it, back came my lever and I bounced along the ground and my first ‘solo’ trip was over. When I now look back upon it, it is a strange wonder to me how I ever got through the ordeal alive. The first ‘solo’ is an awful sensation and nothing like it on earth. Thank Heaven it is now relegated to the past.

During the past week I have been doing a lot of flying and feel as confident in the air as I do on ground. When I arrive at the ‘drome in the morning I have my machine hauled out from the hangar, examine the wires and controls, run the engine for five minutes and then glide upwards for a joy ride around the country at 60 miles an hour. I have had more fun than I ever had in my life before. I chased a flock of wild geese today and scared the lives out of them. I had them beaten on the speed, but they could dodge quicker than I could. Yesterday the clouds were low and at 4000 feet, so I played in among them for half an hour, pretending they were German machines. Run at them at full speed and then ’zoom’ over their heads. This week I shall start in flying Curtis machines and when I have learned that I shall return to England to take up flying scout machines, night flying, machine gunnery, photography, bomb dropping and fighting in the air and then back to France for a ‘poke’ at the Boches. I do not know how long I shall be in England – probably only a fortnight. There are a fine lot of officers here under instruction, about one-third of them being Canadians. Major Sutcliffe of Lindsay, with whom I lived at Reading is here and we are together a lot. He has crashed four times, but is still unhurt and as enthusiastic as ever. He ran into an orchard the other day, broke off his wings and went shooting on through, sitting in the body of the machine and trying to dodge amongst the trees. I have broken a couple of axles in landing, but no further damages so far. Bourinet and Cameron of Ottawa and myself room together in the billet.

Suggestions are offered by Capt. Caudwell as to what gifts are acceptable, these being chocolates, cigarettes, tinned tongue, fruit cake, illustrated papers and magazines. Most of the chaps, he says, get enough knitted stuff. Reading matter is none too plentiful. Many an English officer has pored over the ‘Saturday Night’ and wondered that such a weekly paper was published in Canada.

“This war is a great thing for Imperialism,” he continues. “Here we have officers from South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, India and Canada, as well as from every part of the British Isles. We read one another’s newspapers, exchange ideas and unconsciously acquire a storehouse of information on worldwide topics. The Englishmen have a surprising knowledge of Canadian conditions, its leading industries, natural resources, men of national note – no doubt due to their all having relatives in Canada and their constant contact with Canadians since the war began. 

There has been a lot of sickness in the camp there being two cases of pneumonia and several cases of measles, while some of the men had very severe colds. I am in the pink of condition and putting on weight to such an extent that my tunics are getting too small for me. I had a cold for a week in England, but shook it off by careful attention. I consider myself very fortunate for the climate of England and France is awful and everybody has more or less a cold.

BX May 10, 1917

British Flying Man’s Equipment – Capt. Norman S. Caudwell Tells of His Airplane’s Ability – Was Going to France

An interesting description of a British airplane, which he is shortly to fly in France, in fighting the Germans in the air, is given in a letter recently received from Captain Norman Stewart Caudwell, by his brother Gordon Caudwell 80 Colborne Street, this city.

I have now completed 35 hours flying. The average span of life of the aviator is 100 hours, but I am going to show that I am the exception to the rule. Fatal accidents are attributable to the following causes: (1) Incompetence. (2) Mental collapse, heart trouble or fainting, (could be prevented by rigid examination on entrance). (3) Loss of presence of mind (generally happening when landing or taking off the ground). (4) Engine failure necessitating forced landing on bad ground. (5) Machine breaking in the air (6) Collision with another machine in the air. (7) Shell fire or attack with machine gun by enemy airplane.

I find that the golden rule in flying is to keep one’s head and keep cool. The engine of an aeroplane consumes 10 gallons of gasoline and one-half gallon of pure castor oil every hour it is in motion. After it has run for 20 hours, it is removed from the machine and returned to the makers for complete inspection and overhauling. Each night it is washed out with methylated spirits.

I am leaving for France tomorrow and expect to get to the Arras section where the big fighting is in progress. I shall be flying the single seater scout, which is used to seek out and destroy the enemy. The armament is the Vicker’s gun fixed in front of the pilot, going through the propeller and aimed by steering the machine in the direction required. It has lots of speed and climbing power, which I am thankful for. In this type all the fighting is done above 10,000 feet altitude. I feel perfectly at ease in this type of machine, and have myself done every “stunt” on it, including the loop, nose dive, stalling, flying up-side down, and the side-way loop. Many thanks for your interest in getting me back to Canada in the R.F.C., but now that I am in the game, I am going to see it through. We only have to die once and that might just as well be now as a later date. I have been receiving the Saturday Night regularly. Many thanks for your kindness in sending it to me. I shall write further often with full accounts of the fighting in the air as far as the censor will permit.

BX June 1, 1917

Was Scout Pilot For Short Time – Lieut. Norman Caudwell Reported Wounded, On May 8, Was Unattached – Hun Planes Excellent

Apparently Lieutenant Norman Stewart Caudwell, who was yesterday reported wounded, had but achieved his ambition in a few short weeks. Writing on May 8 to his brother, Gordon Caudwell, of this city, he said:

May 8, 1917 

Dear Gordon,

I am still doing business at the old stand, no vacancy having occurred in the squadron I am trying for. It is now nearly three weeks that I have been waiting, but I should worry about that for that brings me three weeks nearer to the end of war and Canada. I shall have plenty of chance to get my fill of fighting before very long now. We are within hearing distance of the big show, and have Hun aeroplanes over us here several times a week so that should prove excitement enough for the present.

Last night a splendid box arrived for me from Brantford containing puzzles, candy, maple sugar, cigarettes and all kinds of good things. In fact I have not looked at everything yet, as it came late last night and I am writing this the first thing this morning. As soon as I saw the maple sugar I called in some of the Canadian boys we have here. At the mention of maple sugar from Canada their eyes nearly popped out of their heads, but they did not enjoy it more than I did.

An old university friend of mine, Jim Hartney of Toronto, passed through here last week on his way to his squadron. We had dinner together in the town. In yesterday’s paper I see that he was killed in action the day after I had been with him. The Grim Reaper works quickly in this country. He had a morbid presentiment that he was going to be killed which I pooh-poohed at the time, and told him to cheer up. It is always that way; people looking for things usually get them. I live on the principle that it will be a smart Hun who will yank me down out of the sky. I have only to do six months here as a scout pilot and will then be given work in England or Canada, the latter preferred. A scout pilot’s nerves are pretty well shot up after six months, so they do the humane thing and let us have light duty for a couple of months. We get out first leave, amounting to two weeks, after two or three months in a squadron. I do not wish to return to Canada for a while yet as I want to see this show through.

It is great sport to be the spectator in an aerial fight. I have seen two now, but I did not see a machine brought down, as they were running fights and they were soon out of sight. Old Archie kept booming away at them but endangered our machines as much as put gusts up the Huns.

Quite a few of the captured German aeroplanes come here. The Hun markings are painted out and the circles replace them. They are then tested. The Germans make wonderful aeroplanes, superior to ours in a great many ways. They go in for heavier machines, very strong and with a big engine to drag it through the air at a high rate of speed. On account of the weight their machines will not climb as fast as ours. All parts are beautifully finished and stream-lined like the exterior of a canoe, and where we use fabric to cover the body they use three-ply veneer, which gives the machine marvelous strength and permits them to dive a machine vertically downwards without the thing falling apart from excessive speed.

There can be no such thing as supremacy of the air as expressed in the Sunday papers, but I have talked with officers from about every squadron in France and they all say that we are putting it all over the Hun in the air. Imagine attempting to guard a frontier of 300 miles against fast automobiles which might skim over and back again, and you can realized the impossibility of preventing Hun machines coming over our lines when they can come over at any height up to 22,000 feet.

The bravery and skill of the young British pilots have more than counterbalanced any superiority in aeroplanes that Germany may have. One British machine will attack a whole flight of Huns, and this happens not once a week or once a day, but many times a day.

I have noticed with much pleasure the respect which the other branches of the service pay to the R.F.C. An infantry officer will walk down a street in a French town; he will be saluted here and there by an English Tommy, once in a while by a Canadian, and never by an Australian or French poilu. Along comes an R.F.C. officer and as soon as the “wings” are seen he gets a smart salute. This is a small thing, but it tends to make me proud of my unit. When one considers that we get more pay, more leave and better quarters than any other unit, one would imagine that here would be jealousy, but the other services say that we are welcome to it, that they feel quite content to remain on the ground.