grass field to take off. The prevailing wind
was westerly. On the outward journey it whisked the aeroplane rapidly towards the German lines. On the return, if blowing hard, it could slow progress to what felt like a standstill.
There was less to fear now from friendly fire on the way to no-man’s-land. The Germans were the first to identify their aircraft with large black crosses on white grounds and the Allies
soon followed suit.
‘We tried to decide on some kind of mark for our own,’ remembered air mechanic Cecil King. ‘Well the first thing was, they painted Union Jacks on the underneath of the plane,
but that just looked like a smudge. Then they tried painting a bar, but that didn’t seem much. Then we painted the target, as we used to call it [and] there was no more firing at our own
machines.’ 2 The ‘target’ of concentric blue-and-white rings with a red bullseye became known as the ‘roundel’ and soon
symbol of Britishness.
The main hazard now was anti-aircraft fire. The shells could reach 10,000 feet and burst in the air, rather than on impact, as did the much-derided British ordnance. The aviators called it
‘ack-ack’ (from the phonetic alphabet for AA or anti-aircraft) or ‘Archie’. The latter name seems to have been the invention of Lieutenant Amyas ‘Biffy’ Borton
of 5Squadron. According to his account, on 19 September 1914 he was on a reconnaissance flight west of Soissons with his observer Lieutenant R. E. Small. They were aware that
a four-gun anti-aircraft battery was located in a quarry just north of the town.
‘Over the town I turned into the wind and at once saw four flashes from the quarry,’ Borton remembered. ‘I turned forty-five degrees and drifted to the left and in due course
up came four bursts to my right front, where I should have been had I not altered course. The next time they fired I repeated the manoeuvre to the right and the shells burst harmlessly to my left
front. There was a music-hall song at the time called, “Archibald, Certainly Not!” 2 My observer and I sang it each time the ruse was
successful.’ 3
‘Archie’ affected aviators in different ways. By early 1915 McCudden had been promoted to corporal and had begun accompanying pilots on missions. He was flying with Eric Conran at
8,000 feet over Violanes when he ‘heard a c-r-r-r-mp, then another then another, and looking above we saw several balls of white smoke floating away. The pilot turned to mislead Archie, of
whom I was having my first bad experience. However, I can honestly say that I did not feel any more than a certain curiosity as to where the next one was going to burst.’ 4
This seems a remarkably cool reaction. Trundling at a topspeed of little over 70 mph it was easy for a battery, once it had found its range, to keep up with its prey.
‘Marsh and myself went on reconnaissance at dawn and were told to have a look right into Wervicq [just north of Lille],’ recorded Captain Harold Wyllie of 4 Squadron. ‘Before we
could say knife, a battery of guns opened on us from two sides. The shells were bursting under, over and on both sides . . . I never could have believed it possible to be under such fire and
survive. The noise was deafening and the air full of smoke.’ 5 The pair made for home after being hit six times by bullets and shell
splinters.
Many did not mind admitting that the experience rattled them badly. Comparing the accounts of airmen in the First and Second World Wars one is struck by the greater willingness of the pioneers
to acknowledge fear.
‘I wonder how long my nerves will stand this almost daily bombardment by “Archie”,’ wrote Lieutenant William Read of 3 Squadron. ‘I notice several people’s
nerves are not as strong as they used to be and I am sure “Archie” is responsible for a good deal. I would not mind so much if I were in a machine that was fast and that would climb a
little more willingly. Today we both had a good dressing
was westerly. On the outward journey it whisked the aeroplane rapidly towards the German lines. On the return, if blowing hard, it could slow progress to what felt like a standstill.
There was less to fear now from friendly fire on the way to no-man’s-land. The Germans were the first to identify their aircraft with large black crosses on white grounds and the Allies
soon followed suit.
‘We tried to decide on some kind of mark for our own,’ remembered air mechanic Cecil King. ‘Well the first thing was, they painted Union Jacks on the underneath of the plane,
but that just looked like a smudge. Then they tried painting a bar, but that didn’t seem much. Then we painted the target, as we used to call it [and] there was no more firing at our own
machines.’ 2 The ‘target’ of concentric blue-and-white rings with a red bullseye became known as the ‘roundel’ and soon
symbol of Britishness.
The main hazard now was anti-aircraft fire. The shells could reach 10,000 feet and burst in the air, rather than on impact, as did the much-derided British ordnance. The aviators called it
‘ack-ack’ (from the phonetic alphabet for AA or anti-aircraft) or ‘Archie’. The latter name seems to have been the invention of Lieutenant Amyas ‘Biffy’ Borton
of 5Squadron. According to his account, on 19 September 1914 he was on a reconnaissance flight west of Soissons with his observer Lieutenant R. E. Small. They were aware that
a four-gun anti-aircraft battery was located in a quarry just north of the town.
‘Over the town I turned into the wind and at once saw four flashes from the quarry,’ Borton remembered. ‘I turned forty-five degrees and drifted to the left and in due course
up came four bursts to my right front, where I should have been had I not altered course. The next time they fired I repeated the manoeuvre to the right and the shells burst harmlessly to my left
front. There was a music-hall song at the time called, “Archibald, Certainly Not!” 2 My observer and I sang it each time the ruse was
successful.’ 3
‘Archie’ affected aviators in different ways. By early 1915 McCudden had been promoted to corporal and had begun accompanying pilots on missions. He was flying with Eric Conran at
8,000 feet over Violanes when he ‘heard a c-r-r-r-mp, then another then another, and looking above we saw several balls of white smoke floating away. The pilot turned to mislead Archie, of
whom I was having my first bad experience. However, I can honestly say that I did not feel any more than a certain curiosity as to where the next one was going to burst.’ 4
This seems a remarkably cool reaction. Trundling at a topspeed of little over 70 mph it was easy for a battery, once it had found its range, to keep up with its prey.
‘Marsh and myself went on reconnaissance at dawn and were told to have a look right into Wervicq [just north of Lille],’ recorded Captain Harold Wyllie of 4 Squadron. ‘Before we
could say knife, a battery of guns opened on us from two sides. The shells were bursting under, over and on both sides . . . I never could have believed it possible to be under such fire and
survive. The noise was deafening and the air full of smoke.’ 5 The pair made for home after being hit six times by bullets and shell
splinters.
Many did not mind admitting that the experience rattled them badly. Comparing the accounts of airmen in the First and Second World Wars one is struck by the greater willingness of the pioneers
to acknowledge fear.
‘I wonder how long my nerves will stand this almost daily bombardment by “Archie”,’ wrote Lieutenant William Read of 3 Squadron. ‘I notice several people’s
nerves are not as strong as they used to be and I am sure “Archie” is responsible for a good deal. I would not mind so much if I were in a machine that was fast and that would climb a
little more willingly. Today we both had a good dressing
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