down by “Archibald” and some of the shells burst much too near and I could hear the pieces of shell whistling past – and
they have to burst very close for one to be able to hear the shrieking of loose bits of shell above the noise of one’s engine. Well, well, I suppose the end will be pretty sharp and quick if
one of Archie’s physicballs catches one. I think I would rather it caught me thancrumple up Henri [his Henri Farman aeroplane], because one would have too long to think
when falling from 4,000 feet.’ 6
There were several ways to die in an aeroplane. All must have shared Read’s view that death by bullet or shrapnel was the best. The alternatives, burning up or a long, conscious descent to
collision with the earth, did not bear too much reflection. Grotesque accidents abounded. Captain George Pretyman of 3 Squadron was returning from a reconnaissance when his aeroplane was rocked by
turbulence. He looked behind to check on his observer only to see that the seat was empty. When Pretyman looked down, his comrade was turning somersaults on his way earthwards.
Had the unfortunate man been equipped with a parachute he could simply have floated to safety, but although parachutes were issued to balloon observers (and German airmen) they were not given to
British aviators. One explanation that gained credence among the fliers themselves was that the authorities decided against doing so as it was felt that air crew might be tempted to abandon their
aircraft in an emergency before it was absolutely necessary. Another explanation is that the parachutes used in balloons were crude affairs, jerked open by a fixed line when the observer jumped.
They would not have worked for anyone trying to leave a stricken aeroplane spinning earthwards out of control. It was not until 1919 that Leslie Irvin invented – and tested himself – a
reliable free-fall parachute that a man could activate once clear of his aircraft.
Once over enemy lines the work began. Reconnaissancemissions no longer relied on the observer making sketches of earthworks, new roads and railway lines or anything else
that revealed the enemy’s intentions. The value of aerial photography had been recognized early on and after some initial experiments a small photographic section unit was established in
January 1915 under Lieutenant John Moore-Brabazon. They designed a camera for air use, a cumbersome wood-and-brass box. Initially it was operated by the observer, hanging over the side of the
cockpit and holding onto the straps, but later it was fixed to the side of the fuselage or mounted over a hole cut in the floor. Despite the difficulties of operating it, by early February the
German front line facing the First Army sector had been photographed in meticulous detail.
The other principal duty was spotting for the artillery – identifying enemy guns and correcting the fire of friendly batteries. Once again, new technology greatly improved efficiency.
Klaxons blaring Morse-code messages from on high and coloured flares fired from a Very pistol gave way to wireless telegraphy. The rapid development of air to ground co-ordination was largely due
to two Royal Engineer lieutenants, Donald Lewis and Bron James, who pioneered the technique, each flying solo to leave room for the wireless equipment that weighed as much as a small man. The
apparatus could transmit but not receive, so signals were acknowledged by placing coloured strips of cloth on the ground next to the battery.
At first they tapped out terse instructions in Morse code with one hand, while flying with the other. ‘Fire . . . fire . . .fire again . . . a little short . . .
range OK . . . you have hit them’ ran a typical sequence. It required considerable sangfroid to keep this up while Archie was bursting all around and both men were eventually killed while at
work in the air. Before they died a more accurate means of directing fire had been invented, using a squared map and a
they have to burst very close for one to be able to hear the shrieking of loose bits of shell above the noise of one’s engine. Well, well, I suppose the end will be pretty sharp and quick if
one of Archie’s physicballs catches one. I think I would rather it caught me thancrumple up Henri [his Henri Farman aeroplane], because one would have too long to think
when falling from 4,000 feet.’ 6
There were several ways to die in an aeroplane. All must have shared Read’s view that death by bullet or shrapnel was the best. The alternatives, burning up or a long, conscious descent to
collision with the earth, did not bear too much reflection. Grotesque accidents abounded. Captain George Pretyman of 3 Squadron was returning from a reconnaissance when his aeroplane was rocked by
turbulence. He looked behind to check on his observer only to see that the seat was empty. When Pretyman looked down, his comrade was turning somersaults on his way earthwards.
Had the unfortunate man been equipped with a parachute he could simply have floated to safety, but although parachutes were issued to balloon observers (and German airmen) they were not given to
British aviators. One explanation that gained credence among the fliers themselves was that the authorities decided against doing so as it was felt that air crew might be tempted to abandon their
aircraft in an emergency before it was absolutely necessary. Another explanation is that the parachutes used in balloons were crude affairs, jerked open by a fixed line when the observer jumped.
They would not have worked for anyone trying to leave a stricken aeroplane spinning earthwards out of control. It was not until 1919 that Leslie Irvin invented – and tested himself – a
reliable free-fall parachute that a man could activate once clear of his aircraft.
Once over enemy lines the work began. Reconnaissancemissions no longer relied on the observer making sketches of earthworks, new roads and railway lines or anything else
that revealed the enemy’s intentions. The value of aerial photography had been recognized early on and after some initial experiments a small photographic section unit was established in
January 1915 under Lieutenant John Moore-Brabazon. They designed a camera for air use, a cumbersome wood-and-brass box. Initially it was operated by the observer, hanging over the side of the
cockpit and holding onto the straps, but later it was fixed to the side of the fuselage or mounted over a hole cut in the floor. Despite the difficulties of operating it, by early February the
German front line facing the First Army sector had been photographed in meticulous detail.
The other principal duty was spotting for the artillery – identifying enemy guns and correcting the fire of friendly batteries. Once again, new technology greatly improved efficiency.
Klaxons blaring Morse-code messages from on high and coloured flares fired from a Very pistol gave way to wireless telegraphy. The rapid development of air to ground co-ordination was largely due
to two Royal Engineer lieutenants, Donald Lewis and Bron James, who pioneered the technique, each flying solo to leave room for the wireless equipment that weighed as much as a small man. The
apparatus could transmit but not receive, so signals were acknowledged by placing coloured strips of cloth on the ground next to the battery.
At first they tapped out terse instructions in Morse code with one hand, while flying with the other. ‘Fire . . . fire . . .fire again . . . a little short . . .
range OK . . . you have hit them’ ran a typical sequence. It required considerable sangfroid to keep this up while Archie was bursting all around and both men were eventually killed while at
work in the air. Before they died a more accurate means of directing fire had been invented, using a squared map and a
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