30
My friend Norman Read was true to his promise, took himself a hunting trip, then to Alaska and a mining expedition. Our mutual friend the great major couldn’t do anything, as we were both men without a country Even if we did cable our acceptance of a commission from London, one had to swear allegiance before becoming a qualified officer. This my friend did not do, so he was a free man.
Today I am also a free man, for my order for a discharge came through. I received the sixty dollars for a suit of clothes and could have had transportation back to London from whence I came, but this would have been quite a touch. I felt sorry to hit the exchequer in Washington too hard after a great war, so I settled for the sixty and freedom. The battle to kill is over. The great war is ended. Democracy, the thing we were told would be preserved by victory, is safe. What our enemies were fighting about, I don’t know, but they put up a hell of a battle over something.
This war to end all wars is over. Everyone shall live in peace and love each other, even our recent enemies. I was never mad at them anyway. A fellow had to fight to survive. Like myself, hundreds of flyers will be turned loose from the Signal Corps with the usual sixty bucks and become Mr. So-and-So. Whatever their rank, they will never be given the courtesy of the honorary rank which they acquired through service and poor training. They are through as far as the War Department is concerned, unless they are badly needed again. There will be no recognition of a job well done unless some individual flyer has a politician under his obligation. Then he may be given some cross not made of wood.
The brass hats of our War Department have no time for the multitudes who by their service and loyalty keep the great men secure in their jobs. For instance, I had occasion to write the American War Department to try and ascertain the address of a fellow officer, Captain Chapman, military attache to Ambassador Page. I received my letter and envelope back — they were too tired to throw it in the waste basket — together with a mimeographed piece of cheap paper containing several paragraphs, one of which they checked, stating if I would give them the officer’s address and serial number, and one dollar in a money order or cashier’s check, they would take a look.
The same day, I wrote the British Air Ministry for the name and address of a fellow officer of the old Royal Flying Corps. From them, I received a beautiful letter on Air Ministry stationery, with a reference number in the event I needed any other information, with the name of my officer and, in addition, my complete service record with the RFC for the two years. Most surprising of all came the information (and I am quoting the exact words) I am “permitted to retain the honorary rank of Captain in the RFC on joining the American Flying Corps.” And the letter was addressed “Captain F. Libby, M.C.” Quite a difference in protocol. The letter was signed “Your obedient servant. . . .”
True, I have been lucky beyond belief. On what started out to be a pleasure trip to see the world, I finished up in a shooting war from September 2, 1914, to September 30, 1917. Now that the war is past history, I shall recall some of the things of which I am the proudest. To have been a participant with the Canadians for my first year of service and the Royal Flying Corps through 1916 and 1917 on active duty is a memory in itself. One thing of which I am extremely proud and that gave me the greatest satisfaction happened in Eleven Squadron in 1916 under the command of Major Hubbard, when I came up with the original idea of a buttstock for the Lewis machine gun. It was with Major Hubbard’s permission that the buttstock was carved out of a piece of wood by Number Eleven’s gunnery sergeant and was first tried out by Captain Price and me on our F.E.2b. With the buttstock as an addition to the Lewis, I could hold the gun steady with my shoulder, leaving the left hand free, where before it required both hands. There was no publicity or hot air about this improvement, as it was done on active service in the line of self-preservation for myself and my pilot. The absolute need for the buttstock was proven by the fact that in a very short time it was standard equipment in our squadron, as well as other squadrons of the RFC. I can safely say that the buttstock was the greatest improvement that happened to the Lewis gun from a gunner’s standpoint except the increase of the ammunition drum from forty-seven rounds to ninety-seven. This was done by the Lewis factory and made it a deadly weapon in the hands of a trained man. I am naturally proud of my Military Cross, awarded me by His Majesty King George the Fifth in the late summer of 1916, the citation reading “For conspicuous gallantry while engaging and destroying enemy aircraft.” The actual decoration I did not receive until December 13, 1916, at Buckingham Palace, where I was personally decorated by His Majesty. I was unquestionably the first American during the year 1916 to be so honored and to be credited with more enemy planes destroyed than any American in any service on the Western Front.
It was in August of 1916 that I was qualified and awarded the observer’s wing. Of this wing I am prouder than of the pilot’s wings, which I qualified for on March 4, 1917, in England before returning to active service in France on March 7, 1917. My observer’s wing was earned the hard way, on active service in France through a probation service, where the observer was the pilot’s only protection in the F.E.2b. He also did the photography, bomb dropping and reconnaissance.
On March 7, 1917, when I returned to France as a full fledged pilot after ten hours solo, I had the good luck to be assigned to Forty-third Squadron, under the command of Major Sholto-Douglas. Here I served under both Major Douglas and Major Dore, two of the RFC’s finest. And in the summer of 1917 I was promoted to flight commander with the rank of captain and transferred to Twenty-fifth Squadron. It was during the spring of 1917, shortly after America entered the war, that I was given an American flag by a fellow officer of Forty-third Squadron, which, at the suggestion of Major Dore, I used as streamers, designating leadership of my flight. This I did with no thought of a stunt or being first with anything. While America had declared war, there were no signs of action by it. So my major thought the American streamers going over the line would show the Hun some Americans were there and actively joined in war against them. For months before I returned to the United States, before leaving the front on September 13,1917, these American streamers crossed the German lines every day, weather permitting. They were the first American colors to cross the German line or see action, long before any American flyers were near the front.
During those months, the streamers took an awful beating from the wind, the castor oil from my rotary engine and weather in general, but the colors still remained visible. It is nice to think that these streamers and Lee White’s gift of Bairnsfather’s Old Bill for mascot might have contributed to my good luck, because they started together and were always transferred to every plane I flew during a period of several months.
As a pilot, I went through the Somme, Arras and Messines battles, having my share of dogfighting, sometimes winning, sometimes losing, but always returning to go back another day. We were in constant action, always back of the German lines. I had my share of victories but always tried to reserve enough petrol and ammunition to see me back across our line, and there were many times this would not have been possible were it not for some one of our scouts coming to my assistance. A stiff head wind and a group of enemies between a fellow and his own trench would upset the best calculated plan.
The Hun was always tough, with a natural advantage of fighting always on his own side of the line. He was never a pushover. Consequently, our casualties were terrible. Out of the original members of the four fighting squadrons with whom I served during 1916 and 1917, only a few survived. To glorify oneself as a killer of your enemy, especially when it is a matter of self-preservation, isn’t exactly my dish. A fellow must be a hero to do that, and I am not a hero. They are a dime a dozen and can be found selling papers or apples on most any corner. To take one’s place with a group of stout fellows, to fight and carry on and have the respect of your fellow officers, is more gratifying than words can describe.
Of my record, I am very proud. It was made under tough conditions where the going was rough, with a flying group of real sportsmen, who were always on the offensive, many times with inferior ships. The consolidation of the Royal Naval Air Service and the Royal Flying Corps into the Royal Air Force on April 1, 1918, gave the RAF a wonderful group of fighting men, the like of which the world has never known. The new RAF command didn’t only inherit the living personnel but also a tradition handed over by these two great flying groups, a record of courage, accomplishment and leadership not equaled by any country in the world. It is a priceless heritage. Men whose experience and leadership were responsible for the great success of the RFC in World War I included: Major Sholto-Douglas, Major Stanley Dore, Captain Harold Balfour, Captain Stephen Price, Captain Frank Courtney, Major Hubbard, Captain Sam Collier, Major Ross Hume, Major Guest and many, many others, all great leaders and top pilots.
May the war which was fought to end all wars stay ended, and their service never again be necessary. The war is over, the adjustment period is on, everyone loves everyone, so they say.
What will happen to me is immaterial, irrelevant and non-consequential, as the attorneys say, but they don’t always know, no more than do the doctors who say I’m through. Whatever it is, it will involve action of some type. Just to sit still and wait for the axe to fall is not for me. Yet what the future holds won’t frighten me much, as, many a time on my way over to engage the enemy in do or die, I used to think that if the day ever came and I am a civilian again, the world will be my oyster.
As the French have been saying for years, it is now “après la guerre.”
AU revoir
Acknowledgments
I owe many a debt of gratitude. There is Sergeant Chapman of Twenty-third Squadron. He was an inspiration at all times. My old major Red Harris of my motor unit, whose advice and counsel were always helpful. Lieutenant Hicks of Twenty-third, my first pilot in combat. Had it not been for his skill we would never have survived.
Then my good friend and pilot, Captain Price, to whom I owe so much. His friendship, his grin and courage in and under all conditions are things I shall always remember. In Eleven Squadron, Major Hubbard gave Captain Price and me all the support and help necessary in introducing the buttstock for the Lewis machine gun. It was under his command that I received my observer wing and my Military Cross. Also, the sergeant of Eleven Squadron who made the buttstock helped save many lives many times.
Then there is Albert Ball, the little fellow with the little Nieuport to whom I and many others owe our lives. His ability to be at the right spot at the right time when most needed will never be forgotten.
At Forty-third Squadron I am grateful to majors Sholto-Douglas and Stanley Dore, two outstanding commanding officers and aviators whose understanding of what makes a flyer tick was responsible for our success. To have served under their command was an honor and a privilege. Also there are Captain Collier and Captain Balfour, two of Forty-third’s stoutest pilots, and good friend Babe Cattell, who gave me my American flag streamers and a beautiful pair of officer’s boots. The courage of this boy was an inspiration to all of us. Him, I shall always admire.
Our adjutant at Forty-third, Perdie, made our life brighter just with the knowledge that he was our friend — “Good old Perdie.”
At Twenty-fifth Squadron my pal Captain James Fitz-Morris, flight commander and pilot, was always with a fellow when the chips were down. This boy’s ability in a dogfight was something to see and remember. And then there are the men who receive no great recognition, the ground crews that keep the planes flying. Never did they let any of us down. Anything that happened after leaving the ground was never the fault or due to the neglect of our ground crews but always something over which they had no control.
The sincerity and loyalty of this group of fellows will remain strong in my memory, and I’m sure all flyers of the RFC echo my sentiment.