Wimbush's Luck by John Malone

Wimbush’s Luck

N500 flies to France in mid-June, 1916 to undergo service trials with Naval "A" Fighting Squadron at Furnes. No time is lost in testing it in action against the Germans, for it is sent up on an interception within a quarter of an hour of its arrival at Furnes. The Triplane's combat debut is highly successful. The new fighter's exceptional rate of climb and high service ceiling give it a marked advantage over the Albatros D III, though the Triplane is slower in a dive and carries only one machine gun. The Admiralty quickly issues orders for the construction of 147 more Triplanes for the RNAS.

Unfortunately, after a near-fatal accident during advanced pilot training at Chingford, the Triplane also gains a reputation for structural weakness because the wings sometimes threaten to collapse in steep power dives. This defect is attributed to the use of light gauge bracing wires in the 46 aircraft built by subcontractor Clayton & Shuttleworth. Several pilots use cables or additional wires to strengthen their Triplanes.

Wimbush receives orders to join the recently formed No. 8 Naval Air Squadron in February 1917 and is granted a fortnight’s leave before leaving for France and the war. The night before his departure, he takes Barbara back to the Elysée Restaurant where they first decided to become engaged during his last leave in September. The Elysée is the only decent London nightspot still open since the Zeppelin attacks the year before. Again they have lots of Champagne, watch the cabaret performance and dance the night away, holding each other close.

"Darling, Mummy and Daddy are down at the country house this weekend, and the servants have the night off. I’ve had enough Champagne and dancing. Take me home and take me to bed. That’s an order, Lieutenant!" Wimbush quickly pays their bill and they don their coats and rush out into the freezing cold night to find a taxicab.

In the back of the taxi on the way to Barbara’s house they explore each other’s bodies under their heavy woolen coats. Once inside the front door, they march up the stairs to Barbara’s bedroom, where the servants have turned down the covers and lit the gas fireplace before leaving for the night. Wimbush has drunk a lot of Champagne, but he hasn’t forgotten his packet of three condoms issued to him by the Royal Navy 'for disease prevention only' as he was going on leave. He does not want to make Barbara pregnant, should anything awful happen to him in France.

Wimbush reports to his new Squadron Commander, G.R. Bromet, in early February in Dunkirk where the squadron is resting and being re-equipped with new Sopwith Triplanes. Naval 8’s surviving pilots have already been in action since November and have seen seven of their comrades killed, wounded or captured by German pilots flying vastly superior Albatros D III’s. With the arrival of the new Triplanes, however, they will finally be a match for the Germans. On February 15th they proceed to the aerodrome at Furnes in West Flanders, ready to go back to war.

It is just before dawn on the 9th of May, 1917. The alert siren at Squadron No. 8’s aerodrome, now relocated near Auchel, wails insistently. Wimbush wakes and searches groggily for his flying gear. It is still dark in his blacked-out room, and his precious beer mug has disappeared somewhere. He looks for it hurriedly until the twenty-one year old Flight Commander puts his head around the door and shouts at him, "Get moving, Wimbush, you lazy sod, Bob Little is waiting for you on the tarmac!" Leaving on a patrol without his lucky charm for the very first time, he stumbles outside and boards the waiting lorry.

On the short ride from his billet to the flight line he fights to get control of his frazzled nerves. His rank body smells rise to his nostrils from within his heavy flight jacket, tinged with the animal scent of fear. So what if this is the first combat mission without my lucky mug, isn’t it just superstition to hang on to it? He knows lots of other pilots who have objects they rely on to keep them safe: pictures of their sweethearts or of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, unwashed socks, women’s undergarments. Many of them, he knows, have gone down in flames in spite of their trusted talismans.

Other pilots don’t indulge their superstitions and come back safely time after time. So where’s the luck in that? When your number’s up, it’s up. And yet ... Oh, what the hell. Let’s have a drink. He reaches in the pocket of his jacket and pulls out his silver flask. Almost full, thank God! At least he can still rely on this old friend, and a good stiff drink will put him right, he thinks. Silly to get so upset over a “little tin cup,” as Barker used to call it. Poor Barker. He was one of the first to die when his squadron went up against the bloody Albatros D-III’s.

Pages: 1 · 2 · 3 · 4 · 5

Relationships and Going Places, History, Travel, Senior Women Web, Articles, John Malone, Authors Add comments

Wimbush’s Luck

More Articles