Chapter 6
Part 3
The accident that killed Ordinary Seaman Burns was one that would eventually make working with aircraft a lot safer. No sooner had we docked in Malta than captain Swann went charging ashore to the Port Admirals office and began sending off a flurry of telegrams both official and private to the Admiralty and the Aircraft manufacturers demanding that some safer way of starting an aircraft engine be found. It would take time and the Captain was reprimanded for going outside channels but eventually a number of answers were found some suitable for use at sea, some you could just about get away with on a ship and one the use of a large blank shotgun shell was banned after the Pegasus was badly damaged when the test aircraft blew up starting a bad fire. Still as I said that was in the future and we soon had more immediate concerns.
Captain Swann informed me that he and I were ordered to report to the Flagship of the Mediterranean fleet in two hours. Something was obviously up but neither the captain nor I had any Idea what was going on. An hour and a half later I presented myself at the Captain’s office in my thankfully spotless white uniform, having dashed ashore to find a barber for a fresh shave and a trim still having no idea as to why I had been summonsed. I hoped I was wrong but the only possible reason I could think of was that damned French submarine. Evidently the Captain was thinking the same thing as when I was called into the office the first thing he said was.
“Price I don’t know what this is about but if it’s that Frog Sub I’ll try my best for you. I think you did the right thing by the way. You had no way of knowing whose sub it was and it was too close to ignore. Which reminds me we’re going to have to work out some way of combating the bloody things? Anyway don’t worry too much, the way I see it the most you’d get is a dressing down and I doubt the C in C would do that. He’d get me to.”
“Right then” he said “we’d best be off it’ll take a good quarter an hour to reach the flagship and we don’t want to be late”.
It was just as well we did leave early as it took us a good twenty minutes to reach the flagship. For some reason the whole of Malta seemed to be in the streets and determined to get in our way, but we made it. Just.
We were escorted to the Admirals day cabin by his Flag Lieutenant a commander who I had never met and seemed to regard the captain and I as some sort of specimen viewed through a microscope and one with a foul odour as well. After being ushered into the holy of holies and offered coffee or pink gins (it seemed more prudent to accept the coffees) The Admiral first reassured us that the French Submarine had nothing to do with why we were there.
“Right gentlemen to business, the Italians have raised concerns that there is a group of Austro Hungarian submarines operating somewhere along the southern Dalmatian or Montenegrin coast but don’t know where. They’ve tried to locate this submarine force but have so far had no luck. What we want you to do is take Campania into the Adriatic and ferret out their location if they are there. We are also having problems with our charts of that coast. They’re at least ten years out of date so we want the coastline for ten miles north of Corfu photographed. I heard about your snapshots of Portland so you shouldn’t find it too hard a task.”
The Captain wanted to know what if any escort would be provided for us in the Adriatic and wasn’t happy when he was told we’d have to make do with the escort we brought with us. All of the Mediterranean Fleet’s small ships were tied up at Gallipoli supporting General Hamilton’s besieged invasion force. He did claim that the Italian Navy would be operating further up the Adriatic so we shouldn’t be bothered by the Imperial Navy.
I did try to explain to the Admiral that the flight over Portland had been a not very successful experiment and that the flares we had were inadequate for the job but the Admiral just quietly said with great menace, “Then you’ll either have to get better flares or bloody well fly in daylight. I know all about you flyers act like bloody hero’s of the sky when you’re on the ground but ask you to actually do what you claim to do it’s nothing but excuses. Let me make it perfectly clear to you gentlemen you will carry out this mission when ordered and how ordered or I will have you charged with cowardice. Do I make myself clear gentlemen? Yes? Good you have three days to come up with a plan and will start your reconnaissance flight by no later than Monday and have two weeks to complete that task.”
We sat there slightly stunned at the admiral’s rant only to be shaken from out stupor by a terse “well gentlemen I’m sure you have plenty to do”
After leaving the Admiral we quickly returned to Campania and set about planning the next couple of week’s operations. Pat Davis, the Captain and I spent the afternoon and the next day sequestered in the Captains day cabin while Lieutenant Stevens was dispatched to the marine barracks to confer with some acquaintances in the Royal Marine Artillery about flares. I also had the other members of my flight flying training photographic missions to Sicily but the results weren’t anything to write home about. They just couldn’t seem to get decent pictures. In order to see exactly what the problem was on the next training flight I acted as observer.
Two things were soon obvious, my two young Sub Lieutenants had received insufficient training in navigation, and that trying to take photographs from an aeroplane was not as easy as you might think, especially as our cameras used glass plates instead of celluloid. Clearly something would have to be done. We couldn’t do anything about the cameras in the time we had available but Pat Davis agreed to lend me two of his more experienced pilots for this mission and to give my two schoolboys a crash course in aerial navigation.
Sending John Stevens to the Marine Barracks turned out to be one of my better ideas as twenty hours after he departed he returned with a three ton lorry full of three inch star shells, two staff sergeant armourers and from god knows where three Lewis Guns. The star shells and armourers I wasn’t that surprised about, but even though the Lewis Guns puzzled me I thought it best not to ask. I was sure they would be useful at some point and at the moment the only defensive armament my aircraft had were the crew’s service revolvers.
When we sailed on the evening tide we felt quietly confident that we would be able to carry out our orders more or less satisfactorily. Unfortunately the Captain said just that out loud as we left Valetta Harbour.
Part 3
The accident that killed Ordinary Seaman Burns was one that would eventually make working with aircraft a lot safer. No sooner had we docked in Malta than captain Swann went charging ashore to the Port Admirals office and began sending off a flurry of telegrams both official and private to the Admiralty and the Aircraft manufacturers demanding that some safer way of starting an aircraft engine be found. It would take time and the Captain was reprimanded for going outside channels but eventually a number of answers were found some suitable for use at sea, some you could just about get away with on a ship and one the use of a large blank shotgun shell was banned after the Pegasus was badly damaged when the test aircraft blew up starting a bad fire. Still as I said that was in the future and we soon had more immediate concerns.
Captain Swann informed me that he and I were ordered to report to the Flagship of the Mediterranean fleet in two hours. Something was obviously up but neither the captain nor I had any Idea what was going on. An hour and a half later I presented myself at the Captain’s office in my thankfully spotless white uniform, having dashed ashore to find a barber for a fresh shave and a trim still having no idea as to why I had been summonsed. I hoped I was wrong but the only possible reason I could think of was that damned French submarine. Evidently the Captain was thinking the same thing as when I was called into the office the first thing he said was.
“Price I don’t know what this is about but if it’s that Frog Sub I’ll try my best for you. I think you did the right thing by the way. You had no way of knowing whose sub it was and it was too close to ignore. Which reminds me we’re going to have to work out some way of combating the bloody things? Anyway don’t worry too much, the way I see it the most you’d get is a dressing down and I doubt the C in C would do that. He’d get me to.”
“Right then” he said “we’d best be off it’ll take a good quarter an hour to reach the flagship and we don’t want to be late”.
It was just as well we did leave early as it took us a good twenty minutes to reach the flagship. For some reason the whole of Malta seemed to be in the streets and determined to get in our way, but we made it. Just.
We were escorted to the Admirals day cabin by his Flag Lieutenant a commander who I had never met and seemed to regard the captain and I as some sort of specimen viewed through a microscope and one with a foul odour as well. After being ushered into the holy of holies and offered coffee or pink gins (it seemed more prudent to accept the coffees) The Admiral first reassured us that the French Submarine had nothing to do with why we were there.
“Right gentlemen to business, the Italians have raised concerns that there is a group of Austro Hungarian submarines operating somewhere along the southern Dalmatian or Montenegrin coast but don’t know where. They’ve tried to locate this submarine force but have so far had no luck. What we want you to do is take Campania into the Adriatic and ferret out their location if they are there. We are also having problems with our charts of that coast. They’re at least ten years out of date so we want the coastline for ten miles north of Corfu photographed. I heard about your snapshots of Portland so you shouldn’t find it too hard a task.”
The Captain wanted to know what if any escort would be provided for us in the Adriatic and wasn’t happy when he was told we’d have to make do with the escort we brought with us. All of the Mediterranean Fleet’s small ships were tied up at Gallipoli supporting General Hamilton’s besieged invasion force. He did claim that the Italian Navy would be operating further up the Adriatic so we shouldn’t be bothered by the Imperial Navy.
I did try to explain to the Admiral that the flight over Portland had been a not very successful experiment and that the flares we had were inadequate for the job but the Admiral just quietly said with great menace, “Then you’ll either have to get better flares or bloody well fly in daylight. I know all about you flyers act like bloody hero’s of the sky when you’re on the ground but ask you to actually do what you claim to do it’s nothing but excuses. Let me make it perfectly clear to you gentlemen you will carry out this mission when ordered and how ordered or I will have you charged with cowardice. Do I make myself clear gentlemen? Yes? Good you have three days to come up with a plan and will start your reconnaissance flight by no later than Monday and have two weeks to complete that task.”
We sat there slightly stunned at the admiral’s rant only to be shaken from out stupor by a terse “well gentlemen I’m sure you have plenty to do”
After leaving the Admiral we quickly returned to Campania and set about planning the next couple of week’s operations. Pat Davis, the Captain and I spent the afternoon and the next day sequestered in the Captains day cabin while Lieutenant Stevens was dispatched to the marine barracks to confer with some acquaintances in the Royal Marine Artillery about flares. I also had the other members of my flight flying training photographic missions to Sicily but the results weren’t anything to write home about. They just couldn’t seem to get decent pictures. In order to see exactly what the problem was on the next training flight I acted as observer.
Two things were soon obvious, my two young Sub Lieutenants had received insufficient training in navigation, and that trying to take photographs from an aeroplane was not as easy as you might think, especially as our cameras used glass plates instead of celluloid. Clearly something would have to be done. We couldn’t do anything about the cameras in the time we had available but Pat Davis agreed to lend me two of his more experienced pilots for this mission and to give my two schoolboys a crash course in aerial navigation.
Sending John Stevens to the Marine Barracks turned out to be one of my better ideas as twenty hours after he departed he returned with a three ton lorry full of three inch star shells, two staff sergeant armourers and from god knows where three Lewis Guns. The star shells and armourers I wasn’t that surprised about, but even though the Lewis Guns puzzled me I thought it best not to ask. I was sure they would be useful at some point and at the moment the only defensive armament my aircraft had were the crew’s service revolvers.
When we sailed on the evening tide we felt quietly confident that we would be able to carry out our orders more or less satisfactorily. Unfortunately the Captain said just that out loud as we left Valetta Harbour.
