Arras

Leonard’s War, episode 9: the Battle of Cambrai, Christmas 1917, a blighty for the Boss, and a springtime marriage

David Learmount Uncategorized , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

(For previous episodes scroll down)

Dateline: Mid-November 1917, Estrée Blanche, north-eastern France.

The weather at Estrée Blanche aerodrome worsened in mid-November (1917), and fog made reconnaissance in the whole area extraordinarily difficult. 22 Squadron, still under the command of Major Leonard Learmount, was tasked with finding out what the enemy was up to around German-held Cambrai, information which headquarters badly needed for the planned British assault there on the Hindenburg Line, a heavily fortified German defensive line to the west of the town.

The Cambrai assault, which began on 20 November, was conceived by General Sir Julian Byng as a surprise attack from the west, across terrain suitable for tanks – unlike the Ypres area – and RFC close air support was part of the plan. The latter had proved highly effective toward the end of the Passchendaele battle.

A and B Flights of 22 Squadron with a Bristol Fighter early in 1918.

Fog made 22 Sqn’s preparatory reconnaissance sorties dangerous and reduced their effectiveness. Crews transited to the Cambrai area at about 3,000ft, then descended gingerly through the fog as low as they dared, hoping to get sight of the ground and evidence of enemy movements before colliding with church spires or rooftops.

This patch of grass was the location of the Estrée Blanche mess buildings in the corner of the aerodrome, looking south west over the village. This was an agricultural and coal-mining area, and the now-grassed-over coal slag heaps are visible in the middle distance. Mounds like them took the lives of low-flying airmen when the weather was foggy.

On 20 November the Cambrai offensive began, and yielded a suspiciously successful British six-mile advance over nine days, after which it was brought to a halt. It was still short of the town, but had breached some of the defensive lines. Very quickly, however, the advantage of surprise was lost and the Germans successfully counter-attacked. By the 6th December, they had retaken much of the ground that had been won.

Air Gunner Archie Whitehouse described 22 Sqn’s role at Cambrai: “We had the unenviable job of blowing up the enemy observation balloons, strafing road transport, and making a general nuisance of ourselves. We were down low, flying through our own shell-fire to hammer Cooper bombs on the German anti-tank gun emplacements. We strafed the roads and chased horse-drawn transport all over open fields, and generally played merry hell…

“We fired hundreds of rounds of ammunition and burned out our gun barrels. We returned again and again for fuel, bombs and the reviving encouragement of Major Learmount. Thank God for the Major during those days!”

This, it seems, was about the time when the air gunner and the squadron commander reached an unspoken awareness that they had become the only two remaining aircrew from what Whitehouse called “the Chipilly mob” who were still flying on 22 Sqn. He was referring to the location at which he had joined the squadron about six months ago, in April.

It left them with a feeling of emptiness, against which the only antidote was the adrenaline summoned up by the next sortie. Whitehouse wrote: “We flew, slept, flew, slept and flew some more. We staggered back and forth to our machines, too tired to eat. No-one spoke, no-one laughed, no-one argued. Faces were lined with weariness, pitted with cordite, and daubed with whale-oil.”

Back at Estrée Blanche there was a lull in the fighting because the weather was so bad, the Cambrai advance had petered out, and Christmas was approaching. Whitehouse wrote: “The patrols were dull…compared with the hair-raising experiences of the summer. But I was feeling the strain. I did not sleep well and went off my food completely. It was only when we settled down to put on a show for Christmas Eve that I forgot my troubles.”

Whitehouse described the festive preparations: “We got up a programme that was a honey for wartime humour. Among the mechanics we had a wealth of talent, so we could put on a show worthy of any outfit out there!” They rigged up lights powered from a dynamo lorry and searched out decorations to put up.

Finally, the dinner on Christmas Eve: “The officers, led by Major Learmount, came in and served the Christmas dinner, bundled up in aprons and mess jackets and suitably armed with towels and napkins. We sang and gave cheers for everyone we could think of. There never was such a dinner or so much fun!”

Learmount in his RAF uniform. The RFC, a corps of the army during most of the war, became the nation’s autonomous air arm on 1 April 1918.

Then they put on the show, with “the inevitable slightly bawdy female impersonator”, tricks, recitations and plenty of songs accompanied by piano. Marie and Annette, waitresses from the small estaminet in the village – and their mother – were guests of honour, along with quite a few other “puzzled-looking” civilians from Estrée Blanche, and they were given seats at the front near the piano. It all ended with God Save the King and the Marseillaise.

Then back to business. C Flight had to go on patrol on Christmas Day, but nothing much came of it. The Hun had chosen to be quiet for Christmas too, apparently.

On 20th January 1918 Archie Whitehouse, whose ambition all along had been pilot training and a Commission, was sent back to England to achieve both, wearing the ribbons for his newly-awarded Military Medal and a chest-full of campaign gongs. He reported in his memoire: “I lived to wear pilot’s wings and fly a single-seater fighter. I lived to see the Armistice!” He clearly felt lucky. He definitely was.

The squadron commander who had bid Whitehouse farewell was now the very last of the aircrew left from January 1917, but he had his work to keep him sane. He still had to lead 22 Squadron’s mechanics, armourers, stores-wallahs, cooks and caterers whose names he knew well, and to encourage the new, barely-trained young pilots and observers to believe in their roles and in their ability to carry them out.

On 22 January 1918 the Squadron moved briefly from Estrée Blanche to Auchel/Lozinghem, then again on 2 February to Treizennes, where losses were high and increasing. The Geman air force was venturing more over the Allied lines than they had been accustomed to do, seeking intelligence for planning purposes. It was on a patrol from Treizennes, on 9 March, in his Bristol Fighter, that Learmount got his blighty while attacking a German aircraft that was being far too successful at directing German fire onto British artillery positions. Although losing blood fast, his remarkable luck still held, and he got his Biff back to base. He was stretchered away from his mount.

From March 1918, No. 22 Squadron found itself dealing with German preparations for the imminent – ostensibly successful but short-lived – Spring Offensive. The German army, commanded by Gen Erich Ludendorff, had benefited from the transfer of huge numbers of troops from the Eastern to the Western Front, and consequently appeared to have assembled the means to mount an attack on a wide front. On 21 March the first of three separate chronologically sequenced attacks took place on different parts of the British sector of the Western Front. Ludendorff’s objective was to drive the British to the Channel coast and cut them off from French forces before the newly-arrived Americans were able to put their full weight behind the Allies.

The final push of the Spring Offensive, in late May, was aimed further south on the French-defended part of the line near the Champagne. But Ludendorff had dissipated his forces too widely and, despite gaining a significant amount of ground, he had failed to defeat the retreating British and French armies, which were able to re-group. By July the attack had ground to a halt without achieving any of its aims. This marked the beginning of a progressive collapse within the exhausted, demoralised German military.

The RFC shipped the badly wounded Learmount back to England, where he was sent to St Bartholomew’s hospital, London, for treatment. France awarded him the Croix de Guerre avec Palme.

At “Bart’s”, Learmount met “Peggy” Ball, a young nursing auxiliary charged with looking after him. Less than two months later – on 7th May – he married her in a church in Muswell Hill, north London, where her parents lived.

While Leonard and Peggy were exchanging vows, the German Spring Offensive was still advancing, but the Allied victory that (we now know) was to come in November was nowhere in sight at that time. Nevertheless, the newlyweds took a few days off to honeymoon at a pub on the banks of the River Thames, at Staines, 15 miles west of London – very rural in those days – and they went rowing together. Wedding photographs show Learmount left the church still using a walking stick.

A cutting from the Daily Mirror. Learmount, leaning on a walking stick, is leaving St James’s Church, Muswell Hill, London with his bride. He was 28 then, but looks much older. Convalescence would have to continue on honeymoon.

He was taken off the sick list on 22 August 2018 and posted to No 33 Training Depot Station at Witney near Oxford as an instructor on Bristol Fighters.

Upon his demobilisation in February 1919, Learmount returned to his trading job in the Far East. Once he was established there, his new wife and baby son, travelling by ship (of course), joined him there a few months later.

The marriage lasted a lifetime.

Author and son at the British Air Services Memorial, Saint-Omer aerodrome in June 2015. The memorial was erected by the First World War Aviation Historical Society in 2004. None of the buildings in view were in place during the Great War. The hangar on the left was built by the Germans in the Second World War and today is occupied by the Aéro Club de Saint-Omer. The Club keeps a museum of Great War aviation history at Saint-Omer in their hangar, and visitors are welcomed.
Learmount’s decorations. From Left: Distinguished Service Order, Military Cross, 1914-15 Star, British War Medal, Victory Medal, Colonial Auxiliary Services Long Service and Good Conduct Medal, Croix de Guerre avec Palme
Learmount did keep flying, but for leisure. Here he is – in the late 1920s – with a De Havilland Cirrus Moth float-plane at Seletar Creek, Singapore, where he was one of the founder members of what was then called the Royal Singapore Flying Club. He also founded what was known as the Royal Selangor Flying Club in Malaysia. Both clubs still operate today under different names.

ENDS

Click here to go to Episode One of “Leonard’s War” and read it all again!

Leonard’s War episode 4: mission training at Doncaster, and air support for the Somme offensive

David Learmount Uncategorized , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

(For previous episodes, scroll down)

On 8 May 1916 2nd Lieutenant Leonard Learmount was posted from No 7 Squadron at Baillieul, Northern France to No 15 (Reserve) Squadron at Doncaster, south Yorkshire, a training unit. At the same time he was promoted to Lieutenant, and on 17 May he was made a Flight Commander, rapidly followed on 15 July 1916 by being appointed Commanding Officer of the 15 (Reserve) depot.

As an illustration of how highly-prized even a small amount of operational flying experience was, this posting for Learmount took place less than a year since he had completed his basic flight training. He had flown just 11 months over the Western Front with No 7 Squadron, had survived the experience – which many hadn’t – and here he was, commanding a training unit himself.

In that role, his career path crossed that of one 2nd Lieutenant James Kerr, whose log book Learmount signed off on 22 July, the latter having trained on both the BE2c and the Armstrong Whitworth FK3 at the 15 (Reserve) Squadron training depot. Learmount’s rank, as signed in Kerr’s log book, was Captain (presumably acting or temporary), and a note accompanying Learmount’s signature stated that Kerr had been “posted overseas” on 24 July. That was, indeed, the date that Kerr arrived in France, at Saint-Omer, and by the end of that month he had been assigned to No 5 Squadron operating out of Droglandt, not far west of Ypres, flying the BE2c and d. So it is clear that No 15 (Reserve) Squadron was not a unit preparing pilots for 15 Squadron, it was just the 15th Reserve Squadron so far formed, and its task was to meet a need by any and all active units for improved flying skills in the new trainees arriving in France.

The task of No 15 (Reserve) Squadron seems to have been to take new pilots who had learned basic flying skills and prepare them for the tasks that they would face over the Western Front – mainly reconnaissance and navigation skills, but also surviving air-to-air combat. The last few entries in Kerr’s log book contained the information that he had looped the BE2c once and the FK3 twice, a marked contrast to Learmount’s experience level at the end of his training a year earlier. “Stunting”, however, was not a part of training, and it was generally frowned upon at that time.

Back in 1915, pilots had been given no preparation for the mission skills they would need on the front line until they arrived there. Indeed, in his log book on arrival on 7 Squadron in France, Learmount remarked – on one of five familiarisation sorties out of Saint-Omer – that he had navigated by compass for the first time, and flown above cloud also for the first time. These few trips were clearly his mission preparation, and the final (sixth) one recorded in his training log book was a 10min sortie over the aerodrome at 1,000ft flown “for the benefit of Indian cavalry”.

There was clearly a growing awareness in the RFC that the quality and and quantity of training provided to pilots was insufficient. Indeed, as related in Episode 1 of this series, in July 1916 Major Raymond Smith-Barry, who had noted the low quality of trainees arriving for duty, had begun the process of compiling the RFC’s first formal flying training syllabus, but it had not yet been published and would first see the light of day in December 1916. Smith-Barry believed in the need to train military pilots to fly their aircraft to their limits, and to recover successfully if they exceeded them, rather than simply to get airborne and fly cautiously. As air-to-air combat was becoming increasingly routine, timid flying was no longer an option.

Learmount’s arrival at Doncaster in early May 1916 preceded – by a few weeks – the beginning of the massive and deadly Somme offensive by the British army 4th Corps, allied with Canadian and Australian troops. The artillery fired up early on the morning of 1st July. So supporting this push by maintaining air superiority above it was to be the task of many of the brand new pilots and observers that Learmount was preparing at Doncaster.

A general view of the Western Front 1915-16, with battle locations indicated

The priority in advance of the Somme push, was to get photographs and intelligence about the enemy’s movements, supply routes and defensive lines (trenches). The BE2c two-seater “tractor” biplane – one of the types in use for instruction at No 15 (Reserve) Squadron at that time, was a machine well-suited to the reconnaissance task, but not much more than that.

BE2c (Imperial War Museum)

In June and July – operating out of airfields in the vicinity of Arras – the BE2c for was mostly used for reconnaissance and as a light bomber, although it could be fitted with underwing-mounted rockets for attacking balloons. And unlike its unarmed BE pure reconnaissance predecessors, the BE2c observer/gunner was given a pivot-mounted Lewis gun, but more for self-defence than attack. Some BE2cs were given two Lewis guns. Unfortunately, because the observer’s cockpit was forward of the pilot’s, he was positioned more or less in line with the leading edges of the wings, which limited his field of fire considerably, with the propeller just ahead and the struts either side. The trailing edge of the upper wing, however, was cut away at its centre, allowing fire upwards, which was useful for attacking balloons.

Part of the Allied strategy leading up to the Somme push was to make good use of the RFC’s sheer numbers – far in excess of the numbers of aircraft available to the Germans – so they could keep control of the air above the battlefield. The combined aircraft fleets of the Allies exceeded significantly the numbers of German aircraft, even if their effectiveness didn’t match that of the newer German machines like the Fokker Eindecker. Often the BE2s were protected by a pair of Bristol Scouts which could escort them in their reconnaissance role.

In the last days of the Somme offensive, a BE2c (from 15 Sqn as it happened), was hit in combat with five Albatros Ds. The pilot, 2nd Lt JC Lees and observer Lt TH Clarke, were both wounded. The pilot brought the stricken aircraft to a crash landing in enemy territory near Miraumont where the two were taken prisoners of war. The German troops who attended the downed aircraft expressed disbelief that the British were still using such an old-fashioned machine. In fact they referred disparagingly to the aircraft as “kaltes Fleische” (cold meat). Over the five-month offensive from July to November the RFC lost 600 aircraft and 252 crew.

Meanwhile propaganda, normally perceived as information disseminated by the enemy, is a two-way art. Of course the RFC had to generate its own. It seems Britain’s political leaders wanted the people at home to be told about “our boys defending our skies”, because Zeppelins were now succeeding in bombing civilian targets in British cities – a development that had deeply shocked the public.

At about this time – although it was probably somewhat earlier in 2016 – Learmount was clearly chosen as the “right stuff” to provide the British people with a word-picture of what it was like to be an RFC pilot. So he duly wrote a story, published in the Daily Mirror, headlined “Mr Learmount at the Front – Experiences in the Royal Flying Corps”, claiming to be “extracts from a letter received from Lieut LW Learmount of the Royal Flying Corps from ‘Somewhere in France’”. When interpreted in the light of history, this “letter” seems to contain a compendium of experiences over quite a wide period. The newspaper cutting kept by Learmount’s family is not marked with its date, so the period of operations described in the article cannot be precisely identified.

Press cutting from the Daily Mirror in Autumn 1916, from Learmount’s family records

This is what the “letter” says:

“We are having a very strenuous time here. I suppose I put in about 5 hours every day. Not all of it is over the enemy’s lines, of course. A new duty is patrolling the town where we are stationed, as some time ago a few Huns came over and dropped bombs on us and were off again before we could get up to them, so we go up every morning and cruise around at about 10,000ft so that should any more of them venture an attack we are prepared for them.

“I had a most exciting time the other day. I was going to Ostend and just after crossing the Lines a German machine came up and attacked us with a machine gun. We soon brought ours into play, but owing to his vastly superior speed we were not altogether having things all our own way, when a little British Scout which had been patrolling somewhere near us [probably a fighter escort for the reconnaissance type] dropped from the skies and opened fire and, between us, we downed the Hun pretty successfully.

“After this we went on with our reconnaissance and on the way back we met another Hun, but on this occasion we managed to do him in ourselves, and proceeded gaily on our way, somewhat badly damaged it is true, but still we got home all right.

“These air duels are very thrilling, the sky is thick with bursting shells [“Archie”- or anti-aircraft fire] and amidst the roar of our machine guns you can hear the zip of the Hun’s bullets when they get pretty close, and all the time the two machines are circling about, dropping and climbing, each trying to get the other at a disadvantage.

“Aerial warfare becomes more and more like a sea fight as machines are improved, but unfortunately the Huns have usually got better machines than we have. I have so far flown a rather an antiquated type, a French make, but am now the proud possessor of the very latest British machine, a real beauty [BE2c?]

“We have got a most splendid lot of fellows in the RFC, and I am serenely happy among them, although I get depressed at times the way one after another of them disappears. It is so rotten to see a vacant chair at the Mess table every now and then, and to have to go and pack up some unfortunate chap’s belongings is positively horrible. It make one sick at heart to witness the slaughter, for it amounts to nothing less, of all these fine men.”

Tomorrow, Episode 5: Learmount is promoted from Captain to Acting Major, and given command of No. 22 Squadron at Bertangles, near Amiens, equipped with FE2b two-seater pushers, and gets increasingly involved in aerial photography over the heavily fortified German Hindenberg Line.