A World War 1 Adventure: The Life and Times of Rnas Bomber Pilot Donald E. Harkness

By House of Harkness

A deeply personal and revealing eyewitness narrative of one airmans life as a bomber pilot in England s RNAS (Royal Naval Air Service) in WWI. It is a true story, an adventure, and a war memoir carefully constructed from Captain Donald E. Harknesss unpublished diaries, letters, sketches and photographs only recently uncovered nearly a century later that documented his remarkable experiences and military adventures over England, France and Belgium. The first book written by a highly decorated WWI flyer from New Zealand that captures the behind the scenes life of RNAS pilots, as well as the surprises, terrors, traumas, humor, and sheer excitement of an aerial form of combat never before experienced by anyone, anywhere and only eleven short years after the Wright Brothers historic flight at Kitty Hawk.

With a talent for writing, Don begins an epic journey at a major turning point in history when the world is poised at the dawn of flight, and bracing itself for unknown dangers of unprecedented sophistication and savagery.

Dons journal reveals unique insights and vivid imagery of another time and experience, to wit:
- the terror and devastation of a Zeppelin bombing raid in London
- the training regimen of early flying schools, and their serious & comic episodes
- the wonder, awe, and poetry of flying aloft in the majestic heavens
- vivid bombing raids, plus the raid that earned him the DSC
- his crash-landing and capture
- working with the underground to help downed pilots evade capture
- Londons unrestrained exuberance on Armistice Day;
. . . and much, much more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496914118

Book preview

© 2014 Bruce W. Harkness, Jeffrey T. Harkness, Timothy D. Harkness, Christopher W. Harkness, Donald E. Harkness, Jr.. All rights reserved.

Photo credits:

Unless otherwise credited, all photographs were taken by D.E. Harkness using a collapsible Vest Pocket Kodak (VPK) camera, and he often developed the film himself in makeshift darkrooms wherever he was stationed. A few pictures he acquired through trades with friends. These photos today are the property of the Harkness family.

Cover photo:

Flight Sub-Lieutenant Harkness examining a new dual-seat fighting Sopwith 1½ Strutter while on his way to Brooklands to pick up an identical machine that will soon become his personal mount. The photo was taken June 1, 1916, at Dover Aerodrome.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/19/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-1409-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-1410-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-1411-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014909404

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Introduction

Acknowledgments

Author’s Notes

Early Life

A Kiwi Upbringing

How to Defend England

From Wellington to London

A World Gone Awry

Plymouth Harbor

The Sea War

London at Last

The Dardanelles and the Somme

Pals Battalions

Enjoying the Nightlife and Meeting the Relatives

The Search for a Flying School

The Realities of War

The Ruffy-Baumann School of Flying

The Great Zeppelin Attack

The Rotary Engine

Love at First Flight

Learning to Fly

Flight Training at Hendon

Clive Collett and the Three Collet Brothers

A Bad Design and a Lucky Fall

Joining the Royal Naval Air Service

Through the Eye of a Needle

The Commission is Granted, Finally

Lots of Crashes at Hendon

Eastchurch Aerodrome

Lost in the Fog and Rain

Check Ride

Another Forced Landing

Out with the Old, In with the New

Final Training at Dover Aerodrome

Air Raid on Dover

Coudekerque Aerodrome

The British Air Services

The IAF

Coudekerque’s First Air Raid

Trip to Paris

Two Raids on Mariakerque Aerodrome

Tit-for-Tat Bombing

An Up-Close Look at the Ground War

The 1½ Strutter

Raid on the Ghent Ammo Depot and the St. Denis Aerodrome

Zeppelins

From Eccentric Concept to Reality

A Missed Chance

Simple Physics

High Altitude Complications

Shed Wars

Attack on Friedrichshafen

Two in One Night

German Secret Weapon

English Secret Weapon

The Evere Shed Raid

Aircraft Art and the Art of Aerial Bombing

Raid on Lichtervelde Ammo Dump

Explosion at Audruicq

In the Eye of the Wind

Finally, a Monster Falls Over Britain

Crash Landing in Holland

Internment

A Prisoner in High Society

Chadwick’s Escape

On Emperors and Kings

A New Kind of Fuel

More Dangerous than the Germans

Born on the Ice

How to Escape A Prison Without Walls

A Short Stroll in Germany

Letters Home

The Joys and Dangers of Active Service Flying

Groningen

An Officer’s Privilege

Jack Cock

A New Airborne Menace

The Monkey Jacket and Sword

Homeward Bound!

A Promise is a Promise

Back in London

Armistice

A Party to Remember

The Flu Hits Home

No Rules to Worry About

A Parting Shot

After the War

Wander Lust

To Build a Bridge

And Take a Wife

A New Career and a New Business Idea

Don’s Last Flight

A Proven Concept

The Company

The Plan

Disaster

Postscript

For Don, and the men who flew with him, in

The War to End All Wars.

Introduction

This book is about a member of our family whom we never knew. From a glass cabinet full of medals, pictures and artifacts kept lovingly for decades by his widow, we knew only bits and pieces of his life. For example, we knew vaguely that he was an accomplished and decorated aerial bomber pilot at a time when aerial bombing was more concept than reality; we knew that he was a respected academic leader and lecturer in his home country, New Zealand; we knew that he was a gifted engineer working on large bridge construction in the USA; and we knew that he was an aviation pioneer at a time when aviation was composed in equal parts of wonder, promise, and danger. But he was also a loving son, brother, cousin and nephew to the family he grew up with and a devoted husband, father and provider to his wife and two children. We, his surviving relatives, did not know him at all, at least not firsthand, for he died when his wife and children were just getting to know him in an accident that should never have happened.

He was also a virtual legend to his third child born after his death, eight grandchildren and three great-grandchildren – none of whom got to see his face, hear his voice or feel his touch at all. That’s because he died in 1929, an impossibly long time ago when the world was still recovering from a devastating world war, had just entered an equally devastating, if not so violent, Great Depression, and was less than a decade from entering another world war even more devastating than the first. And yet, it was full of a technological – and geographic – promise that he hoped to become a part of, a promise that would unite the world’s far-off countries in a way that had never been possible before.

Fortunately, he left us an amazing gift: his diaries, letters, photographs and drawings which, unbeknownst to us until we started researching them, were graphic, lucid, and well written. As we near the centennial of the start of The War to End All Wars, this book recounts his remarkable journey through that war via his own observations and original writings. His amazing adventures are told exactly as they happened to him almost 100 years ago.

Please note that this book makes no attempt to be a comprehensive history of World War 1. Rather, it is about one man’s part in that war and the specific times and events in which he lived. The war is too vast a subject to encompass in a single volume, and much has already been written about it. Instead, only enough explanation has been provided to fill in the timelines and events in order to give the reader a sense of what he was seeing and experiencing at the moments in time when he wrote his diary entries and letters. Some of his descriptions may contain details that historians have missed until now. We hope that his firsthand accounts may help clarify a few points of history that have become lost or confused by the passage of time. Finally, and not surprisingly, in the course of editing and annotating his book, we have at long last gotten to know our father and grandfather, and we’ve come to love and admire him as a person, even more than his legend.

Respectfully,

Bruce Harkness

Acknowledgments

Historical facts used in this book came from these primary sources:

Bomber Pilot 1916-1918, by C.P.O. Bartlett

The Airship, by Basil Collier

The Zeppelin Fighters, by Arch Whitehouse

Naval Aviation in the First World War, Its Impact and Influence by R.D. Layman

The History of New Zealand Aviation, by Ross Ewing and Ross MacPherson

War in the Air 1914 – 45, by William Murray

Thrilling Deeds of British Airmen, by Eric Wood

Dornier, A Brief History of the Dornier Company (no author specified)

Smithy, The Life of Sir Charles Kingsford Smith, by Ian Mackersey

The Zeppelin in Combat, by Douglas H. Robinson

The Zeppelin Base Raids, Germany 1914, by Ian Castle

Titanic, An Illustrated History, by Don Lynch

Knights of the Air, by Ezra Bowen

Sopwith 1½ Strutter, Vols 1 and 2, by J.M. Bruce

Fokker Dr.1 In Action, by Heinz J. Nowarra

Forums: The Aerodrome, Great War, and Cross and Cockade

Newspapers: Evening Post, Auckland Times, Daily Telegraph, London Gazette

Flightglobal/Archive, Journal of the Royal Aero Club

UK National Archive, Kew, London

War Against the Weak, Eugenics and America’s plan to Create a Master Race, by Edwin Black

A Tale of Two ‘Villages’, Vineland and Skillman, by Michael Nevins

The Melvill Family Roll of Honor, by E. J. Joubert de la Ferté

The War in the Air, Vols 1 and 2, by Sir Walter Raleigh and H. A. Jones

Bombers 1914-1919, by Kenneth Munson

Airmen or Noahs, Fair Play for Our Airmen, by Murray F. Sueter

Images of Aviation, The Sikorsky Legacy, by Sergei I. Sikorsky

In the Royal Naval Air Service, War Letters of Harold Rosher

Map: U.S. Geological Survey, Department of the Interior/USGS

In addition, I wish to thank Errol Martyn, David Duxbury, John Best and the Aviation Historical Society of New Zealand for the generous information and editorial assistance they provided regarding New Zealand’s early aviation and Donald E. Harkness’s post-war aviation histories. Their help and research was invaluable and very much appreciated. I wish also to thank Gina Fletcher of the Old Boys Association of Nelson College for the huge trove of information she sent on the scholastic histories of Don and his father, George A. Harkness. Special thanks also go to writing teacher and friend Joie Hinden whose guidance in the writing of this book was especially valuable.

A special note of thanks goes to our wives Yatsumi, Kathleen, Carla, and Janet, whose steadfast support and encouragement were most helpful and so very much needed. We could not have endured the long hours of transcription, communication, research and writing without the love and guidance they so warmly and willingly provided us in the course of completing this project.

Most importantly, I wish to express my deepest thanks to my brothers, Jeffrey T. Harkness, Timothy D. Harkness, Christopher W. Harkness and our father, Donald E. Harkness Jr. for their tireless assistance in helping me scan, collate and transcribe the huge volume of diaries, letters, photographs, sketches and newspaper clippings into digital format. The extensive and creative efforts by Dad and brother Jeff in providing additional research, editing, PowerPoint presentations, proposals, marketing and much more in the writing of this book proved of inestimable worth and is especially appreciated. Special thanks also go to brother Tim for restoring 120 century-old photographs and for applying his highly skilled artistic sense in creating the book’s graphical design. And I am particularly grateful for the assistance given by brother Chris who provided months of transcription work, and his singular approach to genealogical research was as useful as it was creative. This book could not have come together without the contributions and frequent long-distance collaborations of this highly proficient and dedicated band of brothers.

Bruce Harkness

Author’s Notes

The reader will notice that both English and American spellings are used in this book. This was necessary to distinguish between the writings of Captain Donald E. Harkness, DSC, who was from New Zealand, and his grandson, the modern-day author, who, along with his father and brothers, are from the United States of America. With the exception of filling in his shorthand to avoid confusion, all of his diaries and letters are preserved as he wrote them to retain their original integrity.

Unless otherwise noted, I have also used the familiar form of his first name, Don, throughout the book as that was how he signed his letters, and Don was the name most often used by his family, friends, colleagues, fellow pilots, officers, and business partners while he was alive. We, his heirs, feel as well that this is the way he would have most wanted himself to be remembered.

The reader will also notice that, unless otherwise indicated, Belgian place names are written using their most common English or French spellings. This was done to match Allied maps of the period and avoid confusion with their lesser known Flemish spellings. The practice of using French on all Belgian official documents and maps began in the early 19th century and continued through the war years. These and available English maps served initially until rapid advances in cartography, aided by the then new science of aerial photo reconnaissance, enabled Allied map makers to produce more accurate maps by the thousands for the soldiers and airmen to use as they fought the war over Belgian and French territories.

Finally, Don met and wrote about a great many people throughout his travels and all of them have fascinating stories of their own to tell. To help pass on some of those stories I have attempted to briefly describe the people who lived them using his descriptions as a starting point and adding what few details I could find from the historical record to fill in some background. Space limitations, however, prevented me from including them all, and regretfully, some names have already faded into the mists of time. The reader is invited to further the research so that the life stories of those who fought and died for our freedoms in World War 1 will be preserved forever.

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Map of Northern Europe

Early Life

I would give anything to be able to use an aeroplane, especially at the present time when they are all-important to both Army and Navy.

DEH

A Kiwi Upbringing

Donald Ernest Harkness was born on August 27th, 1894, a cold and wintery day in Nelson, a small city on the north shore of the South Island of New Zealand. He was the second son and third child of George Alexander and Mary Blanche Talbot Harkness, she preferring to be called by her middle name rather than her first. Ella, his only sister, was born two years before him, and three brothers were born after him, Alec, Philip, and Euan, in that order. The oldest by three years was Keith, but he passed away suddenly at the all too early age of 14, the result of a schoolyard accident. Euan, born in 1905, was always called Nipper, or just Nip, for no other reason than the fact that he was the youngest.

We don’t know much of Don’s early life, though we do know from his letters that he was close to his siblings. They wrote often to each other while they were away on school trips, while on holidays, visiting relatives, or just for fun. Their father was the Chief Inspector of Schools on the South Island and was a strict, but loving schoolmaster to the children, and their mother was a teacher. They made sure the children got a well-rounded, proper English education and learned to read and write well at an early age, and little Donny became especially fond of writing as a result.

By the turn of the 20th century New Zealand was barely 60 years old as a British colony; some 620 years old as a country settled by Polynesians, and Don was in primary school learning all about it. He was also learning about his mother country, England, often calling it Home in his letters, as was the fashion, and soon, without ever being there, he knew all about it, too, from the reference books and schooling his parents provided, as well as the innumerable stories told to him by his traveling relatives. As a boy he also enjoyed taking things apart and rebuilding them, often making them better than they were before. He understood not just how things worked but why they worked, and read avidly about the new advances in technology that seemed to be everywhere – everywhere except New Zealand, that is. He longed to bring New Zealand into the modern age and help it reach a par with the great countries of Europe and America. He knew, however, that much work was still needed to build a modern infrastructure for New Zealand, and that required large numbers of engineers and construction workers. From an early age he therefore set out to make engineering his career and looked forward to the day when he’d be old enough to enter the workforce. But just before he got old enough, he saw a man fly like a bird in one of those new aeroplanes he’d heard so much about, and just as the romance of flight was taking hold of his young imagination, war was invading his Home country.

In early 1915 brothers Vivian and Leo Walsh began test flying a flying boat based on a Curtiss biplane that they had built themselves, and with this plane opened the New Zealand Flying School, the country’s first, in October of that year. It was one of those early test flights that Don saw, rising off Mission Bay in Auckland’s Waitemata Harbor, that so enamored him to flying. At the time, Don, then 20 years old, was in Auckland working an unpaid internship and taking his finals for the second year of classes he’d just finished at Canterbury College, New Zealand University’s engineering college located in Christchurch, the largest city in the South Island. University rules back then required that students take their final tests in Auckland even though the colleges where their classes were held were often in cities hundreds of miles from there. Because he’d earned a scholarship in 1912 after graduating with honors from Nelson College, a highly regarded secondary school, Don didn’t mind the inconvenience and used the opportunity to visit relatives and do a bit of sightseeing.

How to Defend England

When the first shots were fired, like so many young men his age, with a mixture of patriotism, exuberance and naiveté, Don jumped at the chance to defend England, but had the presence of mind to wait until after he’d researched his options and made a plan for himself before going off to war. Many of his friends didn’t wait and left at the first calling in October, 1914 when the first ANZAC troopships bound for Europe were organized, and found themselves diverted en route to Egypt when the Ottoman Empire entered the war.

He didn’t quite know what to make of the ground war – nobody did, actually – but from the sanitized yet still horrific newspaper reports of conflicts like the Battle of Mons, First Battle of the Marne, Siege of Antwerp, First Battle of Ypres, and dozens more in 1914 alone, he was pretty sure he wanted no part of the infantry. Instead, Don very much wanted to join the Royal Flying Corps but he quickly learned that securing flight training presented certain difficulties that needed to be sorted out first, not the least of which was how to pay for it and the travel to London, where most of the UK’s flying schools were located. Though the New Zealand Flying School would eventually train 83 pilots for the war, with 75 making the trip to London, they were still months away from beginning operations by the time he was ready to leave, so for him, that wasn’t an option. There was also the matter of what to do about his education which would have to be suspended until his return. The whole RFC enlistment process was, in fact, so confusing that no one knew exactly what to expect once they arrived in Europe. He put the matter on hold while he talked it over in the following letter with his father, ultimately deciding that his immediate courses should come first. Hopefully, by the time his current semester of classes ended in late May, the way to England, and the RFC, would become clearer for him.

‘Nelmeshurst’

Remuera Rd

Sun. Jan.17, 1915

Dear Father,

You will excuse me worrying you with a letter, won’t you, knowing as you will what it is for? I did hope to be able to ask you for two things, but one has got bumped on the head. The other is that you will be able to assist me financially as I have come to the end of my resources and could do with some more tin almost immediately, seeing that I have about seven more weeks to fill in up here, and the trip home as well. I spend about as little as I can possibly help, yet unless I stay in the same place all the time, I have to spend a good bit on tram fares alone.

As regard the other thing which I have hinted at, I don’t think it is worthwhile after all, or at any rate, not yet. I heard that a fellow here had left for England to study aviation and join the Royal Flying Corps at the front as an air scout, so I was very keen to do the same if I could myself. A friend of mine from the Engineering School has just joined the Reinforcements at Trentham, and I reckon it would be first rate if he and I could go Home to the aviation school, as I would give anything to be able to use an aeroplane, especially at the present time when they are all-important to both Army and Navy. I dodged work yesterday morning and buzzed round to the Defence Office to see if I could find out anything further; they say that I should have to pay my own passage Home, and at present they could not give a guarantee that I should be accepted. This isn’t much good for me, and besides I think I should probably lose my scholarship if I left the varsity, so at any rate will have to wait a bit and see if things are altered.

The results of our exams should be out in about a month; one paper I did very rottenly, as did nearly everyone else. Another one I did not do very well, but with a fair amount of luck will scrape through; while I ought to pass in the rest. If I fail in more than one subject I shall have to take all the subjects over again, but if in one only I can go on with next year’s work and take that subject again. That is how things stand with regard to exams, so I am not over-hopeful.

Today I have been across to the Talbot’s at Takapuna. I met Uncle Fred in the street yesterday morning so found out where they lived. They have taken a house close to the beach and are staying for another fortnight, Graême 1 staying with friends out in the country.

Now I must close, with love to all,

Your loving son,

Don

By the time his classes were over the risk of non-acceptance into the RFC was still very real, but he could not imagine himself doing anything else – except maybe joining the Royal Engineers, but he preferred to do that only if he couldn’t get into the RFC. He still needed his father’s approval, however, to interrupt his studies and go to war, as well as a hefty sum of money to pay for flying lessons and support his room and board once he got to England. There seemed to be little talk of his not going to war and staying home and finishing his studies, such was the degree of nationalism felt by all citizens loyal to the crown, but also due to the strong social pressure of the time to join the war effort or be branded unpatriotic, or worse. With two and a half years of classes out of the way his primary concern became just getting the money required to get the training he desired. Choosing his words carefully, he sent the following letter to his father, this time from Canterbury College, asking for his permission to join the RFC:

Gloucester House

Tuesday, May 25, 1915

My Dear Father,

Once more you are to be favored with a letter from me, and this time as usual it is because I want something – otherwise I should not worry you. It is for permission to work my passage to England on the N.Z. Shipping Company`s Ruapehu, which leaves at the end of June. Uncle Norman knows the manager of the company here very well, and so I went round with him this morning and was promised a job as a fitter if I want it. Bauchop, ² who has been at the Engineering School for several years and passed his final last year, is going to do the same, but when he reaches England is going to join the Navy and get on a destroyer.

What I should infinitely prefer on reaching England is to join one of the Flying Schools and there learn to fly an aeroplane. This would take two or three months at the most, I think, and then after getting the RAeC (Royal Aero Club) certificate would in all probability be able to secure a position in the Naval or Military Royal Flying Corps. As far as I can make out at present this previous training in a private school is necessary before joining the RFC and would cost about £50. At the present time, due no doubt to Government subsidy, I think they are taking prospective members of the RFC at reduced rates.

Of course I should get no pay on the boat or at aviation school, but once in the Royal Flying Corps, either in the Military or Naval Wing, I should receive pay and keep like the rest. Of course I know I am asking a good bit; but then I have been so considerate so far by keeping alive and so amassing a fortune with the Insurance Company. In any case I could write Home for particulars and know whether it was worthwhile or not before I reached England – if not, I could return all that had been given me and then join the Royal Engineers. If I do decide to use it, I shall repay it later on when I am receiving a salary of my own. As far as monetary considerations go, I have at present about £5 in the bank, and am waiting for my next scholarship cheque of £12-10, which will arrive in a day or two. There is also £7-7 which I have paid to the university Registrar for examination fees, and which I could recover, making a total of somewhere about £25.

I sincerely trust that this scheme will meet with your unanimous approval, and should like to hear just as soon as ever you can decide, preferably by wire, if you wish me to go Home, as I suggest, in a month’s time or later. Please let me know as soon as possible as I have to tell the N.Z. Shipping Co. manager definitely soon, and if I leave by the Ruapehu, shall scuttle back to Nelson in about a week and spend three weeks holiday there before departing.

Learning to fly is like learning to ride a bicycle Prof. Scott 3 told me yesterday. I noticed in one magazine that one aviator recently got his certificate after only a fortnight’s tuition. On joining the RFC of course three or four months additional training would be necessary to accustom one to war conditions, such as bomb-dropping, distinguishing friend and foe, observation, etc., etc., but that would not cost anything.

Hoping to hear your reply at the earliest possible moment,

Ever your most devoted son,

Don

As the final preparations were made the departure date changed to July 6th and the boat changed to the SS Paparoa. 4 Using the poor traveler’s time-honored tradition of working a passage Don was able to secure a third class ticket on the Paparoa for zero cost, as long as he worked for it as a fitter by installing and repairing machinery, pumps and generators. The work wasn’t glamorous but was better than being a boiler stoker or deckhand, an apparent early benefit from his college engineering studies. One or two family contacts with the shipper didn’t hurt either.

Departure day was full of excitement, particularly for those planning to enlist at the end of the voyage, but for most, this was just supposed to be a routine trip with a few stops along the way for coaling and to take on or drop off passengers. On July 1st Don said goodbye to his family in Nelson and boarded the Arahura steam ferry for the trip across the Cook Strait to Wellington, where the Paparoa’s pier was located. He made no mention of his feelings on that day, but he generally was not one to dwell on his own emotions. He was, however, fully aware of the importance of the events about to unfold around him so was especially careful to record them in a diary, including detailed descriptions of the places he saw and some very colorful characters he met along the way. The diary begins below:

From Wellington to London

Tues., Jul. 6, 1915:

Left Wellington by Paparoa at 3 p.m. Boat almost full of 3rd class passengers. I was given a 4-berth cabin in extreme aft to share with Bauchop. The cabin is not over spacious. If one wants to turn round, one has to go outside, turn round, and come in again. Met a short, substantial namesake masquerading as assistant steward from England. Not feeling too well, but the sea is smooth.

Wed., Jul. 7, 1915:

Arose about 9 a.m. for breakfast in Engineers’ Mess. Beautiful day; everyone mooning round a bit. Groans emanating from the next cabin. Not yet told to do any work so none has been done. Chief Engineer McLean has been chatting with me and Bauchop. He spent two years at Canterbury College Engineering School when it first opened. Gentleman from next door is now impressing it upon another inmate that he will not see this voyage over. Not much loss if he doesn’t.

Thurs., Jul. 8, 1915:

Arose at 8:30 for porridge, bacon and eggs, curry and rice, and mutton. Set to work soon after and fooled round with connecting rod and brasses of one of the pumps. Dined on soup, chicken, kidneys on toast, cutlets and vegetables, plum pudding and jam tarts. Afternoon worked for about two hours when an adjournment was made for eatables, consisting of: fried fish, Welsh rabbit, haricot mutton and beef. Played bridge with two others who are also working passage Home. Murdock, a lawyer from Auckland, as deckhand who shovels coal all day or scrapes varnish off things as a variation. The other, Anderson, of Christchurch, as writer’s assistant. Says the writer has nearly four hours of work a day, that is, taking things easy. We have as yet no idea whatever of the amount of work done by the assistant.

A few very mediocre attempts made at singing by one or two of the lady passengers (such as they are) in the evening. Strange thing: everybody went to bed early.

Fri., Jul. 9, 1915 (West of International Dateline):

Dirty weather. Work same as before, only less of it. Starboard engine was partly disabled one hour.

Fri., Jul. 9, 1915 (East of International Dateline):

A repetition of yesterday – in more ways than one. One can have the past over again sometimes. Am told that they never have two Sundays running or two Thursdays (ham and eggs on Thursdays). The choir is practicing for Sunday. Am not looking forward to the weekend.

Sun., Jul. 11, 1915:

Divine service was conducted by Captain Bowers with the first mate reading the lessons. A collection was made in aid of Seamen’s Charities, chiefly coppers, amounting to £1-3-3 ¾. Our parson, known as the Bishop of Timbuktu, is desirous of taking some service or other, so threatens to hold an opposition campaign tonight. He can best be described as about 6 ft.10 in. in height, of negligible thickness, but feet which are not negligible. He’s really only a deacon but wears a round collar continuously (about the only white collar on the ship). He also wears a charming skull cap on the back of his head, one pair of huge spectacles, a typical parson’s face, and a voice admirably adapted to Dear Brethren.…

Distance traveled in previous day, 282 miles. Latitude 53º S, Longitude 160º W.

Mon., Jul. 12, 1915:

Painting all day in shaft tunnel. Starboard condenser still giving trouble, so running on port propeller only, for two hours. Travel – 272 miles.

Everyone was on deck immediately after dinner to see an iceberg appearing on the starboard bow. It rapidly approached and passed about 400 yards away. This was over 100 feet high and probably 300 or 400 yards in circumference. A magnificent view was obtained as we approached, its surface being intensely white and sparkling in the grayish light. Large waves broke around its base, sending up high columns of white spray over projecting marble-like pinnacles. The air became noticeably chilled and a squall of sleet and fog followed close on its heels. I snapped a photograph just as ship had passed, but the aspect presented was not nearly as picturesque as before being abrupt and of rather a sameness in appearance. Another one reported later on the same side, and three on the other side, all of about the same size and the same distance away. There was a grand exhibition of cameras of all shapes, sizes, ages, makes and nationalities as it passed.

Thurs., Jul. 15, 1915:

Passed several icebergs in the night, and this morning about six more. Several albatrosses have been following in our wake as well. At noon we were overtaken by a small snow storm which prevented a view of more than 100 yards in front of the ship. Several other snowfalls came later on, the last having just left a thin white covering over the whole ship, decks included. People have not gotten used to this yet, and more than one unfortunate tonight, issuing forth in his ignorance from the warm precincts of the saloon, has found himself with nothing between him and the sea but a very hard railing and nothing underneath him where he thought his feet were. Skating will soon be in full swing – at least it is now but unintentionally. One bold adventurous spirit, of very uncertain age and wearing trousers, in the saloon tonight proposed the formation of a committee to investigate into the advisability or otherwise of holding several euchre and whist parties, sports, etc., during the voyage. A self-elected committee formed on the spot of six men, who simply stood up and said they would not mind being on the committee – and so they were (no ballot papers required.) More will be heard of this later. Weather now quite cold enough for most people. Course is about due East.

The aforementioned steward, by name Harkness (Fred), says he has been living in Christchurch, where his wife is at present. He is also working his passage, but I prefer my billet. His hours are from about 5 a.m. to anything in the evening. Three or four other stewards are also working passage. The two others forward, till now a deckhand and a writer’s assistant, have now got a new commission – shoveling coal. Really, engineering has its advantages, if only at meal times. Temperature of the sea is now below 40 degrees Fahrenheit.

Fri., Jul. 16, 1916:

The temperature feels like zero in the shade. Bits of snow are lying about over the decks, and some people think we must be near the Pole. All I know is we are not near any foot-warmers, steam pipes or hot-water bottles.

Great excitement caused in the engine room today by the electrician, who was doing a bit of painting away up at the top of the engine room, accidentally knocking over a bucket of white paint, which fell all over one of the cylinders onto the cranks below (revolving at a pretty good pace), and so was beautifully scattered over the whole place. Beautiful snow effect, I remarked to the man who had done it. Beautiful lightning effect there will be if the 2nd Engineer comes down, he said. Unfortunately, the display of fireworks did not materialize, as the 2nd Engineer was asleep. The whole appearance and air of the electrician now proclaim the fact to the world, for in his hasty efforts to wipe up his misdeeds he forgot that he was collecting countless hordes of small white spots over his clothes, face and hair, which will remain as a testimony for many days to come.

Sat., Jul. 17, 1915:

First euchre party held tonight under the auspices of the Passengers’ Amusement Committee and the Captain. I came within one of winning the prize. Undoubtedly would have won it had it not been that my partners were such atrocious players. Let us hope they have a bit of practice before the next time.

Sun., Jul. 18, 1915:

As bed seems to be the warmest place these days, remained there till intuition prompted me that it was dinner time. This evening a sing-song and address has been presided over by the parson. An indefinite number of hymns were sung to slow time, one of them being the inevitable for those in peril on the seas. The gentleman sitting next to me remarked that he thought it was a slur on the Captain.

Expect to pass Cape Horn on Wednesday afternoon, and reach Montevideo, capitol of Uruguay, next Sunday.

Mon., Jul. 19, 1915:

Another wet and squally day, so nothing interesting on, except the presentation of prizes won at the euchre party last Saturday night. These were nothing but hard cash, the first gentleman’s prize being won by the parson. He would probably be very disgusted to be told that he is now a professional card player.

Tues., Jul. 20, 1915:

There seem to be quite a dozen on board who are working their passage; one of them, who is an engineer by trade and is at present steward, telling me today that he had applied for a job in the engine room, but was too late. He now works about 14 hours a day, and has the same bill of fare as the common herd, but he does not seem to mind. Apparently, on the whole, those who are working their passage are best able to pay it.

Wed., Jul. 21, 1915:

Working on an auxiliary pump engine. The weather has been as it has been all the way across the Pacific, the mist scarcely lifting all day. A few stars seen for a short time at night, which, as no sights at noon have been obtainable for three days, show we are only seven miles out of our course due to the many and varying currents this side of Cape Horn. A large four-masted American barque on the horizon was seen at 2 p.m.; the only ship so far seen on the voyage. Travel: 275 miles.

Thurs., Jul. 22, 1915:

As the fog lifted this morning, it disclosed a very welcome sight. Land for the first time! The high summit of various islands away to starboard, and the high ridges and forbidding-looking coastline of the most easterly part of Tierra del Fuego, about half a dozen miles on our port beam. As we journeyed on, the hills began to fade away over the horizon, and the sun set near them in such a blaze of colours as seemed to show convincingly that the Pacific was now left behind, and that the trip up the Atlantic with all that it may have in store for us was now begun and was to be continued under the best of omens. The moon too shone out for the first time as the land was lost to sight, bearing with it its storied past, with recollections of Drake and all his escapades in these waters down to the Falklands battle of more recent times.

Things now seem to be far more interesting, and with prospects of doing a bit of sight-seeing in Montevideo early next week, and with, as some say, a few suspicious vessels still knocking about these waters, things give promise of becoming still more interesting. Cape reached in 16 ½ days.

Fri., Jul. 23, 1915:

Work – grinding valves, etc., most of the day. Travel – 282 miles, and in favourable current. A glorious day until the end of the afternoon, when we ran into a thick bank of fog. We then heard all we wanted to hear of the whistle, but we have now got out into the clear again, so we can sleep in peace. At midday were almost right on the spot where German battleships Gneisenau, Scharnhorst and Nurnberg went down.

The passengers are beginning to get a bit more cheerful and are throwing all their energies into quoits. A concert was held tonight, most of the items being, although not always intended to be so, decidedly humorous. Perhaps they will improve when they get more practice. The electrician is in good spirits because of the lengthening of the days, which means a shortening of the nights, and a consequent shortening of his work by about 20 minutes a day. Anderson soon got tired of working his passage, or rather of loafing his passage as writer’s assistant, so applied for work to do. He is now one of a shivering mob scraping and painting on the top deck.

Sat., Jul. 24, 1915:

Some people are actually getting nervous about the submarines already, but most don’t care and won’t care about them at all. One fellow says that a fortune teller in Wellington told him that the Paparoa would never reach its destination. He has been pretty fidgety ever since, and serves him right. Marconi and I have been talking all the evening with an American from New York (Mr. Herbert Newbrook) who is now on his way back home after an absence of about two years. He is very interesting to talk to, as there is scarcely a spot on the globe that he has not been on. He had booked up by one of the P & O boats but found afterwards he would reach home much sooner this way, so took the Paparoa. A few of the places he has seen and been telling us about on his last trip I will give in the order they came in his route: New York, Liverpool, London. New York, Panama, San Francisco, Tokyo, Yokohama, Peking, Hong Kong, Singapore, Malay to Calcutta, Delhi, Bombay, Colombo, Singapore, Java, Sumatra, Borneo, Labuan, New Guinea and all the South Sea islands, Brisbane, Sydney, and Wellington. This is his fifth trip round the world, and he has traveled from New York to California and back by various routes no less than eight times. He was in the San Francisco earthquake and had been shipwrecked once or twice on two ships burning at sea, etc. He says this is as long and as uninteresting a trip as you can get anywhere, and I suppose he is not far wrong. He says that what he would like to do afterwards is to settle in old N.Z. and do a lot of fishing and shooting there.

Sun., Jul. 25, 1915:

An impromptu concert held tonight, but not as brisk as before as the people seemed to think they had made big enough fools of themselves already at the previous concert. It ended ignominiously with gramophone records, so an impromptu dance was held on the upper deck to the cheering strains of a concertina, accompanied by the 4th officer. As there were only about six ladies altogether, and they had a very imperfect knowledge of dancing, it was noteworthy only from a spectator point of view. Men were dragged in for the dancers to make up for all the lady passengers we ought to have had, and amongst them the parson. There were several characters there who impressed it upon me that it was about the most comical dance I had ever seen. The parson was about twice the height of anyone else and invariably had to swing with some small, tubby little man, who was soon lost to view amongst a maze of spindly arms and legs. In the middle of it the parson would suddenly find himself on his own in the middle of the square, so with hands clasped in front he would peer out over the tops of his glasses to see what the others were doing. He is so absolutely awkward on his feet, and has such an unutterably inane expression on his countenance at a critical time like this, that the whole ship’s company was just rolling round the deck in hysterics. The whole proceedings finished with a rendering of Auld Lang Syne by the male folk as a kind of sendoff to the five who are leaving the boat tomorrow at Montevideo.

Tues., Jul. 27, 1915:

Awoke to find myself scarcely any farther ahead than when I went to bed. The fog had come on so thick that the ship had to be anchored for most of the night, but as it lifted about seven we once more got under way. Not however for long, for soon we were in it again. This performance was repeated at intervals during the morning, to the accompaniment of long blasts on the whistle, the almost continuous ringing of the engine room bell, and the intermittent slowing down and speeding-up of the engines.

After about an hour’s wait in the fog, it gradually lifted and disclosed a lighthouse on a little island about ½ a mile to our left. It was a wonder we had not run right onto it, as the skipper had no idea where we were. In a very short time we swung round and blundered on through a hazy mist for about three hours when three large steamers loomed up before us. One passed us going south and was a Danish oil burning steamer while another was the Carmania, which sank the Cap Trafalgar, a large, dirty black ship lying at anchor. On passing one or two beacons we found a small brightly coloured tug tearing up towards us out of the mist, which turned out to be the pilot boat. On passing along past one or two more beacons and a large 5-masted barque and two steamers at anchor, we entered the breakwater and found ourselves inside the harbour of Montevideo, amongst such a conglomeration of French, Italian, British, Norwegian, Argentine and other ships as it is possible to imagine.

A tiny little black gunboat carrying the Uruguay flag was keeping guard at the entrance, while crowds of other steamers lay at anchor within. Numerous little tugs, adorned with almost every colour from nature’s paint box, tore about in different directions as if their very fate depended upon the speed they attain. One of these came racing up to us almost before the anchor had been lowered, and with a large sweeping turn came to a standstill under the gangway, while the doctor came on board. On appearance one would rather accuse him of anything than of being a doctor. He wore a black, flat-topped military cap with white covering and large gold badge in front; a long black cloak with a thick black fringe of fur over the shoulders; carrying in one hand a very officious-looking black bag and in the other a fine, long gilt sword which he displayed as much as he could. After paying a very summary visit he departed as he had come, and by this time there were quite half a dozen coal-laden barges with half a dozen little tugs in front of them surrounding the ship and having apparently sprung up out of the sea. With them there came a whole army of coal-lumpers, a motley lot of Spaniards who jabbered away unceasingly whether anyone listened to them or not. A good many of the passengers went ashore straight away, probably to get away from the coal dust, the jabbering waterside workers, and the rattling of the winches, all of which have been in full swing all the evening and show every prospect of continuing so to do. I did not go off straight away as I could not get ready in time, and I was waiting to go with one of the passage-working stewards who was trying to get leave. He was at last ready at half past seven, and as there was a tug joggling about on the other side of a barge, we decided to see if we could get ashore on her.

It was then coming on to rain, a heavy thunderstorm was breaking, and nobody on the tug seemed to understand English, so we made a hurried descent down a rope ladder over the ship’s side, dodged a few coal slings on their way up, and with a good jump landed on the coal barge below, from which we made our way on to the tug alongside. We at last managed to glean from the skipper, who could speak about half a dozen English words with the help of signs and symbols that he was not leaving until 9 o’clock. As this was not much good, we crawled back, in time to witness the most wonderful display of lightning I have ever seen. From then till now, 11 o’clock, not a single second has gone by without there being some lightning in the sky lighting up the whole harbour as if it were broad day. There has been practically no thunder, but the lightning, tropical no doubt, gave us a most marvelous display of sheet and fork, sometimes colouring the whole sky a rich purple or red, and always leaving tree and fern formations over nearly all the heavens.

The 2nd Engineer has just told me that I can go ashore tomorrow morning if I like, so more to follow.

Wed., Jul. 28, 1915:

About thirty of the passengers left the ship at 8:30 a.m. to go ashore on a steam tug, chartered by the N.Z. Shipping Co. to take passengers there and back for the modest charge of 2/-. For this tickets had to be bought beforehand on the boat; but three fellows went ashore by her last night and, not having tickets, were asked for five dollar for their fares (one guinea). Needless to say, they refused to pay it and handed out only 2/- each, which was readily accepted. The Spaniards always double or triple the price of anything to a stranger, whom they readily pick out from the crowd. I went across with Mr. Newbrook, and on leaving the wharf to go up to the town, we were followed by at least a dozen of the other chaps from the boat who tailed on after us thinking we knew the way about. We first of all made our way to the post office, and after visiting a money-changers opposite, entered an unimposing-looking square building with a courtyard in the center. Round this we could see heads poking up above little counters set in the walls and after making my way to one with several sheets of stamps in front of him, and pointing to the addresses of several letters given me to post, managed to secure the necessary number of eight centesimos stamps. Mr. Newbrook had brought in a book of postcards which he secured out in the street somewhere, so one went off to my loving family.

From here the cavalcade, now only about six in number (the others having gotten tired of waiting), proceeded up the narrow little stone paved street till we arrived at one of the several very pretty squares for which the town is noted. Newspaper boys were running about everywhere, and some, who were selling English papers from Buenos Aires, quickly picked us for English and attached themselves to us until we had bought one or two of their little rags at 10 cents each (5d). Odd little trams with cane-backed seats wobbled about from side to side in a very alarming manner and blundered along the streets; the rails never running in a straight line or on the same level for half a yard at a time. They wriggled round the corners missing lamp posts and verandah poles by inches.

The policemen, of whom there seem to be one at every corner, are perhaps the most curious sight in the whole town. They are all tiny little fellows, never more than 5 ft., 6 in. in height, wearing huge dark blue helmets and cloaks. Their boots are bright and shiny, and over them they wear white spats. At one side they carry a great long sword, and at the other a terrifying great revolver. The sword they use on people in the street who do not move on when they are told; and the revolver they use on anyone who does not stop when he is told. Unfortunately, although I kept one eye on these gentlemen all the time, I never had the pleasure of seeing how proficient they were in the use of their arms. We then came to another square, very much like the last, around which there were one or two fine theatres and buildings. One of these I photographed as best I could, with a few delegates from the Paparoa in the foreground – and numerous, ubiquitous, curious and jabbering young urchins round about.

After wandering on a bit more, and several members of the party getting lost, we had to turn back in time to catch the launch back to the ship. As we had rather less than three hours altogether in the town, we could see very little of it in the time, and had really no time whatever to give a close inspection to any of the shops as we wished. However, I got a fine idea of the typical Spanish town though we had not time to visit the Cathedral and cemetery for which Montevideo is noted. At a distance, the whole town seems to be built of grayish yellow stone, while here and there one sees a dome, turret or tower of a church or public building of some kind. The almost entire absence of business offices is very noticeable, except for an infinite number of banks of all kinds and creeds, both sides of every street being lined with scores of little shops. The things they sell are very expensive, but that shows that business is brisk and there is money in the place. The people are very dark-skinned, most of them are dark as Māoris, while a fair percentage are Negroes or have Negro blood in them.

It is very interesting making oneself understood. You say first of all what you want in English, and then try French if you know it, and failing that, have a game of dumb charades. I managed to discover the whereabouts of the General Post Office by showing a letter to a man and repeatedly pointing to the place where the stamp ought to be. He pretty quickly tumbled to it that I wanted to get some stamps so spluttered away something and waved his arm round in one or two directions, which, on following, led us to the place in request.

On reaching the launch, there was a wild scene of excitement as everybody found themselves still in possession of several of those beastly Spanish coins, and was endeavoring to dispose of what they had before they became worthless, to a few fortunate fruit vendors, who had evidently foreseen such an event and placed themselves on the spot. The parson went aboard with his pockets full of peanuts; the doctor had bananas bulging from all pockets of both coat and overcoat, while Newbrook seemed to prefer oranges. I succeeded in getting rid of the thirty cents I had left, and as I found myself once more on the ocean wave, saw that all my available pockets had their full share of peanuts, oranges and bananas.

As we neared our boat, a huge paddle steamer, the City of Montevideo, all painted white, and very beautifully fitted up, came into port from Buenos Aires, across the river estuary. By four o’clock all the coaling and loading had been finished, 35 more passengers taken on board, and with an increasing wind we heaved up the anchors. Some difficulty was experienced in getting out of the entrance, as by this time a regular gale was blowing and the entrance was partially blocked by a large English mail steamer, the Highland Laddie 5 of the Nelson Line. This boat and the breakwater were each passed with only a few feet to spare and once more we found ourselves in the open sea. A large German passenger steamer we left at her moorings in the harbour. There was every indication that she was going to stay there for some time too, as the British auxiliary cruiser was waiting outside in case she came out; while I was told there were 13 other small German ships also boxed up there.

A high ground swell was now running and a terrific wind was blowing from our starboard bow, so the boat had a very awkward list. However, we managed to navigate the two miles to the end of the buoys safely, while most of the passengers were crouching on deck watching the pilot tug following us. It was really a most remarkable sight, for sometimes it would be lifted so high out of the water that part of its keel was showing. Then it would drop like a stone till only the top of the funnel appeared above the waves. I saw more than one wave go completely over the ship, but still she came up again for more.

After clearing the buoys, the pilot had done a most perilous monkey on a rope act to his little ship, and our skipper had to head the ship dead in the eye of the wind as it was impossible to turn round in such a wind. We remained stationary like this all the evening, until, at last, the wind slackened and we could turn round without turning over; then off we went at full speed, soon putting the lights of Montevideo far astern.

Thurs., Jul. 29, 1915:

Working on the governor of the store engine, and one commutator of a dynamo. The first wholly fine day we have had, being a perfect contrast to last night’s storm.

Fri., Jul. 30, 1915:

Another splendid day, and weather most enjoyable. Clearly all the passengers taken on at Montevideo were from Buenos Aires. Quite a number are on their way Home to join the Army, and these with others have had two drill musters today under the direction of one of our Buenos Aires friends. This morning they tried a little bit of physical drill and arm waving on the promenade deck, but the parson had to omit part of his programme as his fists came in severe contact with the ceiling.

Sat., Jul. 31,

Reviews for A World War 1 Adventure

[jenianb · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

An interesting story told mainly through diary entries and letters. Gets bogged down at times with lengthy asides and explanations by the editors. Some very interesting photographs but, sadly, poorly reproduced.Main advantage of this book is that it tells a little known side of the RNAS during WW1 - bombing along the Flanders coast. Also, worthy for the struggles of a New Zealander to get to "Home" and enlist in the flying services, and problems learning to fly in a civil school before enlisting. As such it is worth searching out by the avid First World War aviation historian.