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My father-in-law was born in 1896 in a house in Wellington Street, Ardwick. He attended Bank Meadow School in that area and at the age of 11 passed the scholarship examination. His family could not afford further education, consequently he left school aged 14. In 1913 he applied for work to Manchester Town Hall and was accepted in the Electricity Department. A year later he joined the regiment of the 6th Manchester's Territorial Army. Another year later came the 1914-18 war and he was called up immediately and drafted out to France. The trenches in the front line were dug in a turret looking zig-zag pattern in order that any exploding shell hitting the trench would not send shock waves along its length - killing more men. Men in the front line trenches endured about two weeks at a time of shell firing, bombardment, mud, intense cold and every other privation of the front line; before being relieved and sent to the back of the lines for a brief period of rest, thence to begin the whole nightmare again.
Thouaands of men at a time would be sent over the top with a total disregard of numbers being killed and maimed in an effort to advance a few yards of gound. Often, this same ground would be lost and regained several times over. At night when there was a lull in the shelling, men would be sent crawling into no man's land - the area between the British and German lines - with body bags, picking up enough pieces to make up a body and dragging it back to be buried.
Another night time patrol was the re-laying of barbed wire in no man's land. On rare occasions an extremely weary sentry would be found asleep on his feet, at his post. If found by a zealous officer the penalty could be death by a firing squad. One dreadful night my father-in-law had the traumatic duty given to him of guarding one of these condemned lads all night, in order that he may be court martialled and shot. It was well known that some soldiers performing the execution would fix the man in the sights of their rifle, then on the order to fire would shift the barrel a little to one side and deliberately misfire. The infamous battle of the Some began in the summer of 1916, father-in-law was wounded by shell fragments in the battle and sent to hospital in France. Whilst convalescing he decided that if he had to die, he did not want it to be in the mud of Flanders with rats gnawing at the bodies before they could be buried. He decided to apply for a commission with the Royal Flying Corps. Because he was not a public school boy, entrance into the R.F.C. was not automatic. He passed the examinations to become an observer. Amongst the questions asked of him was "Do you ride, or own a horse?" - "Drive or own a car?' "What games do you play?" Two character references were requested. The rector of St.Jerome's, Ardwick, wrote one and Manchester Town hall supplied another. He then began to train as an observer, learning navigation, air gunnery etc. The two man crews flew in open cockpits, the sides of which were quite low and if the men leaned over too far were in danger of falling out. They wore several thin layers of clothing for warmth as opposed to one thick layer. Silk clothes next to the skin were found to be a good insulation. Silk gloves, woolen and then leather gauntlets for the hands, goggles over the eyes, a leather flying helmet and silk scarf for warmth. Unfortunately, gloves had to be removed to reload the Lewis guns. They were notorious for becoming jammed and must be sorted out whilst flying.
The main aim of the R.F.C. was to fly over enemy territory and observe troop movements. Often a bomb would be placed on the bottom of the cockpit and the observer would drop it manually over the side of the plane into the enemy lines. Aircrew also carried revolvers and would resort to using them when the plane's guns became unserviceable. Although the engines of these early planes were notorious for failing, the "powers that be" refused to issue aircrew with parachutes, saying that it would encourage cowardice.
In 1917, my father-in-law applied for and received a commission. He was now a Second Lieutenant, stationed at Mirecourt with the B.E.F. One night whilst carrying out his duties as an officer, he came across a battle weary sentry asleep on his feet. He shook the man awake and reprimanded him. The soldier was aghast and feared his fate but he need not have worried - father in law had come up through the ranks and had experienced the horrors of trench life.
One day in France, he and his pilot were in the air when the engine failed, the propellor stopped. Fortunately, they were at a great height. The pilot put the plane into a vertical dive and for several terrible minutes they both thought their end was inevitable. However, sufficient speed had been gained by the dive to enable the pilot, pulling hard back on the stick, to level out just sufficiently before they hit the ground. The wheels of the plane dug into a newly ploughed potato field, the nose buried itself into the earth and the plane turned over. Miraculously, it did not burst into flame. The two occupants were flung out of their cockpits, bruised and bleeding but without any serious injuries. They then set off to walk back to the airfield.
The average life of a front line soldier during that time was counted in weeks, as was the life of the aircrew. My father-in-law was an extremely lucky man to have survived the slaughter of both the regiment and the Air Force. When peace came in 1918 he stayed with the R.F.C. - which had by now become known as the Royal Air Force - until 1920.
JOAN PEAK