It was the great race meeting held by the Fourth Australian Division at Allonville just after their most successful attack on the Hun at Hamel, which, when all is said and done, was perhaps the real beginning of the end of the Great War. To say that the world and his wife were there would be to strain the truth, but certainly the whole Australian world that had the fortune to be on the Western Front at that time was there. One met pals of school-day time. Fellows that one hadn't seen since "shark baiting" together at Manly.
And a glorious day for it.
For the first time in the history of the world the words of the old-marching song had come true.
"Some came by ———— aeroplane and some by motor-car."
. . . And lined up with the cheekly little aeroplanes and the smart staff cars were the more cumbersome lorries and limbers, which had brought those Diggers who had been lucky enough to be spared the doubtful delights of "lorry-hopping."
Overhead swayed to and fro a big "sausage" — one of the observation balloons — and General Charlton of the R.A.F. kept a patrol of aeroplanes going the whole day to see that the unsporting Boche did not interfere with the proceedings by dropping an unwelcome bomb.
Said proceedings were greatly enlivened in the afternoon when a cheeky Hun pilot came and shot the sausage down.
Sport waxed fast and furious. The sky was the limit, as most of the "books" had managed to dodge the sergeant-major for a few weeks, and had a surplus in the pay-book. Crown and Anchor, the Three Card Trick, Two Up — anything in the shape of a gamble was legal. Just after the final mule race, in which the favourite did his chances by colliding with a military policeman in the straight, one of the flying boys took it into his head to give a display. He took off in his little "camel", frightening six months' growth out of all the quadrupeds and 50 per cent. of the bipeds, whose nearest approach to the aeroplane had been the range of a Lewis gun used for anti-aircraft purposes. A climbing turn, followed quickly by a roll and loop almost within reach of the ground caused what the "Sydney Morning Herald" would call a "mild sensation."
Then the devil entered into the place where that pilot's brains should have been, and, irrespective of the crowd which thronged the course, he commenced an attempt to write his name with his wing tips on the centre of the ring. Horses, went one way. Mules were stirred to feats of intelligence seldom seen. The Diggers went to ground. But if one had had the power to transform one's self into a sheet of paper going to ground would not have been safe.
Unfortunately for me I wore red tabs, and was on the staff on the Air Force. An irate general, who saw that something must be done, picked on me. Purple in the face with rage, but the while keeping his weather eye well cocked to see that he kept his head clear of the lunatic at large in the aeroplane, he roared at me:
"You're on the staff of the Flying Corps, aren't you?"
My affirmative seemed to increase his choler.
"Arrest that man. Arrest him, I say. This business must stop. He'll kill some one."
Unfortunately for me I am possessed of the sense of the ridiculous, and saw myself trying to come the heavy policeman on a man diving at me from about 500 feet in a machine.
My involuntary titter would have cost me my tabs and temporary rank only my own general had a greater sense of humour than I had.
Fortunately an aerial "camel" hasn't the capacity for the sustained dry spells that characterises the ship of the desert and the desire for a drink — it isn't good form to say, "another" drink saved the situation. — E.G.K.
The Sailors' and Soldiers' Parliament (1920, May 8). Smith's Weekly (Sydney, NSW : 1919 - 1950), p. 23. Retrieved April 29, 2019, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article234222620
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