THE YPRES TIMES
187
to imagine, glorify in war, but was doing every
thing possible to advance the cause of peace
which we all held so dear.
The Revd. S. E. Dolph responded humor
ously and touched a happy note, after which
the company settled down to enjoy aprogramme
of mirth and melody by the Regina Concert
Party from Ipswich. A special word of praise
and thanks was due to these very capable and
clever artistes who maintained the close at
tention of the whole gathering throughout
their delightful entertainment.
In the arrangements of this particularly
successful function, Mr. H. Snow was ably
assisted by Captain A. C. Palmer, Mr. Nixon,
(Toast-master) and members of the Branch
Committee.
Chippenham.
January 18th, 1935.
To The Editor, Ypres Times"
Dear Sir,
Captain Thorburn's account of his dream in
Ypres in 1920 and appeal to any reader of his
story to enlighten him as to whether any such
incident ever occurred, prompts me to write
you of another incident, although I am afraid
it has no connection with Captain Thorburn's
dream, but it does, however, help to show how
well merited is the praise he utters in regard
to work done and risks run by members of
the Kite-Balloon Section, which as he says was
passed almost unnoticed amidst the possibly
more strenuous but not less heroic events of
the war.
May I therefore add my humble but intense
admiration of the quiet gallantry of the "Bal-
loonatics" as Captain Thorburn calls them.
Did I not see twelve of them in the air at the
same time with parachutes open early in June
1917 when just before the Battle of Messines,
Fritz came over single-handed and set alight
six balloons in a row, situated between Wul-
verghem and Armentieres, and all within less
than six minutes Such was the hardness of
war that far from any anxiety as to the safety
of the parachutists or regret at the loss of the
balloons, I can remember nothing but laugh
ter from all spectators. But the incident which
I intended to relate happened shortly after
and though more tragic, I regret to say, also
ended with a laugh.
On the early morning of July 31st 1917, I
was riding down the almost deserted main road
from Vlamertinghe and arrived at the out
skirts of Ypres and noticed Gold Fish Chateau
immediately on my left front. It was just previous
to Zero hour for the commencement of the
lamentable Passchendaele affair. Everything
seemed deathly still, the barrage not having
started, there was a thick mist and one of our
planes appeared from nowhere and roared over
my head from right to left, flying so low that
it seemed to barely clear the tree stems lining
the pave causing my hardened old horse to halt
abruptly. I looked up and gave a wave of my
hand and the pilot, to my surprise, waved back.
I still focussed my eyes on him and was wondering
what his job was when, to my dismay, saw him
suddenly nosedive and crash. I galloped across to
discover that both pilot and observer had been
killed. The position of the disaster, if my memory
serves me, was approximately 300 yards North
of the Ypres-Poperinghe road, the immediate
locality, which a minute before, had appeared
destitute of all humanity was at once crawling
with various details emerging like rabbits from
their burrows.
I had no idea at first what had caused the sud
den calamity to my, even now, unknown friend
who had waved his hand to me one moment
and whom I helped to lift out of his cockpit
a minute later with his brains dashed out.
I heard a group near-by, laughing, and though
accustomed to the priceless and invaluable
callousness of Tommy at war, which was I
think assumed to some extent by us all, partly
to cloak our real feelings and partly an innate
consciousness that if every casualty was taken
too seriously, it would be impossible to get
through the war at all, but on this occasion I
looked up with some indignation, soon to find
myself also smiling, for we discovered that
owing to the mist, the unfortunate pilot had
flown into the wire rope holding a Kite-Balloon
which had caused the crash and furthermore
severed the hawser. In consequence the balloon
was freed, and the wind being from the West
set it careering gallantly towards the enemy's
lines. The two occupants of the Basket were
making a very hurried escape per parachute.
However, I heard later that day, they had both
just succeeded in reaching terra firma on our
side of the front line and were unhurt despite
the barrage of German rifle fire.
I never even knew the names of the two poor
fellows of the aeroplane and I can only end my
account of one of the small and unrealised in
cidents of war with the hope that if either of
the two parachutists are alive to-day and should
happen to read this letter, they will forgive my
admitted smiles at the time of their unfortunate
predicament and let us know if their descent
really did end as happily as was reported that
evening and I have always most sincerely hoped
it did.
Yours truly,
H.R. Yorke (Major),
War-Yeo Attached No. 2.
Traffic Control Squadron.
