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I think that there is an aircraft type in the first edition which was confirmed as being ‘imagined’after publication and so doesn’t appear in the reprint.
The main issue with Putnams reprints is the paper quality tends not to be so good and the copy is taken from an earlier print, and not from original prints, so the picture quality suffers.
Bargains can be had but, like so many thinks, it is a combination of perserverance and luck.
Having just located my 1988 Third Edition, it seems I have misled you !
It is @1962 by Haddow & Grosz and the firt edition was published in 1962, and reprinted in September 1963.
A second edition was produced in April 1969 with the same cover but with (New revised and enlarged edition) printed on the cover. The acknowledgements note the inclusion of additional information from contacts with R-plane personnel (presumably in response to the 1st edition).
The third edition came out in 1988: “the text as originally published required only minor additions and corrections. Some of the photographs have been replaced by superior ones that we feel are more descriptive of the subject matter. We have dropped the individual photo credits.’
As I said, the 1988 edition has less shiny paper, but the photo reproduction isn’t bad and probably reflects the quality of the original prints. Being a large format Putnams, the photos are a decent size.
I have a feeling that a friend of mine who sells donated aviation books in aid of the local air ambulance had a first or second edition for sale: he will be looking through his stock as soon as the opportunity arises. If he does have a copy, I can pass on the details & his contact.
In the meantime, having found my 1988 3rd Edition, is there anything specific you need looking up ?
Having just located my 1988 Third Edition, it seems I have misled you !
It is @1962 by Haddow & Grosz and the firt edition was published in 1962, and reprinted in September 1963.
A second edition was produced in April 1969 with the same cover but with (New revised and enlarged edition) printed on the cover. The acknowledgements note the inclusion of additional information from contacts with R-plane personnel (presumably in response to the 1st edition).
The third edition came out in 1988: “the text as originally published required only minor additions and corrections. Some of the photographs have been replaced by superior ones that we feel are more descriptive of the subject matter. We have dropped the individual photo credits.’
As I said, the 1988 edition has less shiny paper, but the photo reproduction isn’t bad and probably reflects the quality of the original prints. Being a large format Putnams, the photos are a decent size.
I have a feeling that a friend of mine who sells donated aviation books in aid of the local air ambulance had a first or second edition for sale: he will be looking through his stock as soon as the opportunity arises. If he does have a copy, I can pass on the details & his contact.
In the meantime, having found my 1988 3rd Edition, is there anything specific you need looking up ?
The Day We Almost Bombed Moscow. The Allied War in Russia 1918-1920 by Christopher Dobson
At War with the Bolsheviks: Allied Intervention into Russia, 1917-20 by Robert JacksonCovert Operations in Russia
The Iron Maze: Western Intelligence vs the Bolsheviks by Gordon Brook-Shepherd
The Spy Who Disappeared: Diary of a Secret Mission to Russian Central Asia in 1918 by Reginald Teague-JonesSouth Russia
Air Command – A fighter pilot’s story by Raymond Collishaw & R.V. Dodds
An Air Fighter’s Scrap Book by Ira Jones
Over the Balkans and South Russia, 1917-19 by H.A. Jones
Gone to Russia to Fight: The RAF in South Russia 1918-1920 by John T. Smith“By the end of 1914 the Inspektion der Fliegertruppen developed a system to allow air-to-ground communication. The first viable apparatus was made by two firms, Hirth and Telefunken, and was successfully introduced in three FFAs in March 1915. Very soon all squadrons were equipped with two wireless sets – on 1 April II MLA sent two aircraft to AFP4 in Ghent to be fitted with the new equipment.
The set developed by Telefunken weighed some 15 kg/ 33 lb and had three wavelengths: 150, 200 and 250 metres. It had a range of some 40 km/ 25 miles and was therefore powered by a windmill-driven generator and a 37m/ 40 yard bronze antenna which was suspended under the plane.
German wireless communication improved during the Second Battle of Ypres. After the ‘plane had taken off, the observer unrolled the antenna and gave a signal to the airfield. If everything was all right, the ground crew fired a Very light, then the ‘plane headed for the front, where the observer tried to establish contact with the artillery’s wireless station. Once they had good reception of the aircraft’s Morse code signals, they laid out two large white cloths side by side on the ground. The observer would then give the number of the target and the number of the battery which should fire. The cloths were then laid out in the form of a cross shape and on seeing this, the observer ordered the battery to fire. The ‘plane would then head back towards the target and the observer would look for the impact of the shell and signal back the results.Letter = Meaning
W – zu weit (too far)
K – zu kurz (too short)
ZM – Zielmitte ! (goal !)
R- rechts (the shell had fallen to the right of the target)
L – links (the shell had fallen to the left of the target)Each message was repeated three times, for example: R, R, R
Messages might read as follows:
L 02 W 3 – The shell fell 20 m too far to the left and 300 m too far.This communication would continue until all targets were destroyed, and depending on available fuel, the aircraft would identify a new target or return home.”
Above Ypres: The German Air Force in Flanders 1914-18, Bernard Deneckere, P46.
The Chiefs-of-Staff had learnt the value of science in warfare and were receptive to new ideas. Major-General ‘Boom’ Trenchard, commanding the RFC in the Field, welcomed any innovation and promised his pilots an advantage over the Hun. He urged the wireless officers at Biggin Hill to resume the work begun so auspiciously at Brooklands and, specifically, to develop a practical system of air-to air wireless telephony.
His requirements were stringent: a one mile all-round range, no adjustments to the transmitter when in use and only one tuning movement allowed on the receiver. A hundred per cent reliability with perfect speech quality was stipulated, and a maximum aerial length of 150 feet, to be superseded by a fixed aerial if practicable.
Preliminary experiments were commenced in the spring of 1917. One set after another was constructed, tested, and abandoned. Microphones were either too sensitive, or too insensitive, and engine vibration played havoc with the carbon granules. The aerials were long wires of copper, weighted at one end and lowered after take-off. Frequently the operator omitted to reel them in before landing, and the tress around Biggin Hill son became festooned with wires, to the fury of the scientists and the men sent climbing after them.
The difficulties were so great that the project was on the verge of being indefinitely shelved when someone suggested resurrecting the Round-Prince set of 1915 for a final experiment. It was installed in a BE2c, the one remaining Round valve fitted gingerly info place and the operator provided with a microphone of ancient vintage, the ‘Hunningscone’, swathed in cotton wool inside a cardboard box. To everyone’s delight it worked; Prince’s original air-to-ground results were reproduced and the operator’s voice, albeit distorted, was received in a second aeroplane.
This was heartening-, but a long way from Trenchard’s requirements. The wireless technicalities proved fairly simple to solve, but all speech remained obstinately distorted and unintelligible. Every type of microphone was tried, with diaphragms of steel, aluminium, celluloid and mica. Those which gave good results on the ground were inexplicably useless in the air. When, after scores of experiments, some measure of success was achieved, it was discovered that the officer who did all the test-speaking had, with so much practice, trained his voice to get the best out of the microphone – another speaker and the words remained a heart-breaking gibberish. Earphones introduced in to the transmitter circuit helped by allowing the operator to hear the sound of his own voice, but they could not be worn with the regulation flying helmets. The scientists became hatters for a day, designing and sewing new helmets with built-in pockets for microphone and earphones.
One sultry evening in July, as the sun was casting long shadows-over Biggin Hill, two Sopwith 1 ½ Strutters were brought from a hangar and made ready for flight. Shortly after sunset, the calm air of the twilight hour, they took off and followed divergent courses southwards: along the valley to Sevenoaks and across the ridge of the North Downs towards Edenbridge. Once airborne, Lieutenant Andrews, the operator entrusted with the prototype transmitter, unwound the aerial, switched on the set and started to speakinto his microphone.
‘One – Two – Three – Four – Five – Six – Dip – your – wings – if – you – receive – me – Seven – Eight – Nine – Ten – Monday – Tuesday – Wednesday…’
In the second Sopwith Lieutenant Furnival briefly tuned the receiver and waited tensely for it to warm up. Suddenly he heard the words spoken by Andrews, distinct and intelligible above the static and crackling interference from the magneto.
‘ . . Thursday – Friday – Saturday – Sunday – Dip – your – wings – if – you – receive – me – January – February – March….’
Furnival leaned forward to give a triumphant ‘thumbs up’ to his pilot, Captain Peck, who dipped his wings in happy acknowledgement. The distance between the two aircraft increased, but the tinny ghost of Andrews, voice never faltered, never faded. Air-to-air wireless telephony was, at long last, a reality. It was full night when they returned to Biggin Hill, but not too dark for the expectant watchers by the flarepath to see the jubilant waggling of wings against the stars.
Events moved quickly after that; Furnival, Andrews, and Peck repeated and improved their performance until they had sufficient confidence to make a sortie to France with the 1 ½ Strutters and wireless equipment for a command performance before Trenchard and officers of the Air Staff. They crossed the Channel on a clear, sunny day and landed at Boisdingham, near St Omer, where the demonstration was to take place. It was an unqualified success. The two aircraft circuited the field, one transmitting orders which were carried out by the other. A receiver was provided on the ground so that Trenchard could eavesdrop on the aerial conversation and check that there was no dec6ption by flying to a prearranged plan. Afterwards he grumbled that the transmitter operator had given far too many ‘Hullos’. Individual officerswere given the opportunity oi flying as passengers so that they, too, could speak and listen for themselves.
Despite the ‘HuIIo’s’, Trenchard was delighted and asked for two squadrons to be equipped at once. Air-to-air wireless telephony presaged a revolution in aerial tactics; for the very first time a flight commander could speak to his pilots throughout an action, giving orders that would be instantaneously heard.
‘With regard to the wireless telephone apparatus recently sent here for test’, reported Trenchard to the Directorate of Military Aeronautics, trials have been made with highly satisfactory results. I am very pleased that this problem appears to have been solved and I consider that it reflects much credit on those who have been engaged in the experimental work and the design of the apparatus.
Somehow the Germans had got wind of this most secret equipment. Prisoners were captured carrying documents offering a large reward for the salvage of any parts of the set.
‘As far as we know,’ warned Trenchard, ‘the enemy has not yet evolved any practical form of wireless telephony, and it is therefore most important to prevent our instruments falling into his hands intact.’
The initial batch of twenty sets was produced by Woolwich in record time and received a thorough testing at Biggin Hill. Furnival returned to France to equip and train No 11 Squadron, flying Bristol Fighters from Bellevue, on the Arras front. The instructional flights had to be sandwiched in between operations and, with the enemy’s eagerness to obtain a set in mind, great care was taken to remove them before the aircraft flew over the trenches. As 11 Squadron was often ordered up three or four times daily, little progress was made until permission was granted for ‘A’ Flight to be out of the line for a week. The pilots and observers were disgusted. They regarded the wireless telephone as a diabolical box of tricks that kept them from the important business of chasing, and killing, the Hun/ Captain Hooper, however, the Australian commander of ‘A’ Flight, had great faith in the new equipment. He and Furnival persevered with the recalcitrant aircrews until ‘Hooper’s Circus’, flying as one in obedience to his orders by wireless telephone, could perform an immaculate aerobatic drill which became the envy of every squadron in France.
After 11 Squadron had been equipped, Trenchard considered the risk too great to continue to work so close to the Front and sent Furnival home to organise a school of wireless telephony at Biggin Hill.
AII of a sudden it seemed to the cynically-minded veterans of wireless research that the whole outcome of the war in the air had come to depend on wireless telephony. Recalling their struggle for apparatus at Brooklands, they marvelled at the flood of new equipment, the nine brand-new B.E. 2es, the hangars that were erected overnight and the way in which experienced wireless officers were snatched from other units to become instructors. A former professional singer Lieutenant Gooch, was seconded as O.C. voice tuition, while a team of Leatherworkers set up a workshop to provide each pupil with a tailored helmet.
By November, 1917, some thirty-six officers a week were passing through the school. The word soon spread to France that a course at ‘Biggin on the Bump’ meant a cushy billet in the Bell Hotel, Bromley, a chance to visit the girl friend and see the latest West End shows. As Christmas drew near, squadron commanders were overwhelmed with applications for instruction in wireless telephony. Most regrettably, the school closed for the duration of the Christmas holidays !
On one memorable occasion the instructors and pupils were commanded to display their skill before King George V and an assembly of generals on the Horse Guards Parade. At the appointed hour the flight from Biggin Hill swept low over the Horse Guards and dipped wings in a Royal Salute.
For the next thirty minutes they banked, climbed and dived in one of the most amazing exhibitions of aerobatics Londoners had ever witnessed. Through a receiving set His Majesty heard the Flight Commander give order for the ‘bombing’ of St Pauls and the interception of an enemy ‘raider’, over the Crystal Palace. Two aircraft peeled off, proceeded to these objectives and returned to report by wireless: ‘Missions completed’. His Majesty and the generals were fascinated by the precision of the display, but the Flight Commander was not so easily satisfied. He had detected one pilot lose formation for a few fleeting seconds. While the others were contentedly downing tankards of beer in the Mess at Biggin Hill, this miscreant was kept flying an ‘aerial pack-drill’ round and round the airfield until his petrol ran out – the order for this penance being given, of course, by air-to-air wireless telephony.
Sooner or later the Germans would lay hands on an intact set and then nothing could stop them listening to our airmen speaking en clair as they flew over the Front. The wireless officers at Biggin Hill began to consider the possibilities of a code. Something simple was needed, easy to speak, and comprehend, yet. meaningless to the enemy. Elaborate tests were made to determine with precision the best words to employ.
Pilots were given long lists of words which they repeated ad nauseam in flight, while patient listeners on the ground noted the degrees of clarity and intelligibility.
‘Hullo, Dollars (Biggin Hill Call-sign). Hullo, Dollars. Pole… Pole… Pole… Pole… Bole… Bole… Bole…Toll…Toll…Toll… Pale…Pale… Pale..’
The listeners made a careful note. A code containing ‘Pole’ could use ‘Pale’ but not ‘Bole’, o’ ‘Toll’. Through the earphones the voice of the pilot sounded faintly irritable.
‘Tale… Tale… Tale… I’m thirsty! … Beer… Beer… Beer… Sorry, as you were… Moll … Moll… Moll… Male… Male… Male…’
Although in English words the meaning is generally conveyed by the consonants, telephonically speaking these were less dependable than the vowels whose sounds had a greater amplitude. Long vowels and diphthongs proved the best, and words-of two syllables lessened the chances of mishearing.
‘Hullo, Dollars . . Bolo . . Bolo . . Bolo . . Koodoo .. .Koodoo . . Koodoo . . Daily . . Daily . . Daily. . Baby. .
Baby. . Baby. .’
There were puzzled faces in the wireless hut. The last two words were indistinguishable.
‘Delete “Baby”, try “Booty”.’
After further exhaustive trials it was agreed that short double-words like ‘Dog-rose’, and ‘Shot-gun’ would provide the most effective code. They transmitted clearly and, taken together in a short context, often had a comic meaning of their own guaranteed to flummox the unimaginative Hun.
By the end of 1917 the Wireless Testing Park had grown to such an extent that it was accorded a more distinguished title, becoming the Wireless Experimental Establishment – W.E.E. in short. Major H. T. B. Childs replaced Major Orme as C.O. when the latter obtained a much desired transfer to an operational station. The sight of fourteen German Gothas flying serenely over Biggin Hill one July morning had been too much for him. ‘God damn it,’ he yelled in broad Devon accents, ‘only one Sopwith Pup and not even a round of live ammo on the ‘drome. I’m finished playing with wireless!’
Every way that wireless could potentially help in the air was under study. Old equipment was improved, new sets designed and tried out, including spark, continuous-wave and W/T transmitters, crystal and valve receivers, valve amplifiers and tonic-train transmitters. Wireless telephony sets were greatly improved by the substitution of the new ‘hard’ French valves for the imperfectly evacuated Round valves, and the first Home Defence squadron was equipped. Aperfield Court, a spacious mansion with large grounds some two miles from Biggin Hill, was requisitioned and a powerful transmitter installed for the ground-to -air control of fighters defending London against German raiders.
In March, 1918, further important changes took place. Anticipating the fusion of the RFC and the RNAS in the RAF, the decision was taken to concentrate all wireless research at Biggin Hill. The RNAS establishment at Cranwell was closed down; the work being done by the Royal Engineers at Woolwich for the Royal Flying Corps was transferred, and Lieutenant-Colonel LF Blandy, DSO, former O.C. Wireless for the Army in France, assumed overall command of the greatly expanded Wireless Experimental Establishment.
Simultaneously, work was started on the permanent buildings of the South Camp, as the site of the Wireless Experimental Establishment was known. Plans were drawn up for a new Officers’ Mess, together with barrack-blocks, laboratories, workshops, and steel and concrete hangars. It was an ambitious project that was to cost £220,000, and take as long as two years to complete. AlI building materials were in short supply and a mere wireless research establishment stood low in the scale of priorities. There was friction between the contractors and the newly created Air Ministry. Labourers downed tools on being given orders by uniformed officers, while the airmen resented the British workman’s habit of taking Saturday afternoons off with, or without, permission.
Over 600 men were employed on the construction work and Biggin Hill became an El Dorado to the neighbouring villages. As an agricultural labourer a man earned a bear 39s. 6d a week; for unskilled work on the South Camp he received over £4 in weekly wages. The hours were shorter and the contractors considerately provided a fleet of buses to pick up the men each morning and return them to their cottages at night. Local squires and farmers denounced this mollycoddling and gloomily discussed their labour shortage in the saloon bars; on the other side of the partition their former employees drank their beer contentedly, happy in the security of work at Biggin Hill for many months to come.
When the Wireless Testing Park had first moved in, only fighters were flown; now twin-engined bombers, Handley Page 0/400s and D.H. 10s, were being used and more fields had to be requisitioned for the lengthening runways. It was hard on the farmers but at least it provided some memorable occasions for the other ranks ordered out on the ‘gardening racket’. W. Wallis recalled:
Immediately at the rear of the aerodrome was a fruit farm, with a large acreage devoted to strawberries, bush fruit of every description and numerous well established apple and other fruit trees.
The owner of this farm was called to the South Camp and informed that the R.A.F. were immediately extending the ‘drome to include most of his farm.
The poor bloke was in a highly indignant state as acres and acres of luscious strawberries were to be destroyed, and was given a few days to pick what he could. He asked permission to enrol Service personnel as pickers!
I have never seen such a rush of volunteers for a fatigue party!
Pending developments, the little work required to be done on the ‘drome was done in record time on the first day of ‘Operation Strawberry’ and one then adjourned to the farm where the picking was done on the basis of: ‘The best for myself and what I can’t eat I’ll put in the basket for the farmer’.
By the end of the day the fatigue party had eaten so many strawberries that they were ashamed to look at one another!
The Station’s nominal roll now mustered 593 persons all told: 68 officers, 297 men and 228 women – W.R.A.F.s who had volunteered for cooking, clerical and M.T. duties. There was even an ‘Ancient Mariner’, a retired Captain, R,N., who had attached himself to the Mess. Whenever anything had to be moved, a hut, wrecked aircraft or hangar, the cry was raised for ‘Barnacle Bill’. With rope, pulleys and rollers he performed, prodigious feats of haulage, disdaining a land-lubberly crane or tractor.
In August was given the first demonstration of controlling the movements of a tank from the air by wireless telephone, and two months later the first long-distance flight entirely by wireless navigation. Air-to-tank telephony came too late to be of practical use in the war effort, but the wireless navigational work was of fundamental importance. It had been known for a long time that a bearing could be taken on a wireless transmitter station by a receiver fitted with a loop aerial tuned to the signal of maximum, or minimum, strength. By plotting the bearings taken in two stations, the position of the-receiver could be determined with a fair degree of accuracy, but it was considered impossible to design an airborne D/F set which could pinpoint the position of an aircraft in flight. Encouraged by Blandy, one of his wireless officers, P. P. Eckersley, tackled the problem with such success that, in October, 1918, a Handley Page O/400, equipped with D/F set and loop aerial, was flown from Biggin Hill to Paris and back again entirely on wireless bearings.
There was a Iow mist scudding in from the sea on the morning chosen for the flight with ten-tenths cloud overhead. Blandy and the crew of the 0/400 were gleeful when they saw the weather; all landmarks would be hidden and there could be no talk afterwards of cheating with visual sights. Their two passengers, Maj-Gen. Sefton Brancker and an aide, arrived at Biggin Hill in equally high spirits; they regrettably had little faith in wireless as an aid to navigation and confidently expected the flight to be called off: To their surprise the O/400 taxied out on schedule and within three minutes was flying through the overcast, out of sight of land.
Near the coast the navigator took bearings on the Marconi stations at Chelmsford and Poldhu, and gave the pilot his course for Boulogae. At the predicted time the O/400 dipped down through the clouds and there below lay the harbour; Brancker was impressed but not convinced. For the next ninety minutes the flight continued-on over unbroken cloud, flying a course set with bearings taken on transmitters in France. The two passengers were starting to joke pessimistically about being lost and the possibility of landing on the wrong side of the Front when the navigator then passed a confident message: ‘Within five minutes we shall be over Paris.’ The pilot brought the O/400 down in a shallow dive through the clouds and there was Le Bourget, with the Eiffel Tower unmistakable in the distance They landed at the aerodrome, the crew looking forward to a night’s roistering in Paris, but Brancker was in a hurry to return to London. Blandy left them at Le Bourget and drove off in a car, customarily reserved for Winston Churchill, to report to Trenchard on the new D/F equipment. The flight back to Biggin Hilt was equally sensational.
An accurate course was flown to Boulogne, the Channel crossed in clouds and landfall made at Dungeness at the predicted time. Brancker, by now an enthusiastic convert to the possibilities of wireless D/F, asked if he could satisfy a lifelong ambition and see Brighton from the air. Fresh bearings were taken on the two Marconi stations, a new course worked out and flown until the navigator, stop-watch in hand, signalled the pilot to descend – ahead lay the Brighton pier and inland the domes of the Royal Pavilion.
By the end of the war Britain led the world in the many uses of wireless in the air. The Germans had been unable to develop anything comparable to our systems of wireless telephony and direction-finding, nor, for that matter, had our Allies. The Americans were intensely interested in the work being done at Biggin Hill and requested permission for a party of officers from the U.S. Signals and Aviation Wireless Unit to visit the Station. This was granted as a courtesy between allies, and the visitors spent several instructive days at the Wireless Experimental Establishment.
RAF Biggin Hill, Graham Wallace, Putnam & Co Ltd, London, 1957
On 27.1.1911 Captain HPT Lefroy, Royal Engineers, succeeded in establishing communication between a ground station and an army airship for the first time. Lefroy recorded in his logbook:
“Petrol pipe on engine burst when half-a-mile from Balloon Factory. I was at once informed A S X (Aldershot wireless telegrahic atation) of this and told him to try and get me now the engine was not running. He at once started up and I got very loud signals and read: ‘All your signlas good, but…’, and then engine was off again so I lost the rest. Quite impossible to hear signals (when engine running so close) without any special device as sound-proof helmet – could not even hear the test buzzer and barely hear the spark gap; returned to Factory and landed safety about 5:10 pm.” (quoted in ‘The Air Weapon’, CF Snowden Gamble, p145).
During the Summer of 1911, Lefroy spent much time designing a transmitter set suitable for use in aeroplanes. In January, 1912, a series of experiments were made with the first BE1, piloted by Geoffrey de Havilland.
In July of the previous year (1912) Lieutenant Raymond Fitzmaurice, R.N., had been appointed for wireless telegraphic duties with the Naval Wing. At that period he was unable to obtain from English manufacturers ‘a light and compact alternator which could be run off the main engines of the aeroplane’. In the same year, however, the engineer to the Eiffel Tower wireless telegraphic station in Paris (M. Lucien Rouzet) designed and built a transmitting apparatus which, in proportion to its power, was lighter in weight than any which had been previously in use*, and Fitzmaurice obtained permission from the Admiralty to go to Paris in order to Paris in order to see the set. Later he bought a few of these instruments which gave good service. The first trials with them were conducted from a machine flying over Dover, and they proved a success, for signals were received clearly up to a distance of twenty miles. The principal difficulty which Fitzmaurice experienced at this period ‘was due to the entire lack of knowledge on the part of the aeroplane makers in things w/t, and it became necessary to get the Admiralty to put w/t requirements into the original specifications for its machines and to go round personally to every Admiralty contractor and explain that a machine built originally without a view to taking w/t was often impossible to fit with w/t after delivering’.
At the end of the trials Fitzmaurice decided, for the time being, to give up the idea ‘of reception in aeroplanes, as the roar of the engines and the vibration of the machine made it impossible to receive with any known receiving apparatus, and there was plenty to do in the meantime in developing transmission’. Not until some two years later were the difficulties of reception on their way to solution.These experiments with-wireless telegraphy were of particular value because the Admiralty had decided that aircraft should take part in the naval manoeuvres (which were to be held in July 1913) in order to determine their value for the purposes of reconnaissance.
*The Rouzet apparatus consisted of a self-exciting alternator of 1/4 k.w.; an air-cooled transformer which ‘stepped’ the current of the alternator up from 110 to 30,000 volts; a spark-gap of a design which emitted a clear, musical note; a tuning coil (primary and secondary) for altering the wave-length; a reel for letting down and raising the aerial; a signalling key, safety cutter, and clutch for clutching the alternator in and out from the main engine of the aeroplane. Depending upon the wavelength used, from 100 to 400 feet of aerial wire was released, the weight (1 lb.) on the end keeping the trailer clear of the machine. A single wire stretched from the upper plane to the tail in the form of a triangle was used as the earth. A detailed description of the apparatus is given amongst the series of articles; ‘A History of the Development of Aircraft Wireless, Aeroplane, 1, 8, 15 and 22 September, 1920.
Ref The Air Weapon, Vol 1, CF Snowden Gamble, pp216-7
It has been an open secret that Mr. Marconi has been carefully studying a system of transmitting wireless messages from aeroplanes. It is therefore gratifying to learn that he has made such progress that experiments are shortly to be carried out at Hendon which will demonstrate
the degree of success obtained. At present this branch of wireless telegraphy has not progressed much beyond the elementary stage, but the increasing range of the aeroplane has made an improved system essential, and it is anticipated that Mr. Marconi, who has made several flights with Mr. Hamel, will evolve apparatus which will meet the demands of the naval and military authorities.Very little has been heard as to the details of wireless experiments which have been carried out on the Continent, though it is understood that the French naval authorities have met with a very fair measure of success both in the transmission and receiving of wireless messages by
aircraft, and particularly by aeroplanes. Nor have we heard much more of the experimental work which we have reason to believe has been in course of execution on this side of the Channel, and, in the light of the above information, it would seem that the reason is because there has been nothing to tell. In other words, the measure of success attained has not been such as to encourage the experimenters to talk about it. That the difficulties will be solved we have no manner of doubt, and once they have been overcome it is manifest that the usefulness of the aeroplane, particularly for military and naval work, will be very greatly extended. In fact, a really reliable wireless installation suitable for such work would increase the value of scouting aircraft out of all knowledge.
Flight 24.1.1914Wireless in the Air, 1912 (The Communicator, Vol 16 No 3, 1962, cited in ‘Signal: A History of Signalling in the Royal Navy’, Captain Barrie Kent)
Vice Admiral Sir Raymond Fitzmaurice, a (T) wireless specialist, served as a wireless officer in the Atlantic and Mediterranean Fleets and then, when the RFC was formed in 1912, he was appointed for wireless duties with aircraft. He was Director of the Signal Division from 1923-25, and in the second war became a Convoy Commodore. In 1914 he wrote an account 6 of his early airbome experiences:
“I was appointed for W/T duties with airships with orders to obtain a transmitting range of 20 miles. My first experiment was with the airship Gamma; we had to fit up an assortment of odds and ends consisting of a magneto driven by belt from one of the balloon blowers and some Moschickie jars. I had to use what is called the balanced aerial system. This consisted of a double trailer let down from the bottom of the car on a drum, while the earth was made by wires triced to the bow and stern of the gasbag. Tuning was achieved by letting out or taking in the aerial until the ammeter gave a maximum swing; depending upon the wavelength used, you let out from 100 to 400 feet of aerial wire with a one pound weight on the end to keep it clear of everything. My chief concern was to prevent sparking in the vicinity of the gasbag, as though hydrogen is only explosive with the proper mixture of air, one could never be sure where or when this most undesirable mixture would take place.
The first experiment took place using a naval airship shore receiving station at Witttesfurd. We experimented at short ranges and everything seemed to do well, though I thought that there was a loss of strength in signals whenever the airship entered cloud banks. Our first experiment at night proved to be most interesting. We planned to fly over Cambridge some twenty miles away and starting at 9 pm we expected to be back by midnight’ We encountered a strong headwind and then on the way back we missed our camp and lost our way. At I am the mechanic informed the CO Major Maitland, that only three-quarters of an hour’s lubricating oil remained. It was evident that we could not land that night, so we switched off both engines to save our oil for landing by daylight, and free ballooned.
I do not think that I shall ever forget the feeling of perfect peace and quiet one experiences when ballooning at night. The Gamma gradually sank as the hours went by and we had to throw out all our ballast’ As the atmosphere became damper, it became imperative to lighten the ship. Major Maitland declared that the wireless equipment must go, but I protested strongly and declared that one of the crew would be of less consequence, preferably the engineer who had failed to take enough lubricating oil. Just then one of the one of the mechanics found another sandbag, but in his zeal, instead of opening it and emptying the sand, he threw the whole bag over. There was a sickening crash 2000 feet below very much like slate roofs falling in, and as the bag was marked HMA Gamma, we expected to come in for a coroners’ inquest in the near future, but we never heard of it again and never even knew in which county it happened.”
They landed safely at daylight in a field, but Fitzmaurice decided in order to lighten the load to return to Camp, with the transmitter, by train!
“The great difficulty in advancing radio in aircraft at this time was due to the entire lack of knowledge of communications on the part of aeroplane makers. Another was the lack of flying time, and a series of smashes which reduced the number of aircraft. The life of the first machine allocated for W/T trials was very short; on her last flight both engines suddenly stopped; we were 2,000feet up, above ground that looked suitable for landing, but an unseen dyke appeared and the pilot had to put the helm hard over and we got there all right but the plane broke up. Fortunately the W/T apparatus was undamaged.
My next step was to go to Paris to see a new radio set designed by M. Rouzet. It was light (70 lbs), compact and beautifully made, consisting of a self-excited alternator of ¼ kw power with a safety cutter and clutch for clutching in and out from the main engines, an air-cooled transformer, a tuning coil primary and secondary for altering the wave-length, and a spark gap of special design which emitted a clear musical note.
A new Short seaplane was ready in time to escort the Royal Yacht for the last 50 miles of her journey back from Flushing after the German Royal Wedding. Flying out to meet her, we sighted a battleship off the North Foreland. The pilot did not notice that she was carrying out gunnery practice and flew at 1,000 feet between the ship and the target. I did see it, but could not make him hear me. I saw a puff of smoke and a moment later we shivered all over and fell some distance. Evidently we had got into the vacuum of the shell!
We then picked up the Royal Yacht and gave them a W/T salute, the first message the King had ever received from an aircraft. The apparatus worked excellently and our base at Grain held us in good touch all the time, the distance being about 50 miles.
The next machine to be fitted was another Short seaplane; her life was briefer than most as she broke her back the day after acceptance trials through being stalled. After being repaired, she was burnt to a cinder by a spark from the magneto setting some petrol on fire!
Things began to move and seaplane stations were built at Yarmouth, Cromarty, Firth of Forth and Calshot. The Hermes was commissioned as a parent ship for aircraft and was fitted with a special platform on the foc’sle to enable machines to fly off, while the quarterdeck was fitted with derricks to hoist the aircraft in and out. Seaplane No. 81 was a great advance, carrying M. Rouzet’s latest W/T equipment and wings that could be folded. The main difficulty was starting the engines. On one occasion flying at 500 feet we began to shake all over; I looked over the side and saw that some struts to the floats had smashed and the floats were swinging back and forth. Sampson, the pilot, put the nose down, but suddenly the back fabric of the upper plane tore where the wings fold. I spent a most uncomfortable ten minutes holding on to the fabric to prevent the tear spreading. Fortunately Sampson made a magnificent landing without doing further damage.One day flying from Hermes I had been sending signals by W/T and had just reported a tromp on our starboard bow when the engine suddenly stopped. We made a bad landing and smashed the undercarriage; luckily the tramp came to our rescue and hoisted us on to her poop. She was a German timber boat bound for Tilbury. A few hours later Hermes came in sight, having realised that something was wrong.
We were hoisted out and rehoisted onto Hermes, having hid a very interesting day!Up to the present it has not been possible to receive signals in an aircraft due to the noise of the engines, but I have no doubt this will be overcome. There are few days when seaplanes cannot fly and they have a great advantage in speed and can mount higher than their natural enemy, the airship. They can carry bombs and guns and use wireless for spotting purposes; in fact I can see no limit to the ‘heavier-than- air’ machine. In a few years’ time everyone will fly and think nothing more of it than they do of present day motoring.”
There is an Osprey (Aviation Elite 17) by Jon Guttman, who did a series in Windsock also, as well as the Herbert Molloy Mason jr book, and a Schiffer tome ?
According to Malcolm Barrass’ Air of Authority:
Peregrine Forbes Morant b: 23 Dec 1883 r: 26 Oct 1910/17 Jul 1933 d: 12 Jun 1955DSO – 1 Jan 1918, Bar – 8 Feb 1919, MiD – 16 Dec 1919, .
(RN): – Mid’n: xx xxx 1898, Act Sub-Lt: 30 Aug 1903, Sub-Lt: 10 Apr 1905, Lt: 30 Aug 1904, Lt Cdr: 30 Aug 1912/30 Aug 1915, Flt Cdr: 17 Dec 1915, Sqn Cdr: 30 Jun 1916, Wg Cdr: 31 Dec 1917.
(RAF): – (T) Lt Col: 1 Apr 1918, Wg Cdr: 1 Aug 1919 [1 Apr 1918], Gp Capt: 1 Jan 1922, A/Cdre: 1 Jul 1929.
xx xxx xxxx: Attended Britannia Naval College.
xx xxx 1898: Midshipman, Royal Navy.
30 Aug 1903: Officer, Royal Navy
10 Apr 1905: Confirmed in the rank of Sub-Lieutenant.
26 Oct 1910: Retired from Royal Navy
xx xxx 1914: Officer, Royal Navy.
30 Aug 1915: Pilot, RNAS.
1915 Gunnery Staff Officer, Gunnery and Bomb Section, Air Department, Admiralty.
1 Apr 1917: Officer Commanding, No 2 Sqn RNAS.
1 Nov 1917?: Officer Commanding, No 1 Wing RNAS.
1 Apr 1918: Officer Commanding, No 61 Wing.
28 May 1918: Prisoner of War
xx Nov 1918:
1 Aug 1919: Awarded Permanent Commission as a Lieutenant Colonel
xx May 1920: Awaiting disposal, HQ Middle East Area.
7 Jul 1920: Officer Commanding, ‘Q’ Force HQ, Middle East Area
6 Dec 1920: Staff Officer, HQ Palestine Group.
1 Jan 1922: Chief Staff Officer, HQ RAF Middle East.
22 Sep 1922: Supernumerary, Constantinople Wing. (Chanak Crisis)
xx xxx 1922: Officer Commanding, Constantinople Wing. (Chanak Crisis)
2 Oct 1923: Chief Staff Officer, RAF Middle East. (OC until 27 Nov)
16 Jun 1924: Supernumerary, RAF Depot.
1 Jul 1924: Director of Airship Development.
1 Jul 1929: Director of Personal Services.
1 Jul 1929: Relinquishes his appointment as Air ADC to HM The King.
6 Sep 1930: AOC, No 23 Group.
30 Sep 1932: Placed on half pay list, Scale A
He was born at St Kilda in Victoria, Australia, although his parents were English, his father being in the country to assist with the reform of the Australian Army. After attending the Royal Naval College at Dartmouth he joined the Royal Navy in 1898, retiring from in 1910. He then went into business with a Ludvig Friedrich Brenner as a patentee and manufacturer, but in 1912, the partnership was dissolved and he left the business to Ludvig Brenner. Rejoining the Navy on the outbreak of war in 1914, he gained RAeC Certificate No 1697 on 5 Sep 1915.
Leading a raid in DH4, A8065 against the lock gates at Zeebrugge, on 22 May 1918, he was wounded and forced to crash land in the North Sea. Rescued by the Germans he spent the remainder of the war as a POW, later receiving a Mention in Despatches for valuable services whilst in captivity. On 11 August 1919, he was attempting a flight to Africa in the single Felixstowe Fury Flying Boat (N123), when it crashed on take off, all on board were uninjured except the W/T operator, who drowned.
Whilst serving in the Middle East he surveyed and opened the world’s first regular air route between Cairo and Baghdad. In 1933 he was selected to lead the 1933 Everest Air Expedition, which successfully made the first flight over the world’s highest mountain using specially adapted Westland Wallaces. Although he did not fly over Everest himself, his organisational skills and diplomacy were a major factor in the success of this venture. He eventually retired to Pietermauritzberg in South Africa, where he died.
