42 Squadron RAF were on the move for the last time before both the Squadron and Greg returned to the UK. Today, as part of the move, Greg flew RE8 2872 from Saultain to Abscon Aerodrome, accompanied by sandbags in the observer’s compartment. It was to be his penultimate flight.
Log Book
Date: Dec 30thMachine Type: RE8
RE8: 2872
Observer: Sandbags
Time: 15 min
Height: 2000
Course/Remarks: Travelling to Abscon
42 Squadron Moves to Abscon Aerodrome
In their last move on the Western Front, 42 Squadron relocated 12 miles (19km) west from Valenciennes, broadly in the direction of Arras.
So now they were back west of the River Scheldt (Escaut).
The aerodrome occupied a triangular site on the southern edge of the small town of Abscon.
From 1914 it was a German airfield. But had been in Allied hands since its liberation by Canadian forces on 18 October 1918. This was the day after the liberation of Lille. The first RAF occupants were 19 Squadron (Dolphins), who moved in on 24 October 1918 and were still there when 42 Squadron arrived. So it is possible that the previously discussed photograph of a Sopwith Dolphin in Greg’s collection was taken when 19 and 42 Squadrons shared Abscon as a home:
Today, the former aerodrome at Abscon is partly a housing development, and partly farmland.
Abscon
Abscon itself was a small mining town, with various other industrial activities (including a sugar refinery and a glassworks, according to French Wikipedia). Just before the outbreak of the First World War the population was a little over 3,000. Today it is about 4,500.
42 Squadron RAF were soon to be on the move again. Another group photograph in Greg’s collection was taken sometime around now. The setting is an airfield with an RE8 behind the group, and a church spire in the distant background. This time it looks like a personal snapshot. Quite possibly the photographer was Greg. And the location was – probably – Saultain.
Group Photograph, Probably at Saultain
Who Were They?
It’s hard to say precisely who they were. But the field can be narrowed substantially. By virtue of Greg’s allegiance, the odds are that they’re from 42 Squadron and more likely than not B Flight. Judging by the flying kit at least three of them are pilots or observers. In fact, they’re probably all officers – there’s a certain insouciance that suggests that! But that’s about as far as we get. Unfortunately, the headgear and the blurry quality of the image conspire to make it hard to match the faces with those on the better quality photographs of B Flight officers in these earlier posts:
Probably at Saultain. The evidence is a little slender. In fact it principally rests on the slenderness of the spire of the church in the background. The spire can just be seen emerging above the second man from the right in the photo.
We know from the thick coats and mackintoshes of those not in flying kit that this was a winter photo. That means it was most likely to be taken at:
It is the spires that help us choose between these locations. Aulnoy church has a tower without a spire. Saultain church has a spire that looks fairly like the one in the photo. And Abscon church, although completely rebuilt in recent years, used to have a spire that was not so slender. That will be visible in some photos still to come.
So, by a nose – and by a church with a slender spire – Saultain wins the competition for the most likely location of the photograph.
Very little was happening on Boxing Day 1918 for 42 Squadron RAF. Saultain Aerodrome was probably fairly quiet. Which was no doubt exactly how the Officers of B Flight would have wanted it. Last night‘s Christmas dinner, which began at 18:30, had an estimated finishing time (“T Out”) that was simply given as “????”. So that wouldn’t have been early, then.
Daily Routine Orders
Just as on Christmas Eve, nothing was happening. Just the appointment of the Orderly Officer and the NCO in charge of the guard.
No doubt they would all have preferred to be at home for Christmas, but the chaps of 42 Squadron made the best of things at Saultain. “B” Flight Officers’ Mess was the setting for an evidently lavish, probably lengthy and undoubtedly boozy Christmas dinner. It inevitably became something of a farewell feast.
The Compliments of the Season
In one of Greg’s photo albums is a Christmas card. He probably sent the card home to Holyhead, and the family kept it.
The ‘card’ measures 3″ x 4¼” (8 cm x 10.5 cm), folded. It’s actually printed on photographic paper. Maybe someone in the squadron photographed the original artwork and printed off copies – rather as we might use a smartphone today as the front end of an impromptu printing press.
Inside, the card is signed “from Cecil”. He didn’t care for his given name, but on a Christmas card to his parents he really didn’t have much choice but to use it.
Laurence East, Illustrator and Cartoonist
The artwork on the front bears the signature Laurence East, France ’18. (Bottom right, small lettering – hard to read.) It was an early work of an illustrator who became better known after the war for his sketches, cartoons and book drawings. Laurence East was particularly a sketcher of sporting figures – especially from football and cricket. Examples of this work include Autographed Sketches of the 1930 Australian Cricketers, and The “Bees” (Brentford FC) Sketchbook 1936-37:
Outside sport, his other specialisation was in illustrating books and magazines for children. For example, he illustrated the Chums Annual 1939, various periodicals for boys and girls, and Paddy the Pride of the School, written by Dorothy Dennison and published by Every Girl’s Paper Office in or around 1931.
East’s artwork for 42 Squadron’s Christmas card in 1918 is clearlya stylish composition. An aircraft heading home to Blighty would have been a popular image at the time. But members of the squadron would surely have questioned the rather elongated rendering of an RE8 – if that is indeed what it is meant to be! Note, incidentally, the winged laurel motif in the bottom right, which lists the three countries in which 42 Squadron served in 1918: France, Belgium (for all of two weeks, from Armistice Day) and Italy, from where they arrived on 14 March 1918:
On Christmas Day, there was again an abundance of food, with a few in-jokes on the menu. The after-dinner toasts, as listed, become rather poignant. And the back page gives us the names of the 42 Squadron B Flight officers present.
42 Squadron; Royal Air Force
"B" Flight Officers Mess
(Somewhere in France)
---
Christmas Day, 1918.
---
MENU
DINNER:-
Zero Hour - 18.30
"T" Out ---------?????
Mr. C. E. Gregory
MENU
--------
Oysters (St.Omer Native)
--
Tomato Soup
--
Plaice (avec Findabs)
--
Roast Turkey a l'Ulster
Roast Pork
Mashed Potatoes
--
Roast Beef
Fried Potatoes
Brussels Sprouts
--
Saultain Apricots
Custard or Cream
--
Sardines on Toast
(or the Hun Air Force)
--
Fromage
--
Fruit, Nuts Etc.
--
Coffee, Cigars, Liqueurs.
T O A S T S.
--------------------
1. Our Colonel in Chief -
His Majesty The King
2. The Ladies (God bless 'em)
3. The Squadron Commander
4. To when we meet again -
sometime, somewhere, somehow
5. To the memory of those who
made the supreme sacrifice.
"B" Flight Officers:-
Captain W. Ledlie
" C.F. Gordon, M.C.
Lieut C.E. Gregory
" K. Bon
" J.B. Judd
" D.C. Sewell
" H.G. Wallington
" J.G.J. McDermont
" R. Scarterfield
" J.E. Elliott
" T. Whittles
" A.N. Paton D.C.M.
" A. Mulholland
" G.A. Lynch
In-Jokes
As with the Farewell to Rely dinner menu in October, some of the in-jokes are more decipherable than others.
Oysters (St. Omer Native)
The very same conundrum as on the Rely menu! Only at Rely it was Huîtres de St. Omer. I still don’t understand it: St. Omer was better known for cauliflowers than for oysters. I continue to wonder, though, whether this was an obscure reference to St. Omer being thought of as the ‘home’ of the RAF and RFC.
Plaice (avec Findabs)
Plaice is clear enough. But why with Findabs? And what are Findabs anyway?
Maybe Findabs was/were something to do with dabs. A dab is a type of flatfish that, like plaice, is reasonably common in waters round the UK, presumably including the English Channel off northern France. Dabs, plaice and flounder look similar and are sometimes confused. Only the plaice has orange spots, according to Angling Addicts. But they all have fins…
Roast Turkey a l’Ulster
My guess is that this was a reference to B Flight’s commanding officer, Captain Bill Ledlie, who was an Ulsterman.
Back in October at Rely, occupying a key place in the menu was “Poulet Rôti d’Unter”. This was probably referring to Major Hunter, who at the time had overall command of 42 Squadron. Now, at a B Flight dinner, the flight commander may have been similarly – if obliquely – honoured, with a certain resonance to the original joke.
Saultain Apricots
This could mean exactly what it says. If apricots can grow in the Chiltern Hills in England, at least on a sheltered wall – which I can testify they do – then they should be able to grow in Saultain, which is 1.5° latitude nearer the equator. In December, they wouldn’t be fresh. But they could be tinned, or reconstituted from dried.
Sardines on Toast
With the savoury course comes the inevitable dig at the (former) enemy: the Hun Air Force. “Sardines on Toast” may have a been a more widespread derogatory term for German forces than just an in-joke of 42 Squadron. In “Fred’s War” by Andrew Davidson, Short Books, 2013, (republished as “A Doctor in The Great War” by Marble Arch Press in 2014) sardines on toast are referred to as “Remnants of the Huns” by the Cameronians (Scottish Rifles).
Toasts (sans Sardines)
The toasts follow what would have been a familiar sequence.
First the loyal toast.
Then the affectionate even if – to modern eyes – somewhat patronising toast to the ladies. Autres temps, autres mœurs.
The Squadron Commander was next. According to the squadron’s daily orders, by this stage the commanding officer was Major Geoffrey Harold Brinkman McCall, formerly of 6 Squadron.
Next came the toast “to when we meet again”. By this stage one can imagine a somewhat maudlin atmosphere setting in. They must have guessed that in fact most of them probably wouldn’t meet again after they dispersed and demobbed. The “sometime, somewhere, somehow” seems to acknowledge this. Yet they must have all have wondered what the future would hold.
And finally, the heartfelt toast to the fallen. 42 Squadron had its share. Two early deaths during Greg’s time were recorded in his diary on 24 June 1918:
On this subject, it seems odd that young 2/Lt Gregory was at the top of the list of lieutenants on the last page. Even allowing for the fact that the pilots (from Greg down to McDermont) are listed before the observers (Scarterfield to Lynch), it’s still less than seven months since Greg was the new boy of the flight in June. Let’s hope there were other reasons for the more senior lieutenant pilots to be no longerwith B flight.
Signatures
The signatures below the toasts are (I think):
Billy Ledlie
George A. Lynch
A.N. Paton
R. Scarterfield
Jack E. Elliott
Wally (presumably Lt Wallington)
J. McDermont
C.F. Gordon
Not everyone signed (too much the worse for wear, maybe?), but enough did to enhance a memorable souvenir of the occasion.
If you are reading this post on the day of its publication,
Merry Christmas from Greg’s War
and from that inspiration for a song yet to be written:
Christmas Eve, 1918: an RE8 of “A” Flight, 42 Squadron RAF crashes on take-off at Saultain. Nobody seems particularly hurt, or in fact bothered. The only casualties looks as if they were the aircraft, and the young pilot’s wounded pride. It’s an occasion for a group photograph. This was probably the most exciting event of the day, by some margin. The squadron’s Daily Routine Orders are consistent with essentially nothing happening.
Daily Routine Orders
Apart from the routine appointment of the Orderly Officer and the NCO in charge of the Guard: nothing.
‘Finis’
Here is the evocative group photograph, which is in Greg’s collection with the simple caption ‘Finis’:
Although the photograph is undated and otherwise unmarked, there is enough information in it for us to find out what happened, when, and where.
Investigating the Crash at Saultain
The aircraft is (or at least was) an RE8. The photograph’s presence in Greg’s collection is already a strong indication that it was on the strength of 42 Squadron. The large ‘A’ on the fuselage shows that it was an “A” flight machine. But the key to unlocking further information is the serial number on the tail: C2969.
came to 42 Squadron RAF from No 1. Aero Supply Depot (ASD) only on 1 November 1918;
crashed on 24 December 1918; and
returned (in bits) to No 1. ASD on 1 January 1919. (More on No. 1 ASD in the post for 3 June 1918.)
The casualty report for the crash, recordedin The National Archives’ file AIR 1/865 and also in Air History’s RFC pages, was as follows:
Crashed in climbing turn to avoid trees and church on t/o [take off] for test. 2Lt WY Gothorp Ok/2Lt DF Turpin Ok
And since 42 Squadron was based at Saultain at the time, that is where Lts. Gothorp and Turpin would have taken off from, and crashed.
2/Lt William Yeats Gothorp
Lt Gothorp, the pilot, was even younger than Greg – by almost a year. Perhaps he is the one in the photograph by the pilot’s compartment, in flying kit, standing on the root of the lower wing. Certainly he looks very young. He also looks mortified. From the casualty report it’s difficult to attribute the crash to anything other than pilot error. It’s not as if the church and the trees were new obstacles that had suddenly arrived. No wonder he has the expression of one who wishes that the ground would open up and swallow him.
William Yeats Gothorp was born on 10 December 1899, which meant that he celebrated his 19th birthday only two weeks before this day, which he would probably have preferred to forget. A register in Bedale, Yorkshire records his birth as having been entered in January 1900, which would tally with his pre-Christmas birth date. Sadly, another Yorkshire register, this time in Ripon, records in March 1920 the death of a William Y. Gothorp, who was born “abt 1900”. If this was the same William Gothorp, then he didn’t live long beyond his 20th birthday.
2/Lt Douglas Frederick Turpin
The observer was Lt Turpin, who was bit older. Maybe he’s the one sitting on top of the fuselage, by the observer’s compartment, with his feet dangling down the side. He looks pretty fed up.
Born on 4 March 1898 in south London, Douglas Frederick Turpin would have been 20 at the time of the crash. The London Gazette for 10 December 1918 records that he was granted a temporary commission as a Second Lieutenant (Observer Officer) on 16 November 1918. So he’d not been long in the job.
Post-war records show that a Douglas Frederick Turpin of the right age to be our man was a commercial traveller in textiles when he married Marjorie Eleanore Taylor on 8 April 1925. The death of a Douglas F. Turpin, born “abt 1899” is recorded in a March 1964 northern Surrey register.
Thanks to Margaret Sheard for sourcing the register information.
The Others in The Photograph
The identifications above of Lts. Gothorp and Turpin are tentative. But that’s better than we can do for the rest of them. Just possibly, the figure on the right in a peaked hat and a mackintosh, with one arm akimbo and a rueful grin, is Greg. He had memories from 4 June 1918 of what it was like to write-off an RE8! But I wouldn’t swear it was him.
And the rest? Well, the facial expressions and bodily attitudes still speak to us over the intervening 100 years. The sergeant standing apparently in the observer’s compartment to the left of Lt Turpin seems to be thinking “These kids…”. And to the left of him, the NCO (warrant officer, maybe?) wearing the forage cap and gloves standing in front of the fuselage almost has written on his face “What a bloody shambles”. While the young airman on the far left looks as if he knows that it would be a lot better for him if he said nothing at all.
At the front of the wrecked plane are a pair also in flying kit who seem to be relieved that it wasn’t them. To their right, there’s another very young and worried looking fellow in flying kit, apparently thinking “There but for the grace of God…” Next to him is a grinning officer who looks as if he’s going to be ribbing the unfortunate flight crew mercilessly in the mess that evening. And on the far right, there are some boys who no doubt came scuttling on to the scene as soon as they saw the plane come down: “Qu’est-ce qu’il se passe ici, M’sieurs?”
The Photograph Itself
It’s interesting that the photograph was evidently posed and taken with a ‘proper’ military camera. This wasn’t a mere snapshot taken with a VPK – a Vest Pocket Kodak – such as Greg had (as explained in About). Perhaps it was symptomatic in these post-armistice days that everyone had enough time on their hands to take part. Even if poor Lt Gothrop wished they had better things to do than memorialise his evident discomfort.
And the caption is symbolic. ‘Finis’ – the end. Not the end of the fighting. That was on 11 November 1918 on the Western Front. And not the end of 42 Squadron’s time in France. That would be in the new year. But it conveys the sense of the end of an era. This chapter is closed; time to move on.
Yesterday’s post was about a flight that was in Greg’s log book, but not in the Squadron Record Book (SRB). Today’s post is about a flight that is in the SRB, but not in Greg’s log book. Did today’s flight happen? Or were these two accounts of the same flight, albeit with some errors in the data?
Squadron Record Book
Here in its entirety is the sheet from the SRB on which the flight is recorded.
And here is a transcript of Greg’s flight – flight no. 5 on the sheet:
Type and Number: R.E.8.2517
Pilot and Observer: P. Lt Gregory. O. AM Dix
Duty: Aerial Navigation
Hour of Start: 1115
Hour of Return: 1125
Remarks: Height 1000’. Visibility poor.
The details are similar, but not identical, to those of yesterday’s flight as recorded in the log book:
Log Book
SRB
Date
20 December 1918
21 December 1918
Aircraft
2517
2517
Passenger
A/M Dix
A/M Dix
Duration
10 mins
10 mins
Height
1,500 ft
1,000 ft
Purpose
Engine test
Aerial navigation
Same or Different?
They might be different flights, but I think it’s the less likely explanation. The fact that each only appears in one source (log book or SRB) is suspicious. And there’s some evidence that record keeping had become a bit sloppy after the armistice. See the post for 11 December 1918, where there was clearly a mix-up in aircraft numbers:
So my money would be on the log book and SRB entries being different accounts of the same flight – with added errors. It wouldn’t be surprising if people’s minds were wandering by this stage. To the prospect of going home, for example. Or Christmas.
It’s been a week since Greg was last in the air, at least according to the flights recorded in his log book. And this one was just a short engine test with A/M Dix.
Log Book
Date: Dec 20th Machine Type: RE8 RE8: 2517 Observer: A.M. Dix Time: 10 min Height: 1500 Course/Remarks: Engine test
Engine Test
Ten minutes in the air, up to 1,500 ft, with Air Mechanic Dix in the observer’s compartment. The log book has nothing else to tell us. All that we can deduce is that in short time they can’t have gone far from the aerodrome!
This was Greg’s only flight with A/M Dix.
Today’s flight was the last one recorded in Greg’s log book as having been in RE8 2517. 2517 was Greg’s usual machine in the few weeks before the armistice, and the one he flew second most often overall – after E27.
It looks as though there is no Squadron Record Book entry for this flight. But there is an SRB entry for a ten minute flight with A/M Dix tomorrow – 21 December 1918 – for which there is no log book entry. Possibly there was a mix up and the two entries refer to the same flight.
Among the several undated and unmarked photographs in Greg’s collection is an aerial image with the title “A British Aerodrome”. For a while, the location of the subject of the photograph proved a puzzle. But thanks to Great War Forum user Roger Austin, who consulted Jacques Calcine of Anciens Aerodromes, it has now been identified as Flixecourt, which is some 13 miles (20 km) northwest of Amiens, in the Somme valley. But that identification has led to another puzzle: there is no record of an aerodrome at Flixecourt, British or otherwise. And Greg didn’t fly around there. So what’s going on?
“A British Aerodrome”
Here the photograph in question, titled in an album in what looks like Greg’s writing.
And here is the equivalent view on Google maps today:
The original photograph is technically a high-angle, oblique aerial view. “Oblique” because it is not looking straight down at the ground. And “high angle” because the angle of the camera is high enough for the horizon to be visible. The equivalent Google maps image looks rather flattened, again because of the high angle, and because Google’s imagery is not 3D in that part of France.
Flixecourt
Flixecourt lies about 13 miles (20 km) northwest of Amiens along the Somme valley, halfway towards Abbeville. It is on a small stream – La Nièvre – about 1½ miles (2.5 km) before it flows into the Somme. Flixecourt’s principal industry was jute weaving, which was the business of the Saint Frères factory in the centre of the photograph , whose proprietors lived in the ornate Château de Flixecourt on the right. The factory is now part of RKW Group and makes films for consumer and industrial packaging.
What was the Date of the Original Photograph?
It was evidently taken on a sunny day, and the trees look as if they are in full foliage. The shadows, where visible, are quite short. (See for example the shadow of the short bush in the sparse trees in the bottom central section.) So it’s likely that the photo dates from the summer months. And the only summer Greg was in France for was that of 1918.
Is There an Aerodrome in the Photograph?
That’s a good question, particularly as there is no other record of a British Aerodrome at Flixecourt.
All the land in the distance, above the factory, seems to be farmland. The only real candidate for an aerodrome is on the centre left of the image. This the area is to the left of the chimneys and above the buildings. The present day Google maps image shows it still to be an area of open ground. Interestingly, the dimensions of the open ground today are about 1,500 ft x 1,500 ft (450m x 450 m), which makes it just about large enough to be useful as a landing ground for First World War aircraft.
Landing Grounds
Wikipedia has this to say about Royal Flying Corps landing grounds:
Landing Grounds were often L-shaped, usually arrived at by removing a hedge boundary between two fields, and thereby allowing landing runs in two directions of 400–500 metres (1,300–1,600 ft). Typically they would be manned by only two or three airmen, whose job was to guard the fuel stores and assist any aircraft which had occasion to land. Accommodation for airmen and pilots was often in tents, especially on the Western Front. Officers would be billeted to local country houses, or commandeered châteaux when posted abroad, if suitable accommodation had not been built on the Station.
Landing Grounds were categorised according to their lighting and day or night capabilities:
First Class Landing Ground – Several buildings, hangars and accommodation.
Second Class Landing Ground – a permanent hangar, and a few huts.
Third Class Landing Ground – a temporary Bessonneau hangar
Emergency (or Relief) Landing Ground – often just a field, activated by telephone call to the farmer, requesting he move any grazing animals out.
So it is physically possible that there was an aerodrome or landing ground at the centre left.
Why Might There Have Been an Aerodrome at Flixecourt?
The Château de Flixecourt had some interesting associations with the British military in the First World War. In 1916 is was home to the Fourth Army School, attended by Siegfried Sassoon among others. More significant for our purposes was the use of the château in the summer of 1918. From 5 April to 29 August 1918 it was the headquarters of the Fourth Army, which was under the command of General Sir Henry Rawlinson. And it was from here on 8 August 1918 that Rawlinson launched the Battle of Amiens. This was the battle that marked the start of the allies’ final offensive:
Thus began ‘The Last Hundred Days’. Flixecourt must have been a busy place at the time. And even though the offensive was strategically halted – or at least paused – on 11 August 1918, the following day saw another significant event: a visit by King George V.
So, with these momentous events taking place at the Château de Flixecourt in August 1918, it isn’t beyond the bounds of possibility that there was temporary landing ground for aircraft close by. As Great War Forum user Regulus 1 has pointed out, given the proximity to Fourth Army HQ it would be logical. Maybe some visitors were ferried in by air. Although given the risky nature of flying, perhaps not too important ones! Or maybe planes carried messages too sensitive for the telephone and too urgent for despatch rider. And if the landing ground was only temporary, that could explain why we don’t see references to it as an established aerodrome. Except of course in the caption to the photograph.
And the Photographer was…
…almost certainly not Greg. There is no record of Greg flying in the Somme sector. 42 Squadron RAF operated along the River Lys, and then the River Scheldt (or Escaut). And if the photo was taken in early to mid-August, as speculated above, we know that Greg was busy with artillery shoots and counter-battery patrols around Merville, on the Lys, at the time.
Nonetheless, Greg did have some aerial photos from the Somme area. Photographs of Bray-sur-Somme and Mametz from 205 Squadron RAF, and of Cantigny from Escadrille SPA.42 have already been published on the blog – see https://gregswar.com/tag/somme/. Maybe this photo came from the same source.
An Alternative Theory
Alternatively, a less poetic but certainly plausible theory is that someone mislabelled the photograph. Maybe this was because it was given to Greg and misidentified or misunderstood to be showing an aerodrome. Perhaps Greg made a mistake, or perhaps the donor did.
Does anyone have any further evidence, either way? Please get in touch via the Contact page if so, or by commenting on this post.
If there is one place in northern France that was closely associated with the work of 42 Squadron RAF in 1918, it was Merville. This small town on the north bank of the River Lys has featured many times in posts and photographs on this blog (for a collection, click here). But there are a couple of previously unseen photos that are undated and unmarked. Possibly they were taken in December 1918 on a joyride. Although not explicitly identified, the photos are unmistakably of the town. Given the association, it’s easy to imagine Greg wanting to take a last look at Merville from the air. Especially when he wasn’t being shot at.
Here are the photographs, with their present day counterparts from Google maps:
West Merville
In the 1918 image, the long shadows from just west of south indicate that the photograph dates from a winter’s day.
Pont de Pierre
In the middle of the bottom of the photograph is a bridge: the Pont de Pierre. Avid readers of this blog might remember that we have met this bridge before. 213 Siege Battery of the Royal Artillery, firing under Greg’s direction, severely damaged it on 19 July 1918:
How is it that the bridge is intact in the photo? Well, assuming that the supposition that this is a winter’s photograph is correct, there are two possibilities.
First, the bridge was repaired. This might have been by the Germans before they left Merville. Or it might have been by the British after they liberated Merville on 19 August 1918. I think this is quite likely. This is because the Pont de Pierre carries the main road on the north bank of the River Lys west out of Merville towards Haverskerque, St Venant and Aire-sur-la-Lys. So making it passable would have been a priority.
The second possibility is that the photograph dates from an earlier winter: perhaps 1917-18. But this seems unlikely, as before Operation Georgette in April 1918 the German line was some miles to the east. So the damage to Merville would have been unlikely to have been so great at that stage.
Central Merville
The 1918 image has the hallmarks of another winter’s day photograph, with long shadows from just west of south.
Merville Church
Merville’s church, in the centre left of the 1918 photograph, is in ruins. A ground level view is in this post:
In the Google maps view, a new, post-war, church is visible some 330 yds (300 m) southeast, to the lower right of the photograph. The original site provided space for a new town hall and a car park.
A Postscript, and a Puzzle
The above two Merville photographs appear in one of Greg’s photograph albums next to another one of ruined streets:
Again there is no caption, and no location information. So where is it? Well, it doesn’t look like Merville. There are too many streets and too many buildings (ruined ones, but recognisably former buildings). Merville at the time was quite small:
At the time of writing, I don’t know the location of this photograph. Any information will be very welcome.
Two days after 42 Squadron moved to Saultain, Greg went back to Aulnoy Aerodrome to pick up another aircraft. It wasn’t far: a few minutes’ drive in what was then open countryside. Or he could have walked it in under an hour.
Log Book
Date: Dec 13thMachine Type: RE8
RE8: 2517
Observer: Scarterfield
Time: 10 min
Height: 500
Course/Remarks: Travelling to Saultain
Squadron Record Book
Type and Number: R.E.8.2517
Pilot and Observer: P. Lt Gregory.
Duty: Travelling Flight
Hour of Start: 1140
Hour of Return: 1150
Remarks: Travelling from AULNOY
The Squadron Record Book makes no reference to an observer, whereas Greg’s log book indicates by ditto marks that Lt Scarterfield accompanied him on this short flight from Aulnoy Aerodrome to Saultain. Can’t say which is right. But either this flight or the travelling flight two days previously on 11 December 1918 was Greg’s last with Lt Ralph Scarterfield. They had first flown together on 30 August 1918 from Rely: