Nieuport 17 biplane flown by Canadian WWI ace, Billy Bishop attacking a German airfield at dawn on June 2, 1917 Major William Avery "Billy" Bishop, Commanding 85 Squadron RAF, was in his element for what he knew would probably be the last time in this war. He was to leave the aerodrome at Petit Synthe today June 19, 1918 at noon, less than a month after having brought his new 85 Squadron, known as the Flying Foxes, to north west France and fourteen months following his first successful combat sortie in 60 Squadron. Having promised to lend his support to the formation of a proposed Canadian Air Force, he could hardly argue the point when his recall to England had arrived. But that didn't stop him from being mad as hell. He wrote to his wife Margaret in London: "I've never been so furious in my life. It makes me livid with rage to be pulled away just as things are getting started." He was still upset as he flew his S.E.5A C1904 for the last time in combat. In less than six months of actual flying time, Bishop had accumulated a phenomenal sixty-seven confirmed victories. He was proud of them. He had relished the "game" of collecting them. He was enjoying the notoriety which his victories brought him in Britain as well as at home in Canada. He was the top-scoring ace of the British Empire. But in his heart, he knew this was it. What he couldn't know was that history was about to be made. It was 09:58. A few miles over the line in enemy territory, he dropped out of the clouds to check his position. Recognizing the landmark of the Ploegsteert Wood, south of Ypres, he also immediately recognized the three aircraft flying away from him to his left at about three hundred yards. They were Pfaltz scouts. This strongly-constructed single-seater carried two Spandau guns internally in the front fuselage and had proved to be a steady platform capable of absorbing a great deal of battle damage. It could be dived harder and faster than the Albatros and had played more than a small part in the revival of German air superiority in the early spring of 1918. And three together were certainly not to be taken lightly. Having spotted him, the German scouts began to turn and Bishop followed. By the time he had drawn a bead on one of the three, they had come half way around the circle. Suddenly they dived on him, guns blazing. Bishop heard the tracers tear through his lower left wingtip as he got in a short burst himself. The three fighters slipped beneath him. Banking to the left to bring his machine to bear again, he took a quick, instinctual look behind him. Two more Pfaltz scouts were diving down on him at high speed. His unfailing instinct had probably saved his life again. Now time was of the essence. Deciding to make a quick attack on the original three before the other two could enter the fray, he opened fire quickly from what was for him an unusually long range. One of the three aircraft was instantly struck killing the pilot. It fell away, out of control. The other two began to climb while the two newcomers, still diving and finally in range, opened fired on him. Bishop pulled up into a steep turn. Now, these two German scouts passed beneath him. However, the first two, climbing away toward the cloud layer, flying dangerously close, came together in a spar-crunching collision. Both aircraft disintegrated in a bizarre shower of wood, metal and fabric. Turning his attention to the remaining two Pfaltz fighters, now ascending toward the safety of the clouds, he sent tracers into one of them at two hundred yards, starting the enemy aircraft spiraling toward the ground, now no further than a thousand feet down. The fifth Pfaltz escaped into the safety of the clouds. With the ceiling down to nine hundred feet, Bishop continued his patrol somewhere between Neuve Eglise and Ploegsteert. Thoughts about turning for home were crossing his mind when out of the misty drizzle appeared an outline with which he had become very familiar over the last months. It was a German two-seater. Without being spotted, he slipped into the blind spot beneath and behind the reconnaissance aircraft and, raising his nose, sent a short bust from both guns into its belly. It shuddered, seemed to hesitate in the air and then fell towards the ground beneath. With the pilot struggling desperately for control, the observer slumped lifeless in the rear, the two-seater smashed into the ground in flames. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. He was alone in the sky again. He hardly realized it, but this had indeed been his finest achievement in the air. A world-famous airman, his final sortie and five aircraft in the space of fifteen minutes. It was a fitting way to end a combat flying career. It was a career which had rather more prosaic beginnings back in small-town Owen Sound, Ontario. limited edition print 300 s/n by the artist 22.75" x 17" |
|
|
|
|
