The Birmingham age-herald., 1916-06-09

An Airman, in the London Chronicle. TT was telephone message that warned us of the approach of Zeppe-
 A lins, and incidentally called us away from a rubber of bridge to more ex- citing game. Five minutes later l was at the aerodrome with my pilot, and our machine was being wheeled out of the shed.
 Mechanics hurry into and out of the darkness, laden with bombs, machine gnus, ammunition, and other accessories to a, Zeppelin chase. We wrap ourselves in our leather coats, put on face masks
 as protection against the biting cold and taking our maps and electric torches, we stride over to the aeroplane. A dim group gathers round while the pilot tests the engine, and I examine the bomb rack and Lewis gun. Everything ,. satisfactory.
 We are ready at last. Contact! calls the pilot and a second later the propeller is racing round. The pilot waves his arm, the two checks are pulled from under the wheels, and we tear across the aerodrome.
 Now we have flying speed'' and can rise with safety. With strange feeling that nothing is real I watch the ground recede in the half light and grow more and more shadowy, until it merges into blackness only relieved by the flares that have been lit for our guidance. A hundred feet up. We know that the pitch darkness immediately below us hides a wood. Pray heaven the engine IS all that it should be, for if it peters out at this stage we shall be too low to glide into the open and so avoid crash ing on the tree tops.
 We begin climbing in earnest. Though we are still below 800 feet, the earth is in- visible and seems miles away l have the fancy that l am being hurled through space on the winAs of a nightmare.
 Everything is black, and cannot see my hand if hold it before my face, though I can feel the rush of wind as we force
 our way through it at 80 miles an hour run my hand along the side of the fuse lage for the satisfaction of touching something solid.
 It is not too much to say that nobody can pass through his first experience of night flying and escape all symptoms of "cold feet' I tell myself that if the engine fails we shall be unable to find landing ground in the darkness, and can scarcely avoid bad crash. I realize the difficulty we shall have in. landing even when the flares have guided us back to
 our aerodrome. I think of a friend who, oftor loolxipo for Zappalips on iust sl1ch h night, collided with a tree as he came down and was fatally injured. But these somebre thoughts, born of the surrounding darkness, only last a few seconds. I remember I am up to look
 for raiding airships, not to give way to nerves. I switch on my electric torch,
 and examine the altimeter, the compass, the machine gun, and the drums of ann
 munition.
 Three things are oddly comforting and help to counteract the sense of unreality
 the pale half moon that has just coma
 out from behind a bank of clouds, the searchlights, and the loud hum of the engine A freakish twist of memory
 makes the engines rhythmic roar sug- gest to my subconsciousness some lines
 from a G. K. Chesterton ballad, and I suddenly find myself murmuring;
 MT. Mandragon, the millionaire, I am happy to say is dead.
 He enjoyed a quiet funeral in crema- torium shed;
 And he lies there fluffy and soft ano gray and certainly quite refined, When he might have been rotting to flowers and fruit with Adam and all mankind.
 The altimeter now registers 2500 feet. We are right over a populous part of the town. The twinkling of the myriad street lamps and shop lights-or rather
 their reflection on the pavements-makes it look like a monstrous Chinese garden. The moving flashes, we suppose, must
 come from trans and busses Away to the right we can see bend of the soft shimmering river
 At 5000 feet an outburst of frightful. ness by the ''Archies" (anti-aircraft guns) warns us that Zeppelin may be somewhere near. Three dull explosions from far below confirm the supposition, and tell us that German bombs are de- stroying British homes. I see red. ana long for a chance to avenge the outrage. | I note with joy that we are 5000 feet I up and near the favorite altitude of the night raiders. Another loud thud below is preceded by bright flash on our own
 level; and we race upward and onward