R.F.C., B.E.F. France,
14 April, 1917.

Dear Ones All,

My letters from England, including the forwarded ones from you all, have commenced to arrive at last and you can bet I look forward to the mail very eagerly each day now. I am so glad to hear such good news from Eva and I hope by this time she is feeling quite herself again. Letters from Father, May and Ruth have all arrived and all mighty welcome. Yes, May Dear I could make use of one or perhaps two pairs of socks if you have any to spare, and I like them very long and very heavy.

I wrote you about my scrap on Easter Sunday, didn’t I? I had an even more exciting time yesterday and am feeling a little upset to-day as a result, just a bit jangled up I guess. We were sent out in a formation of six machines yesterday to bomb a certain point about ten miles behind the German lines. We got up to 10,000 feet before going over and then fell into our places and made a dash for it. Of course, we were well above the clouds and had to rely on our compasses to know when we had reached the point where we should come down through the clouds. We followed our leader of course and when he gave the signal to descend we all dived. The clouds were very thick- about 4000 feet through- and when we came out on the other side the formation had ceased to exist. In fact as far as I could see we were the only machine in the sky. However, I did see our objective and dived down to 4000 feet to be sure of getting the bombs on it. After dropping our pills I turned and made for home with throttle wile open, and climbing to the extreme limit of the old bus’s capacity knowing that we would get a mighty hot reception and hoping to gain the shelter of the clouds. Then came the "Archie" - hotter than anything I have ever seen before, three guns giving their entire attention to poor insignificant me. There are no anti-aircraft guns or gunners that can compare with the Huns' and they say they can get a direct hit on any machine at any height in three shots if it does not alter its course. The natural result of course is that we never fly for more than a few seconds without swerving left or right or up or down, and as a general rule we dodge them without much trouble- but with three guns it is different and I was kept pretty busy. My observer stood up in front and motioned to me as each shell burst so that I would know how to steer. As it was they knocked a lot of holes in our wings some of them big enough to put your head in. Suddenly it all stopped, and then I knew we were in for some real trouble. I stood up on my seat and looked over the top plane and sure enough, climbing up to us as fast as an elevator in a city office building were four of those hateful little beasts, Albatros Scouts, the Germans’ newest and fastest single-seaters. For the next half hour I was too busy to be scared. Fortunately only the first two Huns attacked us- why, I don’t know, unless it was that the other two thought that it was too small a job for them all, and they had every right to think so for the Albatros Scout is practically twice as fast as the machine I was flying.

My observer, the South African I told you about, was right on the job, as cool as a cucumber and working his two machine guns as though he were shooting at a bullseye in a shooting gallery. One came up under our tail knowing of course that that is our "blind" and defenseless quarter. The other one did half circles around us from one side to the other and both kept pouring a continuous stream of lead into us at anywhere from ten to fifty yards range. A half dozen or so of the first bullets put our engine out of action and after that of course it was just a case of putting my machine into as many funny positions as possible so as to hamper their aim. I can assure you it was ten titles as exciting as any game of croquet you ever played. That ceaseless pop-pop-pop-pop- on the right, on the left, behind, underneath- and the corresponding phit-phit-phit-phit of the bullets as they went past us or pierced some part of the machine never let either of us forget for a moment that there was a war on, believe me. I had no idea that you could do so many things with an aeroplane. I tried them all I think, all my idea being to get that old bus safe on terra firma again. The one thing that put them off more than anything else was a diving side-slip for we lost far more height than the Bosche could in a normal dive. So I think probably three quarters of our descent was made in this position. It’s surprising how quickly you can lost height that way.          The pitot tube registered up to 180 miles an hour, and when I looked at it, it had gone over the top. At that time I had left my seat and was kneeling on the instrument board in front. My companion was hanging on to sone wires or something and managed to keep in the machine somehow.

Thank God none of my controls were shot away and the machine was quite manageable. The Huns followed us down to about 800 feet and then buzzed off- doubtless to report to their headquarters that another British machine had been driven down "out of control" With a little difficulty I got her on an even keel, flattened out and made a safe landing within a few feet of the British third line trenches. Neither of us were hit though I got two bullets through my sheep-skin thigh boots and another came through the centre of the back of my seat which would have caught me between the shoulder blades had I not been perching on the instrument board at the time. The machine and engine were, of course, shot to bits. I am going to have one of the bullet pierced propellor blades as a souvenir.

Got some "bon" sourvenirs in the trenches too, where we spent the greater part of the day- a fine German helmet and a German Fuze -plate. The chaps in the trenches, an English regiment, were awfully good to us and insisted on our sharing their bully beef and biscuits and tea. Poor fellows, they have a mighty touch time of it and my one half day spent with them gave me a better appreciation than I have ever had before of how much we are indebted to the infantry in this war. No other branch of the service has to endure anything like the hard-ships and deprivations that those poor fellows sustain so cheerily.

During the next hour we had the satisfaction of seeing one of our own scouts attack and bring down one of the Hun machines who had been potting away so merrily at us. We left the trench in the afternoon and by one means and another got back to our own aerodrome which of course was a long distance away. We saw ever so many interesting things, which I must not dwell upon too long- a great assortment of artillery of every caliber all booming away to beat the band and no doubt raising a lot of dust on the German side of the lines; one of them was a big German gun captured in perfect condition with a large quantity of ammunition; and dead men and dead horses, and all sorts of things left behind by the retreating Germans; and a "tank" with its name painted on it in large letters, "Goo-Goo"; through villages and towns, which I had often seen from the air but never from the ground, all knocked to pieces, truly a sad sight.

My C.O. added some words to our account of our little scrap and sent it in to Brigade Headquarters and I am sending you a copy of it herewith. You will appreciate the kind things he says more than I do, for you don’t realize as I do how little I deserve it. Please don’t make a fuss about it because really I didn’t do a thing but what the very greenest pilot would have done under similar circumstances.

They have given both Duncan and myself a rest today and I am writing this letter in an officers' club in a town near the aerodrome. It is good to get away from the eternal shop talk of our own mess.

The Canadians are "ace high" now as a result of their brilliant stunt at Vimy Ridge. It was great work and everybody realizes it.

Heaps of love to you all,
Yours as always,
Eric.