Your Stories: RFC observer looked down on the Somme – helpless.
An amazing and unique account of the Somme

LESLIE IRVING HOWDEN lived at the family's guest-house in Pavilion Square and, as a young lad,
was friends with Charles Laughton, later to become the famous actor.

When Scarborough was shelled in 1914 by the German fleet, the pair and other friends,
 Jimmy Beal (who later owned the men's outfitters at the end of Aberdeen Walk) and Edward Harland
(later to become an estate agent in the town) enlisted. They were under age, Laughton being only 13,
and their fathers objected and got their sons released from service.

Determined, after his 17th birthday, Mr Howden cycled to Manchester, from Scarborough,
where the Army didn't know him, and joined the Lancashire Fusiliers.

After basic training he answered a call for volunteers for a new service – "the Royal Flying Corps" (RFC).

Mr Howden said: "Dad remembered that one of his first placements in the RFC was learning to ride a horse!
For three weeks, these lads from common backgrounds – who had never owned or ridden horses before –
tore about the countryside learning the basic skills of horse riding – learning, in fact, to become gentlemen.

"Gunnery practice was even more exciting – I think he said it was at Farnborough in Hampshire –
 the Army had constructed a winding railway track down a hill with tight curves and ups and downs.
A 'Lewis' gun – a Vickers machine gun holding bullets in a circular carousel – was fixed to the front of a railway truck.
 Given a push start, the trainees learnt to fire at targets en route to the bottom – winding and diving.
They also learnt how to change carousels whilst gyrating about.
Those that vomited with the motion, or failed to make the grade, were returned to their regiments."

After some training in London which enabled Mr Howden to send, receive and understand Morse code
he was posted to St Omer, the marshalling depot for the RFC in France.

It was September 1915 and he was then transferred to No 6 squadron, which was one of the first squadrons
to be sent to France and was equipped with the new FE2B aeroplanes.

Mr Howden said: "These aeroplanes were Britain's answer to the German 'Focker' – threat.

"The Germans had developed a gearing-mechanism so that the forward-firing machine gun did not hit the propeller blades.
Thereby, the whole Focker Monoplane with this mechanism could be aimed at the target, making it more accurate.
Britain's answer was to build the FE2B with the propeller behind the pilot: the observer was in front
with his Lewis gun, giving him an unrestricted shot."

He added: "There were lots of disadvantages though. The observer's cockpit had a thin plywood floor to
stand on and a thin plywood seat to sit on. There was no protection, and to fire backwards, he had to stand
on this seat to fire a Lewis gun mounted above the wing – only his ankles were inside the aircraft."

He said many were frightened of falling out as they had no harnesses. According to his father many did –
and they had no parachutes.
Mr Howden said: "Apparently they told my father that they were dead before they hit the ground –
but he didn't think so."

Mr Howden said he asked his father why they didn't have harnesses.

He replied: "You had to move so quickly from one position to another in a fight we couldn't.
Mind you, my pilot and I got it taped. We fastened the front gun at the back of my cockpit so he could fire forwards –
by the side of my legs – when I stood up and fired backwards – so there was no running about at 8,000 feet".

He used to say: "The cold was worse than the Germans – in an open cockpit – setting of before dawn –
we nearly froze to death. I used to rope myself in before my fingers went numb".

"In 1915 he said they were flying in the Ypres area, sometimes moving from field to field so the Germans
couldn't find them on the ground.

"In spring 1916, the squadron transferred to the Somme – ready for the 'Big Push'.
In July of that year, he looked down helplessly on the Battle of the Somme – he saw the waves of troops –
he saw the carnage – acres of bodies – young men ripped to pieces. He remembered from above, the red-coloured pools – shell holes stained with blood.
He said he wanted to use his Lewis gun to fire on the German lines to save just a few lives –
but they had specific orders not to do so. The information they gained about enemy positions
apparently was more important than British lives.

"After every three weeks in the air, observers had to spend a week's turn in the forward trenches:
this was to decode the Morse messages from their comrades up above the enemy lines.
Runners transferred these messages to headquarters and to our field gun positions.
He hated the trenches – talking with and looking into the eyes of frightened young lads who, most likely next day,
would die going over the top. The whole experience changed his life – he hated violence of any type –
he hated the thuggery of some young people today. I realised he had more courage in his quiet,
little finger than a whole 10 of these loud-mouthed louts and at the end of his war he was barely 20 years old.

"He hated staff officers – the ones with red epaulettes who told them what to do and disappeared to dinner
in their fine, safe mansions when the firing started. He never had time for vicars – ministers of the church –
who then urged men to do their duty and to fight for their country.
In later life, we had difficulty getting him into church, even for a family wedding.

"By autumn 1917 the Germans had the upper hand with better aircraft – the old FE2B became an easy target,
particularly from underneath and to the rear where it could not be protected.
The famous Red Baron made his bread and butter of the FE's. Apparently, No 6 Squadron went on to night
flying for a while until the aeroplanes were replaced by RE8s, operating again near Ypres.
My dad said they were nicknamed 'Harry Tates' after the famous music hall comedian.

"It was in one of these that his plane crash-landed after a fight, but before hitting the ground,
a pair of wings broke off and they spiralled downwards like a sycamore seed (I think he said it was near St Julian –
but I am not really sure). This broke their fall and both survived but dad said he had a headache and felt dizzy for days.
Perhaps, the rapid descent caused his mastoid ear infection and he was sent to a field hospital, unable to fly.

"This was 1917, at the time of the German 'breakthrough'. He vividly remembered a staff officer in hospital
ordering each man to stand – if they could they were ordered to collect their kit and to report to a scratch-battalion
being formed to stem the German advance.

"My dad was a trained Lewis gun operator, he had no choice – he was ordered to leave his hospital bed and to report.
One of his poignant memories was that the same staff officer stopping a group of bandsmen and ordered them to leave
their instruments and to collect their kit.
After the battle, he remembered the pile of instruments – still there – uncollected.
The bandsmen supposedly all killed."

There were some lighter moments, Mr Howden said. He said: "My father said: 'We were forever going to the toilet'.
Was this stress I asked, 'No – castor oil', he said. Apparently, the aeroplane engines used castor oil as a lubricant
so you were forever breathing in the fumes – and you know what castor oil does to the system!

"The other was feeling sexy – 'or trying not to be', he said. One of the problems for the Army was trying to keep
the soldiers' minds on the business in hand.
Every day large tins of green lime-juice, concentrated like syrup, were opened 'to prevent the soldiers getting scurvy'.

"What they didn't tell you was that lime juice is rich in natural bromide and this was to reduce the desires of the troops –
to protect the local ladies – and to prevent illicit relationships between the men. 'Actually', he said, 'we were so tired from flying –
we weren't interested in either!'"

The air crews were usually billeted in tents or dug-outs in railway embankments.

Mr Howden said his father said they did have good food.

He said: "My father told me they would sit together at breakfast in the mess tent and several of his mates
would go missing during the day. At dinner their replacements would be sitting in their seats.
'It was best not to make friends too easily,' he said. 'You didn't keep them long'.

"The average life for pilots and observers was 13 days – after that you were on borrowed time.
My dad survived for almost two years. The lives of observers depended very much on the skills of their pilots.
In a fight – you had to trust each other and know what each would do in certain situations.
He dreaded flying with any new pilots. Observers, usually enlisted men, had to complete six months active service
before they were awarded the Observer's Brevet.
These looked like half wings, with only one wing on one side. Pilots had wings on both sides and these were awarded
on qualifying but before any active service.

"Consequently not many observers survived to earn their Brevet – my dad did."

Mr Howden said: "With a shattered body in 1917 dad spent many months in hospital and was later sent to Burnley,
in Lancashire, to convalesce. He was never the same again, although he did hire a motorcycle in 1919 to explore
the Burnley area. He met my mam Alice while she was on holiday in Scarborough and they married in 1929.

"They had four children – my sister Doreen, who inherited dad's good looks, brother Lionel inherited dad's stability
and calmness, brother David inherited his flair and intelligence. I inherited his determination.

"What a successful man he could have been without the war. As a father, he was lovely – never got over-excited –
never shouted or lost his temper and he had endless patience. When he showed me how to do jobs,
he would quietly say 'That's not quite right – let's try again (and again).
Let's get it right, because one day your life will depend on it'.

"It was years later when I appreciated what he meant. I was told that in the war he would never go out
drinking with his mates (many did and died next day). He would sit, sorting through the bullets in his carousels –
throwing out the big ones which would jam his Lewis gun and replacing them with smaller ones.
He prepared – he reduced the risk – and survived.

"As a child, I can remember him dreaming. Waking up sweating and shouting 'Don't let him burn –
please don't let him burn'. Apparently the one thing they all feared was burning to death and he kept reliving his war.
It didn't matter whether they were friend or foe: they were all comrades of the air.

"God bless him – what a lovely, caring man: my dad."

Mr Howden added: "In 1958 we had a burglary at home in Broadway. some of dad's medals and
war memorabilia were taken. He was most upset that his shoulder flashes and his Observer's Brevet,
that he had earned with sweat and tears, had been lost.

"The police were sympathetic and thought it was a thief well known to them.
He came to Scarborough from Leeds on day trips and made it worth his while on visiting the seaside with a few burglaries.

"The irony was that this suspect was German – they beat him in the end."