Air Stories, April 1936 — page 16: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

were arene 4 "» af vel, eS mst 8 ¥ én tay! 4 sy oe ns” « dS rie "ae % ; aid OE iy te : oe i 4 54 pet V, Pd: i ie : Serge ¢ nf He: Y Yt af! ev Naw | The Hun, flying a yard or so higher, attempted to follow the S.E.5.. . A dozen traps were planned for a start, and Charles Edward and I were sent out in a side-car combination to scour the countryside for suitable sites. ‘‘ Funk- holes for all ! ’’ was the order of the day. Within a week we had four successes, four blonde young German pilots standing dazedly in the ante-room, holding an un- familiar drink in their hands and wonder- ing why in: Heaven’s name their pro- pellers had suddenly leapt into splinters when they were screaming along so close on the tails of the verdammte Englander. Soon it became an accepted maxim amongst our crowd that when you were getting the worst of a duel with a Hun, or even if you weren’t, you just fiddled with your gun, pretending a jam, heeled over in a spin, and hedge-hopped to the nearest funk-hole. By the end of the fortnight we had secured five more. ‘‘None must re- turn ! ’’ was the cry, and since no enemy pilot ever got back to spread the tale of the new peril, it looked as though the trap system would go on ‘‘ catching ’em alive ’’ for the duration. The fame of the new idea spread. Whenever any of our gang barged into 302 the local estaminet, grins would spread from face to face and from table to table. ‘* Hallo, fellows | How’s traps ? Been on the rounds yet ? ’’ ‘‘Here come __ the Traders |! ’’ ‘*T say |! I’m looking for a nice over- coat for my girl. If you could get mea nice hairy Bavarian, I’d pay anything up to two francs fifty for a pelt in prime condition | ”’ The tenth victory secured by the Funk- Hole System was celebrated at a restaurant in Amiens, the three N.C.O. pilots being invited as guests of the junior officers. ““Woggy ’’ Wane—more than a little tight when the time came—gave the toast. The peace-loving ‘‘Woggy ’’ rose to heights that were almost lyrical. ‘*It’s a revolution, this system, my dears! War without bullets! War without blood ! (Cheers.) ’Member the slogan of the Johnny who invented the new idea for gents’ suspenders P It ought to be on the crest of cur squadron: ‘No metal touches the skin!’ (Prolonged cheers.) Gentlemen, we drink to Sergeant Young Fur- GOMIIGIOO re) SJ (Cl Q)