Air Stories — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

LINE-SHOOTER Catching a Big Fish, it seems, is Chiefly a matter of Fishing in the Right Spot with the Right Tackle By REGINALD SUNNUCKS LIGHT LIEUTENANT RAWSON SYMES was wet through and tired almost to the point of exhaustion. Furthermore, he was angry with himself, for he had just made a bad landing. Nothing was strained or broken, but the big flying-boat wallowed in the short, choppy sea. With her engines ticking over, she swung slowly into wind. Symes eased his feet from the rudder- bar and rubbed his knee. His right leg was completely numb and had to be smacked into life. For six hours he had been pushing his foot on the rudder-bar to keep his gigantic machine from yawing to port, and his leg had gone to sleep. ‘‘A rotten trip !’’ exclaimed the observer from the front cockpit. There was a scornful tone in his voice. ‘ There was a sudden swirl on the water and the long grey submarine 181 ‘“ Yes,’’ agreed Symes, ‘‘ and a rotten landing, too. Better come aft while I taxi in.’’ The engines throbbed and the machine crabbed slowly towards the slipway. Sheets of salt spray swept like razor blades into the cockpit until the pilot gasped for breath. Felixstowe was cer- tainly not living up to its reputation for balmy air and warm sunshine on that October evening in 1916. At the slipway, the big, unwieldy boat was handled by a wading party. Lines were thrown, sharp orders rang out, and almost imperceptibly the huge F.2A. was hauled up to the tarmac. ‘* Hello, Symes,’’ greeted a chorus of cheery voices as he entered the mess followed by his observer, Billy Rowley. SIS? broke surface > GOMmGoIoOo (©