World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, American
Today was a wonderful, clear, crisp November day, and we breathed our
fill of it. I had seven rides in a twenty-eight meter and one in a
twenty-three meter Nieuport. In life the things we look forward to
usually fall below our expectations, but not so in aviation. In
aviation, every experience so totally eclipses all expectations that you
realize you were totally incapable of imagination in that field. We
change planes five times in progressing from Penguin to Spad. Each
change is as great an advance and difference as stepping from a box car
to a locomobile limousine with Westinghouse shock absorbers.
The Nieuport is the plane we are using now, with a man to give the
scale. It has a supporting area of twenty-three square meters. It is the
fighting plane used at the Front seven or eight months ago.
DINSMORE.
_November 15, 1917._
DEAR MOTHER:
Things are going quite well. Day before yesterday I left the
twenty-eight meter Nieuport class and today finished the twenty-three
meter class and was advanced. Tomorrow I shall finish solo work on the
twenty-three’s and take up eighteen’s. The monitors seem to think my
work fairly good. The little eighteen-meter Nieuports are great. They
are small and racy, with a wing spread of twenty-five feet. They have
fine speed and land at eighty-five miles an hour. You land by cutting
off the power and pointing the nose for the ground. By pulling the tail
down she slows up and finally drops a yard to the ground. It is a very
precise sport.
You would like it fine above the clouds, Mother. It is most beautiful
and dazzling as the sun’s rays bounce along on the snowy billows, and
you can swoop down and skim the crest of the cloud waves till the frost
turns the wires to silver and your cheeks sting red in the mist.
DINSMORE.
_Ecole d’Aviation, Pau, November 22, 1917._
DEAR FATHER:
This is the most pleasantly situated and best regulated camp I have been
in yet. Pau itself is on a little plateau overlooking a valley with a
river and surrounded by the foothills of the Pyrenees. On the sky line
to the south and west of the beautiful snow-capped peaks, 4,000 feet
high.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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