Another villager records that the airship just missed The Plough, and fell in a field close by. ‘When we got over to the field we could still hear the crack, crack, crack of the cartridges exploding in the fire. This must have kept up for about twenty minutes. The thing I was thinking was that there wasn’t much of a wreck there for an airship—only about twenty-five square yards of it. I had a great fear at the back of my mind that it might be one of our smaller airships, after all. Then we found the propeller. We saw four bodies burning in the wires—they were all black and charred, still burning. There’s no doubt about it—not a man in that airship came down alive. There was a lot of burnt wood sticking in the ground everywhere around—everything had stuck in the ground end on. We even saw a broken Thermos flask.’ It is well that these statements of eye-witnesses, which with the passing of time will take on peculiar interest, should be set down in these pages. In appraising the heroic achievement of Flight-Commander Robinson, V.C., we should bear in mind that night flying presents peculiar difficulties. A contributor to _The Aeroplane_, October 11, 1916, writes: ‘The actual bodily peril of flying at night may not be as great as is the peril of crossing the German lines in broad daylight, but the nerve strain must be greater. The aviator over the German side of the lines has generally something on hand to keep him from brooding, such as a battle with a German machine or the dodging of good shooting, and he generally has a passenger by way of company. The night pilot, on the other hand, flies entirely alone. He flaps around for hours on end, with nothing to do but think and keep a look-out for other aircraft. And nothing is so great a strain on the nerves as unlimited time for thinking, a pastime for which the pilot has considerable leisure, now that all respectable aeroplanes are inherently stable. ‘If there is any mist about, there is the constant danger of collision with other machines, for in the dark there is not even that chance of dodging which a pilot gets from the few seconds during which he can see another aeroplane approaching in a cloud which is illuminated by daylight. Over and above it all is the constant imminence of the landing problem, with the prospect of being smashed up, and possibly burnt to death, if the pilot makes a mistake, or fortune is against him.’ Flight-Commander Robinson showed remarkable skill as well as great valour—a hero in the good British sense of the word. On September 3 he had the honour of being foremost at the investiture at Windsor Castle, when the King decorated him with the Victoria Cross.