Nieuport 21

Nieuport 21

The Nieuport 21 was a variant of the successful Nieuport Type 17 fighter, but with a less powerful engine and enlarged ailerons. The standard Nieuport 17 was powered by an 110hp Le Rhône engine, but on the Type 21 that was replaced by an 80hp Le Rhône 9C. Different sources suggest two reasons for this change - either that the new aircraft was designed as a fighter-trainer, or that it was produced to escort high altitude bombers and the change of engine was to save weight and improve high altitude performance. This second alternative would be supported by the increased size of the ailerons, intended to improve manoeuvrability in the thinner air at altitude. It is also possible that the less powerful engine was adopted because of a shortage of the 110hp Le Rhône.

Whatever the original purpose for the Nieuport 21 was, it soon ended up serving as a standard fighter. It was undergoing testing by mid June 1916 and was in service by 1 August, but soon after that the French abandoned day bombing and the new fighter probably lost its original purpose.

The type was recorded as the Nieuport 21 in a list of official designations of 1 September 1916, and saw some service with front-line fighter escadrilles. It was used by the Escadrille Lafayette (the American volunteer unit), where it was one of the aircraft flown by Sergent Raoul Lufbery.

The Nieuport 21 was also used by the RNAS, which had at least five of the type, the Russian Air Service and by the American expeditionary force. The Americans received 181 aircraft, with the last batch arriving in January 1918. They were used a training aircraft for the American units based in France.

Engine: Le Rhône 9C
Power: 80hp
Crew: 1
Span: 26ft 9.25in
Length: 19ft 0.33in
Height: 7ft 10.5in
Empty weight: 772lb
Maximum take-off weight: 1,168lb
Max speed: 94mph at sea level
Climb Rate: 8m 45s to 6,560ft
Service ceiling: 17,220ft
Endurance: 2 hours

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Koneen suunnitteli Gustave Delage selvennä ja sen ensilento tapahtui vuonna 1916. Kone oli heikompitehoisella moottorilla varustettu versio Nieuport 17 -hävittäjästä ja se suunniteltiin alun perin koulukoneeksi. Tyyppiä jouduttiin kuitenkin konepulan takia käyttämään operatiivisissa tehtävissä. Koneita myytiin muun muassa Venäjän keisarikunnalle sekä Yhdysvaltoihin. Vientikoneista osa oli varustettu 110 hevosvoiman Le Rhône -moottorilla. Konetyyppiä valmistettiin Nieuportin lisäksi lisenssillä Venäjällä, valmistajana A/O Duks.

Valkoiset saivat yhden Nieuport 21 -koneen (valmistusnumero 1 325) sotasaaliiksi Tampereella huhtikuussa 1918. Kone oli käytössä tunnuksella D86/18 4. huhtikuuta 1923 tapahtuneeseen poistoon asti.

Ve službě u československých legií [ editovat | editovat zdroj ]

Československé legie v Rusku používaly během svého stahování do Vladivostoku dva stroje Nieuport 21. Dne 10. září 1918 přelétl Nieuport 21 č.1940 od bolševických jednotek k čs. legiím. Byl to továrnou Duks licenčně vyrobený stroj s motorem Ron (licenční francouzský Le Rhone). Tento letoun byl používán pro průzkumné a později cvičné lety. V polovině listopadu 1918 získaly legie v Čeljabinsku další Nieuport 21 č.1359 (opět vyrobený v továrně Duks s motorem Ron). Při odplutí československých jednotek z Vladivostoku v lednu 1920 byly oba Nieuporty zanechány v Rusku.

COC celebrates Class of ’21: ‘History has its eyes on us’

College of the Canyons graduates, A. Bizares, left, and Larisa Barlan take a selfie during the 2021 Grad Walk celebration held in the Honor Grove at College of the Canyons in Valencia on Thursday, 06032. Dan Watson/The Signal

Graduates from College of the Canyons walked across the stage in a modified commencement ceremony throughout the first week of June to celebrate the completion of degrees and certificates.

COC saw 2,360 students petition for graduation for the Class of 2021, some of whom participated in a modified ceremony where they were able to walk on a stage at the campus’ Honors Grove, collect their degrees and take photos with friends and family.

College of the Canyons graduate Jimena Linares, center, poses for her graduation photo with dad, Ezequiel Linares, left, and mom, Graciela Berber during the 2021 Grad Walk celebration held in the Honor Grove at College of the Canyons in Valencia on Thursday, 06032. Dan Watson/The Signal

Prior to the graduation walk, COC held a virtual tribute to honor graduates with a formal ceremony, which featured guest speakers from COC faculty and graduating students.

Student Bryce Van Der Klomp was the valedictorian speaker during the tribute, highlighting that he didn’t want to “pretend things were perfect” during his speech, but instead wanted to focus on honesty and speak about the strength the graduating class had.

“When I recall what we, our class, has gone through and accomplished over the last year and a half, I couldn’t find a more suitable expression than ‘history has its eyes on us,’” he said. “We wear the same cap and gown as a dozen generations, but our achievements stand unique.”

Kyle Jensen, left, celebrates as he walks with College of the Canyons graduate Kelli Tootle and her son, Dylan, 13, during the 2021 Grad Walk celebration held in the Honor Grove at College of the Canyons in Valencia on Thursday, 06032. Dan Watson/The Signal

COC Chancellor Dianne Van Hook discussed the challenges students faced with the COVID-19 pandemic, such as sudden loss of employment, becoming sick or losing someone to the virus, in addition to the transition to online learning.

“Sometimes the most important lessons aren’t learned from books alone, but from what we experience in life,” she said. “These past 15 months have been rich with experiences and the chance to learn a lot from every barrier and every change.”

The graduating class represents 104 majors, with a majority receiving degrees or certificates in liberal arts, business or psychology, and more than 900 students obtaining honors along with their degrees.

College of the Canyons graduate Larisa Barlan, right, gets a kiss from dad, Lauro Barlan during the 2021 Grad Walk celebration held in the Honor Grove at College of the Canyons in Valencia on Thursday, 06032. Dan Watson/The Signal

Sara Quintanilla is one of 930 students in the class who received two or more degrees.

“I started at COC about 10 years ago,” Quintanilla said. “I started taking one class here and one class there, and I was able to talk to many counselors to discuss my choices because I kept changing career paths.”

By graduation day, Quintanilla had fulfilled the requirements for three separate degree options: accounting, liberal arts and psychology. She plans to pursue an accounting degree at California State University, Northridge.

Many graduates will be continuing their degrees at four-year schools across the state and nation, such as Micaela Anbessaw, who plans to attend CSU Channel Islands in the fall.

“This isn’t like a regular graduation, but I think it was kind of better because you get to be with your family and the people you care about, too,” said Anbessaw, who graduated with her associate degree in nursing. “(COC) really tried making it a happy day. People are cheering from all over the place and helping you to have a great day.”

Thread: Airdrome Aeroplanes Nieuport 17

Although I have a build thread going on at, I thought I would follow Frank's lead and post something of my project here.

I am building the full sized version of the Airdrome Aeroplanes Nieuport 17. Since I am 6'2" and range between 210 and 220, I felt the 7/8 scale would not suit me. I got the bug to build one of these planes when I attended Dawn Patrol Rendezvous in 2007. I was bitten bad, but got over it. I went again in 2009, but really didn't get much of the bug that time. However, for some reason in the fall of 2010, I got the bug again, and the rest is history.

I ordered the Graham Lee plan book first, then decided I needed a kit rather than try it from scratch. I chose the AA kit as I felt it was one of the few homebuilt plane projects that I had a reasonable chance of completing. (It took me 6 years to build a car kit.) I was deeply interested in the Nieuport 28, but was drawn to the N 17 as I have a 1/6 scale VK N 17 painted in Lufbery colors. My other possibility was the Sopwith Pup. I also have a 1/3 scale R/C Pup painted in black and white checkerboard. A full scale version would be a real show stopper. However, at the time I was making my decison, I did not like some of the aspects of that kit (since corrected) . Therefore, I chose the N 17.

As for motor, I have a Rotec R2800 7 cylinder radial on order from down under.

Now some about me. I am a licensed private pilot with instrument rating. Although at the time I started this project, I had a tailwheel sign off from flying in a Stearman several years ago, I did not feel comfortable with the signoff, plus it had been several years. I found a fairly local gentleman with a Citabria and have been building tailwheel (and aerobatic) time with him.

Athhough AA advertizes that these planes can be built in 400 hours, reality has set me toward a 3 year project. My goal is to have it flying and restriction time flown off by September 2014 when the next Dawn Patrol Rendezvous is scheduled.

We spent two days in May at the House of Pain working on it, then brought it all back home. Due to work and family committments, plus my desire to "upgrade" certain areas, progress has been slow since we returned. Here are a few photos of where it is now.

Here is what it is supposed to end up like

I am currently working on modified V plates and atachments for the lower ends of the landing gear legs. After several hours, here are the basic patterns.

Meet Jeremiah Paprocki, the 21-year-old making history as the Chicago Cubs' first Black PA announcer

Returning to great American pastimes comes with a nostalgic soundtrack &mdash at the ballpark, it's an organ and a voice from above. At Wrigley Field , that booming voice is younger than it sounds.

The announcer at the public address microphone is 21-year-old Jeremiah Paprocki, the first Black person to ever hold the job and the youngest in Wrigley history.

"I thought this dream was out of the ballpark, but here I am in the ballpark as the voice. So anything can happen," he told CBS News' Adriana Diaz.

His new office &mdash "in the press box," he said.

The college senior at the University of Illinois Chicago is finishing his last year remotely.

The stadium has been home to legendary play-by-play announcer Harry Caray, and famous super fans like Bill Murray , who takes the mic himself from time to time.

Trending News

Now, it's Paprocki's voice greeting fans with, "Good afternoon and welcome to baseball at beautiful Wrigley Field."

Paprocki told Diaz that getting the position "means a lot," especially as Wrigley Field's first Black PA announcer.

"The social climate hasn't been the best," he said. "And to have my story alone, you know bring a lot of positivity&hellip people of color in general reaching out and saying like 'Hey, you're such a huge inspiration.'"

Being an inspiration has turned Paprocki into a kind of sports star of his own. He's often recognized outside the ballpark by Cubs fans.

DePaul University professor Fred Mitchell, the Chicago Tribune's first Black sportswriter, said that while he is "certainly happy for" Paprocki, his selection highlights an even larger issue.

"Just the attention that this hiring is receiving tells baseball, to take a look at themselves and say, well, you know, how diverse are we?" Mitchell said. "Major League Baseball in general is lacking when it comes to diversity among scouts, front office executives, personnel people. I think there's a lot of improvement that can be done there."

As for Paprocki, his passion for baseball is hereditary.

"I've always been a Cubs fan. My mom made sure of it. You know, she brought me to my first game when I was a few months old," he said.

His mother once worked as a parking attendant at Wrigley Field, and when the family would go to games, Paprocki said he would mimic the announcers.

Starting out as a PA announcer in high school, Paprocki saw an opportunity when he noticed a Cubs job posting on Facebook. He knocked his audition out of the park.

"It's like this has to be a joke in some way, maybe I'm dreaming so I don't know right now I'm still speechless," he said.

Nieuport 21

Nieuport 21 merupakan kapal terbang yang dihasilkan oleh Société Anonyme des Établissements Nieuport yang diasaskan di Issy-les-Moulineaux, Paris pada tahun 1910. Ia aktif pada tahap awal penerbangan Eropah. Ketika perang antara Perancis dengan Jerman meletus pada Ogos 1914, Société Anonyme des Établissements Nieuport telah cukup mantap untuk memulakan rekaan dan menghasilkan siri kapal terbang pejuang yang digunakan secara meluas oleh pihak Perancis dan sekutunya bagi menentang pihak Jerman.

Nieuport 21 telah direka oleh Gustave Delage, dan merupakan kapal terbang sayap berkembar solo yang biasa digunakan pada masa awal Perang Dunia Pertama. Nieuport 21 memiliki reka bentuk satu ruang sayap berkembar, berikat, struktur badannya diperbuat daripada kayu kecuali dibahagian hadapan yang memiliki tiub keluli dipetri yang diselitupi dengan penutup aluminium di hadapan kokpit juruterbang. Di bahagian belakang, keseluruhan struktur kayu ditutup dengan fabrik, sebagaimana pada sayap dan permukaan ekor, dengan sayap bawah 'sesquiplane' lebih sempit, hanya separuh keluasan sayap atas. Gear pendaratan adalah jenis gelincir ekor ("tailskid"), unit utama terdiri dari sokongan ikatan Vee diikat wayar melalui paksi.

Nieuport 21, merupakan variasi bagi Nieuport 17, diperkenalkan dengan enjin Le RhBne 9C 80-kuasa kuda (60-kW) dan aileron yang lebih besar, tetapi selain itu hanya sedikit perbezaan. Dua versi diperolehi oleh AEF, Nieuport 21 awal (jumlah keseluruhan 181), tambah 17 variasi dengan enjin Le RhBne 9J, kesemuanya 198 digunakan dalam peranan latihan. Versi akhir langsung keluarga ini adalah Nieuport 23, yang lebih lasak (dan dengan itu lebih berat) versi bagi Nieuport 17. Perolehan AEF bagi ini hanyalah 50 buah (juga untuk latihan) terdiri dari variasi dengan enjin Le RhBne (keseluruhan 47) dan 9J (3).

White House Dodges Questions on Joe Biden’s Role in History of ‘Systemic Racism’

3,563 AP Photo/Bob Bird

White House press secretary Jen Psaki dodged questions about President Joe Biden’s role in the history of “systemic racism” Wednesday.

“To what extent does President Biden acknowledge his own role in systemic racism? And how does that inform his own policy positions?” Steven Nelson asked Psaki.

“One of the president’s core objectives is addressing racial injustice in this country,” Psaki replied, sidestepping the question. “Not through his rhetoric but through his actions,” she added.

Psaki then detailed Biden’s pending legislative “action” before saying that Biden has “asked his leadership team, here in the White House, to prioritize these issues in his presidency,” which she added, “is current, today, and not from thirty years ago.”

Nelson followed up, “Does he [Biden] believe it’s important to accept his own culpability…”

Psaki cut Nelson off, ” I think I have answered your question.”

The reporter initially prefaced his query by detailing Joe Biden’s history of being an “architect of federal laws in the 1980s and the 1990s that disproportionately jailed black people and contributed to what many people see as systemic racism.”

“The activist Cornel West,” the reporter continued referencing, “said Biden was ‘one of the core architects of the mass incarceration’ and that ‘I think Biden is going to have to take responsibility and acknowledge the contribution he made to mass incarceration.'”

To this, Psaki had no response.

Q: “To what extent does President Biden acknowledge his own role in systemic racism?&#[email protected]: “One of the president’s core objectives is addressing racial injustice in this country.”

— Washington Examiner (@dcexaminer) April 21, 2021

The concept of “systemic racism” derives from critical race theory, which the Heritage Foundation summarizes as the “main philosophical school in the identity politics of today” and an “unremitting attack on all of America’s norms and traditions… that will introduce a more leftist model of governing.”

“The philosophy has come to light in the modern day with the New York Times’ 1619 Project, which Peter Kirsanow, a member of the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights, called ‘one of the most significant attempts to propagandize history.’” Breitbart News reported.

Critical race theory developed in 1937, when Marxist academics from Germany’s Frankfurt School issued a manifesto, “Traditional and Critical Theory,” which contends there are no universal truths. Instead, truths are “competing narratives,” providing a basis for the “Left to impose its own” values.

The Passion and the Fury: Mick Mannock

Captain Edward "Mick" Mannock prepares to depart London Colney for France with No. 74 Squadron in his S.E.5a D276 "A" on March 31, 1918.

RAF flight leader Edward ‘Mick’ Mannock devoted his meteoric combat career to teaching squadron mates how to survive in the Western Front’s deadly skies

On a pleasant April afternoon high above northwestern France in 1918, S.E.5as of A Flight, No. 74 Squadron, Royal Air Force, were on their second patrol. It was the unit’s first day of combat, and all the pilots except their leader, Captain Edward “Mick” Mannock, were novices. As his men watched wide-eyed, Mannock suddenly wagged his wings, alerting them that the enemy was nearby, then dropped down like a hawk on a formation of German Albatros fighters. Mannock centered a black-and-yellow Albatros D.V in his Aldis sight, sucked in a breath and gently squeezed the firing button, loosing a lethal stream of silky white tracers. The Albatros broke up in the air. Back on the ground, pilots congratulated their captain on his second victory of the day, but what left them full of undying admiration for him was Mannock’s combat report, in which he wrote, “The whole flight should share in the credit for the EA [enemy aircraft], as they all contributed to its destruction.”

That disclaimer was indicative of the unselfish and intense devotion to his comrades that characterized the life of Edward Mannock, one of Britain’s all-time greatest combat pilots and leaders of men. By any measure, he was a man of extraordinary gifts, a man who surely would have made as great an impact on the postwar world as he did on those who knew and loved him during his brilliant career as a fighter pilot.

Mannock was born in Cork, Ireland, on May 24, 1887, son of a soldier in the Royal Scots Guards who fought in Britain’s imperial wars. A rough man, he beat Edward and his siblings and drank heavily. While his father was posted to India, Mannock contracted an amoebic infestation that weakened his left eye. That misfortune would be subsequently transformed into the oft-repeated myth of Mannock’s being the “ace with one eye.” Despite early hardships, young Edward possessed a sharp analytical mind. He hated inequality and later became a fervent socialist.

When Mannock was in his early teens, his father abandoned the family, and Edward had to work to support them. He left home and boarded with the Eyles family. Jim Eyles later wrote that Mannock was a person “with high ideals and with a great love for his fellow mortals. He hated cruelty and poverty….A kinder, more thoughtful man you could never meet.” It seems likely that Mannock could have risen in the Labour Party, for he was an excellent speaker. But the coming global conflagration would soon shatter his high ambitions.

When war was declared in August 1914, Mannock was working for a British company in Constantinople. Since the Ottoman empire sided with Germany, he and other British citizens were thrown into prison camps, where they endured appalling conditions. Mannock quickly developed a hatred for the Turks and the Germans. In April 1915, with the assistance of Jim Eyles, he was repatriated. Shortly afterward, Mannock joined the Royal Army Medical Corps and then the Royal Engineers, where he was commissioned a second lieutenant. But he immediately transferred to the Royal Flying Corps (RFC) in August 1916, so he could be more involved in the fighting.

Despite his weak left eye, Mannock passed the medical exam. He was apparently a natural pilot with an excellent feel for his machine. One of his instructors, just returned from combat flying in France, was ace Captain James McCudden. The two got along well, and McCudden made a great impact on his pupil. “Mannock,” McCudden wrote, “was a typical example of the impetuous young Irishman, and I always thought he was the type to do or die.” He would do both in France.

With his flight training completed, on April 6, 1917, Mannock was posted to C Flight in No. 40 Squadron, which was flying the highly maneuverable French-built Nieuport 17 fighter armed with one Lewis machine gun mounted above the upper wing. A new phase in Mannock’s life had commenced, and as always for him it was filled with challenges. He made an awful first impression at his new home and rubbed just about everybody the wrong way, failing to appreciate the clubby public school atmosphere of an RFC squadron. Lieutenant Lionel A. Blaxland, a squadron mate, recalled that Mannock “seemed too cocky for his experience, which was nil….New men usually took their time and listened to the more experienced hands Mannock was the complete opposite. He offered ideas about everything: how the war was going, how it should be fought, the role of scout pilots.” He also broke several unwritten rules of pilot etiquette, asking comrades how many “Huns” they had shot down and—a terrible faux pas—sitting in the seat previously occupied by a pilot who had just been killed.

Mannock sits in the cockpit of his Nieuport 17 of No. 40 Squadron, Royal Flying Corps, which sported a spinner painted yellow to thumb his nose at squadron mates who considered him timid in combat. (Courtesy of O'Brien Browne)

To make matters worse, Mannock spent hours at target practice but appeared hesitant when confronting enemy planes over the lines. He recorded his emotions on his first combat patrol in his diary on April 13, 1917: “I went over the lines for the first time, escorting FEs [Farman Experimental F.E.2b reconnaissance planes]. Heavily ‘Archied.’ My feelings very funny.” In fact, the novice pilot who had talked so big in the mess had been very afraid. On subsequent flights Mannock was seen as timid in the face of the enemy—“windy” or “having the wind up,” in pilot’s slang. Some of his squadron mates began to shun him and talk about him behind his back. The squadron was soon divided into his supporters and detractors.

His detractors could only be silenced by deeds. They got a taste of Mannock’s mettle on April 19 when, while practice diving at a ground target from 2,000 feet, the lower right wing of his Nieuport snapped off and the plane plunged downward. Mannock somehow managed to land the crippled craft safely. After that display of sang-froid and flying skill, the other pilots began to reconsider their opinions of him.

They were further impressed on May 7 when Mannock joined a flight of five others for a strike on German observation balloons. Mannock destroyed a balloon for his first victory that day. But he wrote in his diary: “My fuselage had bullet holes in it, one very near my head, and the wings were more or less riddled. I don’t want to go through such an experience again.”

Still, fired with new confidence, Mannock became more aggressive in the air and was now accepted in the squadron men who had formerly given him the cold shoulder now bought him drinks in the mess. He sometimes led combat patrols, and on at least two occasions believed he had brought down a German aircraft but did not claim it, as there were no witnesses. His great desire at that point was to gain a “real” victory over an enemy airplane, but this eluded him.

His persistence eventually paid off. On June 7, flying Nieuport B1552 north of Lille, Mannock went after an Albatros D.III at 13,000 feet. He had been flying escort for a squadron of F.E.2b bombers. Coming in from behind, Mannock pumped 60 rounds into the German fighter at 10 yards, and it went down out of control, an action he jubilantly reported back at the base.

Shortly afterward, Mannock suffered an eye injury, and was sent home on a two-week leave. He used his time at home to think about combat tactics, and when he rejoined his unit, he was convinced of his fighting abilities. On July 12, Mannock shot down a DFW C.V two-seater that crashed inside British lines. Delighted with the opportunity to examine his “work” up close, Mannock drove out to the crash site. The observer had survived, but the pilot was dead. Upon returning to base, he spoke about this to his friend Lieutenant William Maclanachan. “It sickened me,” Mannock told him, “but I wanted to see where my shots had gone. Do you know, there were three neat little bullet holes right here”—Mannock indicated the side of his head. In his diary, Mannock added a further detail, a “little black-and-tan terrier—dead—in the observer’s seat. I felt exactly like a murderer.” Nevertheless, he sent another DFW down out of control the next day.

July 1917 would be important for Mannock in many ways. Not only did he score his first concrete kill, but a squadron mate, Captain George L. “Zulu” Lloyd, spoke privately with him, telling him that a few men still doubted his fighting spirit.

“Of course, I’ve been frightened against my will—nervous reaction,” Mannock forthrightly explained. “I’ve now conquered this physical defect and, having conquered myself, I will now conquer the Hun. Air fighting is a science. I have been studying it and have not been unduly worried at not getting Huns at the expense of being reckless.” Lloyd was more than satisfied with this answer. When some men still questioned Mannock’s abilities, it was put down to jealousy.

Mannock's piercing gaze hints at the complex and contradictory personality that lay beneath the surface of the World War I ace. (Courtesy of O'Brien Browne)

Another event that same month was to have a profound effect on Mannock. On the 21st he watched in horror as 2nd Lt. F.W. Rook, a well-liked squadron member, plummeted to earth in flames after being attacked by 1st Lt. Adolf Ritter von Tutschek of Jasta 12. Maclanachan remembered that Mannock later came into his hut, speaking about what was to become an obsession with him. “That’s the way they’re going to get me in the end—flames and finish,” Mannock said with tears in his eyes. Then he explained why he had started to carry his service revolver with him on flights: “to finish myself as soon as I see the first sign of flames.”

The next day Mannock was awarded the Military Cross for his “very fine offensive spirit and great fearlessness attacking the enemy at close range and low altitudes under heavy fire from the ground.” Major General Hugh M. Trenchard, commander of the RFC, even sent his personal congratulations. Soon after that Mannock was made leader of A Flight.

Although taking responsibility did not come easily to Mannock, his score now rose dramatically. He had sharp eyesight and was a magnificent shot. In August alone he was credited with four Albatros D.Vs and one DFW. By the end of 1917, he had 15 confirmed victories under his belt and had received a Bar to his MC. He was becoming an excellent flight leader, fighting with tactics rather than sheer audacity. He also had a sense of humor he once used a pair of women’s silk stockings on his struts for leader’s streamers.

Mannock looked after the men who flew with him with fatherly compassion and patience, helping them develop into successful combat pilots. If a man was killed, Mannock took it very hard, often retiring to his hut, sobbing and “keening”—mourning by rocking back and forth, as was done in ancient Ireland. Although combat intensified his hatred for the Germans, he was revolted on September 4 when he flamed a DFW. “It was a horrible sight,” Mannock wrote in his diary, “and made me feel sick.”

But that same flight illustrated Mannock’s superb tactics. As noted in his diary, he had had trouble recognizing the two-seater’s national markings at first. “So I turned my tail towards him,” Mannock related, “and went in the same direction, thinking that if he were British he wouldn’t take notice of me, and if a Hun I felt sure he would put his nose down and have a shot (thinking I hadn’t seen him). The ruse worked beautifully. His nose went (pointing at me), and I immediately whipped round, dived and ‘zoomed’ up behind him before you could say ‘knife.’ He tried to turn but he was much too slow for the Nieuport. I got in about 50 rounds in short bursts whilst on the turn and he went down in flames.”

On October 17, 1917, the squadron was delighted to receive the RFC’s new British-made fighter, the Royal Aircraft Factory S.E.5a. This was a powerful aircraft, faster and tougher than the nimble Nieuport. The pilots loved them at first, especially their double armament—a synchronized Vickers machine gun and an over-wing Lewis—which at long last put them on a par with the Germans. They soon found out that this machine was having teething troubles, however, including gun jams and engine failures. The squadron suffered more than 20 such incidents in a two-week period.

By December, after 10 months of continuous air fighting, Mannock was worn out. Maclanachan described him as tense and noted that he often “brought up the subject of catching fire in the air.” On January 1, 1918, Mannock shot down another DFW and was informed that he was being sent back to England to serve as a flight trainer. That night at his farewell party, Lieutenant W. Douglas remembered, Mannock rose and “entertained us to one of his marvelous speeches,” full of giving the Hun hell and injecting “jokes about one or other of his comrades going down in flames or crashing in some other horrible way.” The commander of No. 40 Squadron, Major L.A. Tilney, wrote in the unit’s diary, “His leadership and general ability will never be forgotten by those who had the good fortune to serve under him.”

Back in England, Mannock was posted on February 2 to London Colney as a flight commander at No. 74 Squadron, which was in training. The unit was suffering from low morale, apparently due to unmotivated instructors. Mannock electrified the disheartened pilots. He was a natural teacher and a powerful speaker, and his lectures on aerial combat were always fully attended. “Gentlemen,” he told his men, “always above seldom on the same level never underneath.” His practical advice was priceless and would save lives at the front. “Don’t ever attempt to dog-fight a triplane on anything like equal terms as regards height,” he warned, “otherwise he will get on your tail and stay there until he shoots you down.” He also told his pilots never to follow a victim too close to the ground, because they might be hit by fire from the trenches.

To motivate his men, Mannock—much like a football coach—affected a “kill-all-the-bloody-Huns” persona that later gave birth to another hoary myth about his being a “Hun-hater,” which would have appalled him. In fact his diary reveals his respect for his opponents. Concerning a two-seater that escaped him in early September 1917, Mannock wrote, “He deserved to get away really, as he must have been a brave Hun.” In an earlier dogfight in which the British outnumbered the Germans 2-to-1 but could not bring one down, Mannock noted, “I shall always maintain an unsullied admiration for those Huns.” Major Keith L. “Grid” Caldwell, No. 74 Squadron’s New Zealand–born commanding officer, recalled that “Mick was a very human, sensitive sort of chap he did not hate people or things at all….I believe that this hatred was calculated or assumed to boost his own morale and that of the squadron in general.”

In April 1918, Mannock and No. 74 Squadron landed their S.E.5as at their new aerodrome in France, Clairmarais North. Mannock was eager to fight. Leading A Flight on April 12, he scored a double kill over Albatros D.Vs, the unit’s first victories. In the next three months or so, he would increase his victory list by an amazing 33, not counting those he did not claim or gave away to fellow pilots to pump up their self-confidence—a habit with him. Under his leadership, No. 74 came to be known as the “Tiger Squadron,” and his men reverently called him the “Iron Man.”

Mannock took it as his responsibility to protect the members of his flight and often guided them over the lines. “It was wonderful to be in his Flight” remembered one young pilot, “to him his Flight was everything and he lived for it. Every member had his special thought and care.” Mannock gave them vital advice on how best to deal with the enemy. “He placed gunnery before flying,” recalled Lieutenant Ira “Taffy” Jones, a close friend. “Good flying has never killed a Hun yet,” Mannock pointed out. Moreover, he would set up kills for inexperienced pilots. Lieutenant Henry E. Dolan related how Mannock had shot up a German two-seater and then “nodded at me to get it. I went down on the Hun’s tail and saw that Mick had killed the gunner, and I could attack safely.”

With his piercing blue eyes and his trademark affectations, a long-stemmed pipe and a cane, Mannock was famous along the front. He had, recalled Jones, “an intriguingly complex nature. It fluctuated so,” for Mannock could be ruthless as a fighter, boyish in the mess, harsh with his pilots’ mistakes, gentle and complimentary for good work, morbid when depressed. Once Mannock dived repeatedly on a crashed German two-seater, firing at the crew. Asked about this later, he growled, “The swines are better dead—no prisoners for me.”

On May 21, Mannock brought down four German planes—three Pfalz D.IIIs and a Hannover two-seater—and the next day was awarded the Distinguished Service Order. Before the month was out, he flamed eight new victims. After such victories, he would burst into the mess shouting, “Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle, wonk woof!” to boost morale. But privately he expressed darker thoughts. By the middle of June, Jones noticed that Mannock’s nerves were “noticeably fraying. He was now continually talking about being shot down in flames.” Writing to his sister, Mannock said, “I am supposed to be going on leave, (if I live long enough)….” He was fighting depression and plagued by dreams of burning aircraft.

On June 18, Mannock sailed home for leave in England. Upon his arrival he was informed that he had been promoted to major and given command of No. 85 Squadron, previously led by Canadian ace Major William A. “Billy” Bishop, and that he also had been awarded a Bar to his DSO. He reacted with indifference to the news.

After spending a brief but painful time with his mother, an alcoholic, Mannock went to stay with his friend Jim Eyles, who saw that he “had changed dramatically. Gone was the old sparkle we knew so well gone was the incessant wit. I could see him wring his hands together to conceal the shaking and twitching.” One day, as the time approached for Mannock to return to the war, “he started to tremble violently. This grew into a convulsive straining. He cried uncontrollably….His face, when he lifted it, was a terrible sight. Saliva and tears were running down his face he couldn’t stop it.” Given his condition, 31-year-old Mannock should never have been sent back to the front. But back he went.

Back in France again, Mannock took command of No. 85 Squadron on July 5, 1918, and his arrival was seen as a godsend. He immediately set to work teaching his new men about aerial tactics. Two days after his arrival he got two Fokker D.VIIs as his new squadron mates, infected by his enthusiasm, brought down an additional three. Within a matter of days, Mannock’s personality had completely transformed the unit. He threw himself into his work and even enjoyed a respite from the nightmares and depression. It would not last long.

Members of No. 85 Squadron who Mannock mentored to greater exploits included New Zealander Malcolm C. McGregor (11 victories, fifth from left) and Americans Lawrence K. Callahan (5 victories, seventh) and Elliott White Springs (12 victories, eighth). New Zealander Donald C. Inglis (sixth from right), the last man to see Mannock alive, afterward lamented­, “The bastards killed my major.” (IWM Q 12050)

On July 10, Mannock heard that his friend James McCudden had been killed in a flying accident, news that hurled Mannock back into depression but also spurred him to a furious killing spree. He shot down six aircraft between July 14 and 26. But he was also taking risks and ignoring his own teachings. Often he followed a victim down to spray the wreckage with bullets. He led his flights with rage and flew solo patrols in his hunt for Germans. Premonitions of death haunted him. In his last letter to his sister he wrote, “I feel that life is not worth hanging on to.” And Ira Jones found him unstable, noting: “One minute, he’s full out. The next he gives the impression of being morbid and keeps bringing up his pet subject of being shot down in flames.”

Early in the morning of July 26, 1918, Lieutenant Donald Inglis walked into the mess where Mannock was smoking his pipe and playing “Londonderry Air” on the gramophone. The two were to fly a morning patrol together. Earlier, Mannock had asked the rookie pilot, “Have you got a Hun yet, Inglis?” and to his negative answer replied, “Well come on out and we will get one.” Mannock told Inglis that they would hunt for a two-seater. Once it was located, Mannock would attack first, with Inglis coming in behind to finish the enemy off and thus get his first kill.

At 5:30 a.m. over Merville, Mannock dived on a two-seater at about 5,000 feet. He knocked out the observer and pulled away, letting Inglis come from underneath, firing into the gas tank. The German plane burst into flame, with the two S.E.5as very low over the ground. Violating his own teaching, Mannock circled the burning wreck twice. Then, as Inglis later wrote in his combat report, “I saw Mick start to kick his rudder and realized we were fairly low, then I saw a flame come out of the side of his machine it grew bigger and bigger. Mick was no longer kicking his rudder his nose dropped slightly, and he went into a slow right-hand turn round, about twice, and hit the ground in a burst of flame.” Mannock’s S.E.5a had been brought down by groundfire. Inglis’ plane was shot up, too, and he crash-landed in the British lines, sputtering: “The bastards killed my major. They killed Mick.”

It is impossible to know if Mannock shot himself as he had always threatened to do. Most likely, given the way his plane flew after he was hit, he was either wounded, unconscious or dead. In any event, some unknown German soldier buried the ace after first retrieving Mannock’s ID discs, pistol, notebook and other personal effects, which were returned to his family after the war. These items had all been on Mannock’s body, and they showed no signs of fire.

Back at the airfield, the awful news spread quickly. Jones scribbled in his diary: “26th July—Mick is dead. Everyone stunned. No one can believe it. I can write no more today. It is too terrible.”

In the years after the war, Eyles and others attempted to locate Mannock’s grave, which had been obliterated by shelling. Some researchers believe he lies in the grave of an unknown British aviator near La Pierre-au-Beure. In addition, his friends campaigned for him to be awarded Britain’s highest decoration, the Victoria Cross, which was conferred on July 18, 1919.

A final apocrypha is Mannock’s victory score, which most books give as 73—a number dreamed up by his admirers (above all Jones), many of whom disliked Billy Bishop, who finished the war with 72 kills. According to the most reliable estimates, Mannock brought down 61 enemy aircraft—not counting, of course, the many victories he gave away or did not claim—which makes him Britain’s second-highest scoring ace of the war.

Mannock’s deeply felt emotions, the immense fears and obstacles he faced and the manner in which he overcame them, his achievements, his unconventionality and his great promise all make him vividly human and bring home the tragedy of the lives lost in World War I. The way Mannock touched people was extraordinary. “I was awed by his personality,” wrote Maclanachan after first meeting Mannock. “He was idolized by all who came into intimate contact with him,” recalled another pilot. “He was a man among men,” added a third, while long after the war another remembered Mannock as “a warm, lovable individual of many moods and characteristics. I shall always salute his memory.”

O’Brien Browne writes from Heidelberg, Germany. Further reading: Mick: The Story of Major Edward Mannock, by James M. Dudgeon or Victoria Cross: WWI Airmen and Their Aircraft, by Alex Revell.

This article by O’Brien Browne was originally published in the July 2007 issue of Aviation History. For more great articles, subscribe to Aviation History magazine today!

Begin by reading pages 71-72 in your text, Canada: Our Century, Our Story or

There were three major innovations in the technology of warfare introduced between 1914 and 1919. The introduction of the Lewis machine gun changed the way that battle was organized and the speed at which enemy soldiers could be killed. The Lewis machine gun was a light machine gun that only needed a single person to run it, though usually two soldiers were stationed to each gun. It replaced the much heavier and cumbersome Vickers gun. Not needing to reload the gun as often increased the rate at which the gun could be fired, subsequently increasing the rate at which soldiers were killed. This was particularly true as soldiers made the dangerous trek across No Man’s Land.

The first light single user machine gun was the Lewis gun. As seen in the photo, it could be easily used by a single soldier, although it was usually manned by two soldiers, and most soldiers in a platoon would be trained to fire it. The soldiers shown here are also wearing early forms of gas masks to protect themselves in the event of gas attack.

The introduction of poison gas in 1915 necessitated the issue of gas masks to soldiers, such as this one invented by Canadian Cluny Macpherson of Newfoundland. Shown here at left, is an early gas mask, developed by Newfoundland doctor Cluny Macpherson. The mask is a hood made of canvas with a metal helmet underneath, two eyepieces and a breathing tube.

The third major technological innovation was the introduction and refinement of the tank. The introduction of the tank was a significant first step towards modern mechanized warfare.