A Summer Bright and Terrible by David E. Fisher Read Free Book Online Page B

any new technology, and
the brass hats grew impatient. The War Office, ignoring Dowding’s progress
reports, finally informed the squadron that they had determined that “radio-telephonic
communication between air and ground was not practical,” and that was the end
of that.
    After the Wireless Squadron was disbanded,
Dowding was sent to command No. 16 Squadron, part of the wing commanded by
Trenchard, who was now a Lieutenant Colonel and who hadn’t forgotten his
earlier annoyance with Dowding. Unfortunately, Dowding had barely taken up his
new position when a problem surfaced: The squadron was shipped the wrong
replacement propellers for their airplanes. He complained to Trenchard, who
impatiently reminded him that there was a war on and that he should improvise,
as any good commander in the field must. Dowding replied that in this case it
was impossible; the propellers simply didn’t fit. Trenchard retorted that he
had been informed on good authority that they could make the propellers fit by
simply drilling a larger central hole for the spinner. Dowding argued that
drilling would weaken the wooden shaft. Trenchard turned to his adjutant, who
had operated an automobile sales and repair agency in civilian life. The aide
smiled and said that this was nonsense, implying that Dowding was being
unreasonably obstructive. Banging his fist on the desk, Trenchard boomed out at
Dowding, telling him not to be so damned persnickety and to just get on with
it!
    Airmen didn’t wear parachutes in those days. If
Trenchard was wrong and one of the propeller blades broke off in flight, the
unbalanced propeller would probably throw the plane into an uncontrollable spin
and the pilot would be killed. But there comes a time when you can no longer
argue with your superior officer. So Dowding returned to his aerodrome and had
the larger hole drilled. The mechanics then fit the modified propeller on his
plane, and Dowding, unwilling to risk the life of one of his pilots, took the
plane up himself to see if the propeller would break off. It didn’t, and he landed in one piece, not quite sure if he
was relieved to be alive or irritated to be wrong.
    No sooner had he landed than the telephone
rang. It was Trenchard, with as close to an apology as Boom was able to make,
telling him that he had been misinformed. Realizing after Dowding left his
office that he should talk to someone with more engineering background than his
adjutant, he had called in his engineering officer and asked his opinion. The
engineer had said that Dowding was right, the propeller would probably fall off
in flight. Brusquely, now, Trenchard told Dowding to forget about drilling the
hole; he would arrange for new propellers to be shipped. Understandably miffed
but less than diplomatic, Dowding expressed his regret that Trenchard had
preferred “to take the word of some half-baked motor salesman against mine.”
After a moment’s silence, Trenchard said that new propellers would be sent and
hung up.
    By 1916, Dowding was himself a Lieutenant
Colonel and in command of a frontline fighter squadron. A poignant description
of him at that time is found in the autobiography of one of the fliers he
commanded. Attempting to disguise any real names, he refers to Stuffy Dowding
as “the Starched Shirt,” and describes their first meeting as the youngster
joined the squadron and was introduced to him in the mess: “The Starched Shirt
gave me a limp hand together with a tired smile, and if I had not been so
nervous myself I should have seen at once that, amongst other things, he was
cursed with shyness. After I had returned to my place dead silence reigned
which he attempted to break by speaking to everyone in turn. But it was always
with that same tired little smile, in a quiet, rather nasal voice, his eyes
half-veiled like a coy maiden’s, ready to turn hastily away from embarrassing
talkativeness. . . . And yet he was in many ways a good man. In the long run I
came to esteem