The old Wassail Games Canvas Eagles games

Material from Wassail Games Club forum

Pilots names

Albert Tross (Ian), deceased, pilot

Binky Hetherington (Toby), alive, pilot

Algy (Toby), ?, pilot

Biffo Barrington Smythe (Alex), deceased, pilot

Helmut Klapper (Ian), deceased, pilot

Axel Notter (Ian), deceased, observer

Kendrew (Alex), deceased, observer

'Nancy' Grippam-Tightly (Jef), deceased, pilot

Bill Cream (Ian), deceased, pilot

Charlie Waite (Alex? Andy?), deceased, pilot

Dickens (Alex? Andy?), deceased, observer

Sid Slip (Ian), deceased, pilot

Helmut Schaffer (Jef), alive, pilot

Klaus von Klinkerhoffen (Richard), alive, pilot

Heinrich Mannover (Len), ?, pilot

Gunter Schutt (Len), ?, observer

Nigel "Snodders" Snodgrass (Alex), alive, pilot

Alfred Dodger (Alex), alive, observer

Harry Tosis (Ian), ?, pilot

Game 1 - 6 July 2006

Ian

Albert Tross wiped the blood from his goggles and peered at the shattered remains of his Albatros DVa; she would probably carry him safely back to the airfield. Once there - before going off to hospital - he would have a quick schnapps to celebrate their success; he and Helmut had seen off the Englanders in their SE5a with their silly uppen-shooten-guns.

They had won the skies in a 0-0 draw. But it had been a close fight, and almost ended a 1-1 draw after a mid-air collision had almost destroyed both his plane and that of a crazy English pilot. The schwein was remarkable for the way he skidded his plane round the skies, and for his attire: flying jacket, goggles, chainmail, and Norman helmet. It was surprising the plane ever took off with all that weight.

And although the crazy Englander's plane was very badly damaged it would probably get him safely home. Albert was sure their paths would cross again in the skies above the trenches...

Toby

"Binky" Hetherington stared aghast as what was left of an SE5 bounced and shuddered to a halt after skittering across the grass of the aerodrome.

NCOs rushed to help the pilot, scarcely in better shape than his machine, from what remained of it's cockpit.

"Cripes Algy! Can't think who looks worse, you or the kite!" exclaimed Binky as a cable pinged free and the rudder of the shattered SE flapped free in the crosswind.

A week later and Algy hobbles into the Mess to be greeted with a stiff B&S thrust into his hand and Binky leading the fellows in bellowing out the old favourite:

"The Young Aviator lay dying

And as in the wreckage he lay,

To his comrades all gathered around him,

These last parting words he did say

Chorus

Take the cylinder out of my kidneys,

The connecting rod out of my brain, may brain.

From the small of my back take the crankshaft,

And assemble the engine again."

Game 2 - 27 July 2006

Ian

Albert Tross blipped the throttle and taxied his aircraft forward, preparing to take to the air. He waved to the other pilots, indicating they should follow. He winced - his wounds were far from fully healed, and he shouldn't really be flying. But he had a gut feeling that the Englander with the Norman helmet would be flying again today.

"This time the result will be different!" he snarled, as he opened the throttle and accelerated down the airfield.

Alex

"I'll see you up there you rotter!", cursed Barrington Smyth as he shook his fist at the clouds.

"Contact!", he yelled as his ground crew wrenched on the propeller. With a spluttering pop and roar, the engine of his SE5 came to life. As he bounced down the field, full throttle, his scarf trailed behind as if waving its farewell to the airdrome and saying, "Wish me luck".

Ian

Helmut Klapper looked back over the head of Axel Notter, his observer, at the receding SE5a. Their Halberstadt two-seater was a bit damaged, but would get them home. Hopefully soon, given the wounds of poor Axel.

Down below the tailplane he could see a two piles of wreckage. One was the Bristol Fighter that Albert Tross has downed. Next to it was the remains of Albert's Fokker DVII, and inside it the remains of Albert.

How cruel! Albert had talked of going down in flames, or in a hail of bullets, but had never imagined he would be brought down in a collision, let alone a collision with the same Englander he had pranged shortly before. The chainmail-clad Englander and his plane had survived - what did they make SE5as from, steel?

Helmut remembered fun times with Albert: the flying, the drinking of schnapps, the women. "Happy times, lucky Pierre!", he shouted one last time.

The Englander would pay dearly.

Alex

Polly couldn't hold back her tears any more. Quietly she sobbed while holding her precious little Edward on her knee. Next to her on the sewing table lay the crumpled letter from the War Ministry informing her of the death in action of her beloved Barington. Oh poor, poor Barry. Shot down in his beloved "Bris" by one of those beastly Hun. His observer, Kendrew, also dead, and another family without a father and husband. Two fine, upstanding Englishmen, cut down in their prime. What a cruel war this was.

While Polly rocked little Edward and wondered how much a black dress and veil would cost, on the other side of the Channel, in a French cemetery chill with morning mist, a funeral party was coming to its inevitable conclusion. The crisp morning air was cut by the ragged crack of rifles shot in a military salute. Four men in RFC uniforms slowly lowered the second of two coffins into the earth. The French priest muttered his prayers hurriedly and absent mindedly while thinking of a hot breakfast back in the vestry.

"Fairwell old Biffo", said the taller of the coffin bearers, and dropped a ragged, oil-stained and slightly singed scarf into the grave as it began to be filled in.

"Binky will get that rotter sooner or later", said another of the coffin bearers, “as soon as he’s out of the plaster, there’ll be no stopping him. He’s a terrier when his blood is up”.

“What ho!”, said the third coffin bearer, “and the whole squadron will be in on that as well. It won’t be the same with out old Biffo and Screw, but I know we’ll lick these Hun sooner or later.”

The last coffin bearer quietly followed the rest out of the cemetery. His face was turned down, dwelling on his thoughts. On that somber morning, none could have guessed that Fate had already decided. Revenge would be this man’s prize.

Game 3 - 10 August 2006

Ian

Helmut Klapper grabbed his helmet and ran like to clappers towards the two-seater. Axel was already in the rear-seat, checking his machine-gun.

"Hah! The Englander pig's chainmail armour will be as paper against our DIN-standard Krupps bullets!" muttered Klapper though gritted teeth.

Jef

Captain 'Nancy' Grippam-Tightly eased into the cockpit of his SE5a and gripped the controls. He smiled, his steely gaze scanning the horizon. It was dawn and there was nobody to be seen.

So he jumped out and deserted.

Several weeks later he was discovered in Paris wearing a pair of false testicles as the star of a travelling freak show. Given the choice of turning up on Thursday or a firing squad, he chose Thursday.

Ian

"Hah!" snarled Helmut as he flew through the angry brown puffs of flak.

"More Tommy testicles!...more targets!"

Toby

Binky Hetherington smiled ruefully as the rather shaky old trainer grumbled it's way above the White Cliffs.

A week's leave then back to the Squadron with a new SE 5, he just hoped all the old faces would be there to greet his return...

Ian

Bill Cream glared at the rapidly congealing pool of oxtail soup on his spoon - it seemed that the mess cook wasn't getting any better.

The quality of the food depressed his spirits even further. It had been a bad day for the squadron.

Bill glared round the dimly-lit mess, his eyes darting from silent eater to silent eater, and from empty seat to empty seat. Charlie Waite, and his observer Dickens, gone, after their Bristol Fighter finally could take no more damage.

Sid Slip gone, after a schoolboy error. The mad fool had gone charging in against a DVII, misjudged things horribly, overshot, and got riddled. Killed instantly. Snodders had said he had seen the German pilot, who had "KvonK" painted on his plane, laughing at poor old Sidney.

It had been a swirling dogfight, with eight aircraft in all involved, most of them two-seaters. They should have been able to hold their own, but the squadron had lost two planes, the Germans none. The squadron would have probably lost more pilots if they hadn't been able to dive into the dense clouds and escape...

If only Binky had been there, things might have been different. The sooner his leave ended, and he returned to the squadron, the better.

Bill banged his spoon down, got up, and walked out into the twilight for some fresh air and a cigarette.

Dramatis personae

Helmut Schaffer, Albatros DVa, (Jef).

Helmut Klapper/Axel Notter, Hannover CLIIIa, (Bryan).

Klaus von Klinkerhoffen, Fokker DVII, (Richard).

Heinrich Mannover/Gunter Schutt, Halberstadt CLIII, (Len)

Sidney Slip, Sopwith Camel, (Ian).

William Cream, SE5a, (Ian).

Charles Waite/Simon Dickens, Bristol Fighter, (Andy).

Nigel Snodgrass/Alfred Dodger, RE8 (Alex).

Toby

His cheery smile died the moment Binky opened the messroom door, the glum faces and empty seats told the tale more eloquently than any of his surviving squadron ever could. The sense of wellbeing that his week's leave had imbued evaporated to be replaced with the need to see every dirty Hun burn all the way down...

Game 4 - 7 September 2006

Game 5 - 19 October 2006

Game 6 - 21 December 2006

Ian

Harry Tosis looked at the horizon as the first cold rays of sunlight clipped the top of the hanger behind him.

No cloud, just clear clear air.

He walked forward towards the SE5a, waved at the shivering ground crew, and climbed in. Hauling down the Lewis gun he loaded the magazine.

"Time to give a Hun a lead enema" he snarled, pausing briefly before hawking and spitting out of the side of the cockpit.

Shuddering after the impact, Corporal "Nobby" Spanner wiped his face with a greasy rag. These new pilots were not like the gentlemen that he as used to. Not like the young chaps that he had looked after at Cambridge as a gyp before the war, not like Binky. Tosis had attitude, but did he have the skill and luck of Binky. Time would very shortly tell.

The Hispano-Suiza engine crackled into life, blowing the last of the spit from Nobby's wrinkled face, and signalling the beginning of another bloody day's combat in the air.

Game 7 - 1 February 2007