his one took me back – Flying Fury is the war diary of Major James McCudden, English World War One pilot, holder of the VC and victor of 57 air combats. And it was quite the book for me back in my teens – a guy flying about in his SE5a scout, deviling the Hun and fighting from everywhere from tree-top level, all the way up to 20,000 feet (without oxygen, a heated suit, or a parachute). Having been a pilot myself, the thought of fighting it out at my Cessna ceiling of14,000 feet, with nothing but plunging death facing you should you lose, frankly gives me the willies. So I guess I’m not VC material.

It was quite the read – thick and detailed with all of his flights and fights referenced from his war patrol reports. And since he was in the RFC (first as a mechanic, then observer, then pilot) from the beginning of the war until very much near the end. Sadly, his engine conked out and, perhaps in a moment of hubris, he turned back for his airfield, stalled and crashed. But he certainly did it all. He was involved the the final battle against Werner Voss, stopped all sorts of bombing and reconnaissance missions from being carried out against the allies, and eventually gave his life for King and Country.

I will say this (under full awareness of modern outlooks on historical viewpoints) that some of it seemed a bit casual (as one who looked down at the horror of full-mechanized trench warfare can be casual about it). Several times in the book, he’d mention that he saw a two-seater flying along at high altitudes, would sneak up on it, fire a brief burst, then watch as the wings broke away or the plane burst into flames, the occupants riding their casket down, burning alive or leaping to their deaths. And then he’d note that he would return to his field for a capitol breakfast. Very strange from our own lofty perch in world history, I suppose. Think about burning. Think about falling. Think about eggs served sunny-side up.

Just strange, but that’s the point of history reading, I suppose, to see the views of other people in other times, times which might trouble us.

It was a bit of a race to finish this book – I’d bought it in 1968 when it came out and had it on my shelf (or in storage) for all these years. As I read it, the spine broke away. Pages began to come out. Pages ripped and fell apart. Yes, I’d say this one’s for the bin after the review is posted.

But it was a good book of wartime flying. Worth a look-see if you are at all interested in the time and men of this first air war.

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