S. Anselm’s School Archive

Donald Storrs-Fox was the son of S. Anselm’s first Headmaster, William Storrs-Fox. He was born on 5th July 1895 and entered the school on 7th September 1903. His time here was a positive one, and some of his writings and musings are to be found in the surviving school magazine of 1906/07. His final report when he left the school on 20th December 1906 was:
“A boy of many hobbies, chiefly natural history and physical science; but (perhaps in consequence of this) not good at concentrating his attention upon his school work. A slow thinker & therefore likely to be passed over by an inexperienced teacher. A slow writer. Plenty of brains but too discursive to show immediate “results”. Not at all keen on games, but much improved latterly in this respect. Thoroughly straightforward and clean-minded. Not a great amount of pluck and rather too sensitive.
He attended Repton from September 1909 (after attending another prep school) and at some point before 1914 joined the 1st/6th (Territorial) Battalion, Notts & Derbys (Sherwood Forresters) Regiment who were based in Chesterfield. When war broke out in August 1914 they were called-up and he arrived in France on 15th February 1915, aged 19. He spent nearly two years as a 2nd Lieutenant and then Lieutenant before transferring to the Royal Flying Corps as an Observer, by which time he had been twice wounded. By 1918 he was flying in Bristol F.2. Fighters as the rear-facing gunner (see below). This account details his shooting down and capture at the hands of the Germans in the last dying days of the Great War.

Chapter I
It was on the 9th October 1918 that my accident happened. I should like to cut the 9th day of every month out of my calendar, for that day always brings misfortune to me. Twice during this war I have been wounded no the 9th and once recalled from leave on the 9th.
On this day I was fetched from my bed at 5.30am as our squadron of Bristol fighters was ordered to escort bombing machines to a railway junction 30 miles East of Cambrai, where the line then stood. At 6 o’clock I snatched a hasty meal, which we call ‘first breakfast’ and by half past was out on the aerodrome.
It was a clear frosty morning and by 7 o’clock we were climbing upwards over the aerodrome.
We crossed the line at Cambrai at a height of 15,000 feet where the cold was intense. We were not left in peace for long. Almost as soon as we crossed the line we were heavily engaged by large numbers of German Focker biplanes, who were unusually aggressive that morning. Our machine soon had 3 Germans on its tail, as we were the rear bus of the formation. I had the satisfaction of seeing my tracer bullets hit one, which went down in a spin. The second one was also hit and hurried out of the fight. But meanwhile the third got well under our tail and fired an effective burst, which broke some of our flying wires. Then my pilot turned and I drove it off.
After this the Huns became less aggressive, though they still engaged us. We reached our objective and the bomber dropped its eggs and the new all turned homewards. Gradually the Huns drew off and pursued their usual tactics of remaining behind, out of range, in the hopes of being able to cut off a single machine, which, owing to engine trouble or some other cause, is unable to keeps its place in the formation.
We were nearly halfway back to the line when Archie began a heavy and accurate fire on us. One shell burst a yard or two in front of us, whereupon our engine gave a feeble splutter and stopped, when we were at a height of about 12,000 feet. We glided a short distance, but began to fall behind the others, so made a steep dive in the hope that the engine would start again. But nothing happened and so we turned down in a vertical nose dive as the Fokkers were now coming up against us. To reach our lines was impossible as they were still 15 miles away. Our only hope was to land in German occupied territory and destroy our machine and trust to getting away and back across the lines.
But we had no luck. Just as we were landing, a telegraph pole loomed up in front, to avoid which we stalled. Then we fell out of control, turned a somersault and landed upside down. The machine was wrecked and my pilot and I trapped underneath.
We extricated ourselves with difficulty. My back was badly bruised by the fall, and several teeth were broken by the shock of the violent contact of my head with the ground. My pilot had no worse injury than a bruised lip.
The country was bare, with no more cover in sight than would hide a rat. Hardly we had stood upright before a party of dozen German troopers galloped up and pointed pistols at us. The major in command of them spoke English and said “You are prisoners of war.” I replied “I might have guessed as much.”
I then asked if I might look for my brandy flask beneath the machine. He allowed me to do this and I rescued it from two Huns who were about to sample its contents.
It was important to recover this flask as it was the chief factor in a scheme for escape which I had already prepared in case I should ever be taken prisoner. In one of my pockets I carried a tube of morphia, the contents to be mixed with brandy. I intended to offer this drink to my guards at a suitable moment, preferably in the train on the way to Germany when near the Dutch border – and to slip off when the morphia had done its work.
The German major handed us over to a Lieutenant who marched us about a mile to a little town which I found was Solesmes. This Lieutenant took us to his billet and gave us coffee, apologising he could give us nothing to eat.
After an hour we were taken to divisional headquarters in the same village. Just as we arrived a British bombing squadron flew over and bombed the place very thoroughly. It is always unpleasant to be bombed, especially by one’s friends, but we had the consolation of seeing the panic caused among the enemy. We were put in a little room by ourselves where I was able to mix my brandy and morphia.
Escape for me was out of the question as it was only with great pain that I could walk at all.
The Germans asked us the number of our squadron which we naturally refused to tell them, and asked for our papers and money. We had no papers of importance but they took both letters and money, but nothing which could lead them to identify the squadron.
Presently we were brought out and put into a staff car and driven off, escorted by a stupid Boche officer who lost his way. About midday we reached the Corps headquarters, which was our destination. We were very hungry by this time but were given nothing to eat. A German officer who talked English chatted to us pleasantly, but we gave away no information.
Then an English speaking German orderly appeared and talked to us and gave us each a cigar. About 3 o’clock a large number of British bombers with their escort passed over on their way to Valenciennes. This caused panic amongst the Germans although no bombs were dropped anywhere within miles of the village.
At 4 o’clock the orderly brought us some black bread, which we ate ravenously; but we kept a crust in case of emergency. He brought us mattresses to lie on, and at 5 o’clock gave us some roast potatoes. We put each of these in our pockets, but when I wanted to eat mine later I found it had exploded and left a vile mess. My pipes were blocked up with potatoes from bowl to mouthpiece. We had been told that an autocar would presently come and fetch us. It didn’t arrive until 7 o’clock and we found it to be overloaded and a very decrepit motor lorry. After a half hours effort the driver managed to start it but it stopped again a few yards further on. It went a few yards at a time throughout the whole journey, which was made longer by the driver losing his way.
Our third stop was made outside a German flying Officers’ mess. Hearing that we were outside they sent for us and gave us some red wine and liver on toast, which was very welcome. Conversation was difficult as none of them could speak English and only one could speak French. I could speak French very indifferently at that time, and my pilot could not speak French at all.
I tried to discourse with them. They asked for our opinion on the Fokker biplane so I asked them what they thought of the Bristol fighter. They said that we could have all the Fokkers if we would give them Bristols in exchange. At the time the Germans had just sent their first peace note. They seemed very distressed when I told them it would not be accepted and that the Allies were prepared to continue the war until the Hun was entirely crushed.
In about twenty minutes the lorry was ready to start once more. We got in and it crawled along, with frequent stops. At 3 o’clock in the morning we got to the village which was the end of our journey – Wargnies-les-Grands, between Valenciennes and Mauberge.
The English speaking orderly from the Corps headquarters had come with us, and led us to suppose, as he helped me to limp along, that he had found us a comfortable billet. He brought us to a farm, the lower story of which was filled with guards. We were taken upstairs and ushered into a long room. In it were a few guards and about thirty Germans who were under arrest fro refusing to go into the line, and six British N.C.O.’s and men. The place was filthy; all the windows were shut and there was an abominable stench. Moreover, it was very verminous. My pilot and shared a lousy bunk; but my back was too painful for me to sleep so I took some Veronal given me by a German doctor at the Corps headquarters, and then slept till 8 o’clock in the morning.
We expected some breakfast but were disappointed. The hours went by, no food appeared, so we ate our crust of black bread. We were allowed to go into the garden to wash. On our return, some of the French inhabitants of the village slipped carrots into our hands. They called us into their kitchen for a cup of coffee. The guard ordered us out, but we drank the coffee before we complied.
We shared the carrots which we ate greedily. We Britishers sat at a table apart and discussed the prospects of food. The Germans in the room were being starved until they consented, for the sake of better relations, to go into the line once more. We fared no better than they.
At midday we were given some coffee substitute but no food. All our talk that day was of food. For a prisoner in German hands it was the only topic of conversation.
A German N.C.O. came in and demanded any knives or razors which we possessed. My pilot said he had none and the Boche went away satisfied, and my good jack knife lay safe in my pocket.
At six o’clock we had a meagre ration of black bread and that was all the food we were given by the Germans that day.
Next day passed like the last except that we had some bully beef as well as black bread in the evening. In the afternoon some French children threw up apples to our windows, but he guards soon drove the away.
A British Cavalry officer joined us and told that the Germans had lost Cambrai and made a considerable retirement to the south of it.