Freddie Crowley, pilot 37 HD Squadron.

[stephen p nunn]

Whilst I was at the excellent Remembrance service at Stow Maries aerodrome today, I had the great privilege of meeting the family descendants of First War pilot Freddie Crowley.....

 

GOLDHANGER’S ADOPTED SON

by

Stephen P. Nunn

 

The little village of Adrigole is still remote and isolated. It lies sandwiched between the rugged Caha Hills and the shore of Bantry Bay, County Cork, in south-west Ireland. Even today it is home to only 450 people. Fishing and farming have always been its main sources of income and although road access is difficult, the community has a shop, pubs, a school and a (Catholic) parish church. Mains electricity only arrived in the mid-1950s. At the end of the 19^th century, Adrigole was a backwater, cut off from events taking place elsewhere in the world. One of the principal families was called Crowley. They had a grocery shop, ran one of the pubs, a farm and the Post and Telegraph Office. Matthew Crowley was the head teacher of the Boys National School and his wife, Mary (née O’Sullivan), taught the Girls. They also had thirteen children of their own. Amongst their number was daughter Hannah Maria. As Hannah prepared for her wedding, the stability and rhythm of her life, the lives of her brothers, her sisters and many thousands like them, was about to change forever. The best man on that happy occasion was one of her brothers, Frederick Augustus Crowley, known affectionately as Freddie.

Born in 1898, Freddie Crowley was ready for “the Great Adventure” and although as an Irish citizen he didn’t have to serve in the war, he was keen to “fight the Germans”. Initially serving in the Royal Engineers, in 1918 he transferred to the newly formed Royal Flying Corps. Flying, let alone aerial combat, was in its infancy and it is incredible to think that a young man, from such a far-away place, both physically and progressively, should end up flying aircraft. He was appointed Second Lieutenant and allocated to 37 (Home Defence) Squadron. The Squadron’s brief was to defend London and the English East Coast from German air-raids. Three flight stations were established at Rochford, Stow Maries and Goldhanger. Freddie was sent to ‘C’ Flight, then on the outskirts of the little saltwater village of Goldhanger. Just a few days beforehand the Flight had lost a pilot and Second Lieutenant Crowley was to be his much needed replacement. One can imagine him arriving at the Guard Hut that day and being directed to the Officer’s Quarters. I wonder how the inexperienced, fresh-faced lad with a broad Irish accent, was received ? It was the evening of Sunday 24^th February  1918 and, being the Sabbath, his thoughts were doubtless with God and his family back in Adrigole. He may even have taken some comfort in his well-thumbed Rosary. Flying practice would have started in earnest the following day. It continued first thing on the Tuesday and, just before 9 o’clock, Freddie took off in his BE2 and headed towards the village centre. It was then that something went terribly wrong. The official RFC report simply states that Freddie “lost his head”. An eyewitness said that they saw the aircraft had clip some trees. We will probably never know what actually happened that spring morning all those years ago. It was long before the days when air incidents were subject to any kind of detailed analysis. Pilot error was doubtless the inevitable conclusion, especially as he had only three lots of fifteen minute solos in his log book. The BE2 stalled and came down to earth in a sickening crash in a field to the rear of ‘The Cricketers’ pub. Fire broke out and the first person on the scene was the village blacksmith. He did his best to recover Freddie but was beaten back by the flames.

Freddie’s body was taken to Goldhanger vicarage and a Catholic priest from Maldon arrived to administer the last rites. His funeral took place on Thursday, 28^th February 1918. The procession set off from the aerodrome and his coffin was drawn to Goldhanger church on a gun carriage. Being a Catholic, the service was not allowed in the church, but was conducted outside in the graveyard at 2.30pm to the sound of muffled bells, “according to Roman Rites” and with full RFC honours. Meanwhile the dreaded War Office telegram arrived at the little Post Office at Adrigole. It was accompanied by the charred remains of what was thought to be a Rosary.  Just four weeks later a fellow Irishman called in at the Goldhanger ‘Chequers’ for a good drink before his onward flight to the Western Front. Although he was also a Catholic from County Cork, he was very different to Freddie. Mick Mannock was a flight commander, an ace, who would go on to receive the Victoria Cross, but like Freddie, he too would make the ultimate sacrifice. Did anyone tell him about that earlier tragic loss? Did he go and stand by the freshly dug clods of Essex soil and think of their mutual homeland? Did it make him wonder what it was all for? Next time you are in Goldhanger go and look Freddie up. You can’t miss his Commonwealth War Graves’ headstone. It looks so different to all the other memorials, that is except for one other to the pilot that he came here to replace, Second Lieutenant Sydney Armstrong. The two airmen lie together, perhaps not in a foreign field, but somewhere very different to Frederick Augustus Crowley’s birthplace. They deserve to be remembered for what they did for us, after all they have become Goldhanger’s adopted sons.

Edited 13 November , 2022 by stephen p nunn

[GROBBY]

Thank you for the lovely story of a man who paid the ultimate price to keep this country safe and free R.I.P all

[stephen p nunn]

1 hour ago, GROBBY said:

Thank you for the lovely story of a man who paid the ultimate price to keep this country safe and free R.I.P all

Thanks Grobby - much appreciated.

Regards.

Stephen (Maldon).