After a weekend in Scarborough I drove south across
the Humber Bridge into the Lincolnshire countryside. The small town of Nocton was easy to miss and I sped down an “A” road engrossed
in an audio book missing the road to the village. I soon found the grave along
the wall and even though there’s a headstone only the ashes are buried here.
Though Gilbert lies in a quiet semi-rural English
churchyard he was born in and raised in Paris. He was at university and set to
follow his dad into dental surgery but at the outbreak of war in August 1914 he
returned to England and volunteered himself. He became a Private in the UPS,
Royal Fusiliers, 18 Service Battalion. With his younger brother Algernon he
joined the Royal Flying Corps. Ironically he was posted back to France on in
1915 to fly reconnaissance missions to work out where to drop bombs.
On Sunday 7th November 1915 he was in the skies
on patrol near Achiet-le-Grand in France. The crew
saw a two-seater German plane and forced it to make a rough landing in a
ploughed field. They turned the plane round and dipped to see the Germans
scramble out and prepare to shoot them. Gilbert took the plane down low while
his gunner opened fire and forced the Germans to flee. They dropped a bomb on
the downed German plane and then flew through heavy gunfire over enemy
trenches. The petrol tank was hit and using all his experience Gilbert just got
the plane back inside Allied lines for an emergency landing. He and his gunner
were far from safe and stayed with the plane through a bombardment of about 150
shells while awaiting nightfall. Once dark they worked by torchlight to fix the
plane and then flew them back to base at dawn.
Later when Gilbert was gazetted for a Victoria
Cross medal (his gunner got the DCM) he was lying in a German hospital. On another
flight they were they were forced to land behind enemy lines by a German plane.
Both suffered terrible injuries and were hospitalised for months. Gilbert was
then sent to a prisoner of war camp in Heidelberg and escaped in 1916 only to
be re-captured five days later. He was sent to Crefeld
Camp where he and several companions dug a tunnel and escaped. He escaped into
the Black Forest but was caught and sentenced to a period of solitary
confinement in the POW Camp at Strohen. On 28th
August 1917 he escaped but this time made it freedom when he reached the Dutch
border.
Aged 32 he married Olwen
Scott and with a promotion to Squadron Leader moved to Iraq to command 70
Squadron. Within two years he was promoted to Wing Commander. By 46 he was
Group Captain in command of RAF Uxbridge. He retired aged 51 and nearly died of
a heart attack aged 75 when his house was burgled. He died aged 77, was
cremated and his ashes were interred here.
He died in Yorkshire so I wasn’t sure why he and
his wife are here in a small Lincolnshire village. It was a Sunday evening so I
expected to see some activity at the church but the only living beings I saw
were starlings. The drive here had added an hour onto my journey home but this
brave dude was worth it. I did a salute and left.
He's here somewhere...
Found him and his wife...