CHAPTER XX
LIEUTENANT STEWART GORDON RIDLEY
It has been said that the story of Second-Lieutenant Ridley, a young British flying officer, is as great as the story of Captain Oates. ‘Captain Oates walked into the Antarctic blizzard so that his comrades should have a better chance of living. Lieutenant Ridley, stranded in the burning Libyan Desert with an air mechanic, and seeing his tiny stock of water near its end, shot himself in the hope that his companion might live.’
The heroic young aviator went out singly on a machine from an oasis in the Libyan Desert as an escort to another pilot, who was accompanied by Air-Mechanic J. A. Garside. After flying for an hour and a half, the party failed to locate the camel patrol which had been sent out in advance to establish a temporary landing-place.
They encamped for the night. The next morning it was found that Lieutenant Ridley’s engine would not work, and it was agreed that the other pilot should try to discover the track of the camel patrol. He left his water and provisions with the others, and arranged to return on the following day. The pilot picked up the camel patrol, but when he returned to find Lieutenant Ridley and Garside they had disappeared.
Search parties, consisting of camel patrols, motor-cars, and aeroplanes were at once sent out. Nothing was discovered of the missing men until four days after the start of the original mission, when, twenty-five miles away from the spot where the first night had been spent, a second landing-place was found. The two men had evidently flown away again after patching up their machine. Two days later a motor party found the machine and the two dead bodies of the aviators.
During the search the footprints of the two men had been discovered. They were noticed to have been overtaken by a hostile camel patrol, and for a time it was believed that Lieutenant Ridley and Garside had been captured.
A diary kept by Garside throws peculiar light on the moving story:
‘_Friday._—Mr. Gardiner left for Meheriq, and said he would come and pick one of us up. After he went we tried to get the machine going, and succeeded in flying for about twenty-five minutes. Engine then gave out. We tinkered engine up again, succeeded in flying about five miles next day, but engine ran short of petrol.
‘_Sunday._—After trying to get engine started, but could not manage it owing to weakness, water running short—only half a bottle—Mr. Ridley suggested walking up to the hills.
‘_Six p.m._—Found it was further than we thought; got there eventually: very done up. No luck. Walked back; hardly any water, about a spoonful. Mr. Ridley shot himself at 10.30 on Sunday while my back was turned. No water all day; don’t know how to go on; dozed all day, feeling very weak; wish some one would come; cannot last much longer.
‘_Monday._—Thought of water in compass, got half bottle; seems to be some kind of spirit. Can last another day. Fired Lewis gun, about four rounds; shall fire my “Very light” to-day: last hope without machine comes. Could last days if had water.’
On the following day the bodies were discovered by a motor-car.
The Commander of the Imperial Camel Corps reports that from what he discovered he has formed the opinion that Lieutenant Ridley gave his life in the hope of saving the mechanic. Added to this, the commanding officer of the Royal Flying Corps states: ‘There is no doubt in my mind that he did this in an act of self-sacrifice in the hope of saving the other man.’
Lieutenant Ridley, who was affectionately known as ‘Riddles’ in the corps, came of a celebrated Northumbrian family, one of his ancestors being Bishop Ridley, who, bound to the stake at Oxford, ‘played the man’ with Latimer amid the flames. ‘It may well be,’ states a sympathetic admirer of this gallant officer, ‘that there came across the desert from Gordon at Khartoum a message in the words of Latimer, “Be of good cheer, Master Gordon, and play the man.”’
The fallen hero was a young man of attractive appearance and great charm of manner. His character, as known to intimate friends, confirms in all respects the interpretation put upon his last act, ‘He gave his life in the hope that his companion might be saved.’
Both Lieutenant S. G. Ridley and Air-Mechanic J. A. Garside were unmarried, but Garside was the only son of a widowed mother, and evidently in the mind of his heroic companion had special claims upon life.
A chaplain with a party of service men paid the last honours. At the head of the grave a cross was erected.