A superb Great War “balloonatic’s” M.C., D.F.C. group of four awarded to Captain T. G. G. “Blot” Bolitho, Royal Air Force, late Royal Flying Corps: in the period May 1916 to June 1917, he completed around 325 operational hours and was four times compelled to take to his parachute: in the words of Goderic Hodges, the author of Memoirs of an Old Balloonatic, Bolitho was ‘perhaps the bravest balloonist of them all’

Military Cross, G.V.R., the reverse privately engraved, ‘Lieut. T. G. C. Bolitho, R.A.F., April 1917’; Distinguished Flying Cross, G.V.R., the reverse privately engraved, ‘Capt. T. G. C. Bolitho, R.A.F., Nov. 1918’; British War and Victory Medals (Capt., R.A.F.), good very fine or better (4) £4000-5000

M.C. London Gazette 17 April 1917:
‘For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty when his balloon was attacked by a hostile aeroplane. He saw his Observer safely out, and then descended by parachute himself. He has at all times set a fine example, and has done much to preserve a high standard of efficiency in his section.’

D.F.C. London Gazette 1 January 1919.
Thomas Gerald Glynn “Blot” Bolitho was born in March 1890, a scion of a well-known Cornish family, and was educated at Harrow and Cambridge. Finding employment as a Civil Engineer in Canada 1911-15, he returned home in the latter year and was commissioned in the Royal Flying Corps as a 2nd Lieutenant that November. Trained as a Balloon Observer, he served out in France in No. 2 Balloon Section from March to December 1916, No. 9 Balloon Section from December 1916 to August 1917, as C.O. of 11th Company from the latter month and as C.O. No. 48 Balloon Section from September 1918, the latter appointment ending in his evacuation home with burns to his face and hands that November.

As stated above, Bolitho was compelled to take to his parachute on four occasions, three of them in quick succession, a fact confirmed by the unit’s war diary:

‘The first day the balloon ascended it was attacked by three hostile planes and burnt. Lieutenant Bolitho parachuted successfully. A new balloon was inflated and two days later was unsuccessfully attacked by hostile planes. The following day the balloon when in the air was heavily shelled and badly holed. Lieutenant Bolitho again parachuted successfully. The next day whilst the balloon was in the air it was again attacked by hostile planes unsuccessfully, and again Lieutenant Bolitho made a safe descent by parachute. He afterwards received the M.C.’

Not mentioned is the fact that in one of these attacks - on 28 February 1917 - his balloon was set alight. Goderic Hughes takes up the story:

‘This afternoon a German fighter appeared suddenly. At first he appeared to be coming for me. Then he seemed to change his mind and swerved off towards Bolitho. I was ashamed to note that my first instinctive reaction was a feeling of relief. I soon had very different feelings. The German made straight for Blot. I could of course see everything clearly. The little flame appeared. Blot parachuted. His parachute opened and, caught by the wind, blew out horizontally across what must be the telephone cable. His riggers had not spotted the new difficulty and had fixed the telephone cable as usual. He was hanging on one side of it; the parachute was billowing out on the other.

Of the three possibilities, which would happen first? Would the balloon fall in flames, taking Blot with it? Would the telephone cable snap? Would, perhaps, some or all of the line from the parachute snap? The flame was beginning to spread. There was a pause which seemed endless.

Suddenly the telephone cable snapped and Blot was falling. He was swaying wildly, but the parachute lines had not been damaged or entangled by this strange misuse. Almost at the same moment the sheet of flame rushed along the length of the balloon. It fell so close to Blot that I felt the flame must catch the parachute. But it did not. Blot was safe. One of his tenders would already be racing after him.

Not many minutes later the voice of the chart-room said, “Sir, someone wants to speak to you.” Peeved, I said, “He can’t. You know we never interrupt a shoot.” There was a pause - then, “Please, Sir, it’s Mr. Bolitho.” I asked the Battery Commander to stand by for a moment. Then:

“Is that you, Blot?”

“Yes.”

“Was it you I saw hanging from the telephone cable just now?”

“Yes.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“What’s the matter? Can I do anything for you?”

“I shan’t have a balloon for the rest of the afternoon. I wondered if I might come up with you. It’s such a wonderful chance for me to see Messines from your angle.”

“I can’t come down right now. I’m in the middle of a shoot. If you can wait, I’ll come down when I have finished and bring you up. Come along, make yourself at home and have some tea.”

So it was done. Up he came to have a look at Messines and proud I was to have him up there as my guest, for his was an almost legendary name. He said not a word about his recent experience; he might have spent the afternoon on the river in a punt.’

No surprises then that Goderic Hughes rated “Blot” Bolitho as ‘perhaps the bravest balloonist of them all’. Added to which he described how his friend appeared to cope with the strain:

‘An engineer I believe by profession, he was a lover of opera. He had a gramaphone, one of the old ones, with a horn and a collection of operatic records. If the weather was bad or he had nothing to do, he shut himself up in a hut with his gramaphone. Maybe that was what kept him so sane and calm. He had a safety-valve - I hadn’t.’

Sadly for such a distinguished and courageous officer, Bolitho appears to have fallen on hard times, and was sentenced to 12 months imprisonment at Middlesex Sessions for the theft of a bicycle and cape in 1952.