Orders, Decorations and Medals

A fine Great War Balloonatic’s D.F.C. group of eight awarded to Captain G. D. Machin, Royal Air Force, late Bedfordshire Regiment and Royal Flying Corps, and afterwards Royal Army Service Corps and Royal Naval Auxiliary Service: gallant service in Kite Balloons aside, during which he had some miraculous escapes, he was severely wounded at Tobruk in 1942 and established himself as the acclaimed cartoonist and illustrator “Mac”

Distinguished Flying Cross, G.V.R., unnamed as issued; British War Medal 1914-20 (Lieut. G. D. Machin); Victory Medal 1914-19, M.I.D. oak leaf (Lieut. G. D. Machin, R.A.F.); 1939-45 Star; Africa Star; Defence and War Medals; Royal Naval Auxiliary Long Service, E.II.R. (G. D. Machin), good very fine (8) £3000-3500

One of approximately 35 Distinguished Flying Crosses awarded to Kite Balloon Officers.

D.F.C. London Gazette 8 February 1919. The original recommendation states:

‘When heavily shelled and his balloon has been hit he has remained up on several shoots in which he was engaged or to range artillery on to the gun which was shelling him. On two of these occasions the balloon lost so much gas that it fell fast at the end, and once he landed on the roof of a house, and once in a wood.

On 14 October 1918, this officer with another was up at a height of over 5000 feet in a balloon when they were attacked and forced to jump out in their parachutes which collided, and the cords of one got round Lieutenant Machin’s neck. He narrowly escaped strangulation and had a very heavy shock on landing as the parachutes remained locked together.

In spite of these incidents, Lieutenant Machin has always retained his keenness and nerve, and continues to set an excellent example to all Observers in this Wing. Throughout this year, Lieutenant Machin has set a fine example to the Balloon Officers of this Army. In both retirement and advance he has kept his balloons in action and in touch with the R.A.’

George Douglas “Mac” Machin was born in Stoke Newington in January 1893, was educated at Owen’s School and was working in the Illustrations and Publicity Department of Ovaltine at the outbreak of hostilities in August 1914. Enlisting in the Bedfordshire Regiment, he was appointed Sergeant within a fortnight and, in April 1915, joined the 1st Battalion in the Ypres salient, just before the famous gas attack launched by the Germans on the 22nd of that month. As per his article Kite Balloon Recollections, Machin says of this time in the Infantry:

‘Our front lines were little more than sandbagged ditches with corpses protruding here and there, and the whole area was infested with large rats. Sleeping quarters were like rabbit burrows in the clay walls due to lack of timber, and our one water point was covered by Prussian Guard snipers and Jaeger marksmen. I was on intelligence duties, sketching trenches and sniping, with some inter-lines patrolling. Despite artillery ammunition being rationed, and only one machine-gun (Corporal Warner, a posthumous V.C.), we were never short of .303 clips due to the augmented supplies from the U.S.A. and during our “mad minutes” (15 rounds in 60 seconds) we managed to hold the enemy. I continued front line duty until the vile winter of 1915, when a long-deferred leave at last came through.’

Machin did in fact return to France after his leave, but was shortly thereafter struck down by trench fever and evacuated to the U.K. as his temperature ‘soared to danger levels’. On recovery, he was assigned to the 8th Officer Cadet Battalion at Lichfield and, after being commissioned, was posted successively to the K.S.L.I. and Hampshire Regiment, at which point he made a successful application to join the Royal Flying Corps. Having then qualified as an Observer (Balloons), he was ordered to France where he joined No. 23 Section in the Ypres salient in early September 1916. Machin continues:

‘Like most other Observers, I packed my own ‘chute, placing sheets of paper between the individual folds. Our self-made harness of Willesden canvas, strongly stitched by a Corporal fitter, was a waist-belt and cross-shoulder pieces attached by trouser buttons! More quickly than I expected, I found myself thanking God that the buttons were well stitched on, for during my first observation duty on my second day with the unit I was shot down in flames. I was aloft with a stout Irishman, Lieutenant Daly, when an enemy aircraft dived out of the clouds, his tracers almost immediately igniting the gasbag. Daly signalled me out immediately and for the first few hundred feet of my fall I found myself upside down. The ‘plop’ of the mushrooming pure silk and one’s sudden suspension in still air after the shrill howling of the wind through the basket ropes whilst up observing was a pleasant contrast, and the sight of Daly also safely out - both of us well clear of the flaming, plummeting balloon - and the gentle approach to the good earth was an incredible experience. A few minutes after landing we saw the attacking plane try to force down one of our slow two-seaters. A lucky shot by the gunner hit the German pilot in the head and he crashed not too far from our K.B. site.’

But not only enemy aircraft threatened life and limb:

‘The main bugbear was daily fire from a long-range railway gun firing 9.2-inch shells with a clockwork fuse from the blur in the distance which was Houthulst Forest. “Clockwork Charlie” we called it, and mounted on rails he could run up and down, so that our counter batteries’ replies were most difficult ... We could plainly see the large orange flash as the gun fired and 32 seconds later the shell would explode behind us. The next was usually in front and, as we couldn’t move too well, we knew the next would land. The gun was very accurate and enormous chunks of 9-inch shell would whizz by or through us. I had one Observer with me wounded and a fragment went between my legs, tearing my flying coat. The fragile envelope was riddled every day and the Cacquot would deflate inwards. The wind would then get into the depression and twirl us free from the cable. It was a tricky job staying in the basket and bringing the balloon to earth by valving. Shell fire cut the cable on at least two occasions, once in a 45 m.p.h. snowstorm.’

Machin latterly commanded No. 39 Section, 8th Balloon Company, but not much else changed:

‘During the later operations on the Somme, I was lucky to escape when we were attacked by six Fokkers. My companion was a man called Gwatkin on his first trip up. I got him safely away but after my exit my ‘chute entangled with his and we came down clutching to each other, surrounded by the enemy aircraft all firing at us. Fortunately, some Camels came along and chased off the Huns, bringing one down.’

Machin was awarded the D.F.C. and mentioned in despatches (London Gazette 31 December 1918 refers) and, following the Armistice, transferred to, and served on attachment to the S. & T. Corps from the Indian Army Reserve of Officers for several years. Interestingly, his MIC entry is endorsed with assorted issuance instructions from the Army, Air Ministry and Indian Army and, specifically, a separate instruction for his British War Medal to be issued in India, which would account for its lack of ‘R.A.F.’ after his name; as for the fate of his 1914-15 Star, issued in October 1922, nothing is known, though notes on the relevant MIC correspondence page include claims submitted via the G.O.C. of 2nd Brigade, R.A.F. and another via the India Office.

Returning to civilian life as sports cartoonist for the Daily Mirror, Machin later became a freelance artist, working for many of the big newspapers and magazines, the latter including The Tatler.

But with the renewal of hostilities, he returned to uniform and was commissioned in the Royal Army Service Corps. Embarked for the Middle East, he was severely wounded at Tobruk, a detonating shell throwing him several feet into the air - a few weeks later he was spotted by Randolph Churchill, sketching in a hospital bed with two broken legs, and the Prime Minster’s son orchestrated his transferral to G.H.Q. in Cairo. Machin spent the rest of the war illustrating training manuals, and stayed in the army as an instructor until the early 1950s. Somehow, too, he managed to put in 17 years with the Royal Naval Auxiliary Service, adding a Long Service Medal to a combination of Honours & Awards that must surely be quite unique.

Of his latter days, no better summary maybe found than that published in the Daily Mail in May 2007:

‘Mac was one of few people to receive medals from all three branches of the Armed Forces. In the meantime he had continued his freelance work and took his sketchbook and pencil on five world tours. The Americans loved him and a sketch he prepared of Robert Kennedy was framed and presented to the Senator shortly before his assassination. His last few years were spent at the family home in Dallington, Sussex, where he grew his own fruit, vegetables and tobacco. He continued sketching through to the date of his death in 1985.’

Sold with an original set of John Players’ cigarette cards, depicting Football and Rugby stars of the 1920s, as illustrated by “Mac”, together with a copy of Poet’s Pie, by May E. E. Barrow (1st edition, privately published, December 1933), again with illustrations by “Mac”.