GROUNDED AT LAST

of Austria's greatest flying ace, an Irish baron

Vienna THE beaky profile was unmistakable, the self-deprecating charm irresistible. A num- ber of strands linking us with the old order of central Europe, all conveniently tied up in one personality, disappeared last week with the death of Godfrey von Banfield.

Austria's greatest war ace of the first world war, the defender of Trieste and Pola, the victor of countless aerial dog- fights, Banfield, though he died aged 96, scaled the heights of heroism long before he was 30.

Born a British subject in 1890, he was the son of an Irish naval officer serving in the Habsburgs' imperial navy. At the time, the Austrian navy possessed one of the most powerful fleets in the world. As a singularly gifted officer, Banfield, howev- er, was selected to develop the branch of pre-war naval activity which was concerned with the inevitable war in the air. In 1913, along with three other naval pilots, Ban- field became the Austrian Empire's first fighter pilot.

Aeroplanes at this time, as readers of Biggles know, were temperamental machines. It is not surprising that Banfield should have experienced his fair share of prangs in his first months of flying but none was perhaps more spectacular than his first when, demonstrating the navy's new arm in front of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand at a naval review, he crashed his craft into `1 suppose we're here till the bridge is built.' the rear of the fleet's flagship narrowly missing the imperial party, which a few months later would meet its nemesis on a street in Sarajevo.

It speaks well of Franz Ferdinand, who was a rather prickly archduke, that he visited Banfield in hospital and encouraged him to continue flying. It is no less indica- tive of Banfield's legendary courage that on his first day out he immediately re- sumed his flying.

Banfield's subsequent years are indeed like a chapter from a Biggles book. The enemy circus invariably dropped out of the sun and his only salvation lay in his faith, nerve and sang-froid.

On his first sortie over the Isonzo front, Banfield had the misfortune — some would say good luck — to be surprised by the celebrated Italian ace Francesco Barra- ca. High above the town of Gorizia, the Italian pursued the Austrian plane wonder- ing why such an accomplished pilot refused to return his fire. As was often the case in fact as well as fiction, Banfield's guns had jammed. As was less usual, however, Barracca, seeing this, allowed his prey to land with no more than a shot-up wing. It was a compliment Banfield was to return a year later when it was Barracca's turn for his guns to jam over Monfalcone. When asked later why he had spared the Italian, Banfield simply replied: 'I am an officer and today is Sunday.'

This chivalry was typical. Every French and Italian pilot he shot down over Au- strian territory and who survived was immediately invited to dine with his squad- ron. On at least two occasions, he wrote to the relatives of his victims to assure them that their loved ones were not dead.

As was so often the case, with chivalry came total fearlessness. While recovering from an injury in Pola, then with the formidable port of Cattaro, the headquar- ters of the imperial navy, he found himself in the middle of an aerial attack by Italian raiders. The squadron detailed to guard the port was absent and the only fighter available was Banfield's. Without hesita- tion, dismissing the protests of his fellow officers, he took off and engaged the attacking force. For about 20 minutes, an astonished audience below watched an even more astonished Italian squadron above attempt to deal with the intruder before, with three of their planes des- troyed, they fled in disorder.

It was one of the Emperor Franz Josef s last acts before his death to decorate Banfield for this with the order of Maria Theresa, the Empire's highest award for valour. 'Please try not to be too brave, we can't afford to lose you,' the old Kaiser is reported to have said to the shy 25-year-old pilot who found himself created Baron Gottfried von Banfield.

Less than three years later, La Grande Illusion was over. The Empire was finished, Franz Josef dead and Banfield languishing in an Italian prison in the city he had protected for the Austrians. Those who knew him often wondered to what extent his calmness and good humour were the result of this life of contrasts.

His subsequent career as an engineer in Newcastle ('We do this, Godfrey, this way because we have always done it this way,' was his favourite anecdote from this period) has been recorded elsewhere. As a salvage merchant in Trieste, he became one of the wealthiest men in Italy and well into his eighties he was a familiar figure as honorary French consul. Any Frenchman or indeed English or Irish man in distress who visited him could always count on a glass of stock brandy from the bottom right drawer of his desk to help iron out any creases of the soul.

A man who employed the lowest of low keys when referring to his past, Banfield personified the qualities of the Habsburg Empire unclouded by its vices. He was neither arrogant nor chauvinist. Despite changing his nationality three times, he displayed none of the central European's evasiveness or weakness of character. Pre- dictably he lived in Trieste, the city which still preserves all that was acceptable about the Habsburgs' past with the same enthu- siasm that Vienna retains all that was intolerable about them.

The death of the last Irish soldier of fortune to serve the Habsburgs ends a chapter in European military history which opened with the campaigns of Lacey, Laudon and Browne against Frederick the Great. It also closes the history of the knights of the Maria Theresa order which, founded in 1757 in Vienna, ended last week in Trieste with the demise of its last bearer.

As always in central Europe, irony triumphs over nostalgia. The man who was responsible for the deaths of Italian pilots is this week mourned by Italians as nostro barone'. But in Vienna, the death of the soldier who gave Austria the most durable and dashing example of honour, courage and loyalty is ignored.

Had Banfield flown for the Luftwaffe no doubt things would be different and the flags might be flying half mast in Vienna rather than Trieste.