I’ve written a bit about my ancestor, Colonel Jim Fitzmaurice, in the past. He was a fascinating character, making aviation history, fighting in the Somme, then slowly fading into obscurity and near-poverty towards the end of his life. My dad always tells stories about him, his plummy RAF accent and how he stuck out like a sore thumb in a newly independent Ireland, like some relic of a bygone age. I recently came across the book written by Fitzmaurice and his two colleagues about their Atlantic crossing – it is quite the read, not least because it covers his wild youth, the Somme and horrors of the First World War, but also the terror of their journey in the Bremen and his vision of the future for aviation, both in Ireland and around the world. The book is written by each member of the crew in turn, but this is Fitzmaurice’s section:
