It's a war story that is told every time the career of Billy Bishop is discussed: On June 2, 1917, the young pilot single-handedly took out a German airfield in an early morning raid at the height of the Great War. For this, he was awarded the Victoria Cross, and a place in Canadian history. And yet, the attack never happened. In this explosive new biography, Brereton Greehous exposes the myth of Billy Bishop. While his bravery never comes into question (Bishop was as courageous as any of the men who risked their lives in those early warplanes) his credibility as a storyteller does. From exaggerations and half-truths to flat-out lies, stories of Bishop's legendary exploits contain as much fiction as they do fact. Greenhous reveals many startling truths: he presents evidence that some of the medals Bishop wore late in his career were unearned, uncovers a number of examples of Bishop embellishing or inventing combat stories, and, most significantly, shows that the only account of the ace's raid on the German airfield came from Bishop himself. Even official German records of casualties fail to corroborate the Canadian's claims. The Making of Billy Bishop is a book certain to stir up controversy. Twenty years ago, a documentary film questioning Bishop's credentials as a hero was considered so blasphemous that a senate investigation was launched in an attempt to restore the pilot's name. Now, Greenhous's research vindicates the claims of the filmmakers, and re-ignites an argument once thought settled.

It was 2am on the 16th June 1915 and dawn was slowly breaking over Bellewaarde. It was exceptionally quiet, the troops of 3rd Division were situated on the western edge of Railway Wood and shrouded in a thick mist which reduced visibility and gave the illusion of safety. Across the few yards of no man's land, the German troops of Reserve Infantry Regiments (RIR) 248 and 246, and Unter-Elsssisches Infanterie-Regiment Nr. 132 were also blanketed in the thick damp mist. It swirled round their trenches, deadening sound and reinforcing the illusion that all was secure. Fifty minutes later the planned British artillery bombardment began. By the end of the day more than 4,000 men would be casualties on a field approximately half a mile square. At the close of the 2nd Battles of Ypres, the German trenches between the Menin Road and the Ypres-Roulers railway formed a salient. From Bellewaarde ridge, situated on the eastern side of the lake, they were able to overlook the greater part of the ground east of Ypres. In early June it was decided to attack the salient, and take possession of Bellewaarde ridge. The attack was to be carried out by the 9th Brigade of the 3rd Division, with 7th Brigade in support.The book is a tribute to those who fought and died at Bellewaarde on the 16th June 1915 and author royalties will be donated to a fund to help raise money for a memorial.

From the time of Cook, the British and their Canadian successors were drawn to the Northwest coast of North America by possibilities of trade in sea otter and the wish to find a 'northwest passage'. The studies collected here trace how, under the influences of the Royal Navy and British statecraft, the British came to dominate the area, with expeditions sent from London, Bombay and Macau, and the Canadian quest from overland. The North West Company came to control the trade of the Columbia River, despite American opposition, and British sloop diplomacy helped overcome Russian and Spanish resistance to British aspirations. Elsewhere in the Americas, the British promoted trans-Pacific trade with China, harvested British Columbia forests, conveyed specie from western Mexico, and established the South America naval station. The flag followed trade and vice versa; empire was both formal (at Vancouver Island) and informal (as in California or Mexico). This book features individuals such as James Cook, William Bolts, Peter Pond, and Sir Alexander Mackenzie. It is also an account of the pressure that corporations placed on the British state in shaping the emerging world of trade and colonization in that distant ocean and its shores, and of the importance of sea-power in the creation of modern Canada.

This is the story of Rupert T. Gould (1890-1948), the polymath and horologist. A remarkable man, Lt Cmdr Gould made important contributions in an extraordinary range of subject areas throughout his relatively short and dramatically troubled life. From antique clocks to scientific mysteries, from typewriters to the first systematic study of the Loch Ness Monster, Gould studied and published on them all. With the title The Stargazer, Gould was an early broadcaster on the BBC's Children's Hour when, with his encyclopaedic knowledge, he became known as The Man Who Knew Everything. Not surprisingly, he was also part of that elite group on BBC radio who formed The Brains Trust, giving on-the-spot answers to all manner of wide ranging and difficult questions. With his wide learning and photographic memory, Gould awed a national audience, becoming one of the era's radio celebrities. During the 1920s Gould restored the complex and highly significant marine timekeepers constructed by John Harrison (1693-1776), and wrote the unsurpassed classic, The Marine Chronometer, its History and Development. Today he is virtually unknown, his horological contributions scarcely mentioned in Dava Sobel's bestseller Longitude. The TV version of Longitude, in which Jeremy Irons played Rupert Gould, did at least introduce Gould's name to a wider public. Gould suffered terrible bouts of depression, resulting in a number of nervous breakdowns. These, coupled with his obsessive and pedantic nature, led to a scandalously-reported separation from his wife and cost him his family, his home, his job, and his closest friends. In this first-ever biography of Rupert Gould, Jonathan Betts, the Royal Observatory Greenwich's Senior Horologist, has given us a compelling account of a talented but flawed individual. Using hitherto unknown personal journals, the family's extensive collection of photographs, and the polymath's surviving records and notes, Betts tells the story of how Gould's early life, his naval career, and his celebrity status came together as this talented Englishman restored part of Britain's - and the world's - most important technical heritage: John Harrison's marine timekeepers.