It must be admitted that, like most people brought up with wealth, he was apt to be unduly impatient.  Delays or objections irritated him.  He wanted to force his will upon Time, which never admits compulsion, and tried to over-ride obstacles.  His peculiar fascination gradually won its way even in workshops, and his appearance there was greeted with acclamation, not only because the men were curious to see him, but because they were in sympathy with him and had put his ideas to a successful test.  The workmen liked to see him sit in a half-finished machine, and explain in his short, decisive style what he wanted and what was sure to give superiority to French aviation.  The men stopped work, came round, and listened eagerly.  This, too, was a triumph for him.  What he told them on such occasions he had probably whispered to himself many times before when, on rainy days, he would sit in his airplane under the hangar, and think and talk to himself, while strangers wondered if he was not crazy.

However, he had made friends with well-known engineers, especially Major Garnier of Puteaux and M. Bechereau of the Spad works.  These two, instead of dismissing him as a snappish airman continually at variance with the builder, took his inventions seriously and strove to meet his requirements.  When M. Bechereau, after long delays, was at last decorated for his eminent services, the Secretary of Aeronautics, M. Daniel Vincent, came to the works and was going to place the medal and red ribbon on the engineer’s breast, when he saw Guynemer standing near.  He graciously handed the medal over to the airman, saying: 

“Give M Bechereau his decoration; it is only fair you should.”

In September, 1916, Guynemer had tried at the front one of the first two Spads.  On the 8th he wrote to M. Bechereau:  “Well, the Spad has had her bapteme du feu.  The others were six:  an Aviatik at 2800, an L.V.G. at 2900, and four Rumplers jostling one another with barely 25 meters in between at 3000 meters.  When the four saw me coming (at 1800 on the speedometer) they no doubt took me for a meteorite and funked, and when they got over it and back to their shooting (fine popping, though) it was too late.  My gun never jammed once.”  Here he went into technicalities about his new machine-gun, but further on reverted to the Spad:  “She loops wonderfully.  Her spin is a bit lazy and irregular, but deliciously soft.”  The letter concludes with many suggestions for minor improvements.

His correspondence with M. Bechereau was entirely devoted to a study of airplanes:  he never wandered from the subject.  Thus he collaborated with the engineer by constantly communicating to him the results of his experience.  His machine-gun was the great difficulty.  “Yesterday,” he wrote on October 21, 1916, “five Boches, three of them above our lines, came within ten meters of the muzzle of my gun, and impossible to shoot.  Four days ago I had to let two others get away.  Sickening....  The weather is wonderful.  Perhaps the gun will work now.”  In fact, a few days later he wrote exultingly, having discovered that the jamming was due to cold and having found an ingenious remedy.