Early Impressions.

Arrived here O.K. and reported. Spent the best part of the morning signing papers and books, and buzzing around. On the way across to the hangars discovered two R.F.C. men lying on the ground trying to look like a mole-hill, and fidgeting with a gadget resembling an intoxicated lawn-mower, the use of which I have not yet discovered. Am posted to “A” Flight (and wondering when I am going to get it, so to speak). You report at six o’clock if you are on the morning list; at nine o’clock if you are not. When you report possibly you go for a joy-ride, weather and number of pupils permitting. You spend some time in the shops, followed by a lecture and then drill. At four o’clock you report again. If it’s fine, and the officers don’t feel too bored with life, they may take you for a flight, but it is generally some one else they take and not you. Then you smoke till 5.30 p.m., when you go home. However, I’m enjoying myself, and the pupils seem a decent lot. I don’t think there will be anything doing for the next few days, as there is an abominable mist all over the place. The machines are the safest in the world.

Have had a ten minutes’ flight this evening. It was splendid, and felt perfectly safe. Machine seems quite simple to control. I had my hands on the dual set, and felt how the pilot did it. Don’t expect I shall get up again for a long time. I was quite warm, and felt happy, calm, and confident.

My first flying lesson was in the gathering dusk of a cold evening, but an extra leathern waistcoat and an overcoat and muffler kept me warm. I mounted to my seat behind the pilot in the nacelle of the huge biplane, fastened my safety belt, donned my helmet, and sat tight.

A duologue ensued between the pilot and the mechanic who was about to swing the propeller and to start the great 70-h.p. Renault engine.

“Switch off,” sang out the mechanic. “Switch off,” echoed the pilot as he complied with the request.

“Suck in,” shouted the mechanic.

The pilot moved a lever. “Suck in,” he echoed.

The mechanic put forth his strength, and turned the propeller round half a dozen times or so to draw petrol into the cylinders.

“Contact,” he shouted.

“Contact,” came back the echo from the pilot as he switched on.

A lusty heave of the propeller, and the engine was started.

For a moment the machine was held back, while the pilot listened to the deep throbbing of the motor, and then, satisfied with its running, he waved his hand, and we began to “taxi” rapidly across the aerodrome to the starting-point. The starting-point varies almost every day, as the rule is to start facing the wind. Then we turned, the pilot opened the throttle wide, and a deep roar behind us betokened the instant response of the engine. With the propeller doing its 900 revolutions a minute we were soon travelling over the ground at 40 m.p.h. The motion got smoother, and on looking down I found to my surprise that we were already some thirty feet above the ground. A slight movement of the elevator, and we started to climb in earnest. A couple of circuits and we were 700 feet up.

The pilot looked round and signalled to me to put my hands on the controls. I did so, and then—apparently to test my nerves—he started doing some real sporting “stunts,” dives, steep-banks, and so on—in fact, everything but looping the loop. However, it did not occur to me at the time to be nervous, I was enjoying it so much. And so at last the pilot, who kept casting furtive glances at me, was satisfied, and taking her up to 1,000 feet put her on an even keel, and took both his hands off the controls, putting them on the sides of the nacelle and leaving poor little me to manage the “’bus.” This I did all right, keeping her horizontal and jockeying her up with the ailerons when one of the wings dropped a little in an air pocket. On reaching the other side of the “’drome” he retook control, turned her, and let me repeat my performance.

Then, again taking control, the pilot, after a few more stunts, throttled down till his engine was just “ticking over,” and did a vol planÉ from 1,000 feet into the almost invisible aerodrome. A gentle landing in the growing darkness and rising fog, a swift “taxi” along the ground to the open hangar, and my first lesson in aerial navigation was concluded. The teaching methods may be considered rather abrupt, but they are those adopted now by all the flying schools. The pupil is taken up straight away on a dual-control machine to a height of about 1,000 feet, and then is allowed to lean forward and amuse himself with the second set of controls, any excessive mistake being corrected by the pilot. After a time he is allowed to turn unaided, to do complete circuits unaided, and finally to land the machine unaided. If he does this successfully he is sent “solo,” and after a few “solos” is sent up for his “ticket” or Royal Aero Club Certificate. At the time of writing I am doing circuits unaided, but I hope, weather permitting, to have come down unaided by the time this appears in print.—Reprinted from the School Journal.

Have not been up again, but hope to go up to-morrow. Am enjoying myself, and am quite fit.

Had a nice flight yesterday with Captain ——. If fine, hope to have another to-morrow.

Up this evening. We passed over a field and spotted a B.E. smashed. It had run into a hedge. No one hurt; machine new.

Three flights yesterday, and would have gone “solo” in the afternoon but a pupil smashed the solo machine.

Nothing doing! Nothing done!

At last I have gone “solo.” On Sunday and Monday two of our machines were smashed by pupils on their first solos and both machines had to be scrapped. In consequence, the pilots have been rather chary about letting us go up alone, and we too have been wondering whether we were fated to follow the example of the others.

At length, however, Captain —— sent up X this evening, and he got on all right. So he turned to me suddenly and said, “Well, you’d better go and break your neck now.” Thus cheered, I gave my hat as a parting gift to Y, shook hands mournfully all round, and amid lamentations and tears took my seat for the first time in the pilot’s seat. “Contact,” etc., and my engine was running. I pointed her out into the aerodrome, and then turned her to the right; but “taxiing” is almost as tricky as flying, and before I could stop it the machine had turned completely round. However, I got it straight again, and taxied to the starting-place.

A “biff” of my left hand on the throttle, and the engine was going all out. Faster and faster over the ground; a touch of the controls, and we were off! The next thing I recollect was passing over a machine on the ground at a height of 200 feet, and then I was at the other end of the aerodrome. This meant a turn; so down went the nose, then rudder and bank, and round we came in fine style. A touch on the aileron control, and we were level again. Thus I went on for ten minutes, and as Captain —— had told me to do only one circuit and I had done considerably more, I decided to come down.

It was growing dusk, so it was as well that I did. I took her outside the “’drome,” then pointed her in, put the nose down and pulled back the throttle.

The roar of the engine ceased, and the ground loomed nearer. A very slight movement of the controls and we flattened out three feet above the ground and did a gentle landing. A touch on the throttle, a roar, and I taxied back to the waiting mechanics. “Good landing,” sang out one of them, and a moment later some half a dozen pupils were shaking me violently by all the hands they could find and all talking at once in loud voices. “Where’s my hat?” I asked, and a crumpled object was handed to me. Then up came Captain ——, very red in the face, and looking exceedingly happy. “Damn good, ‘Theta’!” and so it ended. Heaps of love to you both.

Went “solo” last Wednesday and shall be surprised if I do so again before Christmas. It is cold and misty, and when not misty it is windy; when it is neither it rains and so on, but mist from the marshes is the worst by far. So sometimes we sits and thinks and cusses and smokes; and sometimes we just sits.

Have been up again at last—the first time for a week. Four solo flights to-day. Went up 1,500 feet on the third and stayed up an hour on the fourth, between 900 feet and 1,000 feet. It was lovely flying this evening, but bumpy and airpockety this morning.

“Theta,” C. Av. What! At last I am a certificated pilot. As soon as I arrived this morning they sent me up for my ticket, although (as I said) I had never done a right-hand turn alone! I took my ticket in fine style, landing right on the mark each time, while X, who went up first for his, was helping to extricate his machine from a ditch. He finished his tests, however, all right afterwards. When I landed after finishing my eights, my instructor said I could consider myself “some pilot” now. I went up to nearly 2,000 feet this evening for a joy-ride, and stayed up until I got bored and it got dark and began to rain. Well, I have got my ticket without “busting” a wire, so I hope I shall keep it up. Was overwhelmed with congrats, from pupils, etc. I expect I shall be transferred to “B” flight, and get taken up as a passenger so as to learn to fly another type.

Up this morning for a joy-ride with Sergeant ——, and got into a fog bank and lost sight of land and sky. Got out of it all right in the end. Rather interesting.

To-day was the first nice day for flying for a week, so the officers and men arranged a football match! All the same I did manage to get a flight; so cheer-o. I had my hair cut yesterday, and a new glass put in my watch. To-day I find my glass cracked, and my hair grown almost as long as before, in the night.

Got on splendidly to-day. Went solo all right. This type is much nicer to handle than the other, but you land faster owing to higher speed. This I managed so well that Sergeant —— clapped his hands and said “Very good!”

(Deleted by R.F.C. Censor as not being sufficiently expressive.) However, we attended a very boring lecture, and walked through slud and mush at drill time; so we have not done so badly.

Cleaning wires with emery paper is grand exercise, albeit a trifle monotonous. However, the pay (15s. 6d. a day) is good. And as we pass we hear the voice of R—— weeping for his pupils (which are not) and will not be comforted.

A most wonderful exhibition of flying by Hawker, Raynham, and Marix.

Did you see your little son to-day emulating the antics of Nature’s aerial ornithopters? I left Aerodrome “B” about 10.15 a.m. and went over to S., then I branched off at right angles for W., but as I was about 4,000 feet up I could not pick it out from the other parks and commons, and so, finding myself running into a formidable set of clouds, I “about turned,” and after taking my map from my pocket and studying it on my knee for a few minutes, I found out where I was and set out for Aerodrome “A.” I found it all right, landed, had a chat with the pupils, borrowed a “bike” and went round to my old rooms, with chocolate for Betty. Teddie, the dog, was overjoyed to see me.... I soon got going again and did a few circles over the hospital where Mrs. S. was nursing, climbed to 2,000 feet, and followed the railway to—home! Here I did a circle, trying to cover the houses of as many of my old friends as I could, and then made off at right angles to the railway for Aerodrome “B.” Before I left home I dropped four letters with streamers attached—two to you, one to A.C., and one to the Head. Only a few words inside, so it does not matter whether they are lost or opened by some one else. I have no idea where they fell. I could see Aerodrome “B” eight miles away directly I left you, and landed beautifully in time for lunch. I covered the distance in about seven and a half minutes, having had a ripping morning. I hope you saw me; and if you did, how much money did Dad win betting it was me?

The following extracts are from a letter from home which crossed the above in post:

“We saw you. It was all very interesting, and has sent a thrill over the neighbourhood! To ease your mind I may tell you that your letter was duly picked up and delivered within three hours of your visit.... The Mater saw an aeroplane passing over earlier in the morning and told me she was sure you had taken Betty her chocolate. Later it became borne in upon me that you were on your way back. I went to the door. Immediately there came the roar of a Gnome-engined biplane, and I yelled ‘Here he is.’ Up came the Gnome-engine biplane, gaily waving its propeller; then it turned and circled round home. I gurgled ‘It is Theta,’ seized my handkerchief and waved it violently. Then there fluttered down from the aeroplane some little things that glittered in the sun as they fell, and we knew it was your machine.... Then you appeared to go up over the school grounds and so home. I watched you till you were only a speck in the sky, and then turned away. I shall hope when I wake in the morning to have the scene described as it appeared to you from above. Meanwhile our hearty congratulations on your first cross-country flight.”

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