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Aviation History
1913
1913 - 0410.PDF
ARMCHAIR 1 By THE The Aerodrome Mechanic. WHEN I first l»ecame interested in aviation, the thing that struck me with most force (science tells me that it isn't the force of a blow that hurts, but the speed at which it is delivered) was the great amount of enthusiasm that aerodrome mechanics put into their work. If any of these gentlemen were unfortunate enough to read what I wrote on enthusiasm a week or two ago, I beg thev wdl unread it at once, it wasn't meant for them. When a man will cheerfully get up at daybreak <>n a cold winter's morning and work right through the day till late at night, and then climb into a motorcar without a word (except to ask if the pilot is all right) to go miles away to a breakdown, returning, perhaps, at or after midnight, with the result of his many weeks of loving labour smashed to matchwood, and start again next morning to rebuild it with a good will, he does not want any advice from me. There was a time, long ago now, when the London cabman was known the world over as the wittiest class of man extant. The aerodrome mechanic, had he been about in those days could have given him a day's start and a beating. Moreover, he is the very essence of good temper with it. Watch him any day when there is flying on, and " his " machine is in the air. Mis eyes are never off it, and he watches every move and turn the pilot may make, not as you might think because he is afraid of having some repairs to do, but to see that the pilot does justice to the machine, "his" machine, and he is not backward in giving vent ia his feelings should the said pilot make never so slight afault in a "bank,"or fly wide at a pylon dUting a race. Should he round a pylon at a greater distance than a few yards you will probably hear someone say in a very disconsolate voice, " Come on to tea Jack, he's gone to Brooklands.'' Sometimes a machine will suddenly drop a few feet owing to a so-called "air pocket," and somebody will shout, " Lummy, he thinks it's Saturday" (mechanics say that smashes always happen on Saturdays so they have to work on Sunday repairs). But the best illustration of the interest they take in their machines happened one day last year at Mendon. A machine had just been got under way and was taxying out across the ground, when another pilot about to land flew straight at it, and for a moment it looked like a head on collision. Quite oblivious of the crowd ot ladies and gentlemen around him, a mechanic started dancing about like a red Indian, and although the other machine was several hundred yards away, shouted at the top of a voice that could be heard all over the aerodrome, " Hi ! Mind our little lot, d you," and then blushed like a girl, but that " our little lot" meant ever so much to me, and I am quite sure he had nothing to blush about. There are many minor accidents at an aerodrome, such as a smashed undercarriage, broken wings or struts, or even a propeller. Things that are brought about in very simple ways, but which mean much patient work destroyed and many hours of toil to put right, and I have often wondered if there is any other class of worker who can stand by ai.d see his work broken up and then start to repair it with the same cheerfulness as he. Perhaps just a few examples of the patois may not be amiss here. If an engine is missing in one cylinder " the old stove has got one flue bunged up." Should it be pulling badly it's "on day work." A pilot who flies unsteadily is a " rag-timer " or a " yiddle." When a pilot cuts out his engine he's "cut her oats off" A vol plant \s known as "a gaby." A back-fire is a " Brock's, benefit." A magneto is a "juice distributor." Flying high is known as " upstairs," and low as "fool's paradise." A trick flyer is a "stunt merchant," and a steady, race flyer is a " treasure hunier," and so on, till one could almost compile a dictionary. Gentlemen, the aerodrome mechanic is a right good chap all round, and deserves well the small amount of v/ages he gets, which is about one-half that he earns, and I should like to t>ee him have a bumping "Mechanic's Benefit" day in the season. As Captain Cuttle used to say, " Look it up, and when lound make a note of." A Touch of Liver. Those who know me best would tell you that I am not by any means one that could be called a grumbler, being rather inclined the other way, and generally face a hard world with a smiling face that is the real article, and simply fall over myself to grasp my fellow man by the hand, and say I am pleased to see him, and look it. Now and again, however, I am l>ound to look things squarely in the face and say what I think. This is only because I know what a lot of nonsense there is going on, and I am not really grumbling at anybody, but simply telling them about it, and trying to do my best to put things right. Clarissa says it is a touch of liver, and gives me a wide berth, but that is just woman all over. If you can't see eye to eye with them " you're a nasty old thing, so there," and all the explaining that you " only want to be kind " in the REFLECTIONS. DREAMER. world won't put things right, and they go on hunger strike or something of that kind till a couple of theatre tickets or a little shop-window fuddle puts things right again, and I am inclined to think there is method in their madness. Now I don t want you to think I am at all like that to-night, because I am not, I never felt better in my life, and only want to talk to you (Clarissa says that's a sure sign) about something that is worrying me. Will some body please tell me why in the world I should have to get up in the morning and go to work when I feel tired, and have to knock off in the evening and go to bed just when I feel like work ? It seems to me absurd, and I believe the whole thing is summed up in one word, "Daylight." In prehistoric days, when man hunted, not fellow- man, but animals for a living, it was natural that he should rise early in the morning to hunt for the dinner of himself and Mrs. Iron, Stone, Wood, or whatever their name was, not to mention the little filings, pebbles or splinters who also had to be thought of. It was also natural that they should retire early to their little semi-detached cave when the evenings drew in, because they had no pennies to put in the slot. But now it seems to me that things can be done at night quite as well as in the daytime. How is it, otherwise, that the " tube " railways run their trains as usual during a fog whilst the above-ground companies are all at sea, and hours late, if they don't take the trains off alto gether, just because they can't see. I say night is the time to work, especially in the summer when it_ gets dark at ten and light again at two. In the winter, of course, it is different and wants changing about, but to work by day all through the year is ridiculous. I am not going to fill this page up with this sort of thing, because my liver is in rather good condition just now, but every year somebody talks about what he calls a daylight saving bill, which means you start work earlier in the morning, and as it is just about due now I thought I would put my foot down straight away. Mr. Whatsyour- name, don't do it, you make me go all goosey. A Lesson in Steam. With such a young industry as aviation it is possible, I think, to learn many lessons from things that previously had passed us by unheeded, as we had no particular interest in them at the time. I had occasion recently to be travelling from the North behind one of the monster engines on the Great Northern Railway, which was giving off great volumes of steam. There was half a gale of wind blowing the steam to my side of the track, and drifting it away over the surrounding country, and for nearly the whole journey I was interested in its behaviour in the eddies caused by the different contour of the ground as we went along. Where the ground was quite flat the steam simply hurtled away in a straight line gently rising the while, but small hillocks, trees, or even small hollows in the ground had a most remarkable effect, and gave a very fine illustration of the difficult air currents pilots have to tussle with when flying over country that is much broken up by obstacles such as woods, hills, or even houses. One thing I noticed was, that there always seemed to be an up- current over trees, especially if they were high and close together, such as poplars for instance. The steam drifted straight for the trees and seemed on the point of going through, as I have seen it do hundreds of times, but just a few yards short it would be violently lifted and go up vertically, and then gently bend over at the top and down on the other side at about the same distance from the trees all the time, where it would split up, part to continue on its way and part, strange to say, to be carried back through the trees low down to mingle again with that on the upward path and so once again over the trees and away. In passing over a small hollow in the ground, say, a place 50 yards or so wide, and, perhaps, 10 to 20 feet deep, with gently sloping Sides, such a place as a plough would be able to negotiate in the course of its work. I noticed that the steam would hurry along near the ground and at the edge it would split up as before, part to continue on its course and a part to be caught in a current of air coming towards me up the nearer side of the hollow, and rushed upwards at a terrific speed. The part that had continued on its way, on nearing, or just over the far side would again be split up, part getting away, and part being caught in a violent draught, and carried back into the hollow, and after traversing the whole distance would come up, and scurry away above on its original course. I am not in the least a scientist, and the above is simply the observations of one interested, and I leave it to better heads than mine to work it out to a useful knowledge, but I really do think that those interested in problems connected with aviation might well employ what is generally looked on as wasted time during travelling by watching these curious freaks of the wind. 6
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