FlightGlobal.com
Home
Premium
Archive
Video
Images
Forum
Atlas
Blogs
Jobs
Shop
RSS
Email Newsletters
You are in:
Home
Aviation History
1934
1934 - 1341.PDF
DECEMBER 20, 1934. FLIGHT. 1345 " The wings became self-warping, and I held the camera to my eye, waiting, waiting . . . until at last they gave up the ghost." " When you see a machine loaded to the limit . . . bumps take on a different aspect ... we had to go into uncomfortably close formation." the girls who ever covered a wing, I made a mental note that parachuting would never be my forte. Flying with R.A.F. Squadrons in formation above the clouds is a grand idea for a morning's work, but it occa- sionally has snags. Once, having flown for some forty minutes round about glorious cumulus clouds, some of which were six or seven thousand feet from base to tip, 1 told the pilot I was finished, and settled down, well pleased with the pictures in the bag. He pointed out that we were at 9,500ft., and did I mind a few stalled turns to lose height more rapidly? I shut up the bag, made myself comfortable, and told him to go ahead. The stalled turn did not happen quite in accordance with the book of rules, for the next thing 1 knew was that we were on our back with, apparently, every intention of staying there. I was not strapped in. The camera bag had to be trapped with one foot and the camera clutched tightly in one hand, the other holding on to the seat for dear life. Meanwhile, all the dirt from the floor was going up—or down—my nose and in my mouth. A parachute— observer's type—was hung on the side of the cockpit, but while I was deciding how to get hold of it and fasten it on, we returned to the normal way up. The rest of the journey was a straight and gentle glide. This episode is not illustrated. It is not often, I imagine, that one photographer has recorded both the start and the finish of a long-distance flight. The occasion was in 1927, when Carr and Mack- worth attempted to break the world's distance record in a Hawker " Horsley." The place of departure was Cran- well Aerodrome. I got my picture of the take-off, then ran back some thousand yards to where another "Horsley" was waiting for me. ^ Completely exhausted from the run I ! staggered into the machine, and off we went. By cutting off a corner we were soon alongside the other "Horsley," and the thrills began. Bumps in an ordinary aeroplane are—well, bumps, but when you see a machine loaded to the limit go down and down, bumps take on a differ- ent aspect. Moreover, petrol was over- flowing from every vent on the long-dis- tance "Horsley," and we had to go into uncomfortably close formation, while frantic signals to turn this on and turn that off passed between us. Now, all was well and we sailed along. I thought: "Just one picture over the coastline ''—sort of white cliffs of old England business—" and then for home." But no. A tiny wisp of blue appeared by the tail of the other machine and then grew longer and longer until it stretched for hundreds of feet behind. It was oil, and the whole machine began to glisten where it sprayed. From where we were one could see hasty conferences between the pilot and navigator as to whether they should jump with their chutes and leave a machine with a thousand gallons of petrol on board to crash where it might, or take a chance of landing with the attendant risk of it going up in flames. Martlesham Heath—one of the worst-surfaced aero- dromes in the country—in sight, and we ourselves went down and landed. A quick tumble out, and the camera was set as the other "Horsley" glided in. Perfect judg- ment, a little burst of engine to take off the rate of sink, and the heavily overloaded machine trundled gently to a standstill without even bursting a tyre—and it had burst one while just standing stationary on the tarmac at Cran- well! A very gallant show. There is only one view of an aircraft which looks really clean, and that is a head-on view taken while the machine is flying. Once, when I wanted such a picture, the re- doubtable and ever-helpful George Bulman said, "That's all right; we'll try it." We did, and very successful it was, as you can see from the heading picture on the previous page. In fact, it was so successful (if I may say so) that these views became rather in demand. The next machine I photographed was flown by a pilot with an " A " licence and about fifty hours' experience. He fancied the head-on idea. I, not having the courage to tell him I thought it a rotten one, stood to be shot at. One hundred feet was the nearest he came to the ground—which was most dis- appointing. . . . Thank heaven! Somebody else hit the ground and bounced over my head, and another pilot wiped one of my ears with a wheel and the other with the tail skid, and yet another nearly parted by hair with his rudder. No names, no pack drill! One well-known pilot, when asked to fly for this view, remarked: " Have you ever seen a man who has been hit by an undercarriage? I have." Then he murmured something about "sacks of potatoes," and we fell in with his ideas. Of course, of all the experiences in life none can compare with that of going solo for the first time. Never shall I forget my first solo on a Camel. No rudder, no Sutton harness, no throttle. The tail gets off well before the nose, and straight '' flying'' feels like the crazy variety; in fact, ten minutes of it, and one wonders if there is a whole bone left in the body. A photograph of the type in question appears on this my first solo." page. J. Y.
Sign up to
Flight Digital Magazine
Flight Print Magazine
Airline Business Magazine
E-newsletters
RSS
Events
