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Aviation History
1950
1950 - 0760.PDF
494 FLIGHT ''. . . the crowds were increasing in volume every minute . . ." Grahame-White's machine in the field at Hademore Crossing during the first attempt. It was later overturned by the wind. LONDON TO MANCHESTER, 1910.. (Continued from previous page) In the Air By CLAUDE GRAHAME-WHITE HAVING purchased a Bleriot Monoplane in the lateautumn of 1909, I decided to qualify as soon aspossible for my Pilot's Certificate, without which cross-country flying was prohibited. As the weather was unfavourable in Paris, where I took delivery of my machine, I sent it by rail to Pau, in the South of France, where a new aerodrome had just been constructed, and where weather conditions were almost ideal for a novice. Within a fortnight of arriving at Pau I had taught myself to fly and had completed the qualifying nights and landing tests, and on December 16th, 1909, I obtained my Brevet de Pilote, issued by the Aero Club de France, subsequently confirmed by the F.A.I. Being now anxious to be the first Englishman to attempt the London to Manchester flight, for which The Daily Mail, owned by Lord Northcliffe, had offered the munificent cash prize of ^10,000, to be won by the first aviator of any nationality who completed the journey within 24 hours, I immediately began to formulate my plans to embark on this somewhat formidable cross-country flight. The experience gained during my test flights convinced me that the Bleriot single-seat monoplane, fitted with a small three-cylinder, 25 h.p. motor, was quite unsuitable for the flight, and I decided to purchase a more powerful machine. Accordingly, early in January, 1910, I left Pau and went to Mourmelon, where Henry Farman had his factory. As soon as I had explained my plans, he enthusiastically agreed to build and deliver to me, within three months, one of his biplanes fitted with a 50 h.p. Gnome rotary motor, which at that time was the most powerful and reliable aircraft engine obtainable. This biplane was of a totally different type from the Bleriot monoplane, and I found it much easier to fly and control, due in a large measure to the increased motor power. On the first day I took delivery at Mourmelon, I flew non-stop for one hour and twenty minutes, and also took my mother for a fifteen-minute flight, so she was one of the first women in the world to make a flight in an heavier- than-air machine. It was now early April, 1910. I had the biplane dis- mantled and crated, chartered a special train to take it to Calais, a special boat for the cross-channel trip and another special train to get the machine from Dover to London, for having heard rumours that some French pilots were anxious to compete for this valuable prize, I felt I could not afford to lose any time by the ordinary means of trans- port. In those early, pioneer days of aviation, no skilled or experienced aircraft mechanics were available in England, and I had to rely, more or less, entirely on the experience I had gained in the Bleriot and Farman factories during the construction of my machine; and this knowledge I found most valuable when I arrived back in England. The machine was delivered at Park Royal, in north-west London, which was just a big, open, rough field. I had been unable to obtain permission to use Wormwood Scrubs, which was a far bigger, level and a more suitable ground in every way. By the afternoon of April 22nd, the machine was erected and the motor tested, and by late evening, when the wind dropped, I made a trial flight and was satisfied that all was O.K. and ready for a start at day-break next morning. I arrived at Park Royal at 4 a.m. on Saturday, April 23rd, and found a large crowd awaiting my departure. As soon as it was daybreak the motor was started up and, after a few minutes to warm up, I took off at 5.19 a.m. and flew in towards Willesden Junction, where the late Cdr. Perrin, secretary of the Aero Club, stationed on the top of one of the gasometers, waved a large white flag to indicate to me that I had rounded a point within five miles of The Daily Mail offices in the City, as required by the regulations. I then turned and headed north over Willesden Junction Station and followed the London and North Western Railway Tracks towards Rugby, my first planned stop to refuel. In those early days, there were no reliable aircraft instru- ments, and my machine was not fitted with any compass, altimeter, engine rev counter, or petrol-tank gauge, and no aerial maps were available, I therefore had to steer by the rails and other landmarks which I had personally selected on a railway observation trip to Manchester. As I sat on a seat entirely unprotected from the wind and weather, it was not long before I became quite numbed by the cold. After passing Watford I gained height and before reaching Bletchley I estimated that I was well over 1,000 feet up and was making good progress, when suddenly I came over very faint and was afraid that I might have to make a landing. I then remembered that I had put some bars of chocolate and a small flask of brandy in the outside pocket of my jacket, and, after eating some chocolate and having a nip of brandy, I felt better; my faintness passed off and I flew on to my pre-arranged landing place at Clifton, a village about three miles south of Rugby. I soon saw the large white sheet which my mechanics had spread on the ground to indicate the spot on which I was to touch down, and in a minute or two I made a safe landing at 7.20 a.m., having made a very successful first hop of 83 miles. I was so stiff with the cold that I had to be assisted out of my seat. Lord and Lady Denbigh, who had come from their home to meet me, very kindly drove me in their brougham to a nearby cottage, where I had some breakfast and a warm up. In the meantime, my mechanics had filled up the oil and petrol tanks, and at 8.25 a.m. I started off again, hoping to make my next pre-arranged landing at Crewe. Everything went well until I was nearing Nuneaton, but I was being tossed about a good deal and soon realized the wind had risen considerably. Before I reached Tamworth, I found it very difficult to hold my course and control the machine, and rather than risk damage I decided it would be prudent to land and wait until late afternoon, when the wind usually drops, to continue my flight to Manchester. I saw what looked like a suitable field adjoining the railway and at 9.20 a.m. made a safe landing at Hademore Crossing, a few miles south of Lichfield and 113 miles from London, with only 68 miles to fly on to Manchester. Within a few minutes of my landing, thousands of people swarmed around the machine and started writing their names all over the wings and other parts; some, more daring, even tried to remove parts as souvenirs, and I and my mechanics had great difficulty in preventing damage. I mounted the machine and addressed the crowd, asking them to act as good sportsmen and not to spoil my chances of completing the flight. This seemed to have the desired effect for the time being; but, as the crowds were increasing in volume every minute, it became evident that more drastic measures would have to be taken to protect the machine, so I got a friend to telephone the commanding officer at the mili-
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