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Aviation History
1957
1957 - 0975.PDF
19 July 1957 .... ... 75 Gliders at La Ferte Alais, one of the two soaring centres visited by the author during his fortnight in France. It is situated only 20 miles from Paris. BEETROOTS IN FRANCE IMPRESSIONS OF A CONTINENTAL GLIDING HOLIDA Y plot was to take my Skylark for a fortnight to France, the Rue St. Honore at 6 p.m. when all the shops and businessesgenerally to Have Fun, but particularly to have a shot at are just closing. Petrol was still supposedly rationed, too.my third and last Diamond, that elusive 500 km distance We were due to report at Angers on Saturday and, when flight which has so far baffled all British sailplane pilots in our Thursday came, with clear blue skies and a dismal met-report thatown country—mainly because the British Isles are too small in all the air was too stable even to make local flights interesting and the practicable directions, and one does not want to have to swim back. We first selected La Ferte Alais, a gliding centre near Paris,which had the additional advantage that my daughter Vanessa was at school in Paris, and could be relied on to show us thesights if the gliding weather failed. But, having arranged this, we received an invitation from the Aero Club de l'Ouest de laFrance to fly in their Huit Jours d'Angers, a small international contest which they were holding during the last eight days of ourholiday. The invitation and the exact coincidence were too good to be missed, and we gladly accepted.So Joan Price, my wife Kitty and I set forth on May 30, 1957. Our start was somewhat hectic since, through various minor mis-haps, we were an hour late at Dover. Once or twice on the way there, in my zeal to catch the boat, we nearly exceeded the30 m.p.h. speed limit. But catch it we did—the Dover-Dunkirk train ferry—and after the engine had neatly shunted its trucksinto the belly of the whale there was space left for us to back our 30ft trailer in front of one of the lines of refrigerated trucks.We then went upstairs to the bar to recover, having left our address with a gentleman on the quay whose offside mudguard would never be quite the same again. And so we arrived at La Ferte Alais on the morning of Friday,May 31, to be welcomed by M. Paul Lepanse, the chief, and by a display of aircraft and equipment which would make anyBritish club-member's mouth water. Being only 20 miles from Paris, we had expected somewhat suburban surroundings, butParis turns out to be a surprisingly compact city, and in fact we were in the depths of a beautiful countryside. La Ferte Alaisitself is a small old town in a small valley boasting a small cathe- dral that dates back around 1,000 years. One side of the valley iswooded, and on the top of the hill lies the aerodrome, surrounded on three sides by tree-covered slopes. At this time of the yearthe woods were carpeted with a profusion of wild flowers which was quite enchanting to behold. The grass aerodrome is bordered by three hangars, a dormi-tory, workshop, and a club-house in which one can eat and drink well and (for France) cheaply. There seemed to be more sail-planes, towing aircraft and equipment than could ever be needed. In fact nothing was lacking except that traditionalvacuum in all French gliding clubs—plumbing. We came to the conclusion that this must be the reason that most French glidingclubs are established amongst woods. The next five days passed like lightning. The weather wasmainly hot and still, a blue sky with late-forming cumulus. No weather for my 500 km, so I had four shots at breaking theBritish 100 km triangle speed record. All failed, for although the upcurrents were strong for an hour or two each afternoon thedowncurrents seemed even stronger; so much so that on no less than three of these occasions, trying a scientific last-glide dashback to the aerodrome (staring at Tony Deane-Drummond's chart the while), I was caught out by the rapid rate of descentand landed a few miles short. When one lands at the foot of the hill like this, the French call it Aller aux vdches, but in fact atthis time of the year I found the best available landing strips con- sisted of young beetroots, or betteraves. So before we knew wherewe were my two (or three, when Vanessa was there) lady team- mates were my better 'alves,. and hence the title of this article. Thus the sunny days flashed by; on some we flew, twice we motored in to Paris and emerged (just) unscathed. To anyone who thinks that London traffic jams are thick, let him try By PHILIP WILLS with no better prospects for the Friday, we decided it would bejust as well to make a dash for it. So we hatched a hopeless plot to try a 500 km flight in a dog-leg path, starting off south-wards towards St. Yan and the Rhone valley. The trailer was to go to Dijon and wait, for I might be able to make a turn aboutthere, take a photograph to establish the turning point, and then go either south for Lyons and Marseilles, or north-east for theSaar. Well, it didn't work, but I got as far south as Autun, 40 milesnorth of St. Yan, and then turned and flew back over Beaune to land at Dijon itself, a flight of just over 300 km. When I phonedback to La Ferte and said where I was, then asked where my trailer had last reported from, they went away and came backin a startled way to say "It's at Dijon, too." Not knowing the plot, they must have credited Beetroot K. with second sight. By now a new problem was rearing up. Beetroots J. and K.were becoming increasingly French in their ways, and one of the lesser known customs of the French is Not to have Baths. Instead, most bed-rooms contain various weird porcelain shapes designed to enable one to wash, thoroughly enough, but in sec-tions : washing indeed becomes like a kind of somewhat gymnastic jig-saw puzzle. This was found to be a very intriguing customand even when, after several days, Beetroot J. one morning dis- covered with some dismay that she had up to then overlookedher neck, I still found myself unable to drive my team into a one-hundred-per-cent bathroom. However, that evening at Dijon they had motored and I hadflown over 300 km and I decided on the stern method of taking one of our bedrooms with bathroom attached. Having paid forit anyway, the Beetroots realized the game was up—it would be a positive extravagance not to use it. And so next morning we set off bright and clean for Angers,500 km away to the west, and motored all day, first across high, green hills and valleys and then for the last 100 miles or moredown the broad valley of the Loire, every signpost calling the name of some historic chateau.We stayed the night in Angers and motored out in the bright morning light to the aerodrome at Avrille, where we were met byM. Bellanger, vice-president of the club. We found 15 other com- petitors, but we were the only foreigners whose already-arrangedholiday dates coincided. Anyway, our arrival made the meeting properly international, and we were very touched to see theUnion Jack floating side-by-side with the Tricolour in front of the clubhouse on the aerodrome. Space does not permit a daily account of the Huit Jours but themeeting was excellently run by this, the largest non-State sporting flying club in France. Five tasks were flown, and the winnerwas Camille Labar, flying an Air 102. He was flying head-and- shoulders above the rest of us, and I expect to see him representingFrance in World Championships in future. I fell down com- pletely on one blue-thermal day which turned out to be rathera trap, and thus scored on only four of the five days. I was therefore lucky to find myself fourth, within a few points of thesecond and third-placed pilots. But two of the days will always stand out in my log-book. The first was June 11. After the first two days, with briefingat 9 a.m. and no thermals before noon, the organization relaxed somewhat, and announced briefing at 10 a.m. And The Daypromptly turned up. Up to then, no flight much in excess of 300 km had ever been made from Angers. But on this day, a 25 kt N.N.W.wind started forming cloud-streets before briefing-time had arrived, and by the time a flight along a track through Carcassonne,560 km to the south, had been declared, and everyone was lined up
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