mazzy 1026
This is the way they went solo in 1913 at the Hendon Flying School.
No dual!!!
Saturday the 18th 1913, was the day Del would never forget. True to Frank's prediction it was a brilliant, almost calm morning, even the grass looked greener in the early sunlight, with just an occasional puff of wind stirring the flags. As Del rounded the hangar corner he saw to his astonishment that not only was Frank waiting, but the hangar was open and the Caudron out and ready.
"Morning Del. Lets go into my office for a while and talk things over again".
"Cripes, I've flown it a dozen times all night, and once more at breakfast' thought Del as they walked into the hangar.
But revision of yesterday's briefing were not all of Frank's aims. Although a last minute run through would ensure Del had it as much at his finger tips as possible, he also felt that Del was all keyed up, perhaps a little too much so. A quiet time to talk it through again would help steady him down, give him every assurance, and put him in the right frame of mind for his approaching ordeal.
The talk over Frank moved towards the hangar door.
"Best have a leak Del, you don't want any excess weight on board".
'No' thought Del, for a puddle to sit in either, as he made his way past the work benches to the toilet.
As they approached the aircraft Frank said "You'll be taking off to the west and over the railway line in this slight breeze, so you are familiar with the look of those hills over there to keep your heading on, as you climb out. See that gasometer over there, "he said pointing away to the east, "you'll see that sticking up like a sailor's prick on an overnight pass, when you're down wind, so look for it and steer straight for it. When you pass over the big new highway you should be ready to turn for your descent, so don't go too far past it or you'll be too far away for a nice approach. All right Del; Off you go; Good luck".
Del strapped in, Sam swung the propeller to start the engine, then gave him a big grin and thumbs up sign as he commenced to taxi out.
As Del swung the Caudron into wind, he got a cheery wave from Frank, who by now had walked out and was standing near the fence. 'Guess I'd better not bend this kite', thought Del 'I've got all the audience I need'.
With a last check of the joy_stick for freedom of movement he pushed the throttle slowly forward for his first real take_off. 60 yards and the Caudron lifted off and at thirty minutes past eight Del was away on his first real flight.
This time that implacable, unyielding fence held no fears or constrains as Del cleared it by a good hundred feet. He felt the slipstream beating against his face harder than he had ever sensed it before. He was aware that now the Caudron seemed to be a living, trembling thing of life. The rigging wires hummed and vibrated in sympathy with the big propeller whirling around and the staccato bark of the three exhaust stubs. The tightly stretched fabric sides to his small cockpit pulsated with the beat of each propeller blade and added to the noise and tumult. As he concentrated on keeping the nose up in the climb and the wings level, he now felt for the first time the effects of the slight air turbulence as the wings rocked with each disturbance. There were no trimming tabs or trim controls in those early aircraft so the pilot had to hold the stick with a steady force to maintain the desired attitude of the aeroplane in the air to each change of engine power or speed through the air. He had to concentrate hard to move the joy_stick left and right with each gust to keep his wings level. The Caudron was particularly prone to this effect as, with a solid wing spar running across both upper and lower wings it lacked the intrinsic stability of later designs that used inclined wings giving them both dihedral and sweep_back. He, of course, had yet to condition his reflexes to counter each gust with an automatic, unthinking movement of the stick. He would not develop that reflex response until he had logged four or five hours of flight time.
Suddenly, Del realised he was higher than he should be at 400 feet and it was time to turn. With the wings banked over, and Sam's wire lying along the horizon, he noted with some satisfaction that the nose of the Caudron moved slowly around the horizon as she turned. Again he had the turbulence problem as the wings tried to steepen the angle of bank with each gust. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the familiar shapes of the airfield hangar. Almost straight ahead he now saw Frank's gasometer, a little hazily in the mist. Levelling the wings he had time to look briefly at the ground all around him _ how small everything appeared from up here, the houses looked like tiny doll's houses, thousands of them, lining the sides of the roads, all crisscrossing the country side, and disappearing into the haze of the morning. He became aware of the slipstream _ it was quite violent now, tearing at his goggles and beating hard on his face.
'You stupid ass' he remonstrated with himself as he realised he still had the throttle pushed hard forward against the stop and the engine was clamouring a full throttle roar of annoyance. 'Ease it back' he told himself _ 'Where's that bloody gasometer gone' as he glared at the horizon through goggles which were now beginning to be spattered with oil droplets.
Then he experienced the most lasting impression of that first flight, for as he frantically looked for it, the gasometer emerged back into view from behind that single large engine cylinder up front, the top hat, as the Caudron weaved its nose around in the air currents.
'Christ I am still too high' thought Del and he pushed the nose down with a forward movement of the joy_stick. The slipstream started to pummel his face again as his speed increased. Del glanced at the aerodrome, _ he was past the eastern edge and suddenly he saw almost beneath him the highway. Vaguely, almost in a dream, Del recalled Frank's instructions _ 'turn left until you are lined up with the centre of the drome! As he gently rolled out of the turn he knew that he was higher than he aught to be, the fence had disappeared under the leading edge of the lower wing already. 'Damn fool, close the throttle and volplane'. Once again he chastised himself. With that the noise and beating of the slipstream died away. In fact in a few seconds everything became almost deathly quiet. He shoved the stick forward, the nose dropped down to the position Frank had sketched and once more the rigging wires took up their song of vibrant life.
'Phew' thought Del _ he recalled Frank's words when they had discussed volplaning. When the wires stop singing the angels start' was his dire warning of slow airspeed leading to a stall, and maybe a spin. Del knew now precisely what Frank had meant. Down the Caudron glided towards the field _ 'a bit too high' thought Del and he held the stick a little further forward. The speed built up and with it the slipstream on his face and as he flashed over the boundary fence he had a quick vision of Frank and Sam's upturned faces. Nearing the ground he eased the stick back, trying to keep the wings level as he waited for his speed to decrease. Suddenly the slipstream subsided as the great drag of a myriad rigging wires and struts took effect. Del snatched the stick back as the Caudron started to drop to the ground, then with a small lift of 3 or 4 feet she settled back down again with a very firm bump on mother earth. 'Keep her straight and don't relax' Frank's words now rang in his ears and as the Caudron slowed to a walking pace Del saw with some relief that his old adversary was still two hundred yards away.
He swung the aeroplane around and headed back to the two distant figures _
'I've done It!__ I've done It! __ you bloody beaut __ I've DONE It!' that's all Del could tell himself as the full realisation came that now he was certain he would soon get his brevet.
His flight had taken about ten minutes, but to Del it seemed like hours since he had rolled away from Frank to start his take_off run.
Del pulled up by Frank and Sam with the engine ticking over at idle. Each in turn ducked under the longeron and rigging wires, clapped him on the shoulder and firmly shook his hand.
"Well done Del, you've joined the elite club of men of the skies". Frank's words were never forgotten although later on with quiet reflection Del knew he still had a long way to go before he could say he had truly earned that accolade.
"Can I do another circuit, now" queried Del anxiously, already wanting to prove he could better his first performance.
"Best roll her back to the hangar and let's talk it over for a while" came the saged reply of an old head on young shoulders as Frank waved towards the hangar.
So Del's first flight came to its end. No flight would ever be quite the same _ he would always remember those moments vividly _ the quivering vibrations _ the beat of the slipstream on his face _ the rocking of the wings in the turbulence _ the gasometer _ and the awful quiet when he almost stalled _ the two faces as he crossed the fence _ and that slight pause just before the wheels found the ground again.
Back in Frank's office they talked, Del with elated enthusiasm, Frank with critical approval. Del didn't have to recount his leaving the throttle hard on, his gaining height all the way down wind, his forgetting to lower the nose to volplane, his too rapid arrival over the boundary fence and his rather heavier than hoped for landing. Frank had seen it all and quietly led Del through his mistakes making sure he knew just what he had done wrong, and why. Already Del was self analysing his errors as they went along, Frank was glad to see that; the aviator who could not do so was usually a dead duck from overconfidence sooner or later, generally sooner.
They had a cup of tea, brought in by Sam, and as they chatted Frank watched Del closely. His initial jubilant elation had abated, the colour of his face, flushed with mental exertion _ and then ecstasy had returned to normal and Del gave every appearance of having now mentally 'returned to earth'.
Best wishes for your first solo.