The Aeroplane Speaks [20]
soon have the engine and the open part of the body which contains the seats, controls, and instruments snugly housed with their waterproof covers, and the Aeroplane is ready to weather the possible storm.
Says the Observer, ``I'm remarkably peckish, and methinks I spy the towers of one of England's stately homes showing themselves just beyond that wood, less than a quarter of a mile away. What ho! for a raid. What do you say?''
``All right, you cut along and I'll stop here, for the Aeroplane must not be left alone. Get back as quickly as possible.''
And the Observer trots off, leaving the Pilot filling his pipe and anxiously scrutinizing the weather conditions. Very thick it is now, but the day is yet young, and he has hopes of the fog lifting sufficiently to enable the flight to be resumed. A little impatiently he awaits the return of his comrade, but with never a doubt of the result, for the hospi- tality of the country house is proverbial among pilots! What old hand among them is there who cannot instance many a forced landing made pleasant by such hospitality? Never too late or too early to help with food, petrol, oil, tools, and assistants. Many a grateful thought has the writer for such kind help given in the days before the war (how long ago they seem!), when aeroplanes were still more imperfect than they are now, and involuntary descents often a part of 'cross-country flying.
Ah! those early days! How fresh and inspiring they were! As one started off on one's first 'cross-country flight, on a machine the first of its design, and with everything yet to learn, and the wonders of the air yet to explore; then the joy of accomplishment, the dreams of Efficiency, the hard work and long hours better than leisure; and what a field of endeavour--the realms of space to conquer! And the battle still goes on with ever-increasing success. Who is bold enough to say what its limits shall be?
So ruminates this Pilot-Designer, as he puffs at his pipe, until his reverie is abruptly disturbed by the return of the Observer.
``Wake up, you AIRMAN,'' the latter shouts. ``Here's the very thing the doctor ordered! A basket of first-class grub and something to keep the fog out, too.''
``Well, that's splendid, but don't call me newspaper names or you'll spoil my appetite!''
Then, with hunger such as only flying can produce, they appreciatively discuss their lunch, and with many a grateful thought for the donors--and they talk shop. They can't help it, and even golf is a poor second to flight talk. Says the Pilot, who must have his grievance, ``Just observe where I managed to stop the machine. Not twenty feet from this hedge! A little more and we should have been through it and into Kingdom Come! I stalled as well as one could, but the tail touched the ground and so I could not give the Aeroplane any larger angle of incidence. Could I have given it a larger angle, then the planes would have become a much more effective air-brake, and we should have come to rest in a much shorter distance. It's all the fault of the tail. There's hardly a type of Aeroplane in existence in which the tail could not be raised several feet, and that would make all the difference. High tails mean a large angle of incidence when the machine touches ground and, with enough angle, I'll guarantee to safely land the fastest machine in a five-acre field. You can, I am sure, imagine what a difference that would make where forced landings are concerned!'' Then rapidly sketching in his notebook, he shows the Observer the following illustration:
``That's very pretty,'' said the Observer, ``but how about Mechanical Difficulties, and Efficiency in respect of Flight? And, anyway, why hasn't such an obvious thing been done already?''
``As regards the first part of your question I assure you that there's nothing in it, and I'll prove it to you as follows----''
``Oh! That's all right, old chap. I'll take your word for it,'' hurriedly replies the Observer, whose soul isn't tuned to a technical key.
``As regards the latter part of your inquiry,''
Says the Observer, ``I'm remarkably peckish, and methinks I spy the towers of one of England's stately homes showing themselves just beyond that wood, less than a quarter of a mile away. What ho! for a raid. What do you say?''
``All right, you cut along and I'll stop here, for the Aeroplane must not be left alone. Get back as quickly as possible.''
And the Observer trots off, leaving the Pilot filling his pipe and anxiously scrutinizing the weather conditions. Very thick it is now, but the day is yet young, and he has hopes of the fog lifting sufficiently to enable the flight to be resumed. A little impatiently he awaits the return of his comrade, but with never a doubt of the result, for the hospi- tality of the country house is proverbial among pilots! What old hand among them is there who cannot instance many a forced landing made pleasant by such hospitality? Never too late or too early to help with food, petrol, oil, tools, and assistants. Many a grateful thought has the writer for such kind help given in the days before the war (how long ago they seem!), when aeroplanes were still more imperfect than they are now, and involuntary descents often a part of 'cross-country flying.
Ah! those early days! How fresh and inspiring they were! As one started off on one's first 'cross-country flight, on a machine the first of its design, and with everything yet to learn, and the wonders of the air yet to explore; then the joy of accomplishment, the dreams of Efficiency, the hard work and long hours better than leisure; and what a field of endeavour--the realms of space to conquer! And the battle still goes on with ever-increasing success. Who is bold enough to say what its limits shall be?
So ruminates this Pilot-Designer, as he puffs at his pipe, until his reverie is abruptly disturbed by the return of the Observer.
``Wake up, you AIRMAN,'' the latter shouts. ``Here's the very thing the doctor ordered! A basket of first-class grub and something to keep the fog out, too.''
``Well, that's splendid, but don't call me newspaper names or you'll spoil my appetite!''
Then, with hunger such as only flying can produce, they appreciatively discuss their lunch, and with many a grateful thought for the donors--and they talk shop. They can't help it, and even golf is a poor second to flight talk. Says the Pilot, who must have his grievance, ``Just observe where I managed to stop the machine. Not twenty feet from this hedge! A little more and we should have been through it and into Kingdom Come! I stalled as well as one could, but the tail touched the ground and so I could not give the Aeroplane any larger angle of incidence. Could I have given it a larger angle, then the planes would have become a much more effective air-brake, and we should have come to rest in a much shorter distance. It's all the fault of the tail. There's hardly a type of Aeroplane in existence in which the tail could not be raised several feet, and that would make all the difference. High tails mean a large angle of incidence when the machine touches ground and, with enough angle, I'll guarantee to safely land the fastest machine in a five-acre field. You can, I am sure, imagine what a difference that would make where forced landings are concerned!'' Then rapidly sketching in his notebook, he shows the Observer the following illustration:
``That's very pretty,'' said the Observer, ``but how about Mechanical Difficulties, and Efficiency in respect of Flight? And, anyway, why hasn't such an obvious thing been done already?''
``As regards the first part of your question I assure you that there's nothing in it, and I'll prove it to you as follows----''
``Oh! That's all right, old chap. I'll take your word for it,'' hurriedly replies the Observer, whose soul isn't tuned to a technical key.
``As regards the latter part of your inquiry,''