AIR INTERLUDE

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXII, Issue 22250, 26 October 1935, Page 1 (Supplement)

AIR INTERLUDE

BY All INITIO

SERVICES FOR AUCKLAND

Now that travel by air has become easy, swift and comfortable you find that one-half of the world is not only very interested in the other half's activities, but takes the opportunity of going to see these activities for itself. Internally and externally there has been a phenomenal decrease in the time spent on any one journey, and this standard has by no means reached bedrock yet. Before very long it will be possible to reach Invereargill from Auckland in the same length of time that you used to allow to get to Waiuku when there was plenty of mud on tho roads and horse-power was reckoned in ones and twos. Similarly, tho Empire air mail will soon be brought out in eight days from England and landed almost at our front door. Let us tako an excursion into the future, and see the everyday workings at tho Auckland Municipal Airport when Now Zealand has become linked up internally and is part of the Imperial air route connecting up half the world, as well as the Pacific route joining us with England.

The service car calls for us after an early breakfast and in twenty minutes we see the broad expanse of a landing ground, bounded by tho Auckland harbour and beautiful acres of farming country. The access road leads to some low, well-designed hangars, grouped neatly along tho boundary. While we disembark, and tho luggage is taken by unseen hands, a loudspeaker dispenses information to everyone at large with a kind of disinterested politeness. " Tho outward plane for Wellington, number 12 on the schedule, will leave at 10 a.m., calling at New Plymouth and Wanganui if passengers desire. If 110 call-letter shows up on these aerodromes as the aeroplane passes overhead, and the passengers are all through, the time of arrival at Wellington will be 12 o'clock. Mail will be dropped in passing intermediate aerodromes by parachute . . . ." Ease and Speed

You feel a thrill of excitement, and by a stretch of imagination can picture a passenger inadvertently, dropping in 011 Wanganui instead of the mail! The polite voice tells you that it will be possible to get lunch at Wellington before continuing the journey to the South Island, and that the aeroplane will land at Invereargill before dusk. Instead of being travel-stained and worn out, you will feel as fresh as at the moment of departure and quite fit enough to give an important meeting your best attention the same evening. " Hello, everyone," says the broadcast apparatus in a mammoth voice, " the transpacific plane from 'Frisco and Samoa is due in at 6 p.m. to-day and will land in the sea-way to the east of the airport. The control tower is in constant touch with the flying-boat, and the pilot reports that he will take off at 10 a.m. into fine weather. The met. reports indicate a perfect crossing." A rough calculation convinces you that there is still time to go to Wellington 011 the morning plane, attend a lunch-time conference, and be back at the Auckland airport at the same time as your friend arrives from the United States. Other routes are outlined by the unseen informer, who calls out the names of well-known places in North Auckland, and indicates that the service via Gisborne and Napier is about to takeoff. There is a surging drone from the far end of the airport, suiting his words to the second, and a two-engined biplane rises from the even surface, poises momentarily, and sheers off in tho direction of Coromandel.

It is nearuig 10 o'clock, and "Ready" is chalked up beside Number 12, so you stroll instinctively toward the monster which drones quietly to itself not far from a large notice inscribed " Passengers' Embarkation." A uniformed official ushers you to a seat in the cabin, and its comfort seems almost magnetic, resisting any attempt to get up again. Sense of Freedom

With tho morning's newspaper, a magazine, a bag of fresh fruit, and cotton wool thoughtfully provided for sensitive ear-drums, you feel complete and independent of man's petty tyrannies and Nature's restrictions. The sky is at your disposal, the earth and sea will be at your feet, and speed, the idol of Transport, at your command. When tho pilot is installed, a strong hand grips the aeroplane and sets it taxi-ing to the runway. Facing into a fresh south-westerly, the aircraft starts to thunder, as if challenging the air to a struggle, and after a few seconds succeeds in climbing on its adversary's back, while the earth drops away. Tho exhilaration of the take-off soon passes, and is succeeded by a calm and serene survey of the changing contours underneath, and in picking up a glimpse of the coast near the Waikato Heads. You see tiny motor-cars wending down the Great South Road, perhaps intent on the same destination by a more laborious and circuitous route. Almost before you have finished with that thought the Waikato Heads have slipped by, and the course is altered to suit the coast stretching far ahead in a line of white foam and steep cliffs. Soon Karioi, a sinister mountain overlooking Raglan Harbour, looms up, but you can afford to pass by without a qualm, as it will not exert its inlluence over the aircraft flying half a mile out to sea. Almost Too Quick Tho indentations of Kawhia Harbour, tho Mokait River, and tho clear landmark of White Cliffs pass rapidly, and the aeroplane circles to drop mail over tho New Plymouth airport. Continuing after this brief interruption, tho serrated edges of land on the eastern Tar a- i naki plains stand out clearly as you sweep round in a gradual curve to pick up tho coast in the direction of Wanganui. Another bag of mail is dropped, and the pilot, sensing the appreciation of tho passengers, llira low along the smooth boach until Kapiti Island signifies the approach of Wellington. It has been almost too quick, and during that time you find that the newspaper has been read, tho fruit eaten, and the entire countryside scanned. On the return trip you continually notice new features and take a particular delight in the inspiring outline of Mount Ligmont, standing as a giant beacon guiding ships and aeroplanes alike. Your inexperienced eye fails to pick up the Auckland airport, not bccauso it is no longer there but for the reason that you do not know where to look for it in tho maze of fields. As the machine glides silently toward the ground you pick out a trail of white foam being drawn on the surface of the blue inlet by a great flying boat. Good work, tho mail from 'Frisco is on time. After a short stroll to ease your limbs, you meet your friend in tho Customs shed. '• Good crossing? " you inquire casually. " Not bad. A bit dull, though. Nothing but sea. Slept most of the time," be replies.