MY LIFE STORY

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXV, Issue 23059, 9 June 1938, Page 20

MY LIFE STORY

3000 MILES

RECORD FLIGHT FRENCH AFRICA AERODROME DELAY i WAITING FOR FUEL BY JEAN BATTEN (Copyright) CHAPTER IX.—(Continued) It is extremely difficult after being hotirs in the air to judge accurately one's height above the gronnd when landing on sand. Especially is this so at niid-dav, when the sun has reached its meridian and there are practically no shadows. The heat rising from the saiul made little waves in the atmosphere just like the ripples above a fire. As I rubbed my eyes and stared down at the golden surface the heat-waves gave.the illusion of sandhills, and for one frightful second 1 imagined that they were real hillocks which would overturn the machine. Touching down near the hangar I switched off the engine, for there was a regulation forbidding taxying on this aerodrome owing to the miniature dust-storm created by doing so. Mechanics wheeled the machine into the shade of the hangar, and at once commenced refuelling.

Refuelling by Natives

I did not intend staying long on the ground, for there was another 680-mile flight to Tliies, where it was imperative that I should land before sunset, as no night-landing facilities were available there. I watched the native boys busily straining the petrol through the chamois-leather filter, and wondered idly why it was necessary for twelve of them to cluster round each tank as it was filled, whereas the refuelling could have been finished in ten minutes had they distributed themselves and filled all tanks simultaneously. As each was filled there was a loud shout from all 12 as the petrol overflowed" and poured down the wing. A lot of talking ensued as the cap was replaced, and exactly the 6aine process repeated at the next tank. I had salvaged the packet of sandwiches before the petroltin being hoisted on to the side of the machine overbalanced and distributed parts of its contents into the tucker- | box. Opening the packet I found that the bread had dried up, and just as I finished the ham and thrown the bread to some persistent native dogs a motorcar pulled up outside the hangar. From it stepped a Spanish officer, who saluted and explained in French that the Comandante of the base sent his compliments, and would be very pleased if 1 would join him at lunch. I looked at my watch and wondered if I could really afford the time for lunch. Where was the house? Was it far away, I inquired of the officer. He pointed to the square white house just outside the boundary of the aerodrome, and I decided to accept the invitation. Spanish Hospitality

As soon as the refuelling was finished I accompanied the officer to the house, where the Comandante and his wife were waiting to receive me. The large white house was typically Spanish with its _ arched doorways and cool blue-and-white-tiled floors.' How restful, I felt, sinking into a deep chair and sipping a cool drink and conversing with the Comandante and his wife in my best Spanish. Each of the children was presented to me, and looking at the four bright little faces I wondered how it was thej* were so healthy in this great heat. "I flew right over your country yesterday,'' I told the charming little wife of the Comandante as the silentfooted servant served the lunch. She yas surprised, and rather sorry that I had not landed in Spain. Would I not care to stay and rest for the night, she inquired. I had a vivid mental vision of the cool room where I had bathed my sunburned hands and face on my arrival, as I reluctantly declined her invitation. The time was passing all too quickly, so, thanking the Comandante's wife for her hospitality, I bade good-bye to my new-found friends. Poor Visibility

Although it was so hot in the open the Comandante kindly offered to accompany me to the aerodrome, where the machine was quickly wheeled out of the hangar and the engine started up. The slipstream from the propeller was whirling up the sand, which looked like a smoke-screen behind the machine, and the fine, choking dust was blowing into my eyes and mouth, so that I could even taste the grit between my teeth. Quickly bidding good-bye to the Comandante, I climbed into the cockpit and took straight off. As I turned to fly back across the aerodrome the cloud of sand defined my line of take-off, and through the yellow haze I could see the white-clad figures on the ground waving good-bye. Not River of Gold, but Hearts of Gold they shotdd have called this place, I thought, remembering the kindness of my new-found friends, living so far away from their own country in this lonely outpost. For the next three hundred miles the route lay inland, but as visibility became steadily worse and the yellow dust blotted out the horizon I decided to alter course and steer for Port Etiene, where I could land if the sand-storms were blowing farther south. Mile after mile of barren sandy desert slipped past, with never a tree or bush or even a blade of grass to relieve the monotonous yellow. 1 felt very lonely flying over this vast stretch, for utter desolation reigned supreme, and not a sign of civilisation was to be seen anywhere.

The wind was northerly, about 40 m.p.h., I estimated as the machine sped southward, covering the next two hundred miles in just over an .hour. I did not fly over Port Etiene, but cut across the top of the peninsula and continued on down the coast, leaving Spanish territory and crossing the border to French Mauritania. Flamingo Islands A name on the map caught my eye, "lie des Pelicans," and gliding down I Hew low over the island, in the hope of seeing some sign of life, but it seemed just as desolate as the rest of the coast. A hundred miles farther south I could

hardly believe my eyes when a flock of about a thousand flamingos rose like a lovely veil of pink tulle from the islands over which I was flying. Shortly afterwards 1 saw a small fishing-smack, and when a little native village with' three men on camels riding toward it came into view 1 considered this must be quite a thickly populated district. The heat was terrific, and it was almost with feelings of relief that 1

hailed the sight of an approaching rain-storm. "It would at least cool the

atmosphere," 1 thought, flying low along the coast as the heavy tropical rain pelted down so fiercely that I could only just'see the white line of rollers breaking on the beach beneath. When the rain had almost ceased I removed my topee, and putting my head out the window let the fain drench my hair and cool my burning face. The rain was refreshing, and my weariness left me as 1 once more donned' my sun-helmet and estimated the time when I should pass

over the town of St. Louis, at tho mouth of the Senegal River. The country was becoming greener, for the sandhills were sparsely covered with vegetation, and occasional clumps of trees dotted the landscape. As I flew over a vast swamp in the centre of which was a lake hundreds of wild birds, evidently disturbed by the noise of the engine, rose like a cloud from the green reeds. Quite suddenly I. came upon the River Senegal wending its way southward through the thick dark green vegetation. My course lay parallel to the river, and it was not until nearing St. Louis that I actually crossed it and was able to see the many palm-trees and the jungle debris floating down the muddy waters to tho sea. Sunset Landing '

St. Louis, with its shady trees and white houses, looked a prosperous and busy town. In the centre was a railway, station, for a line connected Thies and Dakar with St. Louis, and 1 guessed that the arrival of a train was quite an event. The sea for some considerable distance from the shore was discoloured by the muddy waters of the great river as it flowed into the blue Atlantic. The sun was low on tho horizon, and I expected to arrive at Thies just before sundown, for I knew from experience how little twilight there is in the' tropics. The wind had dropped completely, and the tree-tops of the dark green jungle which covered the flat country were thrown into relief by the golden rays of the setting sun. In the fast-fading light I saw the railway fork at Thies, and immediately sighted a large clearing in the jungle, which was the aerodrome. Circling the

hangar I pulled back the throttle and glided down to land. As I crossed the boundary seemed impossible to lose speed, and the aeroplane, flying just above the ground, was rapidly approaching the high trees at the end of the aerodrome. Quickly I opened up the throttle: the machine roared over the trees. Whatever had happened, I wondered, circling to attempt another landing. Exactly the same thing occurred again, and I found that the throttle lever had jammed, and it was quite impossible to pull it right back. Fading Light

The light was fading fast; I must get down somehow. There was only one thing to do, and that was to switch off completely. Leaning forward I knocked the two little switches on the dashboard down, and as the roar of the engine ceased glided silently toward the aerodrome. The aeroplane seemed to sink heavily through the still air, and the now lifeless metal propeller caught the last rays of light. It was imperative that I make no error now. for there was no-engine to help me if I undershot, the aerodrome. Manoeuvring the machine so that I should land well inside the boundary, I glided silently over the trees and landed near the hangar. A group of mechanics who had gathered outside the hangar while I had been circling were now running across to the machine. Opening the door, I climbed out, feeling decidedly stiff after the 1600-mile night from Casablanca. The aeroplane was pushed into the hangar and soon surrounded by an admiring group of mechanics. Several French officers congratulated me on my first flight from England, and 1 now realised for the first time that it was only thirty-six hours since I had left England, three thousand miles away.

CHAPTER X. 1 SHOCKS AX THIES My original plan before leaving Lympne had been to fly .to West Africa, rest for a day or two and await favourable weather, then attempt to lower all records for the fastest flight across the South Atlantic Ocean. It I were to fly straight on across the Atlantic to Brazd there was every possibility of my lowering by almost a day the record for the only other solo flight from England to South America. ' You will rest in Thies for a few days before continuing your 'flight? " asked one of the officers.

"No, I have decided to fly straight on, and if the weather is not too bad will take off before dawn to-morrow morning," I told the astonished officer.

" We have no night-flying equipment here," they told me, in answer to my request for a flare path. " You should have gone to Dakar; they have all facilities there, and good all-weather runways." Before leaving England I had made exhaustive inquiries as to the best aerodromes along the route, and had been told that tno runways at Dakar were not yet completed, and it seemed that the military aerodrome of Thies, 45 miles inland, was the most suitable. On good authority 1 had been told that Thies was exceptionally large, and as the aeroplane would bo heavilv laden with petrol for the Atlantic flight of almost two thousand miles, it had seemed the better of the two for my purpose. Overgrown Aerodrome I looked across the aerodrome, which was sparsely covered with long grass. It had been large at one time, but it appeared that since the Air Franco Company had moved their headquarters to Dakar only a square in the centre of the big aerodrome had been kept cleared, and the rest was now overgrown with scrub and hillocks. Yes, it was only too plain now that 1 Bhould have gone to Dakar, for it was also on the coast, and would have shortened the flight to Brazil by 45 miles. The fact that Thies was so much farther inland meant that by leaving from there I was really handicapped by approximately 15 minutes for the record which I hoped to establish for the Atlantic crossing. It was too late now to fly on to Dakar, for the Bun had long since set, and if I were to lower the EnglandBrazil record I should have to take off

in the dark hours before dawn to arrive at mv destination before nightfall. Special permits had been granted for me to land at Thies, and I had arranged for fuel supplies to be sent there for me. Great was my surprise and disappointment on being told that no supplies had arrived.

" They must have thought you would go to Dakar," said one of the officers. " No, all arrangements for me to land here were made months ago," I protested. " Would you please telephone Dakar for me? " I asked the officer, giving him the telephone number ana name of the agent, which I

had fortunately obtained before leaving England. Just then a motor-car drove up and out stepped the Commandent of the base, who proved to be as kind as he was efficient. As soon as I had explained the situation to him he ordered the officer to telephone immediately. It was imperative that the fuel should arrive that night if I were to lower the record, and this delay only made me more determined than I might otherwise have been. " Would vou care to have something to eat, and are you not in need' or rest?" inquired the Commandant. "Yes, I would like some sandwiches," I replied, but rest was out of the question, for there was the engine schedule to be done s and the throttle lever to be adjusted, I explained. " The military mechanics will help you," said the Commandant, calling up three smart-looking men. I was determined to arrange everything in readiness for the early takeoff before leaving the aerodrome. The officer arrived back to say that the agent had not expected me so soon, and that the supplies would arrive in the morning.

"That's no good!" I cried, "They must start immediately. It is imperative that the supplies arrive to-night. I don't care if they have to drive sixtyfive kilometres from Dakar in the darkness," I said, as the thought occurred to me that there were probably wild animals lurking in the dark green jungle I had seen from the air. "I haven't flown three thousand miles to be held up by a wretched agent," I continued. "Anyway, this will teach them a lesson." Engine Overhauled ' It was difficult to control my anger, for I was tired and hungry, and this hold-up was quite unexpected. "I will speak to the agent myself," promised the Commandant, "and we will have the supplies here for you tonight somehow or other." As soon as he had left I walked over to the aeroplane, where the mechanics were waiting for me, and removed all the cowling from the engine, which was still warm. "I think we will start with the filters," I said, taking the tool-kit from the locker and handing a pair of pliers to one of the mechanics. "You fetch an oil-tray and drain the main tank," I told the second man, "and you can help me remove the oil-cups from the cylinder heads," I said to the third. We were soon hard at work cleaning jets, petrol-filters, oilfilters, and removing plugs, adjusting magneto points. Progress was a little slow, for no one spoke English, and although I .managed to make myself understood quite well in ordinary conversation it was difficult to explain the technical terms in French to the mechanics. However, we managed quite well, and when the Commandant returned ho found us all busily working. "They are starting immediately with the supplies of fuel," he said, "and expect to arrive in about four hours, so tout est b?en qui finit bien," he added with a smile. Precious Fuel I • put down the set of clearance gauges and got up from my position under the engine, wiping oil from my hands with a piece of waste cloth. "It was very kind of you to speak to the agent for me," I told the Commandant. "I do indeed feel grateful to you." "There is no need for you to do the work on the engine yourself; you must be tired," he said, calling up two more men. "We have many mechanics, and you cap sit down by the engine and supervise the work." A box was brought, and I was thankful to sit down and eat the sandwiches which had arrived from the Commandant's bungalow. At about 10.80 p.m., when the engine schedule was almost completed and one of tho mechanics was in the cockpit adjusting the throttle, we heard the thfob of an engine, and a vehicle pulled up outside the hangar. The big doors had been shut to keep out the night insects, and when they were now pushed back they revealed a lorry, out of which stepped the ageht and a number of native boys, who commenced lifting down the big petrol-tins which contained the precious fuel supply. Overjoyed at their arrival I unfastened the caps on all five tanks, and

refuelling operations were soon in full swing. It was a slow business though, and took quite an hour, for the tanks had to be filled by means of a handpump, which the native boys took turns at working. At last the work was completed, and all tho native boys crowded into the lorry, where it was decided they should sleep for the night, at it was too late for them to go to the village. - The headlights of the lorry could be requisitioned too, and with those of the Commandant's car Avould help to light a path for the take-off. The machine was well overloaded with petrol, and 1 felt anxious about taking such a heavy load off the aerodrome, which was barely big enough to allow as long a run as I should have liked.

The night was very calm, and the wind-sock on the hangar hung limp and motionless. "If only a wind would spring up it would help the take-off tremendously," I said, looking up at the sky. The moon had risen, and was shining down through a gap in the clouds, which seemed to press in unending procession across the sky. The air seemed very still and almost foreboding.

"Do you think there will bo a storm?".! asked the Commandant.

He looked up. "I think it will rain," he answered; then, as if to reassure me, added, "But it will probably pass over before you' are ready to start. Anyway, if there is no wind you can tako off from corner - to corner, and that will give you a much longer run."

(To be continued daily.)