SOME FIRST FLIGHT IMPRESSIONS.

Otago Witness, Issue 3755, 2 March 1926, Page 77

SOME FIRST FLIGHT IMPRESSIONS.

(By Ethel Mannin, in the Daily Chronicle.) I think what impressed me most on my first flight across Channel were the precautions taken to ensure the comfort and safety of all air-borne civilians. Every passenger and his luggage is weighed before either goes aboard the machine. The pilot and his assistant are both fully qualified experts. Everything is provided for the comfort of passeiigres—even to lunch boxes and cottonwool for their ears, for the noise is terrific—a defect, however, which will be remedied as air travel progresses. It is impossible to feel nervous; everyone is so matter-of-fact in the aerodrome waiting room, buying postcards of the pilot and the machine, clutching their newspapers and magazines, their passports and their lunch boxes. When you pass out of the waiting room, after the weighing and the inspeciton of passports, you cross the field to where the ’plane stands with its three propellers whirling—and you are probably not nearly as thrilled as you thought you were going to be. You mount a little step-ladder and come into a tiny compartment like the interior of a bus or a railway carriage; the luggage is stowed in the front of the machine in a kind of cupboard; there is a cloakroom at the end. If you fear air sickness you make for the centre of the machine, over the wings, as being the steadiest part. In addition to the toilet accommodation so cleverly contrived on the ’plane, there are receptacles for anyone who insists on being air-sick; but on a calm day the machine is as steady as a train—steadier than some trains, —and once the ’plane is up you may move about if you wish to.

You do not realise that you have left the ground until you look out of the window and observe the earth receding. For a moment, perhaps, you regret coming. The earth seems to be rushing away at such a terrific speed, and in the ascent the machine has a nasty little habit of dropping a few feet every here and there.

But you soon get used to riding above the earth instead of on it. Once the machine has readied Hie required height it is perfectly steady, and you begin to take an interest in the landscape. * The moment the ’plane approadies the sea there is a noticeable change in the temperature, and you put on a wrap or turn up your coat collar. You cross the Channel in a quarter of an hour. Then the sand dunes that surround Calais appear, and soon you see the great forests of the North of France. Surprisingly soon you are over Le Bourget, and, given a good day, there is far less sensation in the descent of the ’plane than in the ascent. You remove the cottonwool from your ears and step out of the ’plane. It is good to be free of the roar of the machine and the smell of the petrol, and to stretch your cramped legs again, but you realise that two and a-half hours ago you were in London, and here you are in Paris, safe and sound, and perfectly fit.