People and Their Doings.

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20340, 25 June 1934, Page 6

People and Their Doings .

Louis Bleriot’s Own Account of the First Channel Crossing was Simple and Unaffected : His Countrymen Kissed Him : An Executioner too Busy to Retire.

BLERIOT, who had a slight heart attack during the celebrations of the twenty-fifth anniversary of his crosschannel flight, was a very happy man when he landed at Dover. He set out in fav-

I ourable weather early I in the morning, after I informing the torpedo I destroyer Escopette, I which had been placed j at his disposal by the I Government, of his inI tention to start. At 1 o'clock he made a trial flight of quarter of an hour round Calais, and ' at 4.35 he opened his i machine full out to get

quickly over the telegraph wires along the edge of the cliff. liis own account is amusing: “I begin my flight, steady and sure, towards the coast of England. I have no apprehensions, no sensations, pas du tout. The Escopette has seen me. She is driving ahead at full speed. She makes perhaps 42 kilometres (about 26 miles) an hour. What matters? I am making at least 68 kilometres (42A miles). Rapidly I overtake her, travelling at a height of 80 metres (about 250 ft). si? “ THE MOMENT is supreme, yet I surprise myself by feeling no exultation. Below me is the sea, the surface disturbed by the wind, which is now freshening. The motion of the waves beneath me is not pleasant. I drive on Ten minutes have gone. I pass the destroyer, and I turn my head to see whether I am proceeding in the right direction. I am amazed. There is nothing to be seen, neither the torpedodestroyer, nor France, nor England. I am alone. I can see nothing at all—rien du tout! For ten minutes I am lost. It is a strange position to be alone, unguided, without compass, in the air over the middle of the Channel. I touch nothing. My hands and feet rest lightly on the levers. I let the aeroplane take its own course.

I care not w r hither it goes. For ten minutes I continue, neither rising nor falling, nor turning. And then, twenty minutes after I have left the French coast. I see the green cliffs of Dover, the Castle, and away to the w’est the spot where I had intended to land. What can I do? It is evident that the w'ind has taken me out of my course. I am almost at St Margaret’s Bay and going in the direction of the Goodwin Sands sg IT IS TIME to attend to the steering. I press the lever with my foot and turn easily towards the wrest, reversing the direction in w T hich I am travelling. Now, indeed, I am in difficulties, for the wind here by the cliffs is much

stronger, and my speed is reduced as I fight against it. Yet my beautiful aeroplane responds. Still steadily I fly westwards, hoping to cross the harbour and reach the Shakespeare Cliff. Again the wind blows. I see an opening in the cliff. Although I am confident that I can continue for an hour and a half.

that I might indeed return to Calais, I cannot resist the opportunity to make a landing upon this green spot. Once more I turn my aeroplane, and describing a halfcircle, I enter the opening and find myself again over dry land. Avoiding the red buildings on my right, I attempt a landing; but the w'ind catches me and whirls me round two or three times. At once T stop my motor, and instantly my machine falls straight upon the land from a height of 20 metres (65ft). In two or three seconds I am safe upon your shore. Soldiers in khaki run up. and a policeman. Two of my compatriots arc on the spot. They kiss my cheeks. The conclusion of my flight overwhelms me.”

DEIBLER. who travels about France with his guillotine, in order to carry out death sentences, has now completed his 1500th execution. This took place in Corsica, when at dawn recently, in front of the Bastia Prison, he beheaded Jean Baptiste Terre, one of the last of the Corsican bandits. The guillotine expert, who is often referred to as “M. de Paris,” has been quite a busy man. lie decapitated two men in four days. He lives near Versailles in a quiet little villa and spends most of his time in gardening. lie is known there as M. Anatole, since he naturally does not care for the notoriety of his surname. Two years ago he announced that he was about to retire and hand over the guillotine—which is his personal property—with his unattractive duties to his son-in-law. But, when it became necessary to punish the murderer of President Doumer, he postponed his retirement, and has not since altered his decision. The guillotine when it is not working is still kept in the garage of his little house. CIXTV YEARS AGO (from the “Star” of June 25. 1874) Steamer racing.—The New Zealand Herald says:—A correspondent writing to our local evening contemporary, the Star, narrates we know not with what truth, the particulars of a race between the steamships Phoebe and Albion, in which the latter was beaten. We could only wish that our colonial marine law for this very serious offence was as stringent as it is in England, where the masters of these vessels had the charge against them been substantiated, would have each received three months’ imprisonment, with hard labour. Racing in colonial waters has from time to time resulted in very serious consequences. In two instances several lives have been sacrificed through racing.