FROM LONDON TO AUSTRALIA BY AEROPLANE 



245 



''This sort of flying is a rotten game. The 

 cold is hell, and I am a silly ass for having 

 ever embarked on the flight." 



To add to our discomfort and anxiety, 

 we were quite uncertain as to our loca- 

 tion, and I had visions of what would 

 happen if we encountered a heavy side 

 wind and got blown into the wild At- 

 lantic. 



The only really cheerful objects of 

 the whole outfit were our two engines. 

 They roared away and sang a deep- 

 throated song, filled with contentment 

 and gladness ; it did not worry them that 

 their radiator blinds, which we kept shut, 

 were thickly coated with frozen snow. 



I regarded those engines with envy. 

 They had nice hot water circulating 

 around them, and well, indeed, they might 

 be happy. It seemed anomalous, too, 

 that those engines needed water flowing 

 around their cylinders to keep them cool, 

 while we were sitting just a few feet 

 away semi-frozen. I was envious ! I 

 have often thought of that day since and 

 smiled about it — at that diary entry, and 

 at my allusion to the two engines and my 

 envy of their warmth. 



The situation was becoming desperate. 

 My limbs were so dead with cold that the 

 machine was almost getting beyond my 

 control. We must check our position and 

 find out where we were at any cost. 



A PASSAGE THROUGH THE CLOUDS 



Ahead loomed up a beautiful dome- 

 shaped cloud, lined with silver edges. It 

 was symbolical ; and when all seemed 

 dark, this rekindled in me the spark of 

 hope. By the side of the "cloud with the 

 silver lining" there extended a gulf about 

 two miles across. As we burst out over 

 it I looked down into its abysmal depths. 



At the bottom lay the world. As far 

 as the eye could reach, in every direction 

 stretched the illimitable cloud sea, and 

 the only break now lay beneath us. It 

 resembled a tremendous crater, with sides 

 clean cut as a shaft. Down this wonder- 

 ful cloud avenue I headed the Vimy, 

 slowly descending in a wide spiral. The 

 escape through this marvelous gateway, 

 seven thousand feet deep, that seemed to 

 link the realms of the infinite with the 

 lower world of mortals, was the most 

 soul-stirring episode of the whole voyage. 



Snow was falling heavily from the 

 clouds that encircled us, yet down, down 

 we went in an almost snow-free atmos- 

 phere. The omen was good ; fair For- 

 tune rode with us. The landscape was 

 covered deep in snow, but we picked out 

 a fairly large town, which my brother at 

 once said was Roanne. This indicated 

 that we were directly on our route ; but 

 it seemed too good to be true, for we had 

 been flying at over 80 miles per hour for 

 three hours by "blind navigation," and 

 had been unable to check our course. 



THE END OF THE FIRST LAP 



At 1,000 feet I circled above the town. 

 Our maps informed us it was Roanne! 

 Lyons, our destination, was only 40 miles 

 away. Exquisitely indeed is the human 

 mind constituted ; for, now that we knew 

 where we were, we all experienced that 

 strange mental stimulus — the reaction, 

 after mental anxiety and physical tribu- 

 lation. We forgot the cold, the snow, the 

 gloom ; everything grew bright and warm 

 with the flame of hope and success. And 

 so eventually we reached Lyons and 

 landed. 



I have always regarded the journey 

 from Hounslow to Lyons as the worst 

 stage of the flight, on account of the win- 

 ter weather conditions. We had flown 

 510 miles on a day officially reported 

 "unfit for all flying.'' Furthermore, we 

 had convinced ourselves that, by careful 

 navigation, we could fly anywhere in any 

 sort of weather, and, what was still more, 

 we had gained absolute confidence in our 

 machine and engines. 



We were so stiff with cold when we 

 climbed out of the machine that we could 

 hardly walk. But what did it matter? 

 Our spirits ran high ; we had covered the 

 worst stage ; the past would soon be for- 

 gotten, and new adventures lay awaiting 

 us in the near, the rosy, future. 



The French flying officers were very 

 surprised when they learned we had come 

 from London. They looked up at the 

 weather, at the machine, then at us, and 

 slowly shook their heads. It was an elo- 

 quent, silent expression. They were still 

 more surprised when they learned that 

 we intended leaving for Rome the next 

 morning. 



Not one of us could speak French very 



