The Way of the Air 3

The Way of the Air 3

Again, he must have good eyesight. This is imperative, for the best

part of his work will take place at an altitude of ten thousand feet

above the earth. The best age for an air pilot is between nineteen and

twenty-four.

 

The life of a pilot--that is to say, his flying life--varies from three

to five years; I may say eighteen months under war conditions. Never

more. The great strain on the nerves, although not felt at the time,

begins to make itself apparent after two years of flying; then the

pilot discovers that he is no longer so keen on going up as he was,

that he gets “cold feet” more frequently than he was wont to do in the

early days, that he has no longer the nerve to do the little tricks,

upon the performance of which he formerly prided himself.

 

A good air-pilot must be born so, he cannot be made. After years of

experience a man may become expert in trick flying, landing, getting

off, etc.; but, however long and however diligently he may strive, he

can never become the equal of the natural pilot.

 

Before applying for a Commission in either Service the aspirant to

flying honors must first decide which of the two branches he wishes to

take up. The two branches, by the way, are pilotage and observation.

The difference between the two I will here briefly endeavor to explain.

 

The pilot is concerned with the flying of the machine, the care of the

engine, spare parts, etc., and is responsible for the general condition

of the craft; also to see that it is properly tested before each flight.

 

On the other hand, the observer has a great many subjects to learn. He

must be at one and the same time wireless expert, gunner, rifle-shot,

artist, photographer and map-maker. He must know something about heavy

artillery.

 

The observer in the Royal Flying Corps is given equal rank to the

pilot, but can only wear a half-wing on his tunic where the pilot has

full wings.

 

In the Royal Naval Air Service observers are permitted to wear the bird

on their sleeve immediately on joining. However, they are of different

rank from the pilot, being either lieutenants or sub-lieutenants, Royal

Naval Volunteer Reserve.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER II

 

THE AIRMAN’S FIRST DAYS

 

 

The appointment to a commission in one of the flying services can be

either temporary or permanent. The former holds good until the end

of the war, the latter for as long as the would-be airman wishes to

retain it. For a period of from four to six months he must undergo a

probationary course; if after that time he has served satisfactorily he

will be confirmed in his rank.

 

Upon first joining up he will receive a uniform allowance of £20, and

at the confirmation a further £20. These amounts should easily cover

his requirements and enable him to buy a complete flying outfit. During

the probationary period he will receive 14_s._ a day in pay; when he

is confirmed in rank, 18_s._ a day in the Royal Naval Air Service, and

20_s._ per day in the Royal Flying Corps.

 

Service etiquette plays a prominent part in the matter of uniform. In

the military wing he will be expected to wear the button-over tunic

and forage cap of the Flying Corps, with breeches and long brown

field-boots.

 

In the R.N.A.S. the matter of dress is a more difficult and more

delicate one. In the first place, with regard to the cap, there are

four entirely separate badges in the Naval Service: they are (1) the

big silver anchor and the gold crown of the regular Navy; (2) the

smaller replica of the Royal Naval Reserve; and of the Royal Naval

Volunteer Reserve, to which latter branch the aeroplane observer always

belongs; and lastly the silver bird of the R.N.A.S., worn only by

pilots.

 

In hosiery the naval flying man must confine his taste to plain white

shirts with collars to match; black ties, and socks of the plain black

variety. His shoes must be unadorned of toecap, and it is a cardinal

sin to leave the buttons of his jacket undone, if he reveal as much as

a button of the waistcoat beneath.

 

There is an amusing story told concerning a famous English airman who

has since resigned from the R.N.A.S. On the occasion of his appointment

to the Service he had to visit a certain big man at the Admiralty, and

arrived there in the brass hat of a full-blown naval commander, with

a black-and-white striped tie, in which there coyly reposed a large

diamond pin.

 

When the interview was over the big man called him back.

 

“You’ve forgotten something.”

 

“What is it, sir?” the airman inquired.

 

“Your pink shirt and your purple socks,” was the reply.

 

Another new hand--an Australian--presented himself to the astonished

and apoplectic commanding officer of his first station wearing a blue

monkey-jacket, white flannel trousers, green socks, and brown shoes.

 

Luckily he was a good-tempered youth, or he would never have been able

to live down the subsequent ragging he got from all the other members

of his mess.

 

Flying-clothes must be the warmest procurable: a black or brown leather

coat lined with lamb’s wool, with trousers to match. Good flying-coats

cost from three to five guineas, and the trousers range from a guinea

to thirty shillings in price.

 

A khaki balaclava helmet, a wool-lined aviation cap fitting closely

round the skull, and costing approximately half-a-guinea. A pair of

triplex glass goggles, price 12_s._ 6_d._--cheaper ones of ordinary

glass can be obtained as cheap as 3_s._ 6_d._--but it is always

advisable to get triplex, as in the event of a smash-up ordinary glass

would splinter, fly into the eyes and possibly blind one for life.

 

A good pair of leather gauntlets, large enough in size to permit the

wearing of a warmer pair of woolen gloves beneath, and a gray sweater

to wear underneath the leather coat are all that are required, bringing

the total cost to about £6.

 

As in other professions and walks in life, a certain slang has sprung

into being in flying circles, and this the new hand will discover will

take him a considerable time to pick up--at least, with any degree of

satisfaction or success.

 

First he will discover that a “quirk” or a “hun” is no less a person

than a youngster who aspires to flying honors, and who has not yet

taken his ticket. Even the aeroplanes themselves have nicknames, as the

“Bristol Bullet,” so called because of its peculiar shape.

 

Airships and balloons are always referred to--and somewhat

contemptuously, it must be admitted--by aeroplane pilots as “gasbags.”

The small, silver-colored airships that are to be seen occasionally

floating over a certain western suburb of London are known in the

Service as “Babies,” on account of their diminutive size; on the other

hand as “Blimps,” and again as “S.S.’s”--submarine seekers--that being

their principal duty when on active service.

 

Various parts of the machine have their own particular nickname, as the

“fuselage,” or body which contains the engine, pilot and observer’s

seats, and the petrol tanks. That wonderful control lever which is

placed immediately before the pilot’s seat in the fuselage, and which

maneuvers the machine both upwards and downwards, and to the left

and to the right, or, in the terms used by R.N.A.S., to port and to

starboard, is known as the “joy-stick.” No self-respecting pilot will

ever refer to a trip in the air as such, but rather as a “joy-ride.” A

bomb-dropping expedition or a raid he speaks of as a “stunt.”

 

To “nose-dive” is for the front portion of the machine to plunge

suddenly downwards at an angle of approximately ninety degrees with

the earth. To “pancake,” the aeroplane must fall flat to the earth. It

is possible sometimes to recover from a “nose-dive,” but never from

a “pancake.” Sometimes in banking--turning in mid-air--a pilot will

overdo the angle at which he turns; the result is that the machine

commences to rotate, and whirls round like a humming-top; this, again,

invariably develops into a “nose-dive,” and is known as a “spin.”

 

The majority of pilots, when first starting off, run their machines

some distance across the aerodrome, then rise gradually at an angle of

about fifteen degrees with the earth; others, on the other hand, prefer

to run their machine a considerably greater distance across the ground,

and, thus attaining a much greater speed, to rise almost vertically

for about two hundred feet, then to flatten out and bring the machine

level: this trick is known as “zumming.”

 

To “switchback” is to fly up and down, up and down, as the name implies.

 

Immediately after leaving the ground the aeroplane invariably commences

to plunge and to dive like a ship in a stormy sea--this is when it

enters a patch of rarefied air known as a “bump”; this latter often

causes the machine to drop suddenly, and drops of as much as two

hundred feet at a time have been recorded.

 

No airman is capable of talking through his hat--at least, not

literally, for he does not possess such a thing, that article of his

attire always being referred to as a “gadget.”

 

To have “cold feet” in the air is to have a bad attack of nerves or

funk. One day at Hendon, before the war, a well-meaning but somewhat

dense journalist attached to a big London daily was told Hamel was

suffering from “cold feet.”

 

Imagining that “cold feet” meant some ailment of the feet, like

chilblains, and solicitous for his welfare, this enterprising

individual approached the famous airman immediately after his descent

from a trip up above.

 

“Excuse me asking, but is it true that you suffer from cold feet, Mr.

Hamel?” he asked. Hamel’s reply is not recorded.