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Title: H. G. Hawker, airman: his life and work

Author: Muriel Hawker

Release Date: May 17, 2021 [eBook #64793]
[Most recently updated: November 24, 2022]

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK H. G. HAWKER, AIRMAN: HIS LIFE AND
WORK ***


Transcriber’s Notes.

Hyphenation has been standardised.
Other changes made are noted at the end of the book.




  H. G. HAWKER

  AIRMAN:

  HIS LIFE AND WORK

  [Illustration:

  HARRY GEORGE HAWKER, A.F.C.

  _Photo by_]      [_Swaine._
]




  H. G. HAWKER, AIRMAN:
  HIS LIFE AND WORK

  By

  MURIEL HAWKER


  WITH A FOREWORD BY
  Lt.-Col. J. T. C. MOORE-BRABAZON, M.C., M.P.

  _WITH FRONTISPIECE AND 24 ILLUSTRATIONS_


  _LONDON:_
  _HUTCHINSON & CO._
  _PATERNOSTER ROW_




FOREWORD

By LT.-COL. J. T. C. MOORE-BRABAZON, M.C., M.P.


I have been shown the great honour by Mrs. Hawker of being asked to
write a Foreword to this book about her late husband. I can do nothing
better than give the advice to all to read it, because, if they have
followed aviation for some time back, they will live over again that
heroic epoch when flight was really being made possible and will
appreciate some of the difficulties and many of the successes that make
the early days of aviation such a fascinating story; and if, on the
other hand, they have only taken an interest in aviation lately, they
will get conveyed to them from this book the atmosphere that pervaded
the little community of enthusiasts who existed in the early days.

The figure of Hawker looms up large in the early days of aviation,
and such was the man, that even after the war, with the hundreds of
thousands of people that came into the movement, he still stood out a
noteworthy figure.

His name will go down for all time coupled with others who gave their
lives for the cause, such as Rolls, Grace, Cody.

It does indeed show a singular change in the mentality of the nation
that the most popular sporting figures of recent times have been
men whose prowess has been associated with their domination over
machinery rather than animals. The bicycle was the instrument that
first compelled the attention of all to a knowledge of mechanics, the
motor-car demanded further knowledge on the subject, but it was not
until the advent of the aeroplane that the imagination of the youth of
this country was fired to appreciate the necessity for knowledge of
mechanics.

Hawker, thirty years ago, was an impossibility, but when he died
he was the idealised sportsman of the youth of the country, and
it was rightly so. Modest in triumph, hard-working, a tremendous
“sticker,” yet possessed of that vision without which
no man can succeed, he stands out a figure whose loss we mourn even
to-day, but whose life and career will serve as an example for others
to attempt to follow.

  J. T. C. MOORE-BRABAZON

 _July 4, 1922._




PREFACE


With his words still fresh in my memory, that, should anything ever
happen to him, the one thing to do was to get work which would occupy
my mind, I took upon myself the task of writing my husband’s
life. I have been encouraged by many letters from people suggesting my
undertaking this work, and, thus encouraged, I present this book.

I make no apologies for the errors of style, the technicalities of
which I know nothing, but I have tried in simple language to convey
some idea of the great work and spirit of one who attempted much, and,
although crowned by few successes, was never for one moment discouraged
as a loser.

I leave others to judge the merits of his works, but I leave to no one
but myself the disclosure of the real goodness of his nature. This
book being, more or less, a record of his achievements, it has been
difficult to convey any idea of his true worth, which did not stand
in anything he did, but in the firmness with which he held to what he
considered was right. This sense of honour, not cultivated but innate,
kept the fame, which he earned, from detracting in any way from the
integrity of his character, and he always remained to the end his
cheery, unaffected self.

His buoyant nature did not admit of defeat. I have never seen him
disheartened and never has he given in. He always did his very best,
and was ever ready to try again when that best was not good enough.

At the height of his popularity he declined good financial offers for
lecturing tours in England and the States, which would have kept him
for the rest of his life. Money could not divert him from his calling.

His goodness of heart would never let him turn away anyone in distress,
and, in this, lack of discrimination played a big part.

Many people came to the house after his attempt to fly the Atlantic,
with pitiful tales of woe. One, a musician, who said he had fallen on
bad times, wanted a loan of £10, stating that he was a member of the
Queen’s Hall Orchestra, in which he played a mandoline. He got
his £10, but I do not believe the mandoline has ever figured amongst
the instruments in the Queen’s Hall Orchestra.

A few days later another musician, very probably a friend of the first,
arrived, but Harry said he would not see him. However, he was so
persistent that Harry saw him at last, and heard his tale, which was
to the effect that unless he could get a certain sum of money he would
be sold up the next day, and, rather than that, he intended taking
his life that night, although he had a wife and child. With tears, he
asked if his life was not worth the few pounds, which he would surely
return within a month. He received his cheque, left some of his own
compositions for me to try, which he said he would call for when he
repaid his debt, and was never seen again.

It would seem that Harry’s perfections have been exploited
and his imperfections ignored, but I find the first so easy, my pen
willingly covering many pages, and the second, not irksome, since his
very imperfections were interesting, but hard to define.

Before our marriage he warned me of his terrible temper, which,
he said, appeared at intervals, making him for a short time an
unapproachable individual, and advised me that on such occasions I
should leave him completely alone. I never witnessed one of these
outbreaks and doubt if they ever occurred. Fits of irritability would
seize him, sometimes for little or no apparent cause, and at others
under great provocation, and while they lasted he was a very trying
companion. But he would not be irritated for long; and these, I think,
must have been his fits of terrible temper.

If neglect of his financial responsibilities, through
disinterestedness, was a fault, then he had a big one. He was as
unmercenary as it is possible for a normal man to be. He liked to have
money in order to procure the necessaries of his hobby, but the matter
of procuring proper payment for the work he did he left entirely in the
hands of those for whom he was working, to pay him what they thought
fit. And having received the money, the proper investment of it he
ignored, until he was reminded, leaving his money idle in the bank. In
his last year of life he began to look at these things more seriously,
as his outgoings had increased and his income diminished, and, with the
responsibilities of a company under his own name, probably another year
would have made him a different man—a business man perhaps, but never
so great a man.

I should like to mention here a trouble we often encountered and which
was a great worry to us both, however we tried to ignore it.

I refer to the people who persist in suggesting that a man with
dependants should not continually risk his life unless they were
securely provided for. How many a man has been asked upon marriage to
give up his work, if it happens to be of a precarious nature, and the
firm, instead of having made progress with the new partner, has decayed
because that partner did not face the risks the old one was willing to
sustain? Never will I understand why a man of a hazardous career should
have to choose between that career and the comforts of his own home,
and possible parenthood, because of a fearful dread of a premature
parting which is allowed to exist.

Harry was a true optimist, and the way he came out of his many
troubles warranted his optimism. It was so natural if he had a smash
to know he was not hurt, or if he had any trouble it would be righted
very quickly. This feeling is so real that, even now, apart from all
religion, I know he has come up smiling somewhere and all is well with
him.

  MURIEL HAWKER.




PREFATORY NOTE

(POST SCRIPTUM)


The production of this book has necessitated the collecting and sifting
of a considerable amount of detail, particularly as regards the earlier
chapters and those dealing with the Atlantic flight. In this and in the
general plan of the book I have received considerable assistance from
Mr. W. R. Douglas Shaw, F.R.S.A., who has rendered invaluable help in
many ways through his wide knowledge of aeronautical matters.

This introduction would not be complete without my also acknowledging
the help received from Lt.-Commander Mackenzie-Grieve, R.N., who has
kindly read through the chapters dealing with the Atlantic flight; from
Mr. Alan R. Fenn, formerly of the Sopwith Aviation Company, for details
of Harry’s experiences at Villacoublay; from the authorities at
Australia House in allowing me to consult their records, and from many
others who have contributed in various ways to this work.

My acknowledgments are also due to the Press, on whose reports I
have relied in many cases, and I would mention _The Times_, _Morning
Post_, _The Daily Mail_, Temple Press, Iliffe & Sons, _Flight_, _The
Aeroplane_, and particularly the kindness of the proprietors of the
_Melbourne Argus_ and _Sydney Bulletin_ in giving me free access to
their files of 1913-14.

  MURIEL HAWKER.

_May, 1922._




CONTENTS


                        PAGE

  FOREWORD              vii

  PREFACE               ix

  PREFATORY NOTE        xiii


  CHAPTER I

  EARLY STRUGGLES

  Harry’s Parents—His Sisters and Brothers—Schooldays—Four
  Schools in Six Years—The Attraction of a Cadet Corps—Motor
  Work at Twelve Years of Age—The Expert of Fifteen—Managing
  a Fleet of Cars—First Desire to Fly—The Kindness
  of Mr. and Mrs. McPhee—Harry Meets Busteed—And Comes
  to England with Him—Kauper—Seeing London—Quest for
  Employment—A Job at Sevenpence per Hour—Another at
  Ninepence-Halfpenny—Thoughts of Returning to Australia—Forty
  Pounds in the Bank—Kauper Strikes Oil—And Helps
  Harry—Sigrist—How Harry was Happy on Two Pounds per
  Week—His First Flight—Reminiscences of Brooklands Days      25

  CHAPTER II

  THE BRITISH DURATION RECORD

  Harry’s Aversion to Publicity—Circumstances of His First Brooklands
  Associations—The Sopwith-Burgess-Wright Biplane—Harry’s Effort in
  a Quick-Starting Competition—Beating His Employer—Early Attempts
  for Michelin Laurels—A Real Success—Tuning-up for the Duration
  Record—Raynham Makes a Race—And Secures an Advantage—Raynham Lands
  after 7 hours 31½ minutes—And Holds the Record for an Hour or
  Two—Opportunity Knocks at Harry’s Door—And is Well Received—Harry
  Lands after 8 hours 23 minutes—To Him the Spoils—His Own Account of
  the Experience—A Reminiscence of Cody—The Significance of Harry’s
  Achievement—Other Flights at Brooklands—The Growth of a Pioneer
  Firm      35

  CHAPTER III

  ABOUT ALTITUDE AND OTHER RECORDS

  A Colleague’s Impression of Harry in 1913—Harry in the Passenger’s
Seat—“Aerial Leap-Frog”—Competition Flights at Brooklands—Testing
the First “Bat Boat”—End of the First “Bat Boat”—Harry as a
Salesman-Demonstrator—Testing the Second “Bat Boat”—70 Miles per Hour
in 1913—Asçent to 7,450 feet in 15 minutes—A Prize Flight—How Harry
Deserted from a Race which He Won—How a Biplane Beat a Monoplane—More
Seaplane Testing—The British Altitude Record—11,450 Feet—“Bravo,
Hawker!”—A Journalist’s Tribute—Flying in a High Wind—To the Isle of
Wight and Back      53

  CHAPTER IV

  AMPHIBIANS—AND MORE HEIGHT RECORDS

  An Amphibian of 1913—Harry Gets Up to 13,000 feet with a
  Passenger—Several Other Height Records—Three Climbs in One Day—The
  Progress of the Sopwith Enterprise—Several Types of Aeroplanes—And
  Seaplanes—Harry Wins the Mortimer Singer Prize—And Has Time to
  Spare—A Friendly Race with Hamel—A World’s Height Record—A
  Cross-Country Race—Preliminaries of the Round-Britain Seaplane
  Flight—Conditions Governing the _Daily Mail_ £5,000 Prize      63


  CHAPTER V

  FIRST ATTEMPT TO FLY ROUND BRITAIN

  The Task of the Flight Round Britain—And the Machine for the
  Job—Public Interest in the Pilot—“Good Luck!”—The
  Night Before the Start—A Mayor’s Early Call—And the
  Sequel—The Scene at the Start—To Ramsgate at Sixty Miles per
  Hour—An Aerial Escort—The Ramsgate Cup—Fog in the
  Thames Mouth—To Yarmouth in Next to No Time—Harry
  Collapses—Pickles Relieves Him—And Meets with Misfortune—Starting
  All Over Again      77

  CHAPTER VI

  SECOND ATTEMPT TO FLY ROUND BRITAIN

  Harry Recovers—And Takes Charge Again—An Early Start—Almost
  Unseen by the Starter—Thick Fog—Behind Time at
  Ramsgate—An Explosion—A Favourable Breeze—But Bumpy
  Air off Cromer—Scarborough—A Forced Landing—Five
  Hundred Miles in a Day—Resting at Beadnell Overnight—The
  Second Day—A Spiral Glide at Aberdeen—A Terrible
  Journey to Oban—The Third Day—A Water-logged Float—Another
  Forced Landing—Ireland—“A Piece of Ghastly Bad
  Luck”—Kauper Goes to Hospital      93

  CHAPTER VII

  A BIG CHEQUE, AN AERIAL DERBY, AND OTHER EVENTS

  Echoes of the Seaplane Flight—Mr. Winston Churchill’s Views—Back
  to Work—The £1,000 Cheque—And a Gold Medal from
  Margate—The Carping Critic—And the Reply he Received—An
  Expedition to Eastchurch—Lost in the Air—Racing a
  Powerful Monoplane—An Exciting Aerial Derby—Hamel’s
  Bad Luck—Harry Finishes Third—And in the Sealed Handicap
  is Fourth—A Bad Crash at Hendon—Other Races—Michelin
  Efforts Again—Harry’s Bad Luck—He Puts Up Some Wonderful
  Flights—A Headache in the Air      103

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE PROTOTYPE OF THE FIGHTING SCOUTS

  Harry’s Stroke of Genius—Ninety Miles per Hour with an 80 h.p.
  Gnome—When German Interests were at Brooklands—The
  Real Value of “Stunting”—A Biplane that Exceeded Expectations—When
  Hendon was Surprised—Construction of
  the Tabloid—Contemporary Sopwith Products—In Harry’s
  Absence—Pixton Pilots a Tabloid to Victory—A £26,000 Ante-Bellum
  Aviation Company—Mr. Rutherford—Another Type
  of Genius—One of Harry’s Records Broken—An Australian
  Poem—Death of Hamel      119

  CHAPTER IX

  AERIAL PROPAGANDA IN AUSTRALIA

  Back to Australia—Harry Expresses Some Views—Australian Air
  Policy—He Speaks of Stabilising Devices—A Reminiscence of the
  Round-Britain Seaplane Flight—A Civic Welcome—Harry’s Father
  Speaks—Assembling the Tabloid—First Flight in Australia—Preparations
  for Flight—Flying from a Street—An Object Lesson at Government
  House—Harry Dispels a Fallacy—And Speaks about Whirling Propellers—A
  Flying Call on the Governor-General—Interrupts a Game of Tennis—What
  the Governor-General Thought of Harry—Old Melbourne Friends Fly—The
  Australian Press—Enterprising Lady Passengers—Passengers pay £3 per
  Minute—Curious Attitude of an Association Official—Organisation of
  a Big Public Flying Exhibition—Harry’s Views on Flying—A Crowd of
  25,000—Is Difficult to Handle—And Affects Harry’s Programme—An
  Accident—Without Serious Consequences—The Minister of
  Defence Ascends 3,500 Feet      133

  CHAPTER X

  AERONAUTICAL ADVANCEMENT IN AUSTRALIA

  Harry’s Proposals for Aerial Defence—Seeing Under Water from
  the Air—A Crowd of 20,000—A Governor-General Ascends
  4,000 Feet—And a Governor’s Daughter Goes Up Too—Stunts—Rumours
  of Looping—Another Accident      155

  CHAPTER XI

  A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

  Harry’s First Loops—Flying to Manchester—Harry is Taken Ill
  in the Air—He Returns and Lands Safely—And Collapses—An
  Extraordinary Accident—A Very Narrow Escape      163

  CHAPTER XII

  SOME WAR-TIME EXPERIENCES

  Testing Production Machines—The Distinguished General and the
  Camel—The Boredom of Old-Fashioned Transport—And How
  it was Remedied on One Occasion—Testing a Doubtful Machine—Harry
  Gives Expert Criticism—And Predicts the Performance
  of a Four-Engined Aeroplane      171

  CHAPTER XIII

  A MOTORING HONEYMOON

  Harry to the Rescue—A Game of Cards—Keeping an Appointment—Twenty-four
  Hours too Early!—A Provisional Engagement—Marriage—Gas-bag
  Motoring—A Strained Back—Faith in
  Christian Science      181

  CHAPTER XIV

  BUILDING a 225 H.P. MOTOR-CAR

  Harry Buys Two Aero Engines—And a Mercèdes Chassis—Structural
  and Starting Problems—Myself as Rivet-driver—We
  Start the Engine—And I Stop It—On the Road—Shows Clean
  Heels to Big American Car—And Tows a Rolls—Harry in
  His Home Workshop      193

  CHAPTER XV

  READY FOR THE ATLANTIC FLIGHT

    Conditions Governing the Flight—Arrival in Newfoundland—Mount
  Pearl Farm—Snowed Up—The Test Flight—Local Interest
  Intense—Wireless Difficulties—Details of the _Atlantic_—An
  Aerial Lifeboat—Clothing of the Trans-Atlantic Airmen—Estimates
  and Anticipations—Over a Ton of Fuel—A Letter for the King—An
  Inspection by the Governor—Storms—Prospects of a Race—Revising
  Plans—Grieve—Navigation Problems and Methods—Weather Forecasts—A
  New Starting-ground—Nervous Tension—The Aviators are Amused
  by Their Correspondence—A Would-be Aerial Bandsman—False
  Weather Reports—Services of the Air Ministry—Weather-bound at
  St. Johns—Harry’s Confidence—Four Magnetos and a New
  Propeller—Address from the Mayor of St. Johns      203

  CHAPTER XVI

  1,000 MILES OVER THE ATLANTIC

    Signalling Arrangements—Temperament—A Press Tribute—The
  American Attempt—Just Before the Start—Parting Messages—The
  Start—“Poor Old Tinsydes!”—Dropping the
  Undercarriage—Out of Sight of Land in Ten Minutes—Over the
  Fog—Four Hours Above a Sea of Clouds—Grieve’s Method of
  Navigation—Weather Not as Forecasted—Taking the Drift through a
  Hole in the Clouds—400 Miles Out—Cloud Banks and a Gale—After
  5½ Hours—Over-heating Radiator—What was the Cause?—The Only
  Possible Remedy—Is Effective at First—At 10,000 Feet—Giants of
  Nature 15,000 feet High—A Side-wind that Became a Gale—Flying
  “Crabwise”—Losing Height—Clouds, Darkness, and a Doubtful
  Time—Nearly Down to the Sea—Dawn—Sea-sick—Looking for a Ship—The
  _Mary_—The Rescue—Up to the Knees in the Sea—Captain Duhn—Sighting
  St. Kilda and the Butt of Lewis—A Famous Signal—“Is it
  Hawker?”—“Yes”—The Navy’s Guests—The Civic
  Welcome at Thurso      225

  CHAPTER XVII

  MY OWN REMINISCENCES OF THE ATLANTIC FLIGHT

  I Wait for News—The Americans Start—I Hear Harry has Started—And
I Put out the Flags—No News Next Morning—Fate is Unkind and
Brings a False Report—Which, Contradicted, Delivers a Paralysing
Blow—No Further News—“All Hope Abandoned”—Good
News—Peace of Mind Once More—Everybody Happy—The King Telegraphs
Congratulations—I Go to Meet Harry at Grantham—Harry’s
Triumphal Progress to Grantham—Together Once More—Harry Rides a Horse
through London—“Escape” from the R.AeC.—Celebrations at
Ham—Fireworks at Hook      253

  CHAPTER XVIII

  AFTER THE ATLANTIC ATTEMPT

  Harry and Grieve Receive a Royal Command—The King and Queen
  and Prince Albert Hear their Story—The Air Force Cross—Comedy
  of a Silk Hat—A Cheque for £5,000—Is Nearly Lost—The
  _Daily Mail_ Luncheon—General Seely Delivers Official
  Congratulations—Harry Replies—And Grieve—Tributes to
  Lord Northcliffe—Another Luncheon, also at the Savoy, on
  the Following Day—Royal Aero Club as Host—An Appropriate
  Menu—The Derelict _Atlantic_ is Recovered—Harry is Pleased      271

  CHAPTER XIX

  MOTOR RACING

  Harry Turns to Motor-racing—Successful Début at Brooklands—Why
  I Stayed at Home—The 250 h.p. Sunbeam Touring Car
  Takes Second Place—When the 450 h.p. Racer Comes on the
  Scene—Harry Drives the Largest Car in the World—A Terrible
  Crash—Without Serious Consequences—Back to the Air—The
  R.A.F. Tournament—Reunion of Pioneer Aviators—Eleventh-Hour
  Entry for the Aerial Derby—Second Place, but Disqualified—A
  Very Busy Month—Aeroplane Trials at Martlesham—British
  International Motor-boat Trophy at Cowes—More
  Motor-racing at Brooklands—His Aeroplane Enables Harry
  to be (nearly) in Three Places at Once—Harry “Brings Home”
  a £3,000 Prize for the Sopwith Company at Martlesham—I
  Decide that Motor-racing is Too Risky—And Fate Deprives
  Harry of a Race—Motor-boat Racing—Racing an A.C. Light
  Car—And a D.F.P.—The Gordon-Bennett Air Race of 1920—Bad
  Luck—The 450 h. p. Sunbeam Again      291

  CHAPTER XX

  MOTOR ENGINEERING AND RACING

  Formation of the Hawker Engineering Company—The Racing
  A.C.—Amusing Experiences—Remarkable Performances Due
  to Efficient Streamlining—Several Records Broken—An Accident—The
  Hawker Two-stroke Motor-cycle      309

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE PASSING OF A BRAVE AVIATOR      317


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


  Harry George Hawker, A.F.C.      _Frontispiece_

        _Facing page_

  Mrs. George Hawker, Harry’s Mother.—Harry as a Cadet at the age
  of 12.—Mr. George Hawker, Harry’s Father 30

  The Sopwith Tabloid, the Prototype of the Fighting Scouts, designed
  by Harry, in its modified form for Looping-the-Loop, after his
  return from Australia      56

  The Sopwith Dolphin, put through its Initial Tests by Harry.—The
  Sopwith Camel, a world-famous Fighting Biplane. Hundreds of
  Machines of this type were tested by Harry during the War      94

  The Sopwith Rolls-Royce-engined Biplane, “Atlantic,” in which Harry
  and Grieve attempted the Atlantic Crossing. The top of the Fuselage
  was made in the form of an Inverted Boat, which they detached in
  Mid-Atlantic. The Undercarriage was dropped soon after the Start,
  in order to reduce Air Resistance 108

  Testing the Lifeboat. On the back of the original Photograph
  Harry wrote: “Note the broken ice between the boat and
  shore.”—This picture shows some of the difficulties in getting
  the Aeroplane to the Starting-Ground in Newfoundland. The
  Driver apparently took things lying down      122

  The Detachable Boat carried on the Atlantic Flight.—The Sopwith
  Trans-Atlantic Biplane in the Hangar near St. John’s,
  Newfoundland      142

  The Derelict Aeroplane, in which Harry and Grieve had attempted
  the Crossing, was recovered from the Atlantic by the U.S.
  Steamer _Lake Charlotteville_.—Harry at the Wheel of the Racing
  A.C., the Body of which was designed by him and proved a
  remarkable advance in efficiency      156

  Our House at Hook, soon after News of Harry’s Rescue from the
  Atlantic.—Home Again! Harry and Grieve at Grantham
  Station, after the Atlantic Flight. Mr. Sopwith is standing in the
  doorway      174

  The Scene outside King’s Cross Station, London, when Harry
  returned from the Atlantic. The Australian Soldiers decided
  that Harry must have something more triumphant than a Civic
  Reception      198

  Harry and Grieve leaving Buckingham Palace after having been
  decorated by the King. Although a Civilian, Harry received the
  first Air Force Cross—a Service Decoration      244

  A Souvenir of the first Transatlantic Air Mail       264

  Trans-Atlantic Aviators’ Reunion Dinner. The late Sir John Alcock is
  on the extreme left; Mr. F. P. Raynham on the right (nearest the
  camera); Sir Arthur Whitten Brown in uniform (opposite the camera);
  and on his left Lieut.-Comdr. K. Mackenzie-Grieve, A.F.C.—Harry is
  third from the left of the picture      282

  Harry on Board a Yacht during one of the Periods which he devoted
  to Motor-Boat Racing.—Pamela sets the Pace on the Lawn at
  Hook      300

  The 12-cylinder Racing Sunbeam after Harry’s Smash at Brooklands,
  when several yards of corrugated iron fencing were torn
  down.—Mr. T. O. M. Sopwith, C.B.E., and Harry, with the
  Hawker Two-Stroke Motor-Cycle—a Post-War Enterprise of
  the Hawker Engineering Company      312

  Floral Tributes being taken to Harry’s Grave, at Hook, Surrey, on
  the 225 h.p. Sunbeam, by my Brother, Captain L. Peaty      318




CHAPTER I

EARLY STRUGGLES

 Harry’s Parents—His Sisters and Brothers—Schooldays—Four
 Schools in Six Years—The Attraction of a Cadet Corps—Motor Work
 at Twelve Years of Age—The Expert of Fifteen—Managing a Fleet of
 Cars—First Desire to Fly—The Kindness of Mr. and Mrs. McPhee—Harry
 Meets Busteed—And Comes to England with Him—Kauper—Seeing
 London—Quest for Employment—A Job at Sevenpence per Hour—Another at
 Ninepence-Halfpenny—Thoughts of Returning to Australia—Forty Pounds
 in the Bank—Kauper Strikes Oil—And Helps Harry—Sigrist—How Harry
 was Happy on Two Pounds per Week—His First Flight—Reminiscences of
 Brooklands Days.




CHAPTER I


There was born at Harcourt, in Victoria, Australia, on January 10th,
1862, one George Hawker, whose father was a Cornishman. Grown to
manhood, this George Hawker followed the blacksmith’s calling,
and on May 24th, 1883, he married Mary Ann Gilliard Anderson, a
spinster, of Scottish stock, who was born on October 9th, 1859, at
Stawell, also in Victoria. There were four children of the marriage:
Maude (the eldest), Herbert, Harry, and Ruby (the youngest). The elder
boy, Herbert, born in 1885, was unlike his brother in many respects.
For instance, as a child he was very delicate, a circumstance which
hampered him in his studies. Nevertheless, he was very fond of school,
and he invariably worked well and progressed in spite of his ailments.
He excelled in music. Although he had only recently married, Herbert
Hawker joined the Australian Forces at the outset of the Great War,
and he suffered great privation and illness at Gallipoli. He was later
badly gassed on the Western Front, and his life was despaired of in
consequence. Having partially recovered, he returned to Australia,
bearing the honorary rank of captain. He has two children, a girl and a
boy.

Maude and Ruby Hawker are both married, the elder having two boys, Alan
(“Bobbie”), born in 1910, and Howard (“Bill”), born in 1912. Both boys
display the aptitude for engineering which undoubtedly runs in the
family, the elder having driven and attended to his father’s car at the
age of nine years.

Harry Hawker, or—to give the subject of my biography his full
names—Harry George Hawker, was born on January 22nd, 1889, at the
little village of South Brighton (now known as Moorabbin) in Victoria,
where his father had a small blacksmith’s and wheelwright’s
shop which brought in enough to keep the family in comfort. George
Hawker has at least two claims to fame, which, arranged chronologically
in order of occurrence, are, first, that he was the father of a great
aviator, and, secondly, that he himself was a fine shot, for in 1897 he
came to England with the Bisley Rifle Team and won the Queen’s
Prize.

At the age of six, Harry was sent to the school of Mr. W. J. Blackwell,
B.A., at Moorabbin. He took no interest whatever in his studies, either
then or ever during his school career. For this inadvertence he was
sorry in later years. He was almost continually running away from
school and always in trouble. In the space of little over six years he
went to four different schools. After leaving Mr. Blackwell, Harry was
sent to a school at East Malvern, presided over by Mr. M. T. Lewis.
He was not long there, for in 1896 he was attending a school at St.
Kilda, whither his parents had moved. Harry was even more unsettled
at St. Kilda, for, without as much as telling anyone at home, he left
his school and presented himself at another school, at Prahran, where
they had a cadet corps which attracted him. He became a cadet, but,
still restless and unmanageable, he ran away from school for good at
the age of twelve and started work with a motor firm, Messrs. Hall and
Warden, for five shillings per week. When fifteen years of age he had
an extraordinary knowledge of motors for such a youngster, and he was
considered one of the best car drivers in Victoria at that time. As a
child, Harry’s sole ambition was to become an engineer, and while
at school he designed and built engines in his spare time.

After leaving Hall and Warden’s, he joined the Tarrant Motor Company,
with which firm he made considerable headway and soon became one of
their leading motor experts, and that notwithstanding his extreme
youth, which he always tried to hide by adding a year or two to his
age. However, that restlessness, which was probably only due to his
having reached the limit of progress in his present job, again claimed
him, and, tempted by the offer of a workshop of his own, he took up
the work of looking after a fleet of private cars belonging to a Mr.
de Little, for which he received a salary of £200 per annum. About
this time, too, Harry’s father was running a small steam plant which
enabled Harry to test several of his ideas. It was while Harry was with
Mr. de Little that his old ambition to follow an engineering career
resolved itself into a desire to fly. It may have been the fact that
very little was then known of aeronautical science, particularly in
Australia, or perhaps Harry was attracted by the most intricate branch
of engineering—but whatever the origin of the idea, Harry had made a
firm resolution, and he looked around for his opportunity to carry it
out; but for several months the prospects were not bright.

While Harry was working for Mr. de Little he lived at a small country
hotel at Caramut, kept by Mr. and Mrs. McPhee, of whom he could never
speak too highly. They were extraordinarily good to Harry, and when he
left Australia they insisted on insuring his life; and they continued
to pay the yearly premiums until he died. After Harry’s death, one
of the most human letters I received came from Mrs. McPhee, with the
insurance policy enclosed. The amount was very small, but the wealth of
good nature which prompted such a disinterested tribute to his lovable
personality was worth untold gold.

When he had been with Mr. de Little for nearly three years, Harry, then
about twenty years old, met by accident one Busteed, who, inspired
by the sight of a Wright and a Blériot, was leaving for England in a
week. Having saved about £100 during his period of service with Mr. de
Little, Harry decided to go with him, with the idea that in England his
ambition to learn to fly would easily be realised. Accordingly, within
a week he had thrown up everything, and with no misgivings was crossing
the world in search of the knowledge of flying for which he had yearned
so long. He was, as always, full of confidence in himself. From the
time he started work at five shillings per week he never looked back.
He gave no thought to the possibility of his not making good in
England. He left Australia for England to learn to fly, and either did
not or would not recognise that in the Old Country he would be likely
to meet with keen competition in his quest.

There is no doubt that the trouble he experienced in getting any sort
of work, even apart from that on which his heart was set, was a great
blow to his confidence, for after nearly a year in very poor jobs in
large workshops, where there seemed to be little or no scope for his
ability, he contemplated returning home and taking up his old work.
This was the only occasion, in a life full of ups and downs, when he
seriously thought of throwing up the sponge and yielding to the line
of least resistance. In all other adverse circumstances he revealed a
spirit of indomitable courage and endurance. There is no measuring a
man’s actual worth, but had Fate not kept Harry here we should have
been several iotas deficient in our air supremacy in those dark days
which followed on so soon, when iotas were of incalculable worth.

Harry and Busteed first arrived in London in May, 1911, with Harrison
and Kauper, two other friends who had also travelled from Australia.
All four were destined for aeronautical careers, Harry and Kauper, with
nothing definite in view, left the others and looked for “diggings.”
Although they had very little money, they decided to have a holiday and
enjoy the sights of London before seeking employment. After a couple
of weeks or so, Harry started to look around for a firm who wanted to
teach someone to fly. This preliminary search was unsuccessful, so
Harry, full of life and confidence, thought he would obtain work in an
engineering shop and bide his time in finding the work he most wanted.
Funds were getting low, and the quest for any sort of job was rendered
very difficult by the fact that most of the people whom he approached
would not consider employing him because he had no references in this
country, a circumstance which Harry was at a loss to understand. In
Melbourne there was not a firm but would have taken him, but in England
his own word for his ability was not enough.

Eventually he offered to work for a week for nothing, as a test of
his ability, but this was of no avail. The outlook became very black.
With Kauper, he moved to cheaper lodgings, where he was barely able to
afford the necessities of life. They knew no one in the country except
their two fellow-travellers, but Harry was too proud to let them know
his plight, and would starve first. He continued to write cheerful
letters home, telling of prospects, but never a word as to the actual
state of his affairs. He would not have his parents think he needed
financial help from them.

On July 29th, 1911, after two bad months, fortune changed a little for
the better, as he managed to get work with the Commer Company at a
remuneration of 7d. per hour. He continued, of course, to hunt for the
opportunity which would bring him nearer to the realisation of his hope
of flying, and so, when offered a remuneration of 9½d. per hour by
the Mercèdes Company he had no scruples about leaving the other firm
at the end of January, 1912. He was with the Mercèdes Company for less
than two months, as on March 18th he accepted a better post with the
Austro-Daimler Company. In the meantime, although he had approached
very little, if any, nearer his goal, he had gained invaluable
experience. Furthermore, whenever possible, he had saved his money, and
any that he spent on recreation paid for weekly visits to Brooklands to
watch the flying there.

He was thankful that he had been economical and saved £40, enough to
take him back to Australia, when, after nearly a year, he despaired of
ever realising his ambition to fly. Then it was that Kauper, who had
been experiencing bad times as regards work, saw that Sopwith’s
were advertising for a mechanic, and, being out of employment,
immediately applied for the job, with success. It was arranged that if
the work turned out to be what they wanted, Kauper was to let Harry
know. Having regard to what he had suffered, Harry would not now give
up his job with the Austro-Daimler firm unless for something equally
secure and permanent, and he would wisely have refused even a flying
opportunity that did not fulfil such conditions. He did not want to run
any unnecessary risk of being without work again.

Within a week of Kauper taking up his new work Harry received a
wire from his friend, telling him to come down at once and that the
prospects were good. Without a second’s delay, Harry packed up
and left London for Brooklands, but little dreaming that he was on the
point of realising his wildest hopes. Meanwhile, Kauper had discovered
the work to be exactly what Harry was seeking. The Fates were kind, and
a few days after Kauper had joined the Sopwith Company a lot of extra
work turned up, necessitating the employment of still another mechanic.
Kauper approached Mr. F. Sigrist, the works manager, by whom he was
engaged, and told him he knew of “an Australian, a good mechanic,
very keen to fly and ready for any sort of job with an aeroplane
firm.” Sigrist told him he could arrange an interview, and so it
was that, in reply to the wire mentioned above, Harry, complete with
bag and tool-kit, presented himself ready to start work at once on June
29th, 1912.

It did not take Sigrist long to find out that in Harry he had a good
man. He was very hard-working and exceptionally quick and accurate, and
he could tackle any mechanical construction work. That Harry shone as a
mechanic was Sigrist’s opinion. His whole heart was in his work.
He worked fifteen hours a day on seven days a week, with £2 at the end
of it. For the first time in England he was happy, notwithstanding hard
work and little pay. His old confidence returned, and he no longer
thought of getting home. The £40 he had saved he offered to Sigrist to
be allowed to use a machine. Sigrist told Mr. Sopwith his star mechanic
wanted to fly, and so Harry’s hopes materialised and he received
his preliminary lessons.

[Illustration:

MRS. GEORGE HAWKER—HARRY’S MOTHER.

HARRY AS A CADET AT THE AGE OF 12.

MR. GEORGE HAWKER—HARRY’S FATHER.

  [_Facing p. 30._
]

At this time Sopwith was conducting a flying-school and had several
pupils, between whom there was great competition for getting the use
of the school machine. After Harry had done a little taxi-ing on the
aerodrome he seemed never to be able to get hold of the machine. But at
last it was arranged that he could have a fly at 7 o’clock one morning.
In those days a flight of such a nature by a pupil would last for from
three to ten minutes. Not so in Harry’s case, for Sigrist appeared on
the scene at 8 o’clock, to find Harry still in the air after almost an
hour! His progress under Mr. Sopwith and Mr. Hedley was exceedingly
rapid, and he was acting in the capacity of an instructor before he had
passed the tests for the Royal Aero Club Aviators’ Certificate. Among
his pupils were Major H. M. Trenchard and Captain J. M. Salmond, both
now officers of high distinction in the Royal Air Force.

Harry’s hopes and prospects were now as bright as they could possibly
be. As soon as he had taken his “ticket” (i.e., R.Ae.C. Aviator’s
Certificate), he was placed in charge of the hangars at Brooklands,
where his real career began. Some of the gay times they had in those
early flying days are worthy of record.

The firm, which later developed into the Sopwith Aviation Company,
employing about 3,000 men, but consisted then of Mr. Sopwith, Mr.
Sigrist, and about a dozen men, launched out with the purchase of a
“racing” car when they had made a few pounds. This was an old Panhard
of 16 h.p., fitted with a Victoria body and always accompanied by
sundry disturbing noises. This genuine piece of antique was later
fitted with a two-seater body, not to satisfy the wishes of its many
drivers for a sporting effect, but because it provided at the back an
enclosed space for carrying various impedimenta. On Saturdays and other
festive nights it was customary for this useful part of the body to be
discarded, and the turn-out would proceed, covered with mechanics, mud,
and a very little glory, to the Kingston “Empire.”

This weekly trip from Weybridge to Kingston was never accomplished
without incident in the form of some hitch or adventure. For instance,
the tail-light, which no one had time or energy to adjust during
the week, was wont to fail, and the policeman’s whistle was not
infrequently heard. Whistle! “What’s that, Fred?” Harry would say to
Sigrist. “Tail-light out, or did we run over that old girl?” “No, it’s
only the light.” And so they proceeded, leaving the back to take care
of itself. The eight or nine mechanics, carried on these journeys, were
generally needed. Tyres were always going off; lamps always going out;
and various bits and pieces of the car going astray on the road. All
had, therefore, to work their passage.

Harry never tired of telling of the fun of those days, and although he
was the keenest of workers, he was always ready for some fun, not a
little being provided by the antics of a pet bear kept in the sheds at
Brooklands and brought from America by Sopwith.

Harry’s delight in playing tricks never left him. Only a short
while before he died we were spending a week-end with my parents.
After we had all retired for the night I overheard a council of war
between my brother and Harry. They crept stealthily downstairs. When,
after about an hour, Harry arrived upstairs, I could extract no lucid
explanation of what he had been doing. However, the next morning
the sight of a white door in the dark dining-room when we sat down
to breakfast explained his activities of the previous night. He had
changed the white door of the drawing-room for the dark one of the
dining-room. The cook gave my mother notice to leave immediately after
breakfast, as she was not used to “being made a fool of.” There was
only one person who saw her being made a fool of, but that person’s
tale of cook’s exit through a door she knew so well which had suddenly
gone “all gleaming white” was so funny that I am sure her manner of
accepting the joke was better appreciated by the perpetrators than by
the fools for whom it was intended.




CHAPTER II

THE BRITISH DURATION RECORD

 Harry’s Aversion to Publicity—Circumstances of His
 First Brooklands Associations—The Sopwith-Burgess-Wright
 Biplane—Harry’s Effort in a Quick-starting Competition—Beating
 His Employer—Early Attempts for Michelin Laurels—A Real
 Success—Tuning-up for the Duration Record—Raynham Makes a
 Race—And Secures an Advantage—Raynham Lands after 7 hours 31½
 minutes—And Holds the Record for an Hour or Two—Opportunity
 Knocks at Harry’s Door—And is Well Received—Harry Lands
 after 8 hours 23 minutes—To Him the Spoils—His Own Account of the
 Experience—A Reminiscence of Cody—The Significance of Harry’s
 Achievement—Other Flights at Brooklands—The Growth of a Pioneer
 Firm.




CHAPTER II


During the latter half of 1912, with the buoyancy of the enthusiast
and no idea of the meteoric way in which his latent abilities would be
developed, Harry embarked on the flying career on which his heart was
set, at a time when the spirit of quantity production had not descended
to meet the necessities of war and the aeronautical fraternity was
happy in its smallness.

Even when he had carried out not a few, but many, flights of a nature
unprecedented for a beginner, Harry was known only to a very few
near associates; and he eschewed publicity not only before, but also
after, he was drawn automatically and unavoidably within its fold.
Fortunately, Harry had no cause to sever a well-made alliance with
Mr. Sopwith, who was quick in recognising the genius of his protégé,
as a pilot then, and as an engineer later. Had circumstances been
less promising, and if Harry had elected to seek work as a pilot
elsewhere, the scanty knowledge of his early experiences that had been
disseminated would have stood him in little stead, for in 1912 the
experiences of most pilots were generally reported in considerable
detail; and here would have been a man with a brilliant record who
had deliberately contrived to have as few papers as possible to show
for it. A few genuine Press reports are surely of some value to a
youngster who, looking for employment, has to make an impression, and
particularly if he is not a great talker. But one cannot blame Harry
for this seeming inadvertence, for he never required such testimonials.

Harry first arrived at Brooklands at a time when things were literally
moving rather slowly and the hub of British enterprise in aviation
was showing a pronounced tendency to deviate to Hendon, whither
many of the bright spirits that were formerly the life of Brooklands
had already departed. Mr. T. O. M. Sopwith (now C.B.E.), who gave
Harry his start in aviation, had recently returned from a successful
American tour, during which he had participated in several motor-boat
races and incidentally had commissioned the well-known American
boat-builder, Burgess, to construct, under licence from the Wright
Brothers, an aeroplane, known as a Burgess-Wright biplane then, and as
a Sopwith-Wright after reconstruction by its owner in England.

As it was on this machine Harry made his reputation as a pilot of the
first rank, a few references to its design and construction are not
out of place. The original machine built by Burgess to Sopwith’s
instructions, contrary to the customary Wright practice, was fitted
with controls of the Farman type and a Gnome rotary engine. Having
brought the machine to England, Sopwith replaced the Gnome engine by
a British-built A.B.C. of 40 h.p., and proceeded to manufacture in
his sheds at Brooklands duplicates of all the component parts of the
aeroplane. Thus the machine, when ultimately reconstructed, became
all-British in conformity with the requirements of the competition for
the British Empire Michelin Cup No. 1. The machine had twin propellers,
driven through the medium of chains connected with the single engine,
and on the right-hand side of the latter was arranged the pilot’s
seat. The machine was therefore of a distinctly novel type, at any rate
so far as concerned this country, where few Wright machines had been
seen. One innovation added to the design by Mr. Sopwith (to protect the
pilot from the wind) was a nacelle, resembling in appearance a side-car
body, and it is probable that without this feature Harry would not
have been able to put up as many long flights as he did. Passengers in
this machine enjoyed a particularly novel sensation in sitting beside
the engine instead of in front of or behind it, and in landing they
received the impression that the chassis had collapsed, so low was the
build of the machine as compared with other contemporaneous types.

Four days after he had his first lesson in the art of flying, Harry
flew alone in the Sopwith-Farman machine. His remarkable genius was
thus revealed at the very beginning of his career in aviation; and by
Sopwith, his tutor, he was afforded full scope for the development of
his abilities. Within a month he qualified for his R.Ae.C. Aviator’s
Certificate, the number of which was 297; and so rapid was his progress
that when he successfully essayed his flight for the British duration
record he had only put up a total flying time of about twenty hours.

After obtaining his certificate, Harry lost no time in pursuing the
purely sporting side of flying, and on Saturday, October 5th, 1912,
he participated in a Quick-Starting Competition, at Brooklands, on
the Sopwith-Farman biplane. There were eight other competitors. Harry
tied for second place with the late Harold Barnwell, who was piloting
a Vickers-Farman biplane, their times being 6 seconds. An interesting
circumstance of this contest was that on running off—or, rather, flying
off—the dead heat, Harry and Barnwell both completed the evolution in
faster time than E. C. Pashley, the accredited winner of the race,
whose time was 5⅖th seconds. Harry’s time for this second performance
was 5 seconds and Barnwell’s 4⅘th seconds. Sopwith, who competed on two
machines, a Sopwith-Farman and a Sopwith-Tractor, for which his times
were 7 seconds and 7⅖th seconds respectively, had the doubtful pleasure
of being beaten by his pupil.

Harry essayed his first flight on the Burgess-Wright, on which he was
subsequently to achieve the British Duration Record, on October 15th,
1912. Being already accustomed to the Farman type controls, he found no
difficulty in handling the machine, and after completing a few circuits
and practising landings he felt thoroughly at home on it. The following
morning at 6.51 a.m. he set out on a test of 3 hours 31 minutes in
competition for the British Empire Michelin Cup No. 1 and the £500
prize. The Cup had previously been won by Moore-Brabazon in 1909 and
twice by Cody, in 1910 and 1911. In the 1912 competition a continuous
flight of not less than five hours’ duration had to be made,
the award going to the competitor remaining the longest time in the air
in a single flight without touching the ground. Although unsuccessful
as a qualifying flight in the competition, Harry’s first attempt,
lasting as it did for three-and-a-half hours, on a machine of a novel
type which he had flown only for the first time on the previous day,
was a most creditable achievement, especially, too, for a pilot who had
won his brevet only a month previously. Such a flight, in such a remote
period in the annals of aviation as 1912, would have been considered
no mean performance for the most experienced of pilots. The flight,
which was carried out at Brooklands at an average height of 500 feet,
was terminated owing to the fracture of a valve-spring. Harry made two
other unsuccessful attempts to win the Cup, the first lasting 2 hours
43 minutes, and terminating abruptly owing to a sudden gale, and the
second of 3 hours 28 minutes, ending owing to rain.

As the Michelin Competition definitely closed on October 31st, there
was no time to lose, and on Thursday, the 24th, Harry put up a flight
of 8 hours 23 minutes, which proved to be the British Duration Record
held by him for several years. On the same day a flight of 7½ hours
was made by his friend Raynham, who held the British Duration Record
for a brief spell of 1 hour 35 minutes, having started and finished
before Harry. Lord Charles Beresford was among those who witnessed
these record flights. I cannot do better than reproduce the following
account communicated to the _Aero_ by its special correspondent in
November, 1913.

 “We were astir early in the Sopwith camp on Thursday, October
 24th. Not that this was the first early-morning attempt on the
 Michelin prize. The same thing had been going on for a week past, and
 no fewer than three times in this week had the new Sopwith twin-screw
 A.B.C.-engined biplane sallied forth. Hawker, the pilot, had been
 chosen to fly the Sopwith ‘bus,’ and his determination,
 skill, and enthusiasm through this and the previous attempts justified
 the faith put in him for such a task. Hawker is a young Australian,
 and, like his fellow countrymen Busteed, Pickles, and Harrison, he
 shows very great promise as a flier. Joining the Sopwith school as a
 mechanic, he was allowed to learn on the orthodox school type Farman,
 and he early displayed his aptitude for this work by going up to 1,000
 feet and remaining there for fifty minutes on the fourth day of his
 training.

 “Of his three previous attempts on the Michelin Duration
 Competition little need be said; the first one was terminated after 3
 hours 31 minutes by a valve-spring breaking. On the second attempt the
 wind, after 2 hours 43 minutes proved too much for further flight, and
 the third attempt ended after 3 hours 28 minutes in a rainstorm, which
 soaked the magneto through, and temporarily ended its career.

 “With serious designs on ‘durating,’ the Sopwith
 camp was awake and bustling, and excitement ran high when it was seen
 that Raynham was to make a simultaneous attempt on the military Avro
 biplane (enclosed body type), fitted with a 60 h.p. Green engine.
 Hawker got away just before 7 a.m., but was brought down again after
 a flight lasting no more than twenty minutes by the magneto cutting
 out occasionally. Apparently it had not recovered from the effects of
 its previous soaking. This contingency had been anticipated, however,
 and a brand-new British-made Bosch had been ordered previously,
 which, however, had only arrived late the night before. The old
 ‘mag.’ was hurriedly removed and the new one fitted, but
 even minor details of this kind take time, and in this case the time
 was all too precious. In timing the magneto it was found to run the
 wrong way round, and it had to be dismantled and a new commutator
 fitted.

 “Meanwhile Raynham got away on the Avro at 7.40, which meant
 eventually a start of 1h. 35m. He seemed to have a little trouble in
 carrying his load, as he had to make three attempts to get off, and
 he was flying very _cabré_ through the earlier part of his flight.
 The Green engine, however, sounded serious, solemn, and steady, and
 seemed to inspire confidence. Hawker made a start at 9.15 without even
 testing or trying the magneto in any way.

 “Then commenced a magnificent and exciting contest which lasted
 till well after dark.

 “The A.B.C. spluttered a little at first for want of a
 warming-up, but by the time it had done one circuit of Brooklands
 its revolutions were up to 2,000 per minute, and Hawker was able to
 throttle down slightly. There was a tense feeling all round, and an
 ache in the heart of the Sopwith crew that the magneto had not been
 properly fitted during the previous night. Hawker’s handicap
 was realised more and more when it was found that if Raynham remained
 aloft until within 1 hour and 35 minutes of the limiting hours of the
 competition (which were from sunrise till one hour after sunset),
 Hawker could not possibly win.

 “There was a stream of people to and from the anemometer
 throughout the day, which instrument happily showed the atmospheric
 conditions to be little short of ideal. The speed of the wind during
 the day did not vary more than five to eight miles per hour.

 “Raynham, with his wide experience, took the greatest possible
 advantage of this, and made a really splendid flight, with the Green
 throttled down to the very slowest revolutions that the machine would
 fly with, and with the tail dropping in what appeared to be a fearful
 position to the onlookers. Hawker, with tail well up (and his machine
 lifts the loads remarkably easily), was flying steadily round at a
 height of about 400 feet, the A.B.C. emitting a steady hum. Raynham,
 on the other hand, was flying very low, and on some occasions was
 only about 30 feet high. By about eleven o’clock he evidently
 had become extremely bored with pottering round and round, because he
 commenced a series of antics round the sheds, and at one time about
 half-way round a turn he suddenly doubled back on his own track, and
 did a turn or two round the wrong way, all the time, however, with
 his engine ticking round at something like 950 revolutions per minute
 only, the appearance of the machine being terrifying to behold to
 those who dread sideslips.

 “Hawker all this time was steadily plodding away, making
 the safest flight possible, and the very machine had a look of
 determination about it. The two slow-speed propellers turned solemnly
 round, and the engine explosions were lost in a continual buzz through
 the high engine speed. That he was out to win if possible was obvious
 from every movement. Raynham’s champions grew a little nervous
 over the flippancy of their pilot, and a shutter of one of the sheds
 was quickly requisitioned, on which were painted the words in large
 letters: ‘Fly higher.’ It had not much effect, however,
 although it served apparently to sober him a little.

 “Towards one o’clock impatient questions as to how much
 oil and petrol they were carrying began to circulate amongst the
 onlookers, and it appeared that Raynham’s oil supply was likely
 to run out before anything else. On more than one occasion the Green
 suddenly slowed down in revolutions, only to pick up again just as
 quickly. Someone pointed out later on that the short pipes coupled to
 the exhaust ports in the cylinders of the Green no longer emitted the
 puffs of smoke that had been prominent in the earlier stages of the
 flight, and misgivings as to the oil supply began to travel abroad.

 “Excitement reached fever-heat between two and three
 o’clock, the strain of watching the two machines circle round
 hour after hour becoming intense. It was not even like a motor race,
 where one can see fairly early in the run who is likely to be the
 winner. In this conflict, speed did not even count, and the contest
 might terminate any second by either running out of fuel or by an
 engine stoppage. Little work was done in the sheds, and every few
 minutes mechanics would appear at the various doors to find and call
 out to their mates that both machines were still up.

 “‘Raynham’s down!’ The cry spread across the
 ground at about 3.10 p.m., and a frantic rush was made to the front of
 the sheds, and sure enough he was just on the point of touching. He
 terminated his flight at 3.11½ p.m. exactly, having been in the air
 7 hours 31½ minutes—truly a splendid performance. We all rushed
 across the ground, and Fred May, of the Green Engine Co., jumped
 into his car and came tearing up to the spot. Raynham climbed out,
 looking somewhat tired, but apparently none the worse for the 7½
 hours’ toil. He said that the oil had run out, and though
 he had held on as long as he could, the engine had been dropping in
 revolutions for the last half-hour, and he did not want to risk it
 seizing up altogether.

 “Up to the very minute of Raynham’s landing it is doubtful
 if a single person on Brooklands would have given a shilling for
 Hawker’s chance of putting up better time than Raynham with the
 latter’s hour and a half start; but things now changed, and as
 all eyes were turned upwards and ears listening to catch the rhythmic
 beating of the engine, the question went round: ‘Will he keep
 up for another two hours?’ The engine sounded happy enough, and
 if nothing happened there was no reason why he should not, as he had
 a big load of fuel. The excitement now began steadily to rise as the
 minutes were ticked off, and to the Sopwith enthusiasts every minute
 seemed an age. They all went back to find something to do that would
 pass the time more quickly, but had to come out again with dread in
 their hearts that they might find Hawker ‘taxi-ing’ along
 the ground.

 “Gradually the time went along, and Hawker was still steadily
 travelling at his 400 feet altitude. Then Sopwith appeared on the
 scene at about four o’clock, and brought out his 70 h.p. Gnome
 Tractor biplane with the intention of cheering Hawker up a little.
 Taking Charteris as a passenger, he did one or two circuits, climbing
 up to Hawker’s level, then very skilfully cut across a sharp
 turn and came alongside. Hawker, in fear of not lasting out the time,
 had throttled down to the smallest amount he could fly with so as to
 economise petrol and oil; his machine was therefore very slow, and
 Sopwith had to switch off and dive a little so as not to pass him.
 The two on the Tractor waved frantically, and shouted encouragements,
 which, of course, Hawker could not hear at all, but which he
 undoubtedly understood. Down planed the Tractor again, leaving Hawker
 with just another half-hour to go through to equal Raynham’s
 time (which, by the way, was for 1 hour 35 minutes the British
 Duration Record).

 “The next half hour was the worst period experienced by a great
 number of the Brooklands clan, and it is doubtful if any other event
 ever held on the ground has caused so much interest. Tea was forgotten
 altogether, and exact minutes and seconds were in the greatest demand,
 everybody walking about watch in hand. After ten more minutes had
 passed it was observed that Hawker had throttled really to the very
 limit so as not to run the slightest risk of running short of petrol.
 The machine was flying at a terrible angle, with the tail pointing
 strongly earthwards, and the spectators began to feel nervous. Another
 shutter was acquired, on which was whitewashed: ‘Keep your tail
 up,’ and this was displayed for the pilot, who, however, took
 but little notice of it.

 “Gradually the minutes passed, and a little crowd gathered
 round the timekeeper, who slowly (horribly slowly to some) counted
 9 minutes, 8 minutes, and so on. ‘One more circuit will do
 it!’ someone cried, and it did, and as the last seconds passed
 away, never to be recalled, a huge sigh escaped from the lips of
 everybody. To some it was a sigh of relief, to others perhaps not,
 but now the crisis was over everybody was sporting enough to express
 admiration for a very plucky flight.

 “Hawker had evidently had his eye glued to the clock which he
 carried on board, for now his tail was up high again, the machine sped
 away full of life, and the time also slipped by much faster now that
 the face of the watch was not being scrutinised so carefully. Another
 half hour passed and darkness began to close in. It had been arranged
 that a huge petrol fire should be lit when it was time for Hawker to
 come down, an hour after sunset being 5.48 p.m. It was, however, quite
 dark at 5.20, and a difficult problem arose in the minds of those on
 the ground. It was naturally wished to make the flight as long as
 possible, and therefore to light the bonfire then would have been
 to bring him down unnecessarily early; on the other hand, complete
 darkness might quite possibly cause him to lose himself. A better
 arrangement would have been to light one fire half an hour before the
 specified finish, another one a quarter of an hour later, and a third
 when the time was up, leaving the whole three for him to land by.

 “Any misgivings that may have remained in the minds of a few
 regarding the condition of the engine were quickly put at rest by
 Hawker at about 5.30 opening the throttle wide and shooting up to
 between 1,200 and 1,500 feet in so short a space of time as would have
 made some of our military competitors envious. It was evident he did
 this to run no risk of petrol running out when he was over the sewage
 farm or behind the sheds at a low altitude. It was now quite dark,
 and wanted but ten minutes to the time limit. At this stage one was
 impressed by the appearance of the long flame from the exhaust. The
 exhaust pipes were apparently quite red hot the whole time.

 “Suddenly Hawker was seen to be intent on making a landing
 without further delay, and he came down in a perfectly straight line
 from the far end of the ground with the engine about half throttled.
 He made a very shallow angle of descent, apparently with the intention
 of striking as gradually as possible, as the earth could not be
 seen at all. Those in charge of the bonfires instantly realised the
 situation, and applied matches to the petrol, which flared up in the
 nick of time. Hawker straightened up, closed the throttle, and made a
 perfect landing seven minutes before the time limit.

 “There was a rush for the spot where the machine was, and the
 next five minutes were occupied in cheering, congratulating, shaking
 hands and patting backs. Hawker climbed out of his seat, having been
 exactly 8 hours 23 minutes in the air, but he looked easily capable of
 undergoing the same trial again.

 “Relating his experience, Hawker said: ‘When I got
 away first at about 9.15 I thought the new magneto had been timed
 incorrectly, because the engine was only turning at 1,600, and would
 hardly carry the load; before I had done a circuit, however, I
 discovered it was only a case of getting the engine warm, this taking
 a particularly long time, because we had fitted two radiators where
 there only used to be one, even in the summer, and I was carrying
 nearly six gallons of water all told. This I found afterwards to be
 really too much, because towards the end I tried to warm my hand on
 the water-pipe which runs from the bottom of the radiators and found
 it too cold to touch.

 “‘Within five minutes of the start the engine was turning
 round at just over 2,000 revolutions per minute, and I realised that
 if I wanted to economise I must throttle down a little. This I did,
 and ran along steadily at about 1,800 revolutions. I was extremely
 worried to think that we had let Raynham get such a lead, but there
 was no hope for it, so I settled down to a long, slow job, determined
 to stick to it to the end.

 “‘I was quite snug and warm inside the little body that
 had been provided, and the weather throughout was ideal. The engine
 ran splendidly, and I can truthfully say that it never made a single
 misfire for the whole period of 8 hours 23 minutes.

 “‘I occupied most of my time in keeping one eye on the
 clock and one on Raynham, who was flying below me, and on several
 occasions he quite appeared to be “taxi-ing” along the
 ground. I always noticed that he never came to rest, however, and
 concluded that he must be flying low. Once he shot across my path
 about some 150 feet under me, giving me quite a start for the second.
 On several occasions I lost sight of him for half an hour at a time,
 and was sometimes worried by wondering whether I was going to give
 him my backwash or whether I was getting into his.

 “‘I had a Thermos flask of cocoa on board, some chocolate,
 and some sandwiches, all of which I found useful in either passing the
 time away or relieving the monotony by giving me something to do. I
 did not look at the exact time that I started, but I knew that I had
 about an hour and three quarters to do after Raynham had finished.
 Everything was plain sailing with regard to the petrol supply and
 oil. The petrol was gravity-fed and the oil pressure-fed. I had a
 twenty-gallon petrol tank just behind my back, which was coupled
 directly to the carburetter, and above that I had a twelve-gallon
 tank, both being full. The twelve-gallon tank was connected by a pipe
 to the larger tank, and after I had been flying for four hours I
 turned on the tap in the twelve-gallon tank and allowed the contents
 of this tank to flow down to the larger one. I discovered afterwards
 that the pipe from the twelve-gallon to the twenty-gallon tank was not
 large enough, because when I came down in the evening I could hear
 the petrol still slowly trickling into the large tank. For the oil,
 I had a glass gauge in the sump of the motor and a five-gallon tank
 also behind my back, I started off with two gallons in the sump, and
 occasionally pumped up a little pressure in the oil tank, opening the
 tap between the tank and the sump to keep the oil level in the sump
 somewhere within sight. As the petrol was used and the weight lessened
 I closed the throttle slightly, the engine running equally well at all
 speeds.

 “‘Later on I saw a shutter being carried out with the
 words “Fly higher” painted on it. I could read it quite
 distinctly from 400 feet, but as I felt quite comfortable where I was
 I did not pay any heed to it. It was not until after I came down that
 I discovered that this sign was meant for Raynham. It was a great
 relief to me to see Raynham come down, and I knew this time that he
 was going to land, because I could see all the people running across
 the ground towards him.

 “‘From then onwards I kept my eyes glued to the face
 of the clock, the last half hour that would make my flight equal
 Raynham’s being the most anxious and worrying of the whole day.
 Every minute seemed an hour, and as I was afraid that the petrol
 in the top tank might not be flowing properly into the main tank,
 I closed the throttle for the last twenty minutes down to the very
 limit the machine would fly with. I must have been flying then at only
 about thirty-five miles per hour. Then I saw the 70 h.p. Gnome Tractor
 ’bus come out, and watched Mr. Sopwith with interest. I guessed
 what he was coming out for, and when I saw him make straight for me,
 broadside on, I kept on a perfectly straight course, knowing well that
 he would be careful not to hinder me in any way. He came quite close
 alongside, and I distinctly heard them both shout (my A.B.C engine had
 a silencer fitted), but I could not tell what they said.

 “‘Painfully slowly the minutes rolled away, but at last I
 realised that I was the holder of the British Duration Record. When I
 was quite sure of this I opened up the throttle again, as I had not
 much to fear now, but I was still determined to keep up in order to
 give anyone else a good run in order to beat it. When it was getting
 nearly dark I pulled open the last notch of the throttle and climbed
 up to 1,400 feet on the meter, and I did this very rapidly. Darkness
 came on, and I could see very little but the red-hot exhaust pipe and
 the reflection from the burnt gases. The dim lights of the Blue Bird
 served as a little guide to the position of the ground, and when I
 felt sure it must be quite 5.50 I decided to come down immediately
 and make a guess at where the ground was, as I felt sure they had
 forgotten all about the fires, and I did not want to get lost and
 smash the machine up. Just as I was landing the fires flared up, and I
 came to rest and found everyone as pleased as I was.’”

 NOTE. —The foregoing verbatim report of Hawker’s experiences
 in making the British Duration Record is reprinted from the _Aero_ of
 November, 1912.

In attempting, with characteristic pluck, to beat Harry’s record
on the last day of the competition, Cody unfortunately collided with
a post on landing after a trial flight, and a wing was buckled in
consequence.

The performance whereby Harry not only won the British Empire Michelin
Cup No. 1, but also captured the British Duration Record, brought him
into the front rank of British pilots and marked an important point
in the annals of British aviation. Public attention was attracted to
a type of machine of which little was known in this country, although
it bore the pioneer hall-mark of the Wrights. For the Sopwith Aviation
Company the flight was a great business asset and a sure foundation for
the goodwill of the concern.

Harry took part in an Altitude Competition on Saturday, November
9th, 1912, at Brooklands, in which event Barnwell was the only other
competitor. Unfortunately the race had to be given to Barnwell, as
Harry had omitted to set his barograph at zero before starting, so
that the exact height he reached was not recorded. Nevertheless,
the immediate excitement of the contest did not suffer through this
inadvertence.

A Bomb-dropping and Alighting Competition, in which competitors had to
drop their bombs on or near a given target and land within a minimum
radius of a given mark was held on the Saturday following. The first
and second places went to Merriam and Knight respectively, Sopwith,
Bendall, and Harry being the “also rans.” Sopwith, having
succeeded in making a direct hit with his bomb, misjudged his landing,
a circumstance which disqualified him.

Harry shared in a big success in a Relay or Despatch-carrying Race
on Sunday, November 17th. In this contest the competitors worked in
pairs. One pilot would start off with a despatch, and, after flying
one-and-a-half laps, land and hand the commission over to his partner,
who in turn would fly over the same course, alight, and hand the
despatch to the judge, the winning pair being those who made fastest
time. In the particular contest, which was flown in perfect flying
weather, it was originally intended that each pair should comprise a
biplane and a monoplane, and Hamel flew over from Hendon on a Blériot
for the special purpose of competing, but the scarcity of monoplanes
owing to the War Office ban on machines of that type resulted in only
biplanes taking part. The first prize went to Harry and Spencer, the
latter flying a machine of his own construction. Their total time for
the course was 9½ minutes. Barnwell and Merriam, of the Vickers and
Bristol Schools respectively, on Farman and Bristol machines, took
10 minutes 10 seconds, and Bendall and Knight, on a similar pair of
machines, took 10 minutes 12 seconds.

On Sunday afternoon, November 24th, just before dusk, a Speed Handicap
over two laps of the Brooklands course was decided. The handicapping
was, on the whole, good, Alcock,[1] Sopwith, and Knight, the first
three home, all finishing in that order within a space of four seconds.
Harry finished, but was unplaced. It is interesting to note that this
was the first race in which Alcock participated. He had recently
obtained his brevet at the Ducrocq school. Sopwith made fastest time.

[1] The late Sir John Alcock, K.B.E.

Harry had his machine out on the following Sunday to take part in
another Bomb-dropping and Alighting Competition, but as the contest was
on the point of starting rain came on and put an end to flying for the
remainder of the day. The contest was postponed until the next Sunday,
but Harry was unavoidably absent.

Busteed, Harrison, and Harry, who had all migrated from Australia
together in April, 1911, had all now achieved some distinction in
flying, and Australian prowess in the art was well in the ascendant.
Busteed and Harrison were doing big things for the Empire as
instructors of flying, and Harry, by his record flights, was doing much
to promote British aerial prestige.

The business of the Sopwith Company having expanded extensively in the
meantime, Mr. Sopwith had decided to lease a skating-rink in Canbury
Park Road, Kingston-on-Thames, so that more room than could be provided
in the sheds at Brooklands should be available for the construction of
machines to meet increasing demands from the Admiralty, War Office, and
foreign governments. The skating-rink was ideal, not only on account
of the space available for erecting big machines, but also owing to
the level floor, which was a great facility. Mr. Sigrist, who had been
largely responsible for the design of the Sopwith Tractor biplane and
had accompanied Mr. Sopwith on his American tour, was the works manager
there.

And so I leave 1912, conscious of the fact that, in the few months
during which he had been flying, Harry had contributed in some
considerable measure to the fostering of that record-breaking spirit so
necessary for the advancement of the new art and science.




CHAPTER III

ABOUT ALTITUDE AND OTHER RECORDS

 A Colleague’s Impression of Harry in 1913—Harry in the
 Passenger’s Seat—“Aerial Leap-Frog”—Competition
 Flights at Brooklands—Testing the First “Bat
 Boat”—End of the First “Bat Boat”!—Harry as a
 Salesman-Demonstrator—Testing the Second “Bat Boat”—70
 Miles per Hour in 1913—Asçent to 7,450 feet in 15 minutes—A
 Prize Flight—How Harry Deserted from a Race which He Won—How
 a Biplane Beat a Monoplane—More Seaplane Testing—The British
 Altitude Record—11,450 Feet—“Bravo, Hawker!”—A
 Journalist’s Tribute—Flying in a High Wind—To the Isle of
 Wight and Back.




CHAPTER III


Even greater things were in store for Harry in 1913, for although
the British Duration Record was an achievement to be handed down to
posterity, it pertained only to British aviation. His performance
in the Round-Britain Seaplane Race, so generously promoted by Lord
Northcliffe and the _Daily Mail_, as one of the milestones in the early
progress of marine aircraft, will live in the world’s history
unbounded by nationalities.

A friend who worked in the shops at Canbury Park Road, where he took
part in the construction of the Round-Britain seaplane, well remembers
with the observant eyes of a hero-worshipper seeing Harry make daily
tours through the works in company with Messrs. Sopwith, Sigrist,
and R. O. Cary, the general manager. Other than a sturdy physique
and cheery countenance, Harry bore nothing to indicate that he was
an aviator by profession. He was wholly without affectation and a
favourite with everyone belonging to the Sopwith concern.

Sir Charles D. Rose, Bart., M.P., Chairman of the Royal Aero Club,
handed to Harry on Tuesday, January 7th, 1913, a cheque for £500
in respect of the prize awarded in connection with the Michelin
Competition. Of this sum, Harry received 25 per cent. as remuneration
for his special services to the Sopwith concern. On the same day, too,
Cody received his cheque for £600 in connection with the No. 2 Michelin
Competition.

Mr. Sopwith himself was out testing a new tractor biplane on Friday,
February 7th, 1913, at 7.20 a.m., carrying Harry as a passenger. To
ride in the passenger’s seat of an aeroplane of new design is
a task simple enough truly, but not too pleasant for an experienced
pilot. This flight speaks volumes for the great confidence which Harry
always had in his friend and benefactor. This new tractor-type machine
was dismantled after the flight and sent to Olympia for the Aero Show,
where it was purchased by the Admiralty. After the Show, Harry himself
tested the machine at Brooklands, flying for 1¼ hours on March 1st
preparatory to handing it over to the responsible naval authority,
Lieut. Spencer Gray, who flew it to Hendon with a passenger.

The Sopwith-Wright machine was still in service, and Harry was flying
it on the Saturday. On the Sunday, February 9th, he was third in a
Quick-starting and Alighting Competition, during which he was lost to
view above the clouds.

Harry also scored a “third” in the Speed Handicap at
Brooklands on Easter Monday. Inasmuch as the spectators were left
uninformed as to the result of the race, the event was a farce. Harry,
on the Sopwith-Wright, was very severely handicapped, and had it not
been that Barnwell passed the finishing-post on the wrong side, he
would not have been “placed.”

The weather being particularly favourable, some very fine flying was
seen at Brooklands on Sunday afternoon, March 29th; over a dozen
machines being out. There were no races, but numerous exhibition and
passenger flights were indulged in. Harry interested the spectators
by practising “aerial leap-frog” on the Sopwith-Wright,
a performance which caused much astonishment. With the propellers
completely stopped, he made a well-judged landing from a considerable
height.

During March, 1913, the first tests of the Sopwith “Bat
Boat,” which had made its début at the Olympia Show, were carried
out at Cowes. Sopwith, whose motor-boat experience stood him in good
stead, first took the machine out, but although a speed of sixty miles
per hour was attained, the machine would not leave the water. Harry
had a shot at it, but with no better success. Sopwith, making another
effort, rose a few feet, but the hull landed heavily and was damaged.
Left out all night on the beach, the machine was almost destroyed by
a gale, one report circulating to the effect that only the engine and
propeller remained intact!

Harry was not hampered by any scruples with regard to trading on the
Sabbath, for on Sunday, April 13th, 1913, he set out to play the rôle
of aeroplane salesman, and incidentally to make his Hendon début. The
specific purpose of his flight on the Sopwith-Wright from Brooklands
to Hendon was to offer the machine for sale to the Grahame-White
Company, whom he regarded as good potential purchasers, as they had
recently sold two of their machines to the War Office and would require
others to replace them in order to cope with increasing demands for
exhibition and passenger flights at the London aerodrome. On the way
there he had a forced landing at Wormwood Scrubbs, but was able to
proceed and complete the whole journey in 40 minutes, inclusive of
the delay. He terminated the flight by making several circuits of the
aerodrome at Hendon, and subsequently made a number of other exhibition
and passenger flights which demonstrated the wonderful handiness and
airworthiness of the machine. His passengers during the afternoon
included Manton and Gates, both well-known pilots of the Grahame-White
Company. Passengers were greatly impressed by the stability of the
machine and the strangeness of sitting on one side of the engine.
Landing, too, was rather a new sensation, as the seats were so low
in comparison with those of other types that to one on the point of
touching the ground the landing chassis seemed to have fallen off!

On the following Sunday, at Hendon, Harry carried several more
passengers, and at times there were as many as eight machines in flight
simultaneously.

Harry tested the second Sopwith air-boat at Brooklands on Monday,
May 25th. The machine, engined with a 100 h.p. Green, which was a
development of the original “Bat Boat” mentioned above, was
fitted with a temporary land chassis. One of the struts of this gave
way on landing, resulting in damage to the left aileron. The original
“Bat Boat” had warping, or flexing, wings.

Tuesday, May 6th, saw Harry testing a new Sopwith Tractor biplane
engined with an 80 h.p. Gnome. This machine was a three-seater, and on
the Wednesday he had two passengers up for half an hour above 1,000
feet. He flew the machine over to Farnborough on Friday, May 9th, where
he carried out an official test, when a speed of 73·6 miles per hour
was attained.

[Illustration: THE SOPWITH TABLOID, THE PROTOTYPE OF THE FIGHTING
SCOUTS, DESIGNED BY HARRY, IN ITS MODIFIED FORM FOR LOOPING-THE-LOOP,
AFTER HIS RETURN FROM AUSTRALIA.

  [_Facing p. 56._
]

On May 10th, 1913, the Saturday before Whitsun, with Harry in charge,
the new 80 h.p. Gnome Sopwith Tractor biplane fully justified the big
things that were expected of it, at Hendon, whither its reputation
had travelled in advance. Harry flew over from Brooklands to take
part in an Altitude Contest in competition with Verrier on a Maurice
Farman, Robert Slack on a 50 h.p. Gnome Blériot, Brock on a 35 h.p.
Deperdussin, and Hamel on an 80 h.p. Blériot. The machines left the
ground at short intervals and were all soon out of sight, hidden by
clouds. In making a single circuit of the aerodrome, the Sopwith
machine climbed 2,000 feet. Hamel was first down after about 20
minutes, quickly followed at short intervals by Slack, Verrier, and
Brock, in the order named. Harry, however, was nowhere in sight, and
did not appear again until about forty minutes after he had started.
As there was a time limit in the contest, the judges, having concluded
that Harry had made a forced landing elsewhere, announced the following
result:

  1. Verrier  4,450 ft.

  2. Brock    4,300 ft.

  3. Slack    4,000 ft.

Hamel retired, disqualified by a faulty barograph, although he had
ascended to somewhere above 7,000 feet. In the meantime Harry had
reached an altitude of 7,450 feet in 15 minutes—a truly remarkable
performance. At that height, having lost his bearings, he decided to
land, which he did at Ponder’s End, a few miles east of Hendon,
still keeping his engine running while he enquired of a passer-by his
whereabouts. Having returned to the aerodrome and satisfied the judges
that he had landed within the prescribed time limit, he was finally
adjudicated winner of the contest. The particular machine was one of a
series ordered by the Admiralty.

Immediately after this fine performance Harry competed in the Speed
Handicap for the Shell prize of 100 guineas. The race was flown in
heats, Harry being scratch man in the second heat and giving 55
seconds to Slack and 1 minute 57 seconds to Lewis Turner, who was
flying a Caudron biplane. Turner won the heat by 17⅖th seconds,
and Harry came in last, three minutes behind Slack. His failure may
be attributed to bad handicapping, which could hardly be avoided in
the case of almost the first public appearance of a new machine with a
genuine reputation preceded most probably by an exaggerated one. After
witnessing the final, won by Turner, Harry left for Brooklands, where,
on Whit-Sunday, he carried several passengers and also tested the
engine of the Sopwith hydro-aeroplane.

On Whit-Monday, May 12th, 1913, at Brooklands, Harry was one of three
starters in the Whitsun Cross-Country Aeroplane Handicap. Rain fell
during the race. Alcock was first away on Ducrocq’s Henry Farman,
but had to abandon the race almost immediately owing to the strong
wind nearly blowing his relatively slow machine backwards. Harry was
next away on the Tractor, with a start of 76 seconds from Gordon
Bell, who flew the 120 h.p. Martin-Handasyde monoplane. Harry made a
quicker start than Gordon Bell, who sacrificed several seconds when
the starter’s flag fell. At the first turning-point Bell had
picked up 36 seconds over Harry, but lost several through turning on
an unnecessarily big radius. At the second turn he gained another 10
seconds, but also lost owing to the same cause. Harry won a fine race
by 39 seconds. This triumph of the biplane over the monoplane possessed
some significance, and seemed to indicate that the greater wing surface
of Harry’s machine enabled it to be “banked” more
steeply and consequently brought round on a shorter radius when turning.

Harry made several circuits of the aerodrome at 500 feet, while
testing the new Sopwith hydro-aeroplane, on the Saturday after Whitsun,
May 17th, 1913, at Brooklands, preparatory to sea tests to be made at
Cowes. On the Sunday, Lieut. Spencer Gray tested the Sopwith Tractor
biplane, and all present were astonished by its remarkable climbing
properties. In a wind of 35 m.p.h., Harry made several solo and
passenger flights.

Sopwith and Harry were at Cowes during the following week, ending May
24th, testing the new hydro-aeroplane, which exceeded all expectations.
Two more machines were approaching completion at the works, ready to be
despatched to Brooklands for test.

It was proposed that on Saturday afternoon, May 31st, Hamel, Gordon
Bell, Harry, and other well-known pilots should attempt a British
Altitude Record, and also possibly a World’s Record. Hamel
would fly an 80 h.p. Borel monoplane, Gordon Bell the 120 h.p.
Martin-Handasyde monoplane, and Harry the 80 h.p. Gnome Sopwith Tractor
biplane. The Brooklands Automobile Racing Club offered a prize of £50
to anyone breaking the existing record of 10,650 feet, which stood to
the credit of G. de Havilland.

The following extract from the official notices to members of the Royal
Aero Club, issued under date June 7th, 1913, tells its own story:

 “BRITISH HEIGHT RECORD. —The report of the flight made by Mr.
 H. G. Hawker at Brooklands on May 31st, 1913, together with barograph
 charts, were considered, and it was decided to accept the height
 accomplished—viz., 11,450 feet—as a British height record. The
 aircraft used on the occasion was a Sopwith Tractor biplane, fitted
 with an 80 h.p. Gnome.”

It is interesting to note that de Havilland’s record flight had
been made with a passenger, and that it still stood as the record
flight for pilot and one passenger.

Earlier in the day, before essaying to break the height record, Harry
made the initial tests of another Sopwith Tractor biplane, which
proved equal to the prototype. Lieut. Spencer Gray also tested the
machine for the Admiralty. When Harry set out on his record-breaking
flight the wind had dropped and the sky was clear. Weather conditions
were ideal, and the prevailing question was not “Will he break
the record?” but “By how much will he break it?” The
machine used was the one which had made the memorable ascent of 7,500
feet in 15 minutes, at Hendon, on the Saturday before Whitsun, and was
in view of the onlookers throughout the whole flight.

The climb to 11,450 feet, which beat the existing record by 950 feet,
occupied 45 minutes, and the gliding descent was accomplished in a
fifth of that time. Harry would have been able to go higher had he not
experienced difficulty in maintaining a good mixture, a circumstance
which culminated in the carburetter freezing and rendered a descent
imperative. On landing he was received with hearty acclamation and
congratulations. With the winning of the previous altitude contest
at Hendon and the Whit-Monday handicap at Brooklands, this flight
constituted the third important success of the particular machine used,
and Mr. Sopwith was congratulated on having such a first-class pilot as
Harry Hawker to demonstrate the wonderful and surprising capabilities
of the new Sopwith products.

Harry’s height record of May 31st inspired “The
Dreamer” to contribute to _Flight_ the following, published on
June 14th:

 “BRAVO, HAWKER!

 “I wish I could have been at Brooklands to have seen your
 smiling face when you came down from your lofty position. Your face
 always does me good when I gaze upon it. I suppose you sometimes feel
 a bit glum, like the rest of us, but I have never happened to be there
 to see it; and this time I am sure it would have acted as a tonic, as
 I am just a bit run down at the moment.

 “That you have got a machine that can climb, and that you know
 how to handle it, I know. I only wish Brooklands were more get-at-able
 so that I could see more of you and the others there....”

At the week-end aviation meetings at Brooklands free passenger flights
were generally balloted for by the spectators, and Harry frequently
carried the successful participants.

Fresh from his triumph, Harry was out carrying passengers as usual
on Sunday, June 1st. Once, while he was carrying two passengers,
Gordon Bell was also out flying solo on an identically similar Sopwith
Tractor, thereby enabling comparisons to be made. The general view
was that the machine appeared to climb as well with the passengers as
without them. On descending, Harry announced his intention of making
attempts on the altitude records for one, two, and three passengers.

In a wind blowing at about 30 miles per hour, Harry was flying the two
Sopwith Tractor biplanes at Brooklands on Sunday, June 8th. Among the
several passengers whom he carried, up to 2,000 feet or more, was his
friend Commander Samson, R.N.

On the Monday, Harry flew to the Isle of Wight and back, with a Mr.
Boger as passenger. The outward and return journeys occupied 55 minutes
and 50 minutes respectively, and a height of 5,000 feet was maintained.




CHAPTER IV

AMPHIBIANS—AND MORE HEIGHT RECORDS

 An Amphibian of 1913—Harry Gets up to 13,000 feet with a
 Passenger—Several Other Height Records—Three Climbs in One Day—The
 Progress of the Sopwith Enterprise—Several Types of Aeroplanes—And
 Seaplanes—Harry Wins the Mortimer Singer Prize—And Has Time to
 Spare—A Friendly Race with Hamel—A World’s Height Record—A
 Cross-Country Race—Preliminaries of the Round-Britain Seaplane
 Flight—Conditions Governing the _Daily Mail_ £5,000 Prize.




CHAPTER IV


The following is extracted from the official notices issued to members
of the Royal Aero Club, under date June 7th, 1913:

 “MORTIMER SINGER £500 PRIZE.

 “Mr. T. O. M. Sopwith is now ready to make the flight for this
 prize, and attempts will be made almost immediately. The course is
 on the Solent, and the official observers on behalf of the Club are
 Lieut. Spencer D. Gray, R.N., and Mr. J. N. Spottiswoode. The aircraft
 is a Sopwith Tractor biplane fitted with 100 h.p. Gnome engine. The
 pilot is Mr. H. G. Hawker. In this competition, six out and home
 flights have to be made on a course from a point on the land to a
 point out at sea, not less than five miles distant in a direct line,
 but the latter point shall not be less than one mile from any shore.
 Alightings have to be made on arrival at each point.”

In short, Harry had been detailed to carry out pioneer work with
the Amphibian type of aircraft, the initial development of which is
popularly, but erroneously, supposed to have been the outcome of the
prizes offered by the Air Ministry in 1919 for machines of this type.

Extracts from Royal Aero Club notices to members, under date June 21st,
1913:

 “MORTIMER SINGER £500 PRIZE.

 “Intending competitors are again reminded that this competition
 is now open.

 “Mr. H. G. Hawker on a Sopwith biplane has already made one
 or two attempts, and will be going again as soon as some minor
 alterations to the aircraft have been completed. In giving the
 specification of the aircraft used by Mr. Hawker, an error was made
 in regard to the motor. The aircraft is fitted with a 100 h.p.
 Green.”

 “HEIGHT RECORDS.

 “Mr. H. G. Hawker has been keeping the officials of the Club
 fairly busy of late. On Sunday last, with the Sopwith biplane, he
 made an attempt on the British Height Record with two passengers. The
 record of 8,400 feet stands to the credit of Major E. L. Gerrard,
 R.M.L.I. Mr. Hawker, however, managed to top the 8,000 feet but
 did not surpass the existing record. The following day, Monday,
 with another Sopwith biplane, he set out for the record with one
 passenger. The present official record is 10,560 feet, standing to
 the credit of Lieut. G. de Havilland. Mr. Hawker, according to the
 sealed barograph, attained a height of about 12,000 feet. After about
 half an hour’s rest he decided to make another attempt on the
 two-passenger record, and on this occasion his barograph recorded
 about 10,000 ft.

 The barographs are now being tested, and the figures will be duly
 submitted to the Committee of the Club for official recognition.

 It is interesting to note that these three flights by Mr. Hawker were
 all made within 24 hours.”

These altitude flights certainly bore great testimony to Harry’s
characteristic untiring energy. On the 16th, although it was a
sweltering day, Harry, at 7,000 feet, was shivering, and at 12,000 feet
he could scarcely move his limbs, so intense was the cold. With one
passenger he reached 13,400 feet, rather more than the figure stated in
the above notice, and with two passengers 10,800 feet, also exceeding
the figure stated in the official notice. It is a point of interest
that his record flight with one passenger beat his own solo record of
11,450 feet, which he had made on May 31st.

When Harry made his attempt on June 15th, it was thought he had
broken Major Gerrard’s record for two passengers; and reports
to that effect purported to show that a height of 8,580 feet had been
attained, approximately 180 feet in excess of Major Gerrard’s
performance. Harry’s passengers were Messrs. Dukinfield Jones
and Simms, a young pilot who served in the Sopwith Works. The sky was
absolutely cloudless and throughout the flight the machine was fully in
view of the spectators, who marvelled at its beauty as it turned and
returned with the sun glistening on its light wings. Engine trouble
was responsible for the termination of the attempt, and, on landing,
Harry was received with warm applause. He announced his intention of
making an early attempt on the one-passenger height record (which he
successfully accomplished on the following day, as recorded above).

A detailed examination of the various official notices and Press
reports relating to the Mortimer Singer Competition points to
considerable doubt having existed among those not actually on the spot
as to the exact type of Sopwith machine employed. While it is true that
in one case the inadvertence in announcing that the engine was a Gnome
instead of a Green was officially acknowledged, in other cases such
expressions as “Sopwith Tractor biplane” were misleading,
in that they gave no indication as to the machine being a flying-boat,
and not fitted with a tractor air-screw at that. While these points
were of no material consequence, they do show the probability of a
wide confusion having existed owing to the great variety of successful
Sopwith machines; and, although it was before the war, the industry
was reaching a state when the various machines could no longer be
counted on the finger-tips. Seeing that Mr. Sopwith himself attributed
the success of his enterprise in no small measure to Harry’s
genius, references to the progress of the Sopwith concern, such as the
foregoing, are not out of place here.

Of the divers machines under construction at the Sopwith Works during
June may be mentioned a “gun bus” for naval use. This
machine, propelled by two 120 h.p. Austro-Daimler engines, had a span
of 80 feet. Then there were the 100 h.p. Green-engined twin-float
hydro-aeroplane, designed for the _Daily Mail_ Circuit of Great
Britain; and the air-boat which won the Mortimer Singer Competition,
as described above, also engined with the 100 h.p. Green. When this
machine passed its first tests on the sea a wind of 40 miles per
hour was blowing, and the sea was correspondingly rough. The machine
differed from the original “Bat Boat” exhibited at the
Aero Show in the previous February, in that a pair of inclined struts
were introduced between the engine and the fore part of the hull.
So effective was the hull in hydroplaning over the water, that the
front elevator, a feature of the original “Bat Boat,” was
abandoned.

Then, during the month, a new Sopwith 100 h.p. Anzani-engined tractor
hydro-aeroplane was tested by Harry and handed over to the Admiralty.
The tests were passed very satisfactorily, the machine leaving rough
water almost as quickly as the corresponding land machine left the
ground. A speed of 68 miles per hour was attained, and the machine had
particularly good climbing and alighting qualities. The machine was
badly damaged immediately after being taken over by the Admiralty, a
broken propeller and punctured float being the result of a collision
with a mooring-buoy. The use of ailerons was now standard practice
throughout the whole range of Sopwith machines, warping wings having
been abandoned.

With such a variety of types, one can easily understand confusion
arising from the circulation of brief reports stating that
“Hawker, on a Sopwith biplane, etc....” As for Harry, he
was obtaining an unique experience in the handling and maintenance of
several types of aeroplanes and engines.

In June, the Sopwith Aviation Company contemplated acquiring yet
another skating-rink—at Surbiton this time—in order to cope with
increasing orders. Over one hundred hands were now employed over a
floor space of 60,000 square feet. Foreign governments were sending
over deputations, to whom Harry had the responsibility of demonstrating
the airworthiness and efficiency of the Sopwith machines. The Sopwith
Tractor biplanes were particularly in demand. Among the orders executed
by the Sopwith Aviation Company during the summer of 1913 may be
mentioned one of nine 80 h.p. Gnome-engined tractor biplanes for the
Army and two similar machines for the Navy, all of which were tested by
Harry at Brooklands.

In a Cross-Country Handicap over a 12-mile course in which Harry
competed at Brooklands in June, he was too heavily handicapped to
be any but an “also ran.” The weather was ideal, except
for a slight haze. Flying pupils, who took part in the race as well
as instructors, probably scored advantageously in the handicapping.
Harry’s machine, the Sopwith Tractor, with so many records as
were to its credit, could hardly be expected to escape with a slight
handicap.

Harry captured the Mortimer Singer prize of £500 on Tuesday, July
8th, 1913, making, without any outside assistance, six out and home
five-mile passenger flights (including a climb of 1,500 feet),
alighting at each turning-point, on land or sea alternately. The
flights were carried out at Southampton Water, on the 100 h.p. Green
Sopwith flying-boat.

Extract from official notices to members of the Royal Aero Club, issued
under date July 12th, 1913.

 MORTIMER SINGER £500 PRIZE.

 “News has just reached the Club of the success of the Sopwith
 Aviation Company in this competition. The pilot was Mr. H. G. Hawker,
 on a Sopwith Tractor biplane, fitted with 100 h.p. Green motor. The
 flights were made at Cowes on Tuesday afternoon, and the official
 observers of the Royal Aero Club were Mr. J. N. Spottiswoode and Mr.
 Howard T. Wright.

 “The reports of the observers and barograph charts will be
 considered by the Committee of the Club on Tuesday next, and if
 everything is in order the prize of £500, kindly presented by Mr. A.
 Mortimer Singer, will be awarded.”

Extract from official notices issued to members of the Royal Aero Club
under date July 19th, 1913.

 “MORTIMER SINGER £500 PRIZE.

 “The £500 prize, kindly put up for competition by Mr. A.
 Mortimer Singer, has been awarded to Mr. T. O. M. Sopwith, the entrant
 of the Sopwith biplane, which successfully accomplished the tests laid
 down in the rules. Mr. H. G. Hawker was the pilot of the aircraft,
 and the course was from a point on the land off Southampton Water to
 a point on the Solent, five miles away. Six out and home flights had
 to be made, alighting on arrival at each point. In each flight an
 altitude of at least 750 feet had to be attained, and on one occasion
 during the tests an altitude of 1,500 feet. The time allowed for the
 carrying out of the tests was 5 hours, but Mr. Hawker completed in 3
 hours, 25 minutes.

 “The following is the specification relating to the all-British
 aircraft used by Mr. Hawker:

 “Sopwith Biplane. Motor, 100 h.p. Green; Carburetter, Zenith;
 Magneto, British Bosch; Sparking-plugs, British Bosch; Propeller, Lang.

 “In addition to the prize of £500 to Mr. Sopwith, Mr. A.
 Mortimer Singer is kindly presenting Mr. H. G. Hawker with a
 souvenir.”

The R.Ae.C. notices of July 12th, 1913, also contained the following:

 “DAILY MAIL £5,000 PRIZE: CIRCUIT OF GREAT BRITAIN.

 “The following entry for the _Daily Mail_ £5,000 Prize, Circuit
 of Great Britain, has been received:

 The Sopwith Aviation Co.

 “Intending competitors are reminded that the entries close on
 July 16th, 1913, at 12 noon.”

On Saturday, July 13th, 1913, Harry fresh from winning the Mortimer
Singer prize on Tuesday, was out testing a novel but useless idea in
propellers on the Sopwith Tractor at Brooklands. Two penalties of fame
which Harry had to pay on not a few occasions during his career were
posing for photographers and testing inventions for all and sundry.

After testing a new tractor biplane fitted with ailerons, on Sunday,
the 13th, Harry engaged in a friendly race with Hamel, who was flying a
two-seater Blériot monoplane. Both machines had 80 h.p. Gnome engines.
Although there was some doubt as to who really won the race, that Harry
displayed the superior efficiency of the Sopwith biplane over the
exactly similarly engined monoplane was beyond dispute.

Harry made a world’s record for height with three passengers
on Sunday, July 27th, 1913, on the 80 h.p. Gnome-engined Sopwith
Tractor biplane. On this occasion the weather was inclined to be hazy,
and in a preliminary test flight Harry lost sight of the aerodrome
at 1,500 feet, but from the ground he was plainly discernible, and
spectators were amused by watching him circling around trying to
find his bearings. Although it was rather windy, he carried one or
two passengers early in the afternoon, and it was shortly after 5
o’clock, when the wind had dropped somewhat, that he decided
to attempt to break the world’s record for altitude with three
passengers. His passengers, Messrs. Bellew, Jones, and King, were all
of at least average weight.

A few minutes past six the record-making flight began, and after making
two or three circuits of Brooklands, Harry was out of sight, forcing
his way upwards through clouds at 3,000 feet, At 8,400 feet, having
made a world’s record, and being ignorant of his whereabouts, he
decided to come down, although the machine could have climbed another
2,000 feet with comparative ease.

On August Bank Holiday, Harry, on an 80 h.p. Gnome-engined Sopwith
Tractor biplane, was one of three competitors who lined up for the
start of an Aeroplane Handicap at Brooklands. The other competitors
were Alcock on the Parsons biplane (70 h.p. Gnome), who had 3 minutes
30 seconds’ start from Harry, and Merriam on a 50 h.p. Bristol
biplane, who has 6 minutes 14 seconds’ start. The start of the
race was delayed through Alcock and Champel, the latter on a biplane
of his own design, coming into collision while “taxi-ing,”
owing to the strong gusty wind which prevailed. The Frenchman’s
biplane was damaged beyond repair in time for the race, but
Alcock’s machine only required a new propeller, which was fitted
in the space of ten minutes or so.

Fate, however, was sadly opposed to Alcock, for during the first
circuit he was obliged, through defective aileron controls, to land
in a neighbouring field, where, owing to the roughness of the ground,
his machine turned a complete somersault. He was unhurt, and having
regard to the nature of the crash, the damage, consisting of a broken
propeller and a broken chassis strut, was very slight. As I write, I
recall a discussion that once took place on the subject of the life of
a propeller, and this case of two propellers being annihilated within
an interval of a few minutes after one had replaced another on the same
machine seems significantly applicable.

After an exciting race, Merriam and Harry completed the course, the
latter winning by 45 seconds.

In the intervening days prior to August 16th, Harry was more or less
fully occupied in making preparations for the classic _Daily Mail_
Seaplane Circuit of Britain. On August 7th, 1913, with the whole
aeronautical fraternity, he shared profound grief at the death of S.
F. Cody—the hardest blow that British aviation had ever received.
Although Brooklands was fairly busy while Harry was away in the
seaplane race, the activities at the Sopwith sheds were to all intents
and purposes nil. The attention of everyone connected with the concern
was turned to his flight and doing everything possible to make its
outcome successful.

Entries for the _Daily Mail_ Seaplane Race were timed to close on
Wednesday, July 16th, 1913, and after that date until August 1st late
entries were accepted at an increased fee of £150. When the list
finally closed the entrants were: T. O. M. Sopwith, S. F. Cody, James
Radley, and F. K. McClean. Cruel fate eliminated poor Cody on August
7th. Radley, who, with Gordon England, was experimenting with a large
and ingeniously-contrived seaplane propelled by three Gnome engines
arranged in tandem, withdrew from the race, presumably because his
machine was purely in experimental stages. McClean, who had entered a
machine bearing the famous British hall-mark of Short Brothers, was
dogged by ill-luck through engine trouble and never made a start,
although no effort was spared in trying to get the machine in tune for
the long flight. In the end, only Harry and his faithful mechanic and
compatriot, Kauper, were left to try and win that £5,000 so generously
offered by the _Daily Mail_, and, what was probably more important, to
put up an interesting show and draw widespread public opinion to the
importance of Britain acquiring and maintaining an aerial prestige akin
to her maritime traditions.

The competition opened on August 16th, 1913, and within 72
consecutive hours competitors had to fly over a circuit of 1,540
miles, starting and finishing on Southampton Water, _via_ Ramsgate,
Yarmouth, Scarborough, Aberdeen, Oban, Dublin, and Falmouth,
landing in prescribed areas on the sea at each of these points, or
“controls,” for the purposes of identification. The
competition was conducted for the proprietors of the _Daily Mail_
under the auspices of the Royal Aero Club, whose organisation of the
contest was most thorough and effective. The competition was open for
a fortnight. In other words, competitors could attempt the flight in
any 72 consecutive hours between August 16th (6 a.m.) and August 30th
(6 p.m.) inclusive, no flying taking place on Sundays, which would not
be included in the time limit. Thus competitors could fly on Saturday,
rest on Sunday, and finish on Monday and Tuesday. The entrant and
pilot, or pilots, were required to be of British nationality and duly
entered on the Competitors’ Register of the Royal Aero Club,
pilots having to be holders of an aviator’s certificate issued
by the Royal Aero Club or other club affiliated to the Federation
Aeronautique Internationale. A passenger had to be carried throughout
the flights, and the combined weight of the pilot and passenger must
not be less than 264 lbs., any deficiency in this respect being made up
by means of ballast, such as bags of sand. Entrants were permitted to
change the pilots or passengers during the contest.

The complete aircraft and all its component parts, including the
motor, had to be constructed within the confines of the British
Empire, although this provision need not apply to raw material or the
magneto. Entries nominally closed on July 16th, one month before the
date appointed for the start of the competition. The entrance fee was
£100. Late entries could be made up to August 1st at an increased fee,
as mentioned above. No part of the entrance fees was required by the
_Daily Mail_, all amounts received being applied towards payment of
the expenses of the Royal Aero Club in conducting the competition, any
balance not so expended being returnable to the entrants after the
competition.

Competing machines had to remain for one hour in each of the controls,
and during the first half-hour of each such “rest” had
to be entirely at the disposal of the Royal Aero Club officials for
examination. During the second half-hour replenishments of fuel and
repairs could be made. These periods of one hour at each of the control
points _en route_ were not counted within the prescribed 72 hours.
Any number of starts could be made from the official starting-line at
Southampton Water, under the supervision of the responsible officials.

Stoppages between the controls were not against the rules, but all
alightings had to be effected on the sea, an inlet of the sea, an
estuary, or a harbour. There was, therefore, no special scope for
amphibians in this competition, as an alighting on land or inland water
was deemed a disqualification. Alightings on the Caledonian Canal and
towing anywhere were not prohibited, but the finishing-line had to be
crossed in flight. The short time limit of 72 hours did not permit one
deliberately to take advantage of this concession by covering the whole
course in tow! Individual replacements and repairs to the aeroplane
and engine could be made _en route_, but neither could be changed as
a whole. To make such repairs and replacements, the machine could be
taken ashore, but all the time so expended, outside the half-hour
allowed at the controls, counted as flying time. Five parts of the
aeroplane and five parts of the motor were officially sealed, and
at least two such seals of each five had to be intact on arrival at
each control. The machine had to be delivered completely erected at a
place appointed by the Royal Aero Club at Southampton, and handed over
for the purpose of being marked and sealed, at least 24 hours before
a start was to be made. No marks or seals were to be made after the
original marking made preparatory to an attempt. Each competitor was
supplied with a time-card, or “pay-bill,” which had to
be signed by the responsible official of the Royal Aero Club at each
control, and competitors were held solely responsible for the safe
custody of this card.

Competitors were required to be equipped with lifebelts or other
appliances for keeping afloat. One useful provision made by the Royal
Aero Club was free shed accommodation at the starting-point from one
week prior to the opening of the competition until the closing date.




CHAPTER V

FIRST ATTEMPT TO FLY ROUND BRITAIN

 The Task of the Flight Round Britain—And the Machine for the
 Job—Public Interest in the Pilot—“Good Luck!”—The Night
 Before the Start—A Mayor’s Early Call—And the Sequel—The
 Scene at the Start—To Ramsgate at Sixty Miles per Hour—An Aerial
 Escort—The Ramsgate Cup—Fog in the Thames Mouth—To Yarmouth in Next
 to No Time—Harry Collapses—Pickles Relieves Him—And Meets with
 Misfortune—Starting All Over Again.




CHAPTER V


Before the start of the Seaplane Circuit of Britain considerable doubt
was expressed as to whether or not the competitors would be able to
complete the course in the 72 hours allowed. That the task would not be
easy was gauged from the fact that an air route following a coast-line
is by no means a desirable one, seeing that fog is apt to congregate
there, and the proximity of cliffs promotes a tiresome, and perhaps
treacherous, “bumpiness” in the air. In these respects the
essaying of a flight of 1,500 miles round the coast probably involved
a more severe trial of pilot and machine than a flight across the
Atlantic Ocean.

That recreative contributor, “The Dreamer,” in _Flight_,
July 26th, 1913, wrote:

  “As the time for the start of the Round Britain race draws
 near, I am given to wondering what the result will be: whether any
 one of the four pilots who have entered will get through within the
 time. It is possible, of course, that one or even more may do so, but
 it is to be a great fight and the adventures are likely to be many
 and varied. Flying has progressed considerably since the last circuit
 of Britain, and taking into consideration the long-distance flights
 now made almost weekly, it would hardly be safe to prophesy entire
 failure. However, to take an aeroplane round the coast of England
 and Scotland, with a call at Ireland, is no child’s play, and
 should luck be against our brave pilots and they fail to complete the
 course in the time allowed, or even do not get round at all, they
 will yet have done an infinite amount of good to aviation. The mere
 fact that they have entered at all, and that they have faith in the
 machines they fly to accomplish such a journey, is most praiseworthy,
 especially when it is borne in mind that at least three out of the
 four are flying machines of their own design and construction, and the
 fourth, although he cannot quite be bracketed in these conditions,
 has a very high place in the realms of aviation. The more so, that he
 is an amateur enthusiast first and last. Given suitable weather, I
 should not be greatly surprised, and should be immensely pleased, to
 hear that all four had completed the course. Should any one of them
 manage it in the stipulated time, aviation, including the building of
 English engines, should receive a fillip the value of which is almost
 incalculable. Messrs. McClean—Cody—Sopwith—Radley, here’s
 good luck to you; your pluck is appreciated in the whole world of
 aviation.”

The machine which Harry piloted in the Round-Britain Seaplane Circuit
was of the tractor type. Indeed, its design and construction followed
the lines of the standard 80 h.p. Gnome-engined tractor biplane which
had been doing so well previously, necessary modifications being
introduced to suit the 100 h.p. Green engine and floats provided in
place of the land chassis. These modifications gave the fuselage,
or body of the machine, a more tapered nose than the land machine
and perhaps a prettier appearance. It was the success of his tractor
biplanes that prompted Sopwith to enter a machine of this type in
preference to one of his Bat Boats. Kauper’s seat was in front
of Harry’s, and the control was by a wheel mounted on the
“joy-stick,” rotation of the wheel operating the ailerons,
or lateral balancers, and a fore-and-aft movement of the lever working
the elevator. The rudder was operated by the orthodox foot-bar. The
petrol-and oil-tanks, each holding 45 and 10 gallons respectively, were
installed under the passenger’s seat about the centre of gravity,
so that as the fuel and oil was consumed Harry felt no extra strain
on the controls, which would have been the case had the machine not
been so balanced. By kind permission of the proprietors of _Flight_ I
am able to reproduce the following from a description of the machine,
which appeared in their journal on August 16th, 1913.

“Having already achieved such remarkable success with his
tractor-type land machine, Mr. Sopwith decided to enter a biplane of
this type, fitted, of course, with floats instead of wheels, for the
_Daily Mail_ Race Round Britain, in preference to one of the Bat Boat
type, and, in consideration of the large open stretches of sea which
have to be negotiated, we are inclined to think that he has chosen
wisely.

“In its general outlines, this machine possesses the same smart,
business-looking appearance which characterises the land machines,
further enhanced, perhaps, by the tapering nose of the fuselage,
allowed of by the installation of a 100 h.p. six-cylinder vertical
type British Green engine, instead of the 80 h.p. Gnome motor with
which the land machines are usually fitted. The fuselage, which is of
rectangular section, is built up in the usual way of four longerons of
ash, connected by struts and cross-members. In the rear part of the
body these are made of spruce, while in front, where the weight of the
pilot, passenger, and engine is concentrated, and where, therefore,
greater strength is required, these members are made of ash. The
main planes, which are very strongly built over main spars of solid
spruce of I section, are slightly staggered, and are also set at a
dihedral angle in order to give the machine a certain amount of lateral
stability. From a point just behind the pilot’s seat back to the
rudder-post the fuselage is covered in with fabric, whilst the front
portion is covered with aluminium, forming on top of the nose of the
fuselage a very neat and cleanly designed cover over the motor....

“The main floats, which have been built by the Sopwith Aviation
Company, are of the single-step type and are built up of a framework
of ash and spruce covered with a double skin of cedar. Two bulkheads
divide the floats into three watertight compartments, so that should a
float become damaged, causing one compartment to leak, the other two
would still have sufficient buoyancy to prevent the float from sinking
very deeply into the water. Two pairs of inverted V struts connect each
float with a lower main plane, while another pair of struts running to
the front part of the fuselage help to take the weight of the engine.
Spruce is the material used for chassis as well as plane-struts, the
latter being hollowed out for lightness.

“Inside the comparatively deep fuselage, where ample protection
against the wind is afforded to pilot and passenger, are the two seats,
arranged tandem fashion, the pilot occupying the rear seat. In front of
him are the controls, which consist of a rotatable hand-wheel, mounted
on a single central tubular column. Rotation of the wheel operates the
ailerons, which are fitted to both top and bottom planes, and which are
interconnected. A fore-and-aft movement operates the elevator, while
a foot-bar actuates the rudder. It should be noticed that the control
cables are only exposed to the effects of the air and salt water for a
very short length, the elevator cables entering the body just in front
of the fixed tail-plane and the rudder cables a couple of feet from
the rudder-post. The engine is supplied with petrol and oil from tanks
situated under the passenger’s seat, the capacity of the tanks
being 45 gallons and 10 gallons respectively.

“For the purpose of easy egress in case of a smash, the centre
portion of the top plane has been left uncovered. In order to minimise
end losses due to the air leaking out of the opening thus produced,
what might be called baffle-plates have been fitted to the inner ends
of the wing. These baffle-plates have been made streamline in section,
as it was found that an ordinary thin board would bend owing to the
pressure of the air trying to escape past it. With full load of fuel
and passengers on board the weight of the machine is 2,400 lbs., and
her flying speed is 60 to 65 m.p.h.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Before the start of the Round-Britain Seaplane Circuit Harry was
inundated with messages from unknown correspondents, and, in order to
be spared the attentions of the public, he stayed aboard a yacht while
not tending his machine.

As a starting and finishing base for the Seaplane Circuit, the Royal
Motor Yacht Club very kindly lent to the Royal Aero Club their floating
club-house, the _Enchantress_. Among those on board on the occasion
of the start were Sir Thomas Lipton, Colonel Holden, C.B., Commander
Cummings, Major Lindsay Lloyd, Major Stephens (secretary of the Royal
Motor Yacht Club), Captain Robinson, the Mayor of Southampton, the
Sheriff of Southampton, Mr. and Mrs. James Valentine, Mr. W. B. R.
Moorhouse, Mr. J. H. Ledeboer, Mr. Thomas Marlowe (Editor of the
_Daily Mail_), Mr. Hamilton Fyfe, and Mr. Harold E. Perrin (secretary
of the Royal Aero Club). Prior to the race, Harry’s machine
was stationed on the Medina River at Ryde, where on Friday the 15th,
the day before the race, the officials proceeded to mark the various
components of the aeroplane in due accordance with the rules of the
competition.

The intensity of the interest aroused by the Round-Britain Seaplane
Race may be gauged by the fact that on the morning before the start of
the competition the passengers on one of the Cowes-Portsmouth steamers
loudly cheered, and cried “Good luck!” to Mr. Sopwith
as they passed him on his yacht _Ceto_, which was anchored near the
_Enchantress_. In an aside to a friend while acknowledging the cheers,
Mr. Sopwith said he only hoped no one would wish Harry good luck. Every
time he had done that during the Mortimer-Singer Competition he had
failed. The last time he had not done it, and Harry won. In none of the
big things which Harry had done had he received a good wish from him.

Harry and Mr. Sopwith had a big talk at the hangar before parting on
Friday night, and one read in the newspaper on Saturday morning of
“the owner giving his jockey the last instructions.”

Hopes were particularly high in the Sopwith bunks on Friday night when
a fresh southerly breeze sprang up, for it was realised that such a
wind on the morrow would greatly help Harry after he had passed Dover.
But the glass remained high. Fog would be the greatest danger, and if
only sufficient wind would rise to blow it away, all would be well.

The race was originally scheduled to begin at 6 a.m. on Saturday
morning, August 16th, but late on Friday night the start had to be
postponed until after 10 a.m., as it was found that the shed in which
the machine was housed made it practically impossible for the machine
to be launched until high tide. It was hoped, too, that the delay would
enable McClean to bring his Short machine along in time to start with
Harry and provide the added excitement of a neck-to-neck race. Those
who were privileged to enjoy the hospitality of the _Enchantress_
overnight were delighted with the prospect of a good night’s rest
without the necessity of breakfasting at an unearthly hour in time to
witness a 6 a.m. start.

Nevertheless, at 5 a.m. one heard voices diligently enquiring for Mr.
Perrin, the secretary of the Royal Aero Club, and a general commotion
and clamour seemed to be in progress on the gangways and in the
corridors outside the cabins. A little bird told that the Mayor of
Southampton, who through having retired early had not received notice
of the postponement of the start, announced late on Friday night,
came on board the _Enchantress_ before 6 a.m. in full regalia, to
be greeted by the secretary of the Royal Aero Club clad in plebeian
pyjamas. The outcome of all this was that most people got up and had
a 6.30 “brekker,” while a Sopwith Bat Boat and a Borel
hydro-monoplane, carrying out evolutions in naval hands, relieved to
some extent the monotony of the few hours pending the time when Harry
would be ready to start. The water was remarkably calm and the day
bright and sunny. Any wind that was rising came from the south, and
would obviously be an aid to Harry in traversing the East Coast.

At about 11.30 Harry arrived on the scene with his machine, and landed
a considerable distance from the _Enchantress_, about midway between it
and the shore. A medley of racing yachts, motor-boats, steamers, and
boats put out to meet him, and after about ten minutes these were seen
to draw away—a sign that Harry was about to start.

The scene as Harry and Kauper were starting up their engine was
inspiriting. The sunlight dancing on the water, the throngs lining
the Netley shore, the countless mastheads with their pennants, all
combined to make a charming spectacle. From 5 a.m. thousands of people
had been lining the shore and sojourning in boats to see the flight
begin. Just before the start, Mr. Sopwith, Mr. Perrin, and other
officials gave Harry his final instructions from a motor-boat. With
a “Right—thanks!” Harry put in his breast-pocket the
official landing-cards handed up to him by Mr. Perrin. Somebody in a
yacht cried out, “Good-bye, Hawker! Good luck!” which must
have moved Mr. Sopwith to tears if he heard it.

At 11.47 a.m. on Saturday, August 16th, 1913, Harry rose from
Southampton Water, and after disappearing from sight past Calshot and
passing over the Solent, he sped off for the open sea. Before most
people had realised that a great attempt to defeat the elements had
begun, he was out of sight.

A very true description of the start was given by Mr. H. Hamilton Fyfe
of the _Daily Mail_, in which he said:

 “The morning was perfect. The sunshine made the landscape
 glitter in a warm glory of light. The southerly breeze tickled the
 surface of the water into sparkling ripples—the ‘smiles
 without number’ of summer. A wind had come up out of the sea
 and said, ‘Oh, mist, make room for me!’ The coast-line
 was clear. The Isle of Wight shimmered well within view. This had
 been the weather from the early hours, and it was a great pity the
 intention to leave at six was not carried out—a pity I mean from Mr.
 Hawker’s point of view. The delay was by everyone else hailed
 with joy. ‘Oh, it’s nice to be up in the morning, but
 it’s nicer to stay in your bed,’ sang Sir Thomas Lipton,
 quoting Mr. Harry Lauder’s song, and everyone sat up later than
 usual because there was no need to cut short the hours of bed.

 “The reason for the delay was twofold. At the last moment the
 compass in the machine was found to need adjusting, and also it would
 have been necessary to put the waterplane into the Medina River from
 its shed between 1 and 2 a.m. ‘I need a good night’s rest
 before I start,’ Mr. Hawker pleaded, and so it was settled
 that he should wait for another tide. The telephone was kept busy
 announcing the postponement, but unfortunately there were many people
 who could not possibly hear of it.

 “As soon as Mr. Hawker dropped into the water between the
 _Enchantress_ and the shore, Mr. Perrin went out to give him a copy
 of the final rules and regulations and to take the exact time of his
 start. The pilot and his passenger, young Kauper, had no elaborate
 flying-suits on. Their coats and caps were of rough waterproof
 canvas, but they wore their ordinary trousers and boots. They might
 have been doing an everyday practice flight. ‘Have you got any
 grub with you?’ I asked them. ‘No,’ they said.
 ‘Can’t be bothered. We’ll get it at the stopping
 places.’

 “Nothing in their manner, save a little suppressed excitement,
 betrayed by a slight huskiness of voice, suggested that they were
 starting on an attempt to fly 1,600 miles over sea almost straight on
 end. I suppose the thought, ‘How foolish and unnecessary,’
 was in the Oriental minds of a party of lascars in a launch who were
 being taken up to Southampton from the troopship _Rohilla_ lying close
 by. They hung over the side to see as much as they could of this
 latest invention of the ‘white mad folk,’ but I know every
 English man and woman there heartily admired the two Australian boys
 for their nerve and skill.


 “A GREAT DAY.

 “As they made their last preparations I saw as in a moving
 picture kaleidoscope the scenes of the starts in earlier _Daily Mail_
 flying contests. I saw Louis Blériot in the field behind the beach at
 Baraques, near Calais, setting off at sunrise across the Channel and
 asking just before he started, ‘Where is Dover?’ I saw
 Grahame-White pelting off from Wormwood Scrubbs at six o’clock
 in the evening and vainly chasing Paulhan, who had got away from
 Hendon an hour before. I saw Brooklands in that hot afternoon when one
 after another the machines entered for the Circuit of Britain rose and
 sailed away to the delight and amazement of the huge crowd.

 “The actual letting go was unemotional. Ours was the only boat
 close by. There was a clear path for the start. The crowds were too
 far away to cheer. Exactly at 11.47 the motor began its rattling din
 and the machine moved off without difficulty, foamed along over the
 water, and leapt suddenly into the air. Gradually, as he went down
 towards the Solent, Mr. Hawker climbed up to a good height. He was
 watched with intense sympathy until he disappeared into the sky. Then
 everyone heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction and said, ‘Well, it
 has been a great day.’”

 “The two naval airmen, Lieutenant Travers and Lieutenant Spencer
 Gray, were to have convoyed him as far as Ramsgate, but to the grim
 amusement of Mr. Green, inventor of the air motor used by Mr. Hawker,
 and of Mr. Fred May, managing director of the company, both their
 foreign engines had broken down. The Gnome in the Borel machine was
 repaired by the afternoon, but the Austro-Daimler in the ‘Bat
 Boat’ had something seriously wrong with it, and Lieutenant
 Spencer Gray had to tow his waterplane to Calshot as evening
 fell.”

Seen from the _Enchantress_, Harry’s machine appeared to the
special correspondent of the _Daily Mirror_ as a big dragon-fly chased
by a crowd of angry little water-beetles. At times it seemed that the
“beetles,” sending up clouds of spray, would overtake their
quarry, but the “dragon-fly” shot ahead desperately; and
suddenly, as though it had just found the use of its wings, leapt out
of the water and soared up gloriously into the air. The motor-boats
snorted and grunted at this sudden manœuvre, slowed down their engines
and abandoned the chase!

The first stretch to Ramsgate was 144 miles; the next to Yarmouth 96
miles; and the third to Scarborough 150 miles. To have any reasonable
chance of completing the whole course in the appointed 72 hours, Harry
realised that he would have to get at least as far as Scarborough
on the first day. His delay in starting after 10 a.m. was due to
difficulty in adjusting the compass, which had to be done, as he would
require it in negotiating the mist and fog hanging about the Solent
and the Thames Estuary. Assuming that he would reach Scarborough on
Saturday, he expected to cover the 446 miles from there to Oban on
Monday; on Tuesday he would make Dublin, 222 miles distant from Oban,
and proceed on to Falmouth, a further 280 miles, leaving the final
stretch from there to Southampton to be completed on Wednesday, on
which day his time would be up at 4 p.m.

Having reached the open sea, Harry, keeping well out from the land and
maintaining a steady height of about 1,000 feet, followed the South
Coast, and was seen by numerous holiday folk at Brighton, Eastbourne,
Folkestone, and Dover, which he passed in good time.

After rounding the corner of England he was assisted by the light
southerly wind. The first control, Ramsgate, 144 miles from the start,
was reached at 2.11 p.m., an average speed of 60 miles per hour having
been kept up. While passing Margate, Harry saw a Blériot monoplane
rising to greet him. This was M. Salmet, who was giving exhibition
flights at Margate. Harry and Kauper enjoyed his company for a few
minutes while he flew along beside them. On arriving at Ramsgate,
they were welcomed by the Mayor (Alderman Glyn) and members of the
Corporation, the Mayor, speaking through a megaphone, announcing that
they had won the Cup offered by the townspeople to the first competitor
arriving at Ramsgate. Ramsgate was _en fête_ with much bunting, and
crowds were there from Deal, Dover, Broadstairs, Margate, Canterbury,
Whitstable, and all the villages for miles around, thronging the
shore, piers, harbour, and every point of vantage. Local coastguards
acted as patrols in two motor-boats, to keep the official control area
clear. Mr. Thomas and Mr. Ramsden Tagore, members of the Royal Temple
Yacht Club, lent their craft to the Royal Aero Club. At 3.20, the Aero
Club officials having inspected the machine and handed to him a clean
waybill with which to proceed, Harry started his engine and began the
second stage to Yarmouth. Crossing the mouth of the Thames, he was
unable to see either bank owing to the fog, and, steering by compass,
he proceeded northward, afterwards passing Walton-on-the-Naze and
Clacton, at which places holiday crowds enjoyed a passing glimpse of
the machine in the distance, flying strongly.

Those who have made the tedious journey by steamboat from Yarmouth
to London, taking the greater part of the day, will particularly
appreciate the marvel of travelling all along the coast-line from
Southampton to Yarmouth in less than five hours, including a rest of
one hour at Ramsgate. At Yarmouth Harry and Kauper were received with
an enthusiastic welcome at 4.38 p.m. At the time of landing, Harry
was feeling quite fit, but soon after he had been rowed ashore he
collapsed. He had been troubled by the gases escaping from the rather
short exhaust-pipe, and this, coupled with the fact that, as Kauper
reported, the sun had been very trying, and Harry had not worn any
goggles, led to the case being diagnosed as sunstroke aggravated by the
conditions under which he had been flying. I am inclined to think that
his actual breakdown was completed by the change of conditions from
piloting the seaplane to being rowed ashore in a small boat, and it was
a lucky circumstance that this temporary breakdown was not deferred
until he had taken the air again.

The following communication from a special correspondent of the
_Evening News_, published on Monday, August 18th, 1913, sheds some
light on the circumstances:

  “YARMOUTH, _Monday_.

 “The hope expressed by Mr. Sopwith that Mr. Hawker may have
 recovered sufficiently to make a fresh start from Southampton this
 week is based on the opinion of the doctor attending the airman. His
 view is that Mr. Hawker should be quite fit again in a couple of days.

 “The doctor tells me that no specific cause can be assigned as
 the reason of the airman’s breakdown.

 “It is, he says, a general accumulation of nerve strain, lack of
 rest, and, on top of it all, Saturday’s hot sun.

 “Mr. Hawker’s breakdown was most dramatic. When the
 machine came to rest on the water he hopped out of the seat, and,
 standing on the floats, was active in directing the disposition of the
 machine.

 “‘Be ready to fill her up,’ were his words on
 leaving her.

 “I walked up the beach with him to the officers’ quarters.
 ‘Fit as a fiddle,’ was his own phrase, and though grimy
 and travel-stained, he looked fit.

 “Suddenly a change occurred. He passed his hand wearily over his
 eyes, and his whole complexion changed.

 “The room was speedily cleared, a draught was administered by
 the doctor, and a cold compress applied to the forehead, but it was
 apparent to onlookers that he could not possibly go on.

 “Indeed, Lieutenant Gregory tells me that had Mr. Hawker essayed
 to do so he should have put his official veto on the attempt.”

The fact that Yarmouth was one of the controls proved to be one of
the big local attractions of the season, and people flocked in from
all parts of Norfolk and Suffolk. Lieutenant Gregory, R.N., who was
in charge of the East Coast Naval Air Stations, spared no pains in
perfecting the local organisation. The control area was a triangle, of
which the apex was the familiar lightship which faced the Naval Air
Station. The Mayor of Yarmouth, Mr. Westmacott, personally assumed
responsibility for keeping the control area free from intruding boats.

When they landed, Harry and Kauper were very deaf from the incessant
roar of the engine during the flight, and their friends had to shout
their loudest to make themselves heard.

As soon as it was found to be out of the question for Harry to proceed
with the flight, Mr. Sopwith at once took steps to find a pilot to
assume control of the machine and carry on the work which Harry had so
well begun. Through the kindness and sportsmanship of Messrs. Short
Brothers, he was able to engage the services of their pilot, Mr. Sydney
Pickles—like Harry, an Australian. The _Daily Mail_ not expecting
pilots to fly on Sunday was a fortunate circumstance which gave Mr.
Sopwith all the time needed to get Mr. Pickles on the scene by Monday
morning without sacrificing flying time or having his new pilot tired
out before the start.

At 5.30 a.m. Pickles with Kauper made a determined effort to get away,
but the sea was too rough, and there was nothing to do but switch off
the engine and be taken in tow. This was just as well, as subsequent
reports showed that much rougher seas were running at Scarborough, the
next control, where the buoys marking the official control area were
washed away.

But troubles were by no means at an end when Pickles switched off
and waited for help. Propelled by a strong north-easterly wind, the
machine drifted southward from a point north-east of the St. Nicholas
Lightship, past the harbour entrance, down to Gorleston Bay, where,
after being taken in tow by a rowing-boat, the machine was beached. An
examination of the machine as it lay on the shore at Gorleston showed
that, in spite of the buffeting it had received, very little damage had
occurred. The elevator and one of the floats were damaged. As Mr. F.
Sigrist, the works manager of the Sopwith Aviation Company, said at the
time, the incessant bump of the water, which was on that morning about
as soft as concrete, was sufficient completely to break up a good many
machines.

After breakfast Mr. Sopwith, Mr. Sigrist, Mr. Pickles, and Lieutenant
Gregory held a conference, principally to decide whether or not
the machine should be sent back to Southampton by air. After much
discussion, which resulted in such a division of opinion that the
toss of a coin was resorted to as the deciding factor, the machine
was dismantled and sent back to Cowes by rail to be ready for a
second attempt. The railway companies were very obliging in providing
facilities for rapidly transporting the machine in time for it to be
re-erected and to make a fresh start to accomplish the whole circuit
before the close of the competition. One cannot help expressing
sympathy for Mr. Pickles in being robbed by a heavy sea of his eleventh
hour opportunity of participating in the flight.

In the meantime, Messrs. Short Brothers and Frank McClean, with the
assistance of Mr. Fred May, of the Green Engine Company, got their
machine into serviceable trim, and hoped to fly to Southampton on the
following Thursday evening, to be in readiness to make a start on the
Friday, but owing to radiator troubles they were forced eventually to
abandon the contest.




CHAPTER VI

SECOND ATTEMPT TO FLY ROUND BRITAIN

 Harry Recovers—And Takes Charge Again—An Early Start—Almost Unseen
 by the Starter—Thick Fog—Behind Time at Ramsgate—An Explosion—A
 Favourable Breeze—But Bumpy Air off Cromer—Scarborough—A
 Forced Landing—Five Hundred Miles in a Day—Resting at Beadnell
 Overnight—The Second Day—A Spiral Glide at Aberdeen—A Terrible
 Journey to Oban—The Third Day—A Water-Logged Float—Another Forced
 Landing—Ireland—“A Piece of Ghastly Bad Luck”—Kauper
 Goes to Hospital.




CHAPTER VI


By Thursday, August 21st, 1913, Harry had made good progress towards
recovery, and expected to be ready to make a second attempt on
Saturday, August 23rd, exactly a week after his first effort. Pickles
held himself in readiness in case Harry should still be unable to
proceed. However, by Monday morning, the 25th, Harry had completely
recovered from the effects of sunstroke and the exhaust gases, and a
start was made at 5.30 a.m.

Public interest was not lacking through his being the only competitor.
As a matter of fact, the previous failure served to enhance the
appreciation of the difficulties with which the aviator had to contend
on such a journey. The physical trial was dramatically revealed
through the pilot’s collapse at Yarmouth on August 16th, and
in the second attempt a special sporting touch was introduced by the
doubtful possibility of his getting further or not so far, which more
than compensated for the absence of other competitors to provide a
neck-to-neck race.

Harry tested the machine on Saturday the 23rd, and was well satisfied
with everything. The engine had been muffled by the fitting of a longer
exhaust-pipe. Although at dawn on Monday the atmosphere was bright
and clear, a thick mist rolled up, and as Harry, this time making a
flying start, passed above the starting-line punctually at 5.30 a.m.,
only a fleeting glimpse of the machine was enjoyed by those aboard the
_Enchantress_, as she sped overhead.

Nevertheless, in the Solent Harry found the weather clearer than on
the other occasion, but in the Channel he met with a good deal of
fog and had to rely on his compass several times while skirting the
South Coast. He was wearing helmet and goggles and running no risk of
sunstroke this time. Seeing that he and Kauper had been over this
stage of the course only a week before, he hoped they would reach
Ramsgate in slightly better time, but the fog was against them, and it
was not until 8.08 a.m. that they alighted at Ramsgate, having taken
159 minutes from Southampton, or 15 minutes longer than when they made
their first attempt. They expected to sacrifice a little speed through
the provision of the longer exhaust-pipe, which would offer a slight
additional resistance to the free passage of the burnt gases from the
engine.

[Illustration:

  _Photo by_]      [_J. Cecil Gould, Weybridge._

THE SOPWITH DOLPHIN, PUT THROUGH ITS INITIAL TESTS BY HARRY.
  _Facing p. 94._
]

[Illustration:

  _Photo by_]      [_J. Cecil Gould, Weybridge._

THE SOPWITH CAMEL—A WORLD-FAMOUS FIGHTING BIPLANE. HUNDREDS OF
MACHINES OF THIS TYPE WERE TESTED BY HARRY DURING THE WAR.
 _Facing p. 94._
]

Exactly one hour afterwards Harry started for Yarmouth. Between
Ramsgate and Southwold they were practically out of sight of land all
the time, so dense was the fog. A curious incident, which happily
had no serious consequences, befell them while they were crossing
the Thames mouth. Kauper accidentally switched off the engine.
His switching on again was accompanied by a loud explosion in the
streamlined exhaust-pipe, due to the unburnt charge taking fire.
The pipe was deformed from a streamlined to a circular section, but
otherwise no damage was done, and there was no necessity to alight.
Kauper felt the effects of the exhaust gases a little, but Harry was as
fit as a fiddle.

Yarmouth was reached at 10.36 a.m., the 96 miles from Ramsgate having
been traversed in 1 hour 28 minutes through the aid of a southerly
breeze. Mooring their machine, Harry and Kauper went on board the boat
of an Australian friend, Mr. A. Williamson, where a short rest and a
meal were enjoyed. Before leaving, they were presented with a sprig
of Australian eucalyptus as a memento. Kauper was feeling the strain
of the flight, but not severely enough to prevent his proceeding. The
official inspection had been completed quickly, but one or two minor
adjustments necessitated their spending a whole hour at Yarmouth.

At 11.44 they were well under way for Scarborough, 150 miles distant.
There was still much fog about, and off Cromer the air was particularly
bumpy. After relying on the compass during the greater part of the
journey, and flying at a steady height of 1,000 feet, they reached
Scarborough at 2.42. The town was crowded with people, who had
flocked from neighbouring districts to see the wonderful sea-bird,
and, if possible, its personnel. But of course Harry did not venture
ashore. He rested awhile aboard Mr. W. Jackson’s yacht _Naida_.
Arrangements had been made here for illuminated boats to be moored
at the control area in the form of a triangle in case Harry should
have arrived in the dark. The next stage to Aberdeen being 218 miles,
Harry decided he would stop at Berwick to take in some petrol. At four
o’clock the several boats, that had been attracted to the machine
with almost magnetic precision, were cleared away, and at 4.22 Harry
took leave of Scarborough.

After about an hour and a quarter it was found necessary to descend
at Seaham Harbour, owing to a water-pipe springing a leak owing to
the heat of an exhaust-pipe causing fusion of a rubber connection.
Having repaired the trouble and refilled the radiator, Harry started
again at 6.40 after a delay of 65 minutes. Exactly one hour later the
same trouble showed again, and he was obliged to descend at Beadnell,
20 miles south of Berwick. He had piloted the machine over 495 miles
during the day at an average flying speed of over 53 miles per hour,
and had been on the go for more than 14 hours. It was almost too dark
to see the compass, the air was very bumpy, and the engine inclined
to misfire. Harry and Kauper therefore agreed to stay overnight at
Beadnell and get going at 5 a.m. on the morrow. Nothing was wrong with
the engine, and the water connection was effectively repaired.

On Tuesday morning Beadnell was left at 8.5 and 20 minutes later
Harry passed Berwick. At 9.55 a stop was made at Montrose for the
purpose of taking in water and making a few adjustments. After half an
hour’s spell they set out for Aberdeen, the next control after
Scarborough, which was reached at 10.58. They came down from 1,500 feet
in a spiral glide. Both Harry and Kauper felt very fit after their
night’s rest at Beadnell, and the fine weather prevailing gave
them an additional stimulus to renewed efforts. At 11.52 they set out
for Cromarty, the next control, 134 miles away. Near there the air
was exceptionally rough, but an otherwise good passage was made in 2
hours 13 minutes. At this point let us leave the itinerary for a while
to enjoy further comments of “The Dreamer,” which were
published in _Flight_ on August 30th, 1913:

 “THE SOPWITH-HAWKER-GREEN COMBINATION.

 “I really cannot let this issue go to press without having a
 word to say about the topic which is on everybody’s lips: the
 race round Britain. At the time of writing, H. G. Hawker has only
 reached Cromarty. I say ‘only,’ with regard to the full
 distance to be covered, and not as meaning I had expected him to
 have got further; and what a magnificent flight! Southampton to near
 Berwick in a single day! I wonder what some of those who lived during
 the old coaching days would think could they know of the advance in
 modern travel. I wonder what the versatile Sam Weller would have said
 about a machine which could have delivered the venerable Pickwick safe
 and sound at Ipswich, whilst he, following in the coach, was changing
 horses at the Castle at Woodford.

 “Mr. Sopwith has every reason to be proud of his machine. That
 he himself is a pilot of skill and great experience, experience
 gained not only in this country, but abroad, is liable, if we are not
 careful, to slip one’s mind for the moment, now that, as head
 of the Sopwith Aviation Co., he is placed in a position where his
 services are of far more value on the ground than in the air. A year
 ago and Tom Sopwith would undoubtedly have piloted his machine round
 personally. That his experience is now standing him in good stead as
 a constructor is proved by the splendid performances of the machines
 emanating from his works. When one considers the comparatively short
 time in which this company has been building, and then remembers
 that their machines hold all the altitude records—and good ones at
 that—for this country, together with the Michelin Cup No. 1, the
 Mortimer Singer prize for six flights, with alternating landings on
 land and water, and the splendid performance now being put up, the
 Sopwith machine must be rated as one of the very best.

 “And what of the engine? Surely no one will say after this
 that England cannot build a good aerial engine. Think for one moment
 of this engine, so light that it only weighs some three pounds per
 horse-power, pounding away hour after hour, and asking nothing but
 to be kept well fed with petrol and oil. Have you ever seen the
 crank-case of an engine, with the crank-shaft in position, having
 the bearings tested by a bench run, by power applied from without? I
 have; and at top speed the cranks move so fast as to appear as one
 straight line of shining metal, and do not seem to be moving at all.
 Imagine this Green engine moving at this speed with the pistons in
 position, and induction, compression, explosion, and exhaust taking
 place so rapidly, together with all that it means in the way of moving
 valves, and keeping this up for hours on end! It says something for
 construction.

 “Of the pilot, what can I say? The strain, mental and physical,
 must be enormous. Think of some one or other of the long journeys
 you have done in a motor-car; remember how stiff and tired and
 worn-out you have felt at the end of the day, with nothing but the
 ordinary care needed on the road to worry you; and think of this
 man sitting there twelve hours a day, day after day, thousands of
 feet up in the air, ears keenly on the alert all the time to notice
 any different note in the tune of the engine, eyes, whenever they
 can be removed from the petrol and oil gauges—not forgetting the
 compass, altimeter, and other instruments—for a moment, striving to
 pick up and follow the coast-line, always alert, always watching,
 always ready, and always the excitement of the race—the knowledge
 that one is attempting something never before accomplished; it needs
 nerves of steel to stand it, and Hawker has evidently got them. May
 he come in safe and sound with time to spare, and get all that he
 deserves.”

At Cromarty, Harry and Kauper were well aware of the fact that they had
to set out from there on what was probably the most difficult stage
of the journey—from Cromarty to Oban, 94 miles along the Caledonian
Canal. At 3.5 they started: nor did they reach their destination until
6 o’clock. This represented an average speed of slightly more
than 32 miles per hour. Not only had they to drive against a high
south-westerly wind, which had previously been aiding them, but also
they suffered the consequence of the wind being terribly gusty owing
to the mountainous nature of the region they were traversing. At times
Harry changed his altitude by as much as 2,000 feet in his endeavours
to dodge the particularly bumpy air currents. Many changes in their
height were made involuntarily, the machine rising and falling in
vertical air currents over which no human control was possible. All who
have flown in an aeroplane in bad weather can appreciate what Harry
and Kauper went through on the way to Oban. Having reached there at 6
o’clock, and it being out of the question to proceed to Dublin at
such a late hour, Harry decided to spend the night at Oban and set out
for Ireland at dawn.

At Oban they had a wonderful reception. There was a large dinner
arranged for them, without regard to the fact that they had only the
clothes in which they stood, with the exception of a clean collar and a
pair of socks. Harry had arrived at his last pair of socks, and oil was
continually dripping on his feet while he was flying. Having an hour to
spare before dinner, for comfort’s sake he proceeded to wash and
dry his socks. He tried to get out of the dinner on the ground, that
he had no raiment fit for social functions; but he was jokingly told
he need not trouble to dress. Nevertheless, Harry and Kauper spent a
most enjoyable evening, and their only regret was that the proceedings
had to be cut short in order that they might have adequate rest before
their start at dawn.

Rising at 4 a.m. on Wednesday, the partners enjoyed a hurried
breakfast, and then had a good look over their machine. At 5.30
they were all prepared, and at 5.42 they started for Dublin, having
previously arranged to call on the way at Larne for petrol. But the
machine was reluctant to leave the water, and Harry beached her about
a mile from Oban. After spending an hour in extracting water from the
floats, he made a good restart. Before leaving Scotland he landed at
Kiells, in Argyllshire, in order to effect a minor engine adjustment.
At 8.25 he was in the air again; and 65 minutes later he glided down
into Larne Harbour. He made south for Dublin at 11 o’clock,
only to be foiled a few miles short of the Irish capital by what he
described as “just a piece of ghastly bad luck.”

Suspecting that some of the valve-springs had failed, Harry decided
to come down to inspect them. Meanwhile the engine had been running
and developing its power, but an ominous rattle had worried Harry and
Kauper. It was unfortunate that they did not know that Mr. Green, the
designer of the engine, was awaiting them at Dublin with a set of new
valve-springs. Had they been so acquainted, Harry would, of course,
have continued on to Dublin without coming down to have a look at
the springs. As it was, while descending in a spiral he lost control
owing to his greasy boot slipping on the rudder-bar, and the aeroplane
side-slipped into the water. Harry was unhurt, but poor Kauper suffered
a broken arm and some cuts about the head. He was soon taken to the
Mater Misericordia Hospital, at Dublin, where he made a good recovery,
ultimately leaving the hospital on September 18th, 1913, with all his
wounds healing well. The machine, of course, was done for.

Thus ended the most important event held under the auspices of the
Royal Aero Club during 1913, in which 1,043 miles were covered in
55¾ hours, the actual flying time being 21 hours 44 minutes—a
world’s record for a seaplane in those days. In recognition of
his skill and courage, the _Daily Mail_ made Harry a personal present
of £1,000.

On the morning after the crash near Dublin Harry was busy
superintending the work of dismantling the wrecked aeroplane. While so
employed he was considerably interrupted by photographers and autograph
hunters. Apparently souvenir hunters were also on the scene during his
absence, for one of the radiators had been carefully detached. Having
seen to the packing-up of the remains of the machine, Harry returned to
Brooklands, where on Friday, with his usual nonchalance, he was testing
machines for the Admiralty.




CHAPTER VII

A BIG CHEQUE, AN AERIAL DERBY, AND OTHER EVENTS

 Echoes of the Seaplane Flight—Mr. Winston Churchill’s
 Views—Back to Work—The £1,000 Cheque—And a Gold Medal from
 Margate—The Carping Critic—And the Reply he Received—An
 Expedition to Eastchurch—Lost in the Air—Racing a Powerful
 Monoplane—An Exciting Aerial Derby—Hamel’s Bad Luck—Harry
 Finishes Third—And in the Sealed Handicap is Fourth—A Bad Crash
 at Hendon—Other Races—Michelin Efforts Again—Harry’s Bad
 Luck—He Puts up Some Wonderful Flights—A Headache in the Air.




CHAPTER VII


Harry and Kauper received many messages of appreciation immediately
after their failure. Sir George Reid, High Commissioner for
Australia, wired: “Win or lose, Australia is proud of you
both.” Mr. Robinson, the Agent-General for Queensland, also
wired: “Queensland warmly congratulates you both on splendid
achievement, the merit of which is not detracted from by the
regrettable accident that prevented you from reaching the goal.”
Mr. Winston Churchill, who was then First Lord of the Admiralty, and
was on board the Admiralty yacht at Deal when Harry passed overhead, to
the _Daily Mail_ wrote:

 “Mr. Hawker has achieved a wonderful result, and the accident
 which prevented complete success in no way detracts from the merit of
 a feat at once memorable and serviceable. The whole competition has
 been of real value to British flying. Though we started last, we must
 persevere till the first place is gained and held.”

As various false reports as to the cause of the smash off the coast
of Ireland were circulated, the Royal Aero Club found it expedient to
issue an announcement as follows: “With reference to certain
reports that the accident to the Sopwith biplane, used by Hawker in
the recent race round Great Britain, was caused by the wings breaking
in the air, the Royal Aero Club has carefully investigated the matter,
and finds that the wings were entirely intact at the time the aeroplane
struck the water.”

On the Saturday, Harry was busy at Brooklands testing two machines and
carrying many passengers, including the late Mr. Pizey, instructor
at the Bristol School, Salisbury, who was afterwards invited by Mr.
Sopwith to pilot the tractor biplane, which he praised highly. Rain
prevented any flying on Sunday. On the Monday, Mr. Sopwith, Mr. Green,
Mr. Fred May, Mr, Perrin, and Harry were the guests of Mr. Thomas
Marlowe, Editor of the _Daily Mail_, at a luncheon in the precincts of
the Royal Automobile Club in commemoration of the flight. Mr. Harold
Harmsworth, Mr. Hamilton Fyfe, Mr. Ashworth Briggs, and Mr. Sutton were
also present. After luncheon, the company adjourned to the _Daily Mail_
offices, where Harry received the handsome consolation prize of £1,000.
Addressing him, Mr. Marlowe said:

 “In handing you this cheque for £1,000 I may mention that this
 is the eleventh prize—making £24,750—that the _Daily Mail_ has given
 for the encouragement of airmanship, and, like all the others, it is
 due to the direct initiative of Lord Northcliffe, the chairman of
 our company. I am sorry that, owing to his absence in America, he is
 unable himself to present it to you as a tribute to your courage and
 in recognition of the fact that you are the first man—and a British
 subject, too—to fly 1,000 miles over the sea. That, as I think we
 all agree, was a very great performance, one that shows that the
 waterplane is a weapon which will become of great value for military
 and naval purposes, and consequently a prime necessity of this island
 country.

 “I have also to hand you a gold medal presented by the Mayor
 of Margate for the first airman to pass that town in this race, and
 another medal, which he asks me to hand to you for Mr. Kauper, your
 passenger. There is a third medal from the Mayor of Margate which
 he asks me to hand to Mr. Sopwith, the owner and designer of your
 waterplane.

 “Here is a great bundle of letters which I have received for
 you. I have no doubt they all contain wishes in which we join—that
 you will be the first home when the race takes place next year.

 “Finally, let me say that our greatest thanks are due to the
 Royal Aero Club, and especially to Mr. Perrin, the secretary of the
 club, for the admirable arrangements they made for the control and
 observation of the flight.”

Harry briefly expressed his thanks.

On behalf of the Sopwith Aviation Company, its founder proposed a vote
of thanks to the _Daily Mail_ for the “very sporting way”
in which they had promoted the competition. The vote was seconded by
Mr. Green, the builder of the engine.

In reply, Mr. Marlowe referred to the important parts played by Mr.
Sopwith and Mr. Green. He said: “They made the flight possible.
They brought it so near success that it must be achieved next year, and
I can only hope that when the prize is won they may be very near the
winning-post.”

The following editorial comment is from _Flight_, September 13th, 1913,
and should be carefully studied by anyone who doubts the utility of
aviation and in particular the usefulness of Harry’s flight round
Britain:

 “Under the heading of ‘Mr. Hawker’s Flight. What
 is the Moral of it?’ there was published in the _Manchester
 Guardian_ of the 1st inst. a letter, signed by a Mr. S. V. Bracher,
 whose address is simply ‘London,’ and which is so full
 of false premises and erroneous conclusions that we can hardly allow
 it to pass without comment. The main proposition which he sets out
 to disprove is, as he says, that the enterprising newspaper which
 promoted the competition is now declaring that the lesson to be
 learnt from it is that the Navy must have a great many waterplanes,
 and that the designers of British engines and the builders of British
 waterplanes must make their plans immediately. He apparently does
 not think either that the Navy requires waterplanes, or that it is
 essential that British designers of engines and aircraft should make
 any plans for the future. He begins his argument by saying:

 “‘To anybody able to keep cool amid the vast output of
 scare headlines and process blocks, it must be perfectly clear that
 one of the lessons of Mr. Hawker’s plucky adventure is that
 the time is not yet ripe for great public expenditure on aviation.
 His achievement has enabled everybody to realise the extreme
 precariousness and uncertainty of aerial navigation as hitherto
 developed.’

Continuing, _Flight_ says:

 “To take the first point, which apparently is that the Navy
 does not want waterplanes. We have no knowledge whatever of Mr.
 Bracher’s status as an authority in this matter. For all we know
 he may be the power behind the throne at the Admiralty—presuming
 that such a personality is needed by My Lords—or, on the other hand,
 he may know even less of the technical side of the subject than we
 ourselves. It seems to us that the best reply we can make to the
 proposition as stated is: Ask the Navy. But there is no need to ask
 the Navy, since we know perfectly well in advance what the Navy thinks
 of aerial navigation and its probable influence on war at sea. Is it
 for fun that the Navy is establishing aerial stations round the coasts
 and is training dozens of officers in the science of flight? Or must
 we regard things seriously and believe that the Naval authorities know
 their business? There is manifestly but one reply to this, and we can
 safely leave even Mr. Bracher to figure it out for himself. Unless
 we are content to ignore all the lessons of the past development of
 flight, and particularly those learned during the nearest approach to
 the ‘real thing’ it is possible to devise, we must come to
 the cold-blooded decision that the Navy not only wants waterplanes,
 but wants them rather badly.

 “Having got thus far with our argument, we come to the next
 Bracher point, viz., that the main lesson of Mr. Hawker’s flight
 is that aviation is yet in so precarious a stage of development
 that it would be foolish to spend large sums of public money in the
 equipment of an aerial defence service. Does Mr. Bracher really
 seriously ask his public to believe that this is the one and only
 conclusion to be reached from the result of Mr. Hawker’s attempt
 to circle the coasts of Great Britain? Unless he is writing with his
 tongue in his cheek—and we do him the justice of saying that we do
 not think this for a moment—then he must be woefully deficient in
 imagination and wanting in the power of logical reasoning. Let us
 hark back and see what actually did happen during this flight. We
 need not go over all the details of it. Quite sufficient that we
 point out to Mr. Bracher and others who may be of his way of thinking
 that Mr. Hawker actually flew for a distance of more than a thousand
 miles—that is to say, a full two-thirds of the whole distance he
 set out to cover—and that he failed through absolutely no fault of
 the engine or of the machine. It was the lapse of the human factor
 that brought the enterprise to an untimely end. Therefore, it is fair
 to deduce the argument that already the machine and its engine have
 overtaken and passed the capacity of the man, and that if improvement
 is needed anywhere it is in the human and not the material machine.
 Let us say that we are not advancing this as a definite argument, but
 we do press the point that it is a fairer deduction than that reached
 by the correspondent of the _Manchester Guardian_.

 “No one claims, as far as we are aware, that the aeroplane has
 reached its ultimate stage of development, but is that any argument
 for holding back provided we can be satisfied that it has arrived at
 a useful stage? Not for a moment could such a contention be allowed.
 As well might it be argued that because the Dreadnought is practically
 obsolescent before it is completed for its first commission, we
 should cease building battleships until such time as the final
 development has been reached. The man who would seriously argue thus
 would, deservedly, be accounted a dangerous lunatic. Upon the same
 ridiculous principle no one would go into the water until he could
 swim; no business undertaking would be engaged upon until a profit
 actually accrues at the moment of starting, and so on.

“The next point is this. Mr. Bracher says:

 “‘Experts are saying that seaplanes require much stronger
 frames, vastly more powerful engines, and far more effective float
 devices than have yet been provided. In short, design must be
 revolutionised. Clearly this is the time for experiment, and not for
 any wide scheme involving heavy expenditure.’

[Illustration: THE SOPWITH ROLLS-ROYCE-ENGINED BIPLANE,
“ATLANTIC,” IN WHICH HARRY AND GRIEVE ATTEMPTED THE
ATLANTIC CROSSING. THE TOP OF THE FUSELAGE WAS MADE IN THE FORM OF AN
INVERTED BOAT, WHICH THEY DETACHED IN MID-ATLANTIC. THE UNDERCARRIAGE
WAS DROPPED SOON AFTER THE START, IN ORDER TO REDUCE AIR RESISTANCE.

  [_Facing p. 108._
]

“Now, this impresses us as being specious argument, since it
is the sort of thing with which it is impossible not to agree in
principle, but before we arrive at complete agreement we must examine
the proposition and see what we mean by it all. Nothing was ever
yet first produced in its final and perfect state, but this last
has inevitably been reached by stages involving long and careful
experiment. From the line-of-battle ship of the Nelson era to the
last _Centurion_ is a far cry. Again, in the case of under-water
craft, there is an enormous gap between the original Holland boat
and the latest submarine of the day. Now, what would have happened
in either case if it had been agreed that these vessels were still
‘experimental’ and everyone had sat and waited for someone
else to perfect them? Once more, the answer is obvious. We should be
where we were a hundred or more years ago. Instead, however, of having
adopted any such foolish policy, we have gone on building and equipping
ships which were the best we knew how to construct at the time, and
have developed accordingly until we have reached the super-Dreadnought
and the submarine as we know them now—and still the end of development
is not in sight.

“Next, Mr. Bracher makes it a cause of complaint that the Naval
and Military Defence Committee propose to:

 “‘Equip all the coast defences and defended ports of
 the Kingdom with aviation stations, and in the case of the former,
 permanent establishments are to be maintained as soon as the necessary
 buildings can be erected and fleets of aeroplanes provided. Of the
 cost of this scheme one-third will be borne by the Navy and two-thirds
 by the Army.’

 “He adds the surprising information that:

 “‘The trouble is that, as a cold fact, the whole cost will
 be borne by the taxpayer’!!!

“Now, unless we are content to assume that aviation has no
bearing on military and naval operations, the answer is that these
stations are necessary, even supposing the practical aeroplane has not
yet materialised. That, of course, we do not allow, since we know the
contrary to be the case. But even supposing it were so, we do know that
its day is not far off, and as we construct dry docks large enough to
take in battleships far exceeding in size those at present afloat, we
must provide accommodation for our air fleet to be, for the sane and
simple reason that it takes far longer to put up buildings than to
construct the aircraft to occupy them.

“So far as we are able to read between the lines of the letter
we have traversed, the meaning of it all is, that all the necessary
experimental work is to be carried out by private firms at their own
risk and cost, and that the State, which must ultimately benefit,
should placidly stand aside and wait until private enterprise has
accomplished the perfection of the machine. Never mind what is being
done in other countries or what lead they may have or hold, let no
penny of public money be spent on the development of aviation, but
rather let that be left to the fools and the patriots. Such logic
sickens us. Fortunately, we are able to think that it appeals to but a
small minority of our countrymen.”

       *       *       *       *       *

On Saturday, September 6th, 1913, ending a week of rainy and windy
weather, Harry started from Brooklands for Eastchurch at mid-day,
carrying Mr. Simms as passenger, in one of the 80 h.p. Gnome tractor
biplanes, for the purpose of delivering the machine to the Admiralty.
He, however, lost his bearings at 1,500 feet, owing to the dense
fog, and landed at Cheam. After leaving there with the intention of
returning to Brooklands, he got lost again, and this time came down to
learn that he was at Guildford, whence he easily found his way back to
Brooklands. He ultimately made the flight to Eastchurch in 56 minutes,
two days later, against a strong wind. With a full load and passenger
he made a record climb for one of these 80 h.p. Gnome Sopwith Tractors,
rising to 3,200 feet in 7 minutes 15 seconds. Leaving Brooklands at
2.40 p.m., he made Eastchurch shortly before 4 o’clock.

In spite of an overcast sky and a gusty wind, on Sunday, September
7th, many people flocked to Brooklands to see their hero of the
Round-Britain Flight, and Harry was kept busy by numerous admirers,
writing his autograph in their books. He took up the winner of the
ballot for a free passenger flight—Mr. J. S. Marsh of Birley Edge,
Wadsley Bridge, near Sheffield—in addition to many other passengers.
He also indulged in several exhibition flights, making steeply-banked
turns and graceful spiral descents, thoroughly enjoying being back on
a lightweight machine. On the following Sunday, the 14th, he took up
several passengers and made exhibition flights in the evening, after a
30 m.p.h. wind had died down. In an impromptu race with Barnwell, whose
mount was the 120 h.p. Martinsyde monoplane, he was obliged to yield to
the superior horse-power of his rival’s machine.

In the Second Aerial Derby, for a Gold Cup and £200 presented by the
_Daily Mail_, held on Saturday, September 20th, 1913, Harry was one of
fourteen entrants, of whom eleven actually started and nine completed
the course, all landing within an interval of 20 minutes. With a couple
of passengers, Harry brought his 80 h.p. Gnome Sopwith Tractor over
from Brooklands in the early afternoon, before the race, Barnwell
on the 120 h.p. Martinsyde monoplane, and Raynham on his Avro, also
bringing their machines over about the same time.

The course of the race was a single circuit of London, starting and
finishing at Hendon, _via_ Kempton Park, Epsom, West Thurrock, Epping,
and Hertford, a total distance of about 95 miles.

Commencing at 4 o’clock, the pilots started at intervals of one
minute in the following order:

  Baumann       (60 h.p. Caudron biplane).
  Verrier       (80 h.p. Henri Farman biplane).
  W. L. Brock   (80 h.p. Blériot monoplane).
  B. C. Hucks   (80 h.p. Blériot monoplane).
  Raynham       (80 h.p. Avro biplane).
  Hawker        (80 h.p. Sopwith biplane).
  Marty         (50 h.p. Morane-Saulnier monoplane).
  R. Slack      (80 h p. Morane-Saulnier monoplane).
  Barnwell     (120 h.p. Martinsyde monoplane).
  Hamel         (80 h.p. Morane-Saulnier monoplane).

The weather was exceptionally fine, what clouds there were being very
high, and the sun constantly breaking through. The organisation of the
event left nothing to be desired, and the start at 4 o’clock was
punctual to schedule. Early in the afternoon there was a gusty wind,
but as time went on this became steadier, and during the actual race it
blew from west-north-west at no more than 18 miles per hour. Throughout
the greater part of the course the wind was a beam or side wind, which
materially reduced the flying speed. The crowds were enormous, every
enclosure being packed, and the motor-car paddock could not cope with
demands. Fields and vantage-points all around were crowded. Both Harry
and Hamel were loudly cheered as they passed out of the aerodrome above
the thronged enclosures; Harry presumably on account of his recent
glorious failure, and Hamel on account of his being favourite in the
race through having chopped about ten feet off the span of his wings!

In the course of the race, Harry, who was sixth to start, passed
Baumann before reaching the first turning-point, Kempton Park. As a
matter of fact, Baumann landed and dropped out of the contest about
half a mile before Kempton Park. Between there and Epsom, the second
turning-point, Harry passed Verrier and caught up Hucks, with whom
he was now one minute behind Raynham and half a minute behind Brock;
and so when Epsom was reached he was flying neck-to-neck with Hucks
to decide which of them should assume the third position. By the time
West Thurrock, the third control, was reached, Harry had got it, both
Hucks and Brock being left behind on their monoplanes. But although he
had passed Brock, Harry was still only third, for Hamel had bounded up
and was one minute and a half ahead. Raynham still led Hamel by half a
minute. Behind Harry was Barnwell, only one minute’s flight away.
Before Epping was reached Hamel had trouble with his petrol tap, and
pluckily continued his flight, using one finger as a plug. At Epping,
Harry had caught Raynham, and Barnwell led them both by about one
minute. Hamel had dropped behind through the inconvenience of having to
be a human plug for his petrol pipe. Nevertheless, when Hertford, the
final turning-point, was reached, Hamel, with another burst of speed,
was forcing his way past Barnwell, with Harry close behind, steadily
gaining on Raynham. In the end Hamel won an exceptionally good race at
an average speed of 76 miles per hour; Barnwell was second with 72.5
miles per hour to his credit; and Harry finished third at 67 miles per
hour, beating Raynham by a few seconds.

In the Shell Sealed Handicap flown in conjunction with the Aerial
Derby, Harry was fourth, Hucks, Barnwell and Brock taking precedence in
the order named. Hamel, the scratch man, of course deserved to win the
handicap, seeing that not only was he first home in the Derby, but also
that he accomplished this under very great difficulties.

The day was marred by an unfortunate occurrence in which Mr. Pickles
sustained a broken limb and internal injuries, and Mrs. de Beauvoir
Stocks severe concussion, through side-slipping in a Champel biplane
shortly after the race.

In the October Aeroplane Cross Country Handicap, held at Brooklands on
Saturday, October 4th, 1913, Harry on an 80 h.p. Gnome Sopwith Tractor
biplane was one of sixteen entrants, of whom only six started owing to
rain and minor mishaps. He was second to Merriam, Barnwell and Knight
being third and fourth respectively. On the Sunday, Harry made many
exhibition flights in dull weather, and expressed his versatility by
flying both 80 h.p. Gnome and 100 h.p. Green biplanes.

Wednesday, October 8th, was an unlucky day, for in attempting to start
for the British Michelin prize, Harry crashed. At first it was thought
to be serious, but at the Weybridge Cottage Hospital he was found to
have escaped with only a severe shaking. By Monday he was fit and well.
The Royal Aero Club issued a notice to members on October 18th which
read:

 “Mr. H. G. HAWKER.

 “Mr. H. G. Hawker, who met with an accident at Brooklands last
 week, has now recovered. He visited the club on Tuesday last, and is
 quite fit again.”

The accident occurred through his trying to cross over trees, houses,
and other obstructions at too low an altitude, he having left the
aerodrome without doing a preliminary circuit to gain altitude. There
was a fairly strong breeze blowing at the time, and the configuration
of the ground and the trees caused gusts. The machine dived to the
ground and struck one of the banks of the River Wey where it approaches
Brooklands track towards Cobham. The impact was slightly out of the
straight, and the force was relieved by the breaking up of one wing.
Harry received strains to his back, but was prevented from flying for
only ten days. He was busy installing the 100 h.p. Green into the
Sopwith in preparation for further Michelin attempts on October 25th.

In the 1913 competition for the British Empire Michelin Cup No. 1 and
the £500 Prize, he had extraordinarily bad luck. The competition was
originally to have ended on October 31st, but the donors of the prize,
in consideration of the fact that by that date Harry’s attempt,
when he crashed at the start on October 8th, was the only one that
had been made, postponed the closing date until November 14th. In the
meantime Harry made another effort on October 31st. After flying for
three hours and travelling a distance of about 220 miles in twelve
stages between Brooklands and Hendon on a 100 h.p. Green-engined
Sopwith, he was obliged to alight owing to a very violent headache.
This attempt could not therefore be recognised, as the minimum
qualifying distance to be covered was 300 miles. Two days before the
closing date, the competition was won by Harry’s rival, R. H.
Carr, on a Grahame-White five-seater biplane fitted with the late S. F.
Cody’s 100 h.p. Green engine. On the last day of the competition
Harry attempted to beat Carr’s effort, but the weather was too
rough, and the flight had to be abandoned in consequence.

Even sadder were Harry’s fortunes in the competition for the
British Empire Michelin Cup No. 2 and the £800 Prize. On November
19th, after ascending at 9.30 a.m. and flying from Brooklands
_via_ Eastchurch, Shoreham, Salisbury, and Hendon on the 100 h.p.
Green-engined Sopwith, a distance of 265 miles in five hours, without
a stop, he was obliged to return to Hendon through trouble with his
petrol supply. After passing over Hendon at 4,000 feet, and with only
a few more miles to cover, he discovered that it was necessary to fly
with one wing lower than the other in order to collect the petrol in
his tank at the side where the outlet ran to the carburetter. The
reason for the shortage was that the pressure pipe to the tank had
developed a bad leak and was hot because the consumption of the engine
had been underestimated. In fact the reverse was probably the case,
for it was subsequently found that everything adjacent to the tank was
literally drenched with petrol, and 4½ gallons still remained in
the tank. It was an unfortunate circumstance that a strong wind blew
from the direction of Brooklands, but for which Harry would probably
have been able to glide there from the height at which he was at the
time. There was no hope for it, however, and he was reluctantly obliged
to return to Hendon in a long glide.

At 10.20 a.m. on Thursday, November 27th, Harry set out on yet another
determined eleventh-hour effort for the Michelin No. 2 Cup, but between
Croydon and Eastchurch the fog he encountered was so thick that, being
unable to see his way, he landed at Brooklands after three-quarters of
an hour in the air.

The British Empire Michelin Cup No. 2 and the £800 Prize were not
awarded in 1913.

On a new 80 h.p. Sopwith, Harry flew to Farnborough from Brooklands
on Saturday, November 22nd, returning at dusk. On the Sunday he had
an impromptu race with Raynham in the course of exhibition flying. He
again flew to Farnborough on Monday, November 24th, on the 80 h.p.
tractor biplane, with Mr. Blatherwick and Mr. Simms as passengers.




CHAPTER VIII

THE PROTOTYPE OF THE FIGHTING SCOUTS

 Harry’s Stroke of Genius—Ninety Miles per Hour with an 80 h.p.
 Gnome—When German Interests were at Brooklands—The Real Value of
 “Stunting”—A Biplane that Exceeded Expectations—When
 Hendon was Surprised—Construction of the Tabloid—Contemporary
 Sopwith Products—In Harry’s Absence—Pixton Pilots a
 Tabloid to Victory—A £26,000 Ante-Bellum Aviation Company—Mr.
 Rutherford—Another Type of Genius—One of Harry’s Records
 Broken—An Australian Poem—Death of Hamel.




CHAPTER VIII


Were I asked to state in brief my justification for writing this public
record of the life and work of Harry George Hawker, I would say that
Thursday, November 27th, 1913, should be remembered as a day marking
one of the great innovations in aeroplane design, a feature which
contributed largely to Britain’s supremacy during the Great
War, and for which Harry was principally responsible, although he was
always too modest to acknowledge that he had contributed more than a
little towards it. The occasion was the arrival at Brooklands from the
Sopwith Works of the 80 h.p. Gnome-engined Baby biplane, afterwards
known as the Sopwith Tabloid. Although engined with a unit of orthodox
dimensions, this machine could be described as a miniature biplane, the
wing surface having been cut down to a minimum.

Prior to the inception of the Tabloid, the only reason for building
biplanes, as opposed to monoplanes, was to get a large wing surface
in as compact a form as possible. Therefore, when comparatively
great weights had to be carried which demanded the use of big wing
surface, biplanes were constructed. Furthermore, a certain structural
weakness that had been revealed in the monoplane types of the day also
contributed to the popularity of the biplane. But it was wholly a new
idea to construct a biplane of smaller dimensions than the average
monoplane. The initiation and general arrangement of this new type was
entirely Harry’s work, and was a most wonderful stroke of genius.

Almost every day somebody achieves a measure of fame by constructing
some machine or other (not necessarily an aeroplane) of colossal
dimensions surpassing anything previously engineered, but to achieve
notable success by adverting to a Lilliputian scale, seemingly
primitive, is surely indicative of genius, and this is precisely what
Harry did. The Sopwith Tabloid was a prototype which was copied far and
wide by most of the leading aeroplane constructors in every country
where aeroplanes were manufactured.

Naturally, when the machine arrived at Brooklands in its packing-case,
Harry was very anxious to get it assembled and into the air,
particularly as he was shortly returning “down under” to
Australia, on a visit to his people and for a spell of flying there,
and, all being well, he would take the Tabloid with him. After spending
only an hour and a half in assembling it, he took the air and flew
round the track at 90 miles per hour, an unprecedented speed for such
a low-powered machine. His landing, too, was remarkably slow; and the
speed contrast meant that his first design was an unparalleled success.

I am not sure whether he was inspired by the necessity of having a
small machine to carry on board ship, or by Hamel’s performance
in the Aerial Derby with clipped wings, but whatever it was induced
him to design the machine, Harry was responsible for a trend in
aeroplane design that has only been equalled in importance perhaps by
the innovation of the monoplane wing devoid of external bracing, and
even for this it could not be claimed that it was of incalculable, if
any, value to the Empire and the world during the Great War. Fighting
scouts—thousands of them—were subsequently made for the Allies, and
were the outcome of Harry’s genius.

It is a fact of no small significance in view of subsequent events that
when the Tabloid made its début at Brooklands a German aircraft concern
was established there, and on Saturday, November 29th, Herr Roempler,
a famous German pilot constructor, was flying one of the German D.F.W.
machines.

The Tabloid was intended as a machine on which stunts of every
description could be performed. Sopwith and Hawker were among the
first to realise that manœuvrability, or the “stunting”
property, was of more than mere spectacular interest, and that in time
of war it would be of incalculable value. With such principles at the
back of his mind, Harry announced his intention of looping-the-loop
at an early date, a feat that Pégoud had introduced in order to
demonstrate the strength of the Blériot monoplane and remove the
prejudice against that type. The engine, tanks, pilot, and passenger
were massed together in an unusually small compass, the passenger being
seated side-by-side with the pilot. The original anticipated maximum
speed was about 85 miles per hour, but in actual practice 94 miles per
hour was exceeded. The wings, which were only very slightly curved, or
cambered, measured only 26 ft from wing-tip to wing-tip. The curvature
of the wings was considerably less than that of the standard type
tractor biplanes, although wing spars of exactly similar section were
employed—a notable instance of early standardisation. The original
Tabloid had warping wings—not ailerons.

Pixton, who incidentally won the International Schneider Cup Contest
at Monaco in the following year on a Sopwith Tabloid seaplane, had
now come to the Sopwith hangars to carry on the work which Harry must
relinquish during his sojourn in Australia.

In an earlier chapter of this book reference was made to the deviation
of the hub of British aviation from Brooklands to Hendon, where the
London Aerodrome had by now developed into a popular rendezvous
of London folk, and a good selection of British and Continental
racing aeroplanes was to be found. Two days after having erected the
Tabloid Harry flew it over to Hendon at a speed of over 94 miles per
hour. Entering the aerodrome, he made two circuits at what was then
considered an astounding speed, estimated at 90 miles per hour. Earlier
in the day he had been down to Farnborough with the machine, where in
an official test he attained a maximum speed of 92 miles per hour, a
landing speed of 36·9 miles per hour, and a rate of ascent of 1,200
feet per minute. This performance, which was a world’s record,
was carried out with a passenger and fuel for 2½ hours. Empty, the
machine weighed only 680 lb. On the following day Harry returned from
Hendon to Brooklands, where he was surrounded by numerous admirers of
the new Sopwith-Hawker product.

[Illustration: TESTING THE LIFEBOAT. ON THE BACK OF THE ORIGINAL
PHOTOGRAPH HARRY WROTE: “NOTE THE BROKEN ICE BETWEEN THE BOAT AND
SHORE.”
  [_Facing p. 122._
]

[Illustration: THIS PICTURE SHOWS SOME OF THE DIFFICULTIES IN GETTING
THE AEROPLANE TO THE STARTING-GROUND IN NEWFOUNDLAND. THE DRIVER
APPARENTLY TOOK THINGS LYING DOWN.

  [_Facing p. 122._
]

The following description of the Sopwith Tabloid is extracted from
_Flight_, December 20th, 1913:

 “When the latest production of the Sopwith Aviation Co. made
 its bow to the public at Hendon a few Saturdays ago it did so like
 a bolt from the blue, and, wasting no time in showing what it could
 do, immediately completed two circuits at a speed of about 90 m.p.h.
 The successes of the former Sopwith machines—designed by Mr. T.
 O. M. Sopwith and Mr. Sigrist—are, no doubt, still fresh in our
 readers’ minds, and with this new 80 h.p. “baby”
 biplane, in the design of which Mr. H. G. Hawker, who piloted the
 former machines to success, has played an important part, it seems
 that further achievements will soon be added to the credit of this
 go-ahead Kingston firm.

 “The general lines of the new biplane are similar to those
 of the other Sopwith Tractor machines.... It has been designed
 with the intention of producing what might be called an exhibition
 machine, that is to say, a machine capable of performing all sorts of
 evolutions such as steep bankings, small circles, switchbacks, etc.
 This machine is therefore of small dimensions, having a span of 25 ft.
 6 ins. and an over-all length of 25 ft. The total area of the main
 planes is 240 sq. ft., which gives a loading 3 lb. per sq. ft. light
 or 4·5 lb. per sq. ft. fully loaded, the weight of the machine empty,
 and with pilot and 3½ hours’ fuel, being 670 lb. and 1,060
 lb. respectively. The main planes, which are comparatively flat, are
 set at a slight dihedral angle, and the top plane is staggered forward
 1 ft. They are built up in two cellules, the lower planes being
 attached to the lower portion of the fuselage, whilst the top planes
 are secured to a centre panel supported above the fuselage by two
 pairs of struts; there are only two other pairs of struts, separating
 the main planes near the extremities.... In plan form the planes have
 a greater length in the trailing edge, as on the Morane monoplane. The
 fuselage follows usual Sopwith practice, being rectangular in section,
 tapering to a vertical knife-edge at the rear. The pilot is seated
 in a small cockpit between the planes, whilst another seat for a
 passenger is provided on the pilot’s right. The forward ends of
 the top and bottom longerons converge, forming an attachment for the
 front engine bearer. The 80 h.p. Gnome engine is mounted in the nose
 of the fuselage, and is almost completely covered by a neat aluminium
 cowl, but is nevertheless efficiently cooled by the stream of air
 pressing through a narrow slit formed in the cowl by the front engine
 bearer; the lower extremity of the engine also projects slightly below
 the cowl. The latter is easily detachable, and hinges forward, giving
 easy access to the valves. The carburetter, to which the petrol is
 fed by gravity, projects within the cockpit, and can easily be got at
 by the pilot or passenger. The landing chassis has been considerably
 modified, and consists of two short skids, each connected to the
 fuselage by a pair of struts. At the rear the skids are connected
 by a streamlined cross-strut, in the centre of which is hinged the
 divided axle, carrying at its outer extremities the covered-in running
 wheels. In its normal position the axles lie in a groove formed in the
 cross-strut, thus maintaining the streamline effect of the latter.
 The axle is sprung by means of rubber shock-absorbers attached to
 the skids, and is held in position by two very short radius rods,
 hinged to the rear extremities of the skids. In order to prevent
 the cross-strut from bending downwards in the middle, it is braced
 at this point to the fuselage by a wire.... The tail consists of a
 semi-circular stabilising plane, to the trailing edge of which are
 hinged two elevator flaps with a balanced vertical rudder, almost
 circular in shape, between them....

 “Lateral control is by wing warping, the movement being carried
 out by a wheel mounted on a vertical column, a fore-and-aft movement
 of which operates the rear elevators through a connecting-rod and
 countershaft. The warp cables are led from a rockshaft to pulleys let
 into the uprights of the fuselage just above the rear spar attachments
 of the lower plane. From these pulleys the cables go to the top
 sockets of the rear outer struts. A continuous cable also runs from
 each of the outer rear strut sockets of the lower plane over pulleys
 on the tops of the two rear struts attached to the fuselage.... Flying
 over the measured course at Farnborough, fully loaded with fuel for
 2½ hours, pilot and passenger, a maximum speed of 92 m.p.h. and a
 minimum speed of 36.9 m.p.h. were attained. The climbing speed was
 1,200 ft. in one minute, also fully loaded—quite a credit to British
 aeroplane design. It was originally intended to take this biplane over
 to Paris during the Aero Show in order to demonstrate its wonderful
 capabilities in the home of aviation, so to speak. We understand,
 however, that this plan has been changed, and that the machine has
 been sent out to Australia, where Mr. Hawker will put it through its
 paces above his native soil, and endeavour to rouse the interest of
 the Australian Government. After staying there some months, we may
 hope to see him back in England. Our readers will, we feel sure, join
 us in wishing both Mr. Hawker and the Sopwith Aviation Co. every
 success in this latest enterprise.”

Among other new machines under construction at the Sopwith Works about
this time may be mentioned a huge seaplane of 80 ft. span, propelled by
two 120 h.p. Austro-Daimler engines. The two propellers were each of 12
ft. 6 in. diameter. There was also a new type of flying-boat driven by
a 200 h.p. Canton-Unné, or Salmson, radial water-cooled engine. This
machine, which was exhibited at the Aero Show held at Olympia in March,
1914, was considered the strongest and best-made flying-boat of its
time. Very soon after the advent of the Sopwith Tabloid, and shortly
after Harry’s departure for Australia, another Sopwith made its
first appearance, in the shape of a machine whose size was between the
Tabloid and the standard 80 h.p. tractor biplane. This new biplane,
known as the Tweenie, was engined with a motor of 100 h.p. The first
model was acquired by the Admiralty. In April, Pixton, on a Sopwith
Tweenie fitted with floats, won the classic Schneider Cup at Monaco.
The achievement attracted much attention from foreign journalists as
signifying a great British triumph. Very little notice of the event was
taken by the British lay Press; but the Royal Aero Club held a luncheon
in honour of Sopwith and Pixton, on which occasion Sopwith recounted
many of the amusing little incidents which led up to the evolution of
the winning machine.

Before giving a detailed account of Harry’s experiences on his
Australian expedition it is well to record one or two happenings which
transpired in his absence from England.

“Will o’ the Wisp,” in _Flight_, January 10th, 1914,
perpetrated the following, which calls for no further explanation:

 “‘Sopwith Aviation Company, Ltd. December 15th, 1913.
 £26,000 (£1) (6,000 six per cent. cum. pref. and 20,000 ord.). To
 take over,’ etc. Um—sounds all right. Fast little beggar that
 new Baby-plane. Good Hydro, too, that one that nearly got round the
 circuit. Clever chap T. O. M., clever men with him, too: what are we
 going to see in 1914?”

An Australian, after a visit to England, said: “Plenty of flying
can be seen at Brooklands. They’re cool customers nowadays. They
bid you good-day, hop on board their machine, there’s a whiz and
a flutter, and your man is out of sight, all in a space of a minute or
two.”

Of nine tractor biplanes ordered from the Sopwith firm by the War
Office about this time, Harry was only able to deliver the first, as
the others were completed in his absence, when Pixton was responsible
for delivery.

Harry’s name was well known outside aeronautical circles, even in
these days, when trans-Atlantic flights were no more than suggested.
The following incident, reproduced from _Flight_ of January 31st, 1914,
provides amusing evidence of this. “Will o’ the Wisp”
is again the culprit.

 “When Mr. Hawker returns to this country from Australia he
 will have to search out Mr. Rutherford, of Gainsborough, and have a
 few words with him. Mr. Rutherford rode up to one of the hotels in
 Lincoln the other day on a motor-cycle, and said he was Hawker, come
 to do some exhibition flying in the neighbourhood. He was, of course,
 immediately the hero of the place, and was introduced to all and
 sundry. He had great tales to tell of his flight round Great Britain
 and what he was going to do in the future. So friendly did he become,
 that he promised to take many of the guests for a joy-ride so soon
 as his mechanics should arrive with the machine. Of course, there
 is always somebody who can’t leave a poor chap alone, and the
 kill-joy in this case was a policeman, who turned up and arrested
 the giddy Rutherford for stealing the motorbike, which he had hired
 at Gainsborough and had forgotten to return. The police found that
 he was in the possession of ninepence, which goes to prove the old
 saying that it is not always necessary to possess money to be happy.
 Incidentally, he said he had had over a thousand offers of marriage.
 Perhaps, when he has finished his four months’ imprisonment, he
 will consider one of them.”

On Tuesday, February 3rd, 1914, Harry’s British height record
of 11,450 feet was unofficially broken by Raynham, who, with Mr.
Harold Blackburn as passenger, ascended to 15,000 feet. Harry’s
absence in Australia provided an unique opportunity for his records to
be broken and new records held by others, at least until his return.
On the following Tuesday, under official observance, Raynham broke
Harry’s record for one passenger by ascending to 14,420 feet
with Mr. MacGeagh Hurst. On March 7th, Captain Salmond’s flight
of December 13th, 1913, when 13,140 feet was reached, was officially
recognised as beating Harry’s record. Harry’s other
records, for one, two, and three passengers, still stood, pending
confirmation of the reports of Raynham’s attempts to break them.

“Aeolus,” in _Flight_, May 15th, 1914, wrote:

 “From a chatty letter to hand from Mr. George Payne, of
 Ballarat, Australia, it is evident that Harry Hawker’s trip
 ‘down under’ has created considerable enthusiasm among our
 Australian cousins. In the case of the local poet this enthusiasm has
 found vent in the following effort, which I think well entitled to a
 corner in this page:

 ’ARRY ’AWKER.

 (After Kipling, behind scratch.)

 News Items.—Mr. Harry Hawker, the young Australian airman, made
 several successful flights at Caulfield in the presence of 30,000
 people. During one of his flights he was accompanied by a young lady.

Senator Millen, Minister of Defence, was a passenger with Mr. Hawker in
a recent flight over Melbourne.

      ’E’s a boster! ’Arry ’Awker,
      ’E’s a doer, not a talker,
      Wot we calls a real corker,
            Tho’ not rash;
      ’E cares nothing for a blizzard,
      Though it cut him to the gizzard;
      In the air he “is”—a “wizard”—
            Less the smash.

      An’ ’e don’t use any frillin’
      Just to set the people thrillin’
      When they pay their bloomin’ shillin’
            At the show;

      But ’e takes things wery easy
      While ‘e sees the engine’s greasy,
      An’ ’e shouts, ’owever breezy,
            “Let ‘er go!”

      An’ away ‘e goes a-soarin’,
      While the ladies all adorin’
      With us common blokes a-roarin’
            In our joy;
      An’ our praise ’e needn’t flout it,
      So let everybody shout it,
      For there is no doubt about it
            ‘E’s the boy!

      An’ we ‘ear that Mr. Millen
      Found that flyin’ way so killin’
      That no doubt ‘e’ll now be willin’
            Straight away
      To give ’im an invitation
      To be boss of aviation
      For our young Australian nation,
            With good pay.

      With ’is plane to fly about in
      ‘E’ll be just the boy for scoutin’
      If the foeman pokes ‘is snout in
            Doin’ wrong.
      ’E will never prove a balker,
      ’Ere’s good ’ealth to ’Arry ’Awker;
      May ‘e keep like Johnny Walker—
            Goin’ strong!

      But be wery careful, ‘Arry,
      While with us you mean to tarry,
      Or I’ll bet you’re bound to marry
            Wery soon;
      For you’ll find yourself a-sighin’,
      An’ the ring you will be buyin’,
      If you take the ladies flyin’,
            Near the moon!

“In his letter, Mr. Payne also mentioned that Australia is sending
us another of her sons, as Mr. Treloar, of Ballarat, is going to
England shortly in order to be initiated into the gentle art of flying.
I hope that Mr. Treloar will prove as apt at handling the control-lever
as are those of his compatriots who have already made a name for
themselves in the flying world over here.”

The saddest episode of which England’s shores were the scene
during Harry’s absence in Australia was the disappearance of poor
Gustav Hamel, who, after setting out to fly to France, flew into a
Channel fog and was never heard of again.




CHAPTER IX

AERIAL PROPAGANDA IN AUSTRALIA

 Back to Australia—Harry Expresses Some Views—Australian Air
 Policy—He Speaks of Stabilising Devices—A Reminiscence of the
 Round-Britain Seaplane Flight—A Civic Welcome—Harry’s
 Father Speaks—Assembling the Tabloid—First Flight in
 Australia—Preparations for Flight—Flying from a Street—An Object
 Lesson at Government House—Harry Dispels a Fallacy—And Speaks about
 Whirling Propellers—A Flying Call on the Governor-General—Interrupts
 a Game of Tennis—What the Governor-General Thought of Harry—Old
 Melbourne Friends Fly—The Australian Press—Enterprising Lady
 Passengers—Passengers pay £3 per Minute—Curious Attitude of
 an Association Official—Organisation of a Big Public Flying
 Exhibition—Harry’s Views on Flying—A Crowd of 25,000—Is
 Difficult to Handle—And Affects Harry’s Programme—An
 Accident—Without Serious Consequences—The Minister of Defence
 Ascends 3,500 Feet.




CHAPTER IX


There arrived at Fremantle on Tuesday, January 13th, 1914, R.M.S.
_Maloja_, having on board the Sopwith Tabloid and Harry, who landed
at Melbourne on the following day to visit his parents. Interviewed
by a representative of the Press, Harry said the difference
between a modern biplane, such as that he had with him, and an old
“box-kite” biplane, an example of which the Australian
Government had recently acquired, was as great as that between
a motor-car and a bullock wagon or pantechnicon. Aviation, he
said, had made great strides during the previous year or two. The
“box-kite” biplanes were still regarded as serviceable
school machines, but had not sufficiently good speed capabilities
for military requirements, which the higher-powered modern machine
undoubtedly possessed. He pointed out that the costs of the Tabloid
and of a “box-kite” machine were about equal, and that,
considering its power, the former was the cheapest machine on the
market then.

With an eye to business, Harry said he was prepared to fly from
Melbourne to Sydney in about 4½ hours. He would also loop-the-loop.
The latter offer was received with some surprise, as no one, least
of all a layman, had contemplated the possibility of doing this in
anything but a monoplane then. He was prepared to take off from the
street in his small speedy biplane, provided there were not, of course,
any cross wires or paddocks. Reminded of the attempt of one, Cugnet, to
rise from the Melbourne cricket ground, Harry said he would not have
tried to do that in a slow, low-powered machine. “What Cugnet did
said more for his pluck than his brains,” was Harry’s way
of putting it.

Regarding stabilising devices, Harry declared them to be superfluous.
“The bird has no mechanical stability device,” he said.
“The muscles of its wings give it stability, and, as pilots
have become more skilful and have gained a better knowledge of their
machines, the risk of capsizing has been reduced to practically
zero.” Aviation, said Harry, had advanced in the direction of
knowledge and greater power and control. Never had he heard of an
aviator being blown over. On account of the high degree of natural
stability in the modern aeroplane it was, he said, a difficult matter
to keep a machine on its back when deliberately flying upside down.
Natural stability received too scanty attention, and if pilots would
let their machines “fly themselves,” so to speak, there
would be fewer accidents, was Harry’s opinion.

“Flying,” he said, “is full of interest and is not
half so dangerous as the public imagine. Over 90 per cent. of the
accidents are due to carelessness, not necessarily on the part of
the pilot, but of workmen who leave wires slack and do not test the
structural parts of the aeroplane.”

Asked for reminiscences of the Round-Britain Seaplane Flight, Harry
replied: “I don’t think there is much left to be said
about it. Every inch of the way has been discussed and every experience
told. We were in danger several times; out of sight of land, and at
times out of sight of the sea beneath as well, owing to thick fog. The
strongest impression I have retained is of an old Scotsman. Having
landed somewhere on the Scotch coast to repair an oil-tube, we were met
by this gentleman sauntering down with his dog. Was he astonished? Not
at all. One would have thought he had seen thousands of aeroplanes. His
conversation was limited. He sat on a stone while we worked, and asked
us where we were going and why, and whether ‘Yon thing all goes
up together,’ a question which has since become almost a classic
among the humorous anecdotes of aviators. We assured him it did. He did
not seem in the least surprised when we came or when we departed.”

On his return home to St. Kilda, Harry was welcomed by the Mayor, at
the Town Hall. It was mid-day, and there was a distinguished assembly.
The presence of the Postmaster-General was significant, for postal
authorities had then, and even now still have, to be educated as to
the value of aircraft for mail-carrying. The Mayor said they had all
followed with the greatest interest their fellow-townsman’s
advancement in the Old World, and it was hoped when he returned to
England he would put up further records in the world of flight. Mr.
Agar Wynne spoke of Australians having all wished Hawker every success
in his attempted flight round Great Britain. There, in Australia,
they were far away from the big centres, and it was only by the push
and energy of their young citizens at the other end of the world that
Australia had become known among all the nations. He expressed regret
that Hawker had again to leave Australia, but hoped that when he came
back again they would be able to congratulate him on still greater
achievements. After others had said their say, Harry in reply expressed
his pleasure in knowing that as an Australian he had gained successes
in England, where, on his return, he would do his best on behalf of
Australia. Harry’s father said that amidst all the successes
and applause his son had not forgotten his home. He had brought a
machine with him, partly of his own design, which had not been publicly
demonstrated in England to any extent. Victoria was to have the first
opportunity of seeing that machine fly.

The welcomes over, Harry lost no time in assembling the Tabloid, on
which the necessary work was almost complete by January 22nd. On
Monday, the 26th, the machine was on view, assembled, at the C.L.C.
Motor and Engineering Works, Melbourne. The highest-powered aeroplane
ever seen in Australia, it was regarded as a most serviceable type. A
trial flight, which Harry provisionally arranged to make on the 26th,
had to be postponed owing to the fact that the special castor oil,
necessary for lubricating the Gnome engine, had not passed the Customs.
There was talk of Harry taking part in the Sydney Aerial Derby, timed
to be flown in February, and it was generally supposed that, if it did
compete, the Tabloid would win easily. Harry certainly was considering
the question of making a non-stop flight from Melbourne to Sydney
on behalf of a well-known rubber tyre firm. The Australian Defence
Department had recently acquired a number of aeroplanes, and it was
hoped that some at least of these could take part in a race to Sydney.

Harry made his first flight in Australia on Tuesday, January 27th,
1914, a fortnight after his arrival. Several flying-men had visited
Australia before, and one or two had left the ground, but Harry
was fairly acclaimed the first to show Australians the immense
possibilities of mechanical flight. One who stood by while he carefully
went over every nut with a spanner, tested each wire and each moving
part, recalled to mind previous flights that failed, and bethought
himself care is not the whole of an airman’s equipment. But the
tightening of a nut might prevent a broken neck, and it was little
wonder that an airman should not overlook anything that might mean the
saving of his own neck.

There was nothing theatrical about the preparations. The hero of the
day did not gaze anxiously up aloft, frown, and shake his head. He
did not have long and heated arguments with his mechanic, nor did
he attire himself in large yellow clothes or look unduly nonchalant
with a cigarette hanging from the lower lip. The onlookers, contrary,
perhaps, to expectations, saw only the man whose interest was centred
in carefully tightening the nuts and adjusting the bracing-wires. As
one said, each airman who came to Melbourne had a different expression
just prior to the appointed hour for flight. Cugnet, he said, looked
stern and perhaps a little sad; Hammond bore the impassive countenance
of an Indian chief; but Hawker smiled as if it were an enjoyable game.

His decision to make his maiden Australian flight was, apparently,
sudden. In the morning it was announced there would be no flying, but
by 4 o’clock in the afternoon the news had gone round in some
mysterious manner to the effect that he was about to make a trial
flight. One wing was put on the machine in the garage in which it was
stationed, the other being put on and adjusted when the machine had
been wheeled out into the street. When everything had been trued up,
and there only remained the engine to be tested, Harry got into his
seat, the propeller was swung, and several people lost their hats in
the draught caused by the rotating mass. Much dust was raised too.
The engine having cracked and spluttered and roared, and Harry being
assured of its good tune, he waved his arm, and the four begrimed
individuals who had been holding the machine back let go. Down New
Street, lined by crowds on both pavements, the machine raced for thirty
yards or so before rising into the air. Harry climbed steeply, at once
turning westward over the golf-course, while a maddened horse, drawing
a van, rose on its hind legs, seemingly pointing out the aeroplane to
the crowd, who watched a beautiful demonstration of the aviator’s
art.

At a height of about 600 feet Harry described right-and left-hand
circles, banking at 45 degrees and more. Then he dived at what appeared
to be an unprecedented speed to within a few feet of the ground,
afterwards steeplechasing above fences and trees. He climbed and
climbed again, alternately switching off his engine and diving, as it
were, to the attack. Finally he mounted higher than previously and set
off in the direction of Toorak. After following the valley of the Yarra
at a height of about 5,000 feet, he glided down above the grounds of
Government House and switched on again at about 2,000 feet. He then
crossed above the lake in Albert Park, returning by the seashore to the
Elsternwick golf-links, to which he descended in a fine spiral glide,
ending in a sharp vertical dive and a beautiful landing at only 34
miles per hour. The flight occupied about 20 minutes. He was received
with vociferous cheering. As the good horseman after finishing a
journey sees that his horse is fed, watered, and bedded before he seeks
his own dinner and repose, so did Harry carefully stow away his machine
out of reach of the crowd before yielding to any calls for speeches and
interviews.

It appears that airmen who had previously made unsuccessful attempts
at flight in Australia sought to justify their failure by declaring
the Australian air to be unsafe and mysteriously different from the
air of Britain or France. This fallacy was clearly dispelled by
Harry. “There is not the slightest difference,” he said.
“It is the same sort of air, except that it is clearer than the
English. When I crossed the Albert Park lake I could see Geelong very
plainly.”

Speaking of his machine, Harry said: “The engine worked
splendidly. The highest barograph record shows 5,000 feet. The
engine developed its full revolutions, and I was doing 90 miles per
hour.” He explained that there was one point upon which the
Australian needed education. That was—that it is unsafe to get in
the way of an aeroplane when it is rising from or coming to ground.
“The whirling propeller,” he said, “has played a part
in not a few tragedies at European aviation meetings, and crowding in
on it is a very good method of suicide.”

This short trial flight which Harry made was considered by far the best
that had been seen in Australia, both as regards speed and control.
Getting off from the street was in itself a unique performance. The
value of swift flight under precise control in warfare was appreciated
by the onlookers as incalculable.

A few days later, on February 3rd to be precise, the Governor-General,
Lord Denman, received a literally flying visit from Harry. It was
shortly after luncheon, when Lord and Lady Denman, about to play tennis
with some friends whom they were entertaining, were surprised by a
telephone message to the effect that Harry had just left Elsternwick
and would be over to see them in a few minutes. Their Excellencies had
barely time to reach the lawn before a tiny speck became discernible
against the blue sky and fleecy white clouds to the south-east. After
very few minutes had elapsed, Harry in the Tabloid passed, seemingly
slowly, over the massive buildings of Government House, at a height
somewhere between 3,000 and 5,000 feet. To those on the ground it was
apparent that Harry had experienced no difficulty in finding his way,
for he came straight as a die from the south-east, where Elsternwick
lay, and as soon as he was above his destination he began to descend
in a magnificent spiral, whizzing round and round and down and down at
a terrific pace. As he came nearer to the ground he executed several
manœuvres for the benefit of those below. Making sharp turns, he
banked his machine to such a degree that many considered it miraculous
that he kept his seat at all. Then, when above the polo ground and
facing Government House, he glided down to the lawn, steeply and with
startling suddenness.

Harry’s main concern while landing was thinking out how he should
present himself to the Governor-General. As the Tabloid came to rest,
like a great winged beetle, at the far end of the lawn, Lord Denman and
his party walked over to it and came upon an unassuming, clean-shaven
young man, clean and unruffled as if he had just done no more than
merely walk from St. Kilda road opposite. A little bit nervous, Harry
shook hands and thanked the Governor-General for the warm welcome. He
had, he said, a very good flight from Elsternwick, and the stiff breeze
which blew did not trouble him at all. The landing, too, had presented
no difficulties.

Harry stayed for about half an hour, during which he explained his
machine to his hosts. They were particularly interested in the cockpit
and controls. Harry learned that Lord Denman was very interested in
aviation and before going out to Australia had enjoyed one or two
flights as a passenger in a Grahame-White biplane. There was also
present Captain Pollocks, A.D.C. to the Governor-General, who had also
had some flying experience in England. The departure was as informal
as the arrival. The machine was pulled round a little so that it would
have a clear run against the wind. Harry then said he thought he
“had better be getting along,” and, after again thanking
His Excellency for his warm reception, he climbed in and was away.

After skimming along the ground for thirty yards or so, the machine
rose grandly over Government House and sailed at full speed round the
grounds, under such perfect control that the whole business looked
very simple. Again he banked his machine on sharp turns, and at times
he appeared to be almost on the point of turning over. But Harry did
not indulge in any trick flying of that nature, but was contented to
attempt no more than well-balanced turns and “zooms.” One
of his dives was so sudden that Harry’s manager, Mr. Sculthorpe,
remarked that it looked more like the influence of an awkward
air-pocket than an intentional manœuvre. After climbing to an altitude
of about 3,500 feet, Harry at last headed south-east for Elsternwick,
leaving a trail of smoke behind. In a few minutes the machine, after
dwindling to a mere speck, passed from sight.

When informed subsequently of the allegation that Harry was far more
nervous of meeting him than of flying in the teeth of a gale, Lord
Denman laughingly said that so far as he could see, “This young
Australian airman seemed to be little concerned over one thing or the
other.” His Excellency added that the flight seemed not to have
any physical effect on Harry. “His hand was as steady as mine
when we met,” he said.

On his return to Elsternwick, Harry, feeling less restrained, gave
an even more spirited display of fancy flying for the benefit of the
crowd gathered to watch his landing. He alighted on the golf-links
without incident, and after a brief rest made two more flights, each
time accompanied by a passenger. His two passengers were two old
Melbourne friends, Cecil de Frager, who subsequently lost his life in
a motor-cycling accident in France while serving as a captain with the
Australian Forces, and Maurice Smith.

Commenting on Harry’s flights, the _Melbourne Argus_ remarked
that a characteristic feature common to all of them was the complete
absence of theatrical display. Harry flew as unconcernedly as an
expert drove a motor-car, and apparently with the same degree of ease
and comfort. He made the whole business delightfully simple, and his
personal preparations before starting a flight were considerably less
formal than those of a motorcyclist before mounting his machine. He
wore ordinary clothes, his sole extra covering or protection being a
pair of goggles. When he stepped on to the lawn at Government House he
was not even ruffled. His hair was nicely parted and his tie straight.
To the uninitiated it seemed absurd to think that he had been tearing
through the air at 90 miles per hour, a mile above the earth. One could
understand his not wearing a dustcoat in such circumstances, but might
have expected something less ordinary than a lounge suit and a grey cap.

Another matter upon which the Press commented was the rapidity with
which the Tabloid was prepared for action. At 2.20 p.m. the machine had
been reposing more or less dismantled in the garage of the C.L.C. Motor
Works. In less than an hour it was soaring aloft with a man, nearly as
high up as the top of Mount Buffalo. In that brief interim the biplane
was pulled out from its shed, the wings were attached, and everything
made ready for flight. On no occasion did Harry omit to thoroughly
examine his machine before flight.

Although his intention to fly to Government House had been kept a close
secret, the flight was, of course, witnessed by several thousands of
the populace, who happened to catch sight of the machine or hear the
murmur of the Gnome engine as it passed high overhead. A large crowd,
including nearly a hundred amateur and professional photographers,
gathered at Elsternwick to see the start and end of the flights.
A special exhibition of flying was arranged to take place at the
Caulfield Racecourse, and while in the air Harry distributed handbills
announcing the fact and vouchers valid for admission to the course.

On February 3rd, the day on which he flew to Government House, Harry
was waited on by two ladies who desired to fly as passengers. The
flights were arranged to take place on the Saturday following, although
one lady offered £10 to be taken there and then, so that she might
be certain of being the first lady passenger in Australia. She was
disappointed, however, as Harry was not prepared to undertake any more
flying until Saturday.

Passenger flight tickets found a ready sale at £20 each. In
anticipation of a rush for tickets at the Caulfield Racecourse
meeting, combined railway and admission tickets were on sale at
tourist booking-offices beforehand. Special tramway services were also
announced. The biplane was arranged to be in a prominent position where
all who entered the course would be able to make a reasonably close
inspection of it.

[Illustration: THE DETACHABLE BOAT CARRIED ON THE ATLANTIC FLIGHT.
  [_Facing p. 142._
]

THE SOPWITH TRANS-ATLANTIC BIPLANE IN THE HANGAR NEAR ST. JOHNS,
NEWFOUNDLAND.

  [_Facing p. 142._
]

On February 4th the _Melbourne Argus_ published a letter from the
Hon. Secretary of the Caulfield Progress Association, protesting
against “the use of the public park and recreation reserve known
as Caulfield Racecourse for a display for which a charge was to be
made,” and pressed the point that the proceeding was illegal.
This letter did not, however, cut enough ice to prevent the _Melbourne
Argus_ from announcing on the following day special railway services
for the occasion, as well as the intention of Sir John Madden and Sir
George Reid to be present on the course.

Further correspondence relating to the use of the public preserves was
received and published by the _Melbourne Argus_. One correspondent
expressed surprise at the short-sightedness of the Hon. Secretary of
the Caulfield Progress Association in objecting to the racecourse
being used in the interests of aviation, and highly commended the
action of the authorities in recognising the national aspect of the
event. Another correspondent, probably a pessimist this time, who
expressed doubt as to the power of the Minister of Lands to give
permission to make a charge for admission to a display on the Caulfield
Racecourse, stated that nothing short of an Act of Parliament could
give the organisers of the display authority to make a charge. The Hon.
Secretary of the Caulfield Progress Association endeavoured to justify
his first by another letter, which appeared in the _Melbourne Argus_
on February 6th. The morning paper announced that the gates would be
opened at 1.30 p.m. The public were warned that on no account would
they be permitted to encroach on the straight required for rising
and alighting, but they would be allowed to cross the course between
the flights. Further train and tram services were announced.

The Australian Press were not lacking in giving every possible
support to aviation, and in particular to Harry’s enterprise.
On Saturday, February 7th, the _Melbourne Argus_ devoted a whole page
to descriptive details and pictures of the Tabloid, with which Harry
was to give his exhibition in the afternoon. Asked how much there was
in the art of flying, Harry replied: “All you have to do is to
get off the ground, keep up, and get back again, when and where you
want to.” Replying to a request for his opinion as to a certain
accident, when an aeroplane fell to the ground and was smashed as if
it were an egg, Harry said that the source of the trouble was a heavy
machine flying low down near the ground. What one required most of all
was plenty of air beneath one. He himself never from choice flew below
3,000 feet. If anything happened while one was well up, there was a
chance of making a good recovery before making contact with solid earth.

Upwards of 25,000 people assembled at the Caulfield Racecourse to
witness Harry’s flying exhibition on the Saturday afternoon. In
New Zealand, Sydney, and Adelaide, the public had already seen a fair
amount of good flying, but, excepting those who had happened to see his
previous informal flights, the people of Melbourne had not until this
Saturday made the acquaintance of an experienced pilot who was as much,
if not more, at ease in the air as on the ground. Many factors probably
accounted for the extraordinarily large attendance. The display was
unique, for one thing; then the fact of Harry being an Australian, and
young at that, would draw many from pure sentiment. Again, was not the
man of the hour distinguished in the world of flight?

The early part of the day was rainy and cheerless and there was little
improvement by the time the flights were to start. The outlook was
far from promising. Nevertheless, all the scheduled special trains,
numbering eighteen, were filled to overflowing, carrying 8,500 people
in all. All roads leading to the racecourse were filled with motor and
other vehicular traffic, which accounted for another 17,000 people. It
was a veritable Derby Day. Although several thousands paid to enter the
course, as many, and probably more, occupied points of vantage outside,
from where a clear view of the sky was to be had. The top of the fence
which surrounded the field was lined with hundreds of heads of boys,
youths, and men, all craning their necks to see as much as possible
without expending more than a little energy. Others thronged the roads
and streets in the vicinity.

It was most unfortunate that, owing to the fact that the crowd was too
great to be amenable to the wants and dictates of the management, the
display was marred. Carried away by their enthusiasm and curiosity,
parts of the crowd overran the landing-ground, and so forced Harry, in
the interests of their safety, to abandon some of his programme. Harry
had previously been at great pains to choose this straight stretch and
arrange for it to be kept clear as a starting-and alighting-ground.
But across the end of the straight, near a newly-erected grandstand,
a densely-packed mass of people gathered, while hundreds of others
persisted in lining the rail of the steeplechase course. It was thus
rendered very difficult for Harry to land, and these two masses of
people considerably reduced the landing-space available. In fact, as a
result of the heedlessness of the crowds to warnings, cajoling, and the
attempted force of the police, at the end of his second flight Harry
was forced to make a fast landing, which terminated by his swerving
on the ground and running into the railing at the flat side of the
straight, where the crowd was exceptionally dense. One man, Mr. G. K.
Francis, an uncle of Harry’s friend and mechanic, Kauper, was
struck on the nose by the still slowly revolving propeller, and several
others in the vicinity received blows from other parts of the machine.
Fortunately no one was seriously injured, and the damage done to the
machine was very slight. Apart from a damaged landing chassis and a
splintered propeller, no other fracture occurred. Before this happened
Harry had decided that the crowd was making matters impossible for
him. His original intention was to make a solo flight first and then
follow this up by a series of passenger flights. A Miss Dixon was to
be the first passenger and Mrs. Clive Daniel the second. Lord Denman,
the Governor-General, accepted an invitation to make a flight. Several
other passenger flights had also been arranged beforehand.

However, when the first ascent had been made according to schedule, the
crowd became unmanageable. The primary cause of the trouble was without
doubt the immense enthusiasm of the crowd and the intense admiration
which they had for Hawker. After his first flight, Harry managed to
have his machine drawn back to its original starting-point near the
beginning of the straight. Then the crowd which blocked that end of the
course broke from behind a police cordon and swarmed round the biplane.
The number of police present was inadequate to be of any avail. The
crowd would not be forced back. The two or three mounted police who
were stationed in the straight galloped up to the assistance of their
colleagues on foot and did their utmost to force the crowd away. Miss
Dixon had just walked down the course to the point where the biplane
stood, ready to take her seat. The crowd swarmed round on every side,
and meanwhile people from the other side of the straight were climbing
the fences and running across the track. The police did the most they
could to stem this new tide, but fully half an hour elapsed before
anything approaching order was restored. Even then the people lining
the end of the straight had advanced their position a considerable way
up the track, and thousands were lining the high fence on the flat side
of the course. Harry and his mechanics and members of the racing club
harangued the crowd and warned them of the danger, but their efforts
to clear the course were of no avail. Harry therefore decided not to
take the risk of making a landing in the cramped area with a passenger
on board. Nevertheless, in order that the entertainment should not be
entirely spoiled, he determined to make one more flight, with Miss
Dixon as a passenger, and land at Elsternwick.

His altitude record having been broken in England a few days
previously, Harry had felt inclined to attempt to regain it in
the course of his exhibition on Saturday, but in view of all
the circumstances which I have outlined he abandoned the idea.
Nevertheless, his second flight was an effective exhibition of altitude
flying. He topped 6,000 feet and was almost lost to the view of the
spectators. Descending after a flight of about fifteen minutes, Harry
experienced the landing difficulties which he had expected and which
terminated as already described. Sweeping in from above the new
grandstand, he switched off his engine and swooped down, only to find
the space too small for landing. He switched on again and passed above
the crowd. Three times he repeated this manœuvre, which the crowd
cheered and regarded as an intentional feature of the exhibition. On
the fourth occasion he landed and ran into the crowd as explained.
Speaking of the accident afterwards, Harry said: “I made a very
bad landing, but it was a very difficult place. If there had not been
so many people there it would have been all right. It was difficult
work, but the machine stood the test.”

To review these flights in greater detail.

However great was the difficulty when near the ground, Harry was
perfect master of the machine in the air. Like a snipe hopping along
the ground before it takes wing, the machine shot forward. No one
seemed really to expect that it would fly, and the shout which rent
the air as the machine left the ground seemed one of half astonishment
and half satisfaction. At first Harry was content to traverse the
course, circling round and round above the heads of the people, who
cheered and cheered again. Turning the nose of his machine into the
south-westerly wind which blew, Harry began to climb in ever-narrowing
circles. Suddenly he pulled back the “joy-stick,” and from
the crowd below came a long-drawn “Ah!” To those on the
ground it seemed impossible that the machine could right itself. But
Harry had done no more than wilfully stall his machine, which, instead
of turning upside down, merely slid down about two hundred feet on
its tail. Righted once more, the machine was made to bank, volplane,
twist and turn like a great bird circling and hovering above the sea of
upturned faces. Then apparently it grew tired and swooped gracefully
to earth again. Passing over the stewards’ stand, Harry several
times playfully swooped down and up, leaving only a few feet between
the machine and their heads. Momentarily the crowd felt a thrill of
fear.

Cheers rent the air as the machine at last came to a standstill, and
when Harry, after he had scrambled out, walked towards the grandstand,
there was a general rush to congratulate him and shake his hand. Thus
ended the first flight.

The second flight seemed to the watchers below far more sensational
than the first. Scarcely waiting to circle the course, Harry began to
climb. The bark of the motor became no more than a purr as the machine
forced its way upwards, towards the sun apparently; 5,000 feet up, the
Tabloid appeared as a soaring bird to the crowd below. Suddenly the
purring of the motor ceased, and like a black-winged peer of the eagle,
the biplane sailed across the sky, twisting and turning as it were
in pursuit of visible prey. As it descended, the machine appeared to
change from black to grey. It was swallowed up by cloud and disappeared
altogether, only to return to earth with surprising suddenness.

“Wet? No!” said Harry afterwards. “That wasn’t
a wet cloud I went through, it was a dry one. White clouds are always
dry. You go through black ones, and you’ll know the difference.
A white cloud is just like a dry white fog and the sun lights this up
beautifully. It is not a very clear day down here, but it is really a
very nice day up there. I was thinking while I was up that there seemed
to be just about one hundred miles of snow mountains, and the sun was
lighting up every one of them.”

When Miss Dixon came down from the clouds, she, too, remarked on their
beauty as seen from above. Miss Dixon incidentally paid £20 for the
trip, which worked out at more than £3 per minute. Although it was
a costly business, many other ladies wished the flight could have
been theirs. Mrs. Clive Daniel who had also made arrangements for an
excursion on Saturday afternoon, was naturally very disappointed at
not being able to make the flight owing to the unavoidable change
in Harry’s plans. Mrs Daniel went so far as to offer Harry an
extra £10 if he made the flight, but Harry would not incur the risk.
He offered instead to make another flight with Mrs. Daniel from
Elsternwick after landing Miss Dixon there. When it was suggested
by someone the ladies should toss a coin in order to determine who
should have the privilege of the first trip, Miss Dixon declined to
abandon her bargain of having purchased the right to be the first
lady passenger, and accordingly she made the flight, which I will now
describe.

For about five minutes the biplane circled the course and then,
pointing its nose homeward, flew directly for Elsternwick. The journey
took about a minute, and Harry brought the machine down on the
golf-links. Apparently it was Harry’s unlucky day, for a further
accident befell the machine as it came to earth.

When the news spread abroad that Harry had decided to land at
Elsternwick, another great crowd assembled there. As soon as he saw the
people, Harry realised that he was confronted with a very difficult
landing problem. In order not to injure anybody, Harry purposely made
a steep descent. Unfortunately the biplane swung sharply round when it
touched the ground, with the result that the propeller splintered, the
landing chassis was badly wrenched from its mountings, and sundry wires
were strained. Luckily, no one received any injury.

Miss Dixon thoroughly enjoyed her experience, and her enthusiasm was
shown by the fact that she at once arranged to make another flight with
Harry at Sydney.

As Harry had been careful to bring one or two spare propellers with him
to Australia, the damaged Tabloid was soon restored to flying trim.

On the following Wednesday, four days after the foregoing sensational
incidents, Harry had the honour of taking the Minister of Defence,
Senator Millen, for a flight. Senator Millen thus had the distinction
of being the first member of the Federal Cabinet to make an aeroplane
ascent in Australia. He was greatly impressed by the bird’s-eye
view of Caulfield, Malvern, Armadale, and St. Kilda, which he had
during a flight lasting about a quarter of an hour at a height of 3,500
feet and a speed of 90 miles per hour. The flight was kept as secret
as possible. Nevertheless a crowd assembled in the hope of seeing
something, and, as usual, they pushed forward and occupied the fairway.
Mounted on a box, Harry’s father announced that there would be
no flight until all had withdrawn to the wall. This had the desired
effect, and Harry took his seat, ready to make a preliminary test
flight. After a run of about 40 yards, the machine rose gracefully,
and, steering a south-easterly course, Harry climbed to about 1,000
feet. After circling round the park, he switched off his engine and
glided to earth, landing on precisely the same spot from which he had
taken off.

Surrounded by a circle of friends, including the Minister of Customs,
Senator Millen watched this preliminary display with obvious interest,
and when it was over he made his way forward as it were to congratulate
Harry. But a burly policeman intercepted him and requested him to
retire. At the time very few of those present knew what the Minister
really intended to do. Senator Millen, turning to the constable, spoke
a few words to the latter, who at once broke into a smile and allowed
him to proceed. During the ensuing minutes the policeman bore the air
of one who had been entrusted with an important secret.

But the Senator’s real mission was soon disclosed. Putting on a
pair of motor-goggles, he handed his hat to one of the mechanics, and,
after donning a cap, stepped up, and down into the passenger’s
cockpit. “Good boy, Millen!” shouted somebody, and the
crowd applauded. This time the machine took the air after a run of no
more than thirty yards. Heading into the wind, they soared steadily
above the electric power station until the only background was the
cloudless sky. After attaining a height of 3,000 feet, Harry, heading
eastward, took the Minister over the neighbouring suburbs. The purr of
the engine was distinctly heard by the people as the machine passed
above their heads. A white cloud from the exhaust-pipe indicated the
path of the machine, like the foam in the wake of a liner. To the
onlookers it seemed as if the machine proceeded out to sea during part
of the flight, but Harry explained afterwards that he did not actually
cross the water, but merely followed the coast. As the aeroplane turned
down-wind, Lieut. Petre and Lieut. Harrison, of the Defence Department,
estimated its speed at over 100 miles per hour. Time and again it
appeared to pitch and roll under the influence of the strong breeze,
but always under perfect control. After flying for about a quarter of
an hour at considerable height, Harry shut off his engine and glided
down, heading into the wind. After sinking and disappearing for a few
seconds behind the Elsternwick Hotel, the machine climbed just high
enough to clear the building by a few feet and swept between two tall
pine-trees, close to the ground, skimming along for about 50 yards,
a few inches above the turf, as if undecided whether or not to land.
Then it touched gently and, after a single hop, came to a standstill.
Senator Millen was received with loud cheering as he stepped from his
seat.

After his flight with Harry, Senator Millen said: “I cannot say
that there was any feature one could describe as thrilling; nothing can
make one feel that one is heroic or any sort of a dare-devil: it seems
so beautifully simple, so steady, and so safe.” After stating
other opinions of his flight, he said: “My flight with Hawker
was one of the most enjoyable experiences I have had. Hawker is master
of his machine and seems to manipulate it by a movement of his finger.
While I watched him he never at any time made a movement with his arms.
In any case there is very little room to move in the cockpit. I have
done a great deal of fast motoring from time to time, but there is no
comparison between that and soaring in the air.”

Harry afterwards took Lieut. Harrison, an airman of the Australian
Defence Force, and then Mr. T. G. White, holder of the motor speed
record between Melbourne and Adelaide. Mr. Francis Syme also had his
first experience in the air. On each occasion the rising and alighting
of the machine was accompanied by vociferous applause.

Harry found the weather conditions the most boisterous he had yet
experienced in Australia. The strength of the wind he estimated at 35
miles per hour, and the fact that it was not steady, but gusty, called
for most skilful piloting. The distance covered in his flight with
Senator Millen was about 20 miles. Prior to this flight Harry had only
flown an aggregate of about three hours in Australia, in which time he
covered in all about 270 miles. With Lieut. Harrison he ascended to
about 3,800 feet.

Harry certainly displayed a keen appreciation of the economics of
flying propaganda while in Australia. Naturally his main object was to
popularise aviation as much as possible, and to do this he spared no
effort in giving exhibition flights at principal centres of population.
On the several occasions when he spoke of his preparedness to fly from
Melbourne to Sydney in under five hours he did not overlook the fact
that a remunerative inducement was a necessary concomitant. During most
of the time he would be flying over open country where there would be
few people to appreciate the object lesson provided by the aeroplane.
Therefore the expense of the flight must be retrieved.

The weather conditions on Friday, February 13th, being good, Harry
had his machine out at 10.30 a.m. Two ladies and two gentlemen
enjoyed fairly lengthy flights during the morning, and Harry could
have continued carrying passengers until sundown had not the weather
been too good! As there was absolutely no wind it was difficult for
Harry to land below 40 miles per hour, and, the space available being
rather limited, he would not risk any further landings. As usual, a
large number of spectators was present. “How do they get wind
of it?” asked Harry. “I thought we had kept this little
flight absolutely secret.” But whenever the biplane was ready
for ascent there was an eager crowd waiting to watch and applaud or to
take photographs. By 2 o’clock a huge crowd had assembled outside
the garage in anticipation of witnessing further flights, but they had
to be disappointed as there was not a breeze of strength to ensure a
safe landing. Although Harry several times sent word to the effect that
there would be no flying during the afternoon, the people were content
to wait until dusk in a spirit of expectation.

During Harry’s stay at Melbourne the Tabloid was continuously
on exhibition, either in the air or in the garage. Although a charge
of only one shilling was levied for admission to the garage, the sum
received soon totalled more than fifty pounds, representing over one
thousand visitors. To a Londoner this may seem, at first sight, very
few, but when it is realised that the population of the whole of
Australia is practically equal to that of London, it is clear that the
show was a great success.




CHAPTER X

AERONAUTICAL ADVANCEMENT IN AUSTRALIA

 Harry’s Proposals for Aerial Defence—Seeing Under Water
 from the Air—A Crowd of 20,000—A Governor-General Ascends 4,000
 Feet—And a Governor’s Daughter Goes Up Too—Stunts—Rumours of
 Looping—Another Accident.




CHAPTER X


When Harry arranged to leave Melbourne for Sydney on Tuesday, February
17th, he did not do so on account of any falling-off in the interest of
the residents of Melbourne and district, whose enthusiasm never abated.
In fact, when he did leave, and when he departed from Australia for
the last time (although he never knew it to be the last), there were
many who, having offered as much as £20 for short flights, had to be
disappointed.

There was no narrowness about Harry’s plans for promoting
aviation propaganda in Australia. One idea which influenced his
actions considerably was to bring into bold relief in the world of
aeronautics the name of Australia, to do which he must accomplish the
converse, by bringing the world of aeronautics to the knowledge of
Australia. He hoped to achieve his object in part by establishing one
or two important records before returning to England in May. On the
important subject of the aerial defence of Australia Harry expressed
very strong views; and his authority was never disputed, for had he not
been brought into close touch with defence requirements in testing the
Sopwith hydro-aeroplanes for the Admiralty and in flying one thousand
miles around the British coast? He gave it as his opinion that the
aeroplanes already imported by the Australian Defence Department would
be of no practical use for the purpose intended. His view was supported
by several sound reasons. First, he declared that Australia’s
long coast-line made it imperative to employ hydro-aeroplanes or
flying-boats, and not land machines.

“No one,” he said, “is coming from New South Wales
to attack Victoria. The danger to either state or the whole continent
will threaten from the sea, and it is therefore on the sea-board that
Australia must be prepared to intercept the enemy.” Continuing,
Harry declared that what was required by the Australian Defence
Department was a number of machines which could slip out over the
coast at a speed of a hundred miles an hour and drop their engines of
destruction upon the enemy before he “pushed the battle to the
gate.” Another significant statement which Harry made concerning
the machines which had already been acquired by the Defence Department
related to their antiquity. “Those machines,” he said,
“were ordered to my knowledge twelve months before they arrived
here. They have been here approximately twelve months. Aeroplanes are
constantly being improved, and the constructors as a rule produce
at least two new models a year. So, you see, your machines are four
models old already, and can only be used, if at all, for school
purposes.”

[Illustration: THE DERELICT AEROPLANE, IN WHICH HARRY AND GRIEVE HAD
ATTEMPTED THE CROSSING, WAS RECOVERED FROM THE ATLANTIC BY THE U. S.
STEAMER “LAKE CHARLOTTEVILLE.”
  [Facing p. 156.
]

[Illustration: HARRY AT THE WHEEL OF THE RACING A.C., THE BODY OF WHICH
WAS DESIGNED BY HIM AND PROVED A REMARKABLE ADVANCE IN EFFICIENCY.

  [Facing p. 156.
]

The Australians were much interested when one of the lady passengers
carried by Harry said that she could plainly see the bottom of the
bay while she was flying over Port Phillip. Harry and Kauper, during
their round-Britain flight, were able to see wrecks below water off
the Scottish coast. They found that views of this nature are not in
any way hampered by unfavourable conditions overhead, such as clouds.
A correspondent, in a letter to the _Melbourne Argus_, made the
suggestion that an aeroplane might be sent to fly above that part of
the ocean where the ill-fated _Waratah_ was last seen, with a view to
locating the whereabouts of the wreck.

When asked to express his opinion of the meteorological conditions
prevailing in Australia, Harry said: “They are the finest in the
world. If there is one country in the world where aviation can be taken
up whole-heartedly as a sport, that country is Australia.”

On Saturday, February 28th, Harry gave a flying exhibition before
20,000 people assembled at the Randwich Racecourse, Sydney. Most people
knew that Lord Denman was coming to see the flying, but none had the
least idea that the Governor-General would take the air with Harry.
Lord Denman, who had previously enjoyed a flight at Hendon, was taken
up to 4,000 feet. The next passenger was Miss Strickland, daughter of
the Governor of New South Wales. With these distinguished passengers
Harry did not attempt any stunts. In both cases the machine took the
air at a fine angle, climbing steadily. A couple of circuits were made
at a speed of about 90 miles per hour.

It was during the flight with his third passenger, that Harry felt
justified in altering his plans. No one who witnessed his flights on
this particular Saturday afternoon would have been afraid to trust
themselves to his care; as one said, he controlled his biplane with the
ease and grace with which an expert chauffeur controls a motor-car.
Ascending almost perpendicularly, he attained an altitude of about
3,000 feet; then, with the machine banked almost beyond the vertical,
he descended in a rapid spiral. To those below it frequently seemed
that the machine was upside down. A great outburst of applause attended
one such descent, in which, instead of at once landing, he levelled
up the machine within a few feet of the ground and continued round
the course, conveying a vivid impression of speed. On this particular
occasion, after scouring the grounds in search of afternoon tea, Harry
landed in the vicinity of the grandstand!

Harry had another flying engagement to keep on this particular
Saturday, and he flew over to the Victoria Park, Sydney. Many times he
was out of sight, hidden above clouds. There had been some talk of his
attempting to loop-the-loop during the afternoon, but the conditions
were not at all favourable. For one thing, Harry had no intention of
making his first attempt to emulate Pégoud at a height of less than
4,000 feet, and on this particular afternoon there were thick clouds at
1,500 feet. He would have had little satisfaction in going above them
and doing the job out of sight of those below, for who would have borne
testimony to his having accomplished the feat? Despite the low clouds,
Harry carried a goodly batch of passengers at Victoria Park and then
flew back to Randwich, where he was flying again on the morrow. On the
Sunday he carried many passengers, and his trick flying was greatly
applauded.

Reaching an altitude of 2,000 feet, Harry gave what was described
as a magnificent flight of ten minutes’ duration, before an
assembly of six thousand people, at Albany, N.S.W., on Sunday, March
8th. He followed up this flight with another, in which he established
an Australian altitude record by reaching 7,800 feet. During part of
this flight he was hidden from view above clouds. When he reappeared he
executed a series of thrilling glides and dives, finally coming down
to about 400 feet. At this height he turned and flew in the direction
of the grandstand, and then, with intent to land, made a complete
turn. Spectators at once realised that Harry was experiencing trouble
with his engine. During his gliding and spiralling descent from the
great altitude he had allowed the Gnome to get cold, a circumstance
always fraught with the risk of not being able to restart the engine
immediately as required. Spluttering as the machine descended, the
engine finally gave out at 300 feet. Then it was Harry made a daring
dive in the hope that his motor would once more throb into active life.
But this manœuvre, twice repeated, was of no avail. From a height of
about 20 feet Harry brought the machine to ground in a crowded paddock
near the racecourse, in full view of many spectators and about 50
feet from the three-railed fence. At first it was thought the landing
was satisfactory, but the momentum of the machine would have carried
it through the fence and wrecked the engine. Harry, realising this
predicament, took drastic steps, without hesitating. He plunged the
nose of the machine to earth so that the biplane stood on end with its
tail pointing skyward. A dense cloud of dust was raised.

Thinking that Harry must be injured, the crowd gave utterance to a cry
of dismay; but a moment later Harry climbed out of his seat unhurt.
Of course there was a wild rush to the spot where Harry, the coolest
man in the crowd, was examining his machine. The damage amounted to a
splintered propeller, broken landing chassis, and broken interplane
bracing-wires.

Harry’s only comment at the time was: “It was due to
pure carelessness. I let the engine get cold.” In so claiming
entire responsibility for an accident, Harry unconsciously displayed
his love for the cause of aviation. An accident seen by a large crowd
is essentially a set-back to the advancement of commercial aviation.
Presumably to avert this as far as possible, Harry said: “Blame
me, not the aeroplane,” or words to that effect.

Some days later, on Wednesday, March 11th, Harry appeared in Melbourne,
smiling and unperturbed by the previous unfortunate occurrence. “There
was,” he said, “nothing at all about the accident of an alarming
nature; I was never further from a serious smash-up in my life. It
was not a flying accident at all, for the mishap occurred after I had
landed, when the machine was nothing more or less than a motor-car.
I was in danger of running into a fence, and I did the only thing
possible to avoid such a calamity, which would have meant serious
damage to the engine. There are no brakes on the landing chassis,
which was broken simply because I brought the machine up so abruptly.
The biplane will be ready by Saturday, when I shall carry several
passengers. Many more applications have been received, and I have as
many as thirty contracts for flights at £20 a time.”

There was a considerable amount of flying in Australia in 1914. During
May a Farman seaplane was being demonstrated at Sydney. One of the
famous French pilots, Guillaux, was flying in Australia in April. He
looped-the-loop for the first time there, and aroused considerable
interest, following on Harry’s demonstrations.




CHAPTER XI

A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

 Harry’s First Loops—Flying to Manchester—Harry is Taken Ill in
 the Air—He Returns and Lands Safely—And Collapses—An Extraordinary
 Accident—A Very Narrow Escape.




CHAPTER XI


Harry got back to England on Saturday night, June 6th, 1914, and on
the Sunday afternoon was at Brooklands, flying both the two-seater
Sopwith and the Tweenie. He won an impromptu race with Sippé, who flew
a Bristol. “Aeolus,” commenting in _Flight_ on June 12th,
said: “Place Hawker anywhere where he can get his hands on a
machine, and you simply can’t keep him on the ground.”

On Tuesday, June 16th, ten days after his return from Australia, Harry
looped-the-loop for the first time, both with engine on and off. He
was flying the 100 h.p. machine. On the Wednesday he did twelve loops
in succession. These displays were the forerunners of the looping
exhibitions which Harry arranged to give at Brooklands every Sunday
afternoon during the summer on the 100 h.p. Sopwith Scout.

Harry flew to Hendon on the 100 h.p. machine on Saturday, June 20th,
and on returning to Brooklands in the afternoon he gave another looping
display. On Sunday, too, he was looping again.

While the Hendon-Manchester-Hendon race was in progress on Saturday,
June 20th, Harry had the misfortune to be taken ill in the air. In
this race he was the scratch man, and, being favourite on the 100 h.p.
Gnome-engined Sopwith, it was a great pity he had to give up.

He left the aerodrome at a high speed, about 25 minutes after the
previous starter, Lord Carbery. No news of his progress was received,
but an hour later he was seen approaching Hendon again. He made
a perfect landing, but was in a state of collapse, from which he
failed to recover for several minutes. Actually he had been as far
as Coventry, and had had a fairly rough passage. This affected his
stomach, and, after getting into dense fog and feeling he would be
overcome if he continued, he decided to return. His action in not
having landed at once may be criticised, but the fact that he got back
safely, if almost prostrate, is the best evidence that he knew what
he could do. Moreover, he had not experienced a forced landing with
this fast machine, therefore he could hardly be expected to know its
capabilities in this respect.

Dr. Leakey, who attended Harry on this occasion, expressed the
opinion that he was suffering slightly from concussion due to partial
rarefaction of the air about the pilot’s seat of this fast
machine. This would tend, he said, to cause tympanum of the ear while
the roar of the motor compressed the air.

On Saturday, June 27th, an Aeroplane Handicap was held at Brooklands
over a nine-mile course. Of the twelve machines entered, the slowest
had a flying speed of 35 miles per hour, while the fastest, the latest
Sopwith piloted by Harry, was capable of 111 miles per hour. But he was
too heavily handicapped, and the race went to Mahl, who was flying the
80 h.p. two-seater Sopwith.

The same evening Harry had a very narrow escape. About 7 o’clock
he took up the 100 h.p. (monosoupape) Gnome Scout, and at 1,200 feet
looped-the-loop with the engine shut off. The loop was effected
properly, but when he had got the machine back on what seemed to be an
even keel, it got into a spinning nose-dive. Seen from the paddock,
the machine first dived vertically and then began to spin round and
round about its line of descent, descending comparatively slowly.
After a while—only a few seconds that seemed ages—the tail swung out
and the dive resolved itself into a spiral form. Finally the machine
crashed on its right wing in a coppice. The whole flight was described
as ‘looking like a leaf falling,’ and the fact that Harry
landed on the wing undoubtedly broke the fall and saved his life. As it
was, he was found, standing by the machine, in the thick undergrowth,
none the worse for the shaking.

The following account of the accident was given by Mr. C. G. Grey, in
the _Aeroplane_, July 1st, 1914.

 “One of the most extraordinary accidents in the history of
 aviation, and a still more extraordinary escape from death, occurred
 to Mr. Harry Hawker at Brooklands on Saturday evening last. Mr. Hawker
 went up about 7 p.m. on the Sopwith Scout (100 h.p. monosoupape
 Gnome), and at about 1,200 feet he made one of his famous loops with
 the engine cut off, by diving steeply and then pulling back. He made
 the loop perfectly, but over the Byfleet road, and as he came out of
 it, he started a vertical dive with a spin in it.

 “When I first caught sight of him from the paddock he was doing
 a perfect ‘tourbillon’ spin, _à la Chanteloup_—that is to
 say, the wings were revolving round the centre-line of the fuselage,
 and the machine was standing vertically on its nose. It was coming
 down quite slowly for such a fast machine, the pace being nothing
 like its ordinary diving speed. Then the tail seemed to swing out
 and the vertical path became an irregular spiral to the right, till
 finally the machine seemed to be doing a banked turn with the body
 nearly horizontal and the left wing up. The dropping speed had by
 then decreased noticeably, but it was obvious that the machine was
 not under proper control, for it seemed to ‘slash’ or
 ‘flutter’ round like a falling leaf. At this point it
 disappeared behind the trees on St. George’s Hill.

 “As quickly as possible a number of people from Brooklands got
 to the spot, and after considerable difficulty found the machine on
 the ground in a thick coppice, with Mr. Hawker standing alongside
 it absolutely unhurt. A few minutes afterwards he went off back to
 Brooklands, sitting on the carrier of a motor-bicycle, leaving the
 machine in charge of the Sopwith machine crew.

 “Apparently the machine had struck partly sideways and partly
 nose on into the top of a tall tree, into which it had flown rather
 than fallen. It had then fallen vertically, bringing several big
 boughs of the tree with it, and had finally sat down right side up,
 flat on its chassis, on top of sundry saplings and undergrowth. The
 wings had folded up neatly as it fell through the trees, and had come
 down like a lid on the cockpit—how Mr. Hawker got out is a mystery.
 The chassis had telescoped into the front of the fuselage. The cowl
 was dented and bent, but not torn off. Two or three valve tappets
 had been wiped off the engine, which was evidently revolving when it
 struck the trees. The propeller was broken at the ends, but not at the
 boss. The fuselage aft of the tank, with the elevator and rudder, were
 absolutely untouched.

 “The first thing we did was to test the controls, and then found
 the elevator and rudder working perfectly. The warp wires were also
 uninjured, so there can be no question of controls going wrong. What,
 then, was the cause of the accident?

 “For some time previously Mr. Hawker had been proving the
 extraordinary stability of this machine. He used to take her up to
 1,000 feet or so, switch off his engine, and let the machine glide.
 Then he would pull his elevator slowly back to stall her. With
 the elevator hard back she would neither tail-slide nor dive nor
 side-slip. She would simply descend on an even keel like a parachute,
 but moving gently forward and rolling slowly first on to one wing and
 then back to the other. Occasionally, in a gust, she would slide to
 one side, descending sideways at about 45 degrees, which is hardly
 a side-slip. On pushing the lever forward she would pick up her
 gliding angle promptly. In fact, she seemed absolutely stable in every
 direction. She recovered promptly also from a straight-dive which was
 almost vertical.

 “Now comes this smash, and it is worth studying, for according
 to the rules of the game the machine should have come up when the
 elevator was pulled back. During the afternoon Mr. Hawker had been
 arguing with an officer of the Naval Air Service about the need for
 more vertical surface aft on these small high-speed Scouts. The
 officer in question held that, owing to the short tail, if a Scout
 started to spin round its own nose it would never come into control
 again.

 “When Mr. Hawker disappeared behind the trees he undoubtedly had
 his elevator lever hard back, and, as he was then banked well over to
 the right, his elevators were acting, if they were acting at all, as
 rudders, and so were forcing his tail round and increasing the spin.
 In this position the rudder should act as an elevator and throw the
 nose of the machine down, so causing a straight nose-dive from which
 it should be easy to recover. Mr. Hawker tells me that he tried to
 do this, but could not get it round against the air pressure, and he
 ascribes this to the rudder being of the unbalanced type. He thinks
 that with a balanced rudder and no fin he could have done it.

 “Also, he admits that if he had pushed the elevator forward as
 soon as he found the spin developing, and had made a straight dive,
 he could have pulled up straight, but he thought he was too near the
 ground to risk doing so.

 It must be remembered that the Caudron on which Chanteloup does his
 ‘tourbillon’ dive has a tail that warps in unison with the
 wings and that it has two big balanced rudders, so that it really has
 more control than the Scout class, and as it is a much slower machine
 it changes its attitude in a much shorter distance even if it takes
 the same length of time to do so. Still, it looked to me as if Mr.
 Hawker was getting the machine under control just as she disappeared,
 and I believe that if he tries the experiment again at 3,000 feet (no
 one should try experiments lower than that), instead of about 1,000,
 he will have come into control at 1,000 or so.

 “Anyhow, he is very lucky to be alive, and only for that
 opportune clump of trees he would not have been. Still, to please the
 Navy it might be worth while trying one of the Scouts with a bigger
 rudder and fin—and a proportionately strong rudder tube, just to
 avoid B.E. habits—so as to see how it affects their normal flying.
 If it does not slow the machine appreciably, it might be well to adopt
 a larger size simply to give extra directional stability and control,
 and simplify the flying of the type by less clever pilots.

 “Has it struck anybody that there may be a very good reason for
 the old Antoinette system of having vertical fins and rudders exactly
 equal to the tail fins and elevators? An arrow with its vertical
 feathers differing in area from its horizontal feathers would probably
 steer curiously, so why not try a symmetrical ‘empennage’
 on aeroplanes?—C.G.G.”

On the Sunday, the day after his so remarkable escape, Harry was giving
exhibition flights at Brooklands on the 80 h.p. Scout.




CHAPTER XII

SOME WAR-TIME EXPERIENCES

 Testing Production Machines—The Distinguished General and the
 Camel—The Boredom of Old-Fashioned Transport—And How it was Remedied
 on One Occasion—Testing a Doubtful Machine—Harry Gives Expert
 Criticism—And Predicts the Performance of a Four-Engined Aeroplane.




CHAPTER XII


Harry was flying at Brooklands on Saturday, July 4th, 1914, when from
a height of 11,000 feet he could plainly discern the Isle of Wight,
so good was the visibility. A week later his machine arrived from
Australia. He lost no time in assembling the Tabloid, for during the
afternoon and on the morrow he gave looping exhibitions on it. These
Sunday exhibitions became a regular institution, and Harry’s
demonstrations were frequently referred to by the technical Press as
the “finest ever seen.”

On Monday, July 13th, Harry flew to Farnborough and back on the
Tabloid, certain parts of which had been replaced by modifications
since its return from the South. The principal alterations were the
application of a lateral dihedral angle to the lower planes and the
uncovering of the rear part of the fuselage, the latter feature
resembling in some measure the practice adopted by Blériot in his early
monoplane designs. These changes were made to improve the suitability
of the machine for looping-the-loop.

For looping displays at Brooklands during the period July 13th to 31st,
1914, Harry received bonuses amounting to £30.

Public interest in displays of looping-the-loop was at its zenith about
this time, and Harry was kept very busy satisfying the craze, until
war was declared. On August 4th, the fateful day, he delivered his pet
looper to the Royal Aircraft Factory at Farnborough.

By this time the Commonwealth of Australia had a flying-school in good
working order and instruction had begun in earnest. It was generally
conceded that the great enthusiasm which the Australians had for flying
was largely aroused by the demonstrations which Harry gave there and
the pronounced views which he expressed.

So far as the public were concerned, nothing more of Harry’s
flying was seen for several months after war was declared, until early
in March there arrived at Hendon, after journeying by air, a two-seater
tandem Sopwith biplane, a development of the Tweenie and of a size
intermediate to the Scout and the standard two-seater: and the pilot
was Harry.

The privileged few who saw this businesslike-looking machine gleaned
from Harry that it climbed exceedingly well, besides being easy to
handle and comfortable to fly. Those who had not had an opportunity
to watch Harry’s piloting during the previous few months were
particularly gratified to see him coming in from Brooklands at a high
speed and exhibiting that brilliancy which characterised his piloting
in happier days of looping exhibitions and race meetings.

Harry’s flying visits to Hendon were very frequent about this
time, partly because there was a very big training centre of the Royal
Naval Air Service there, in charge of the late Commander J. C. Porte,
R.N. On one occasion it was noticed he was flying for a long period far
beyond the precincts of the aerodrome, and numerous guesses were made
as to the cause, ranging from the belief that he had lost his way to
another that his engine had stopped and he was floating about, unable
to get down! When finally he had landed it was ascertained that he had
merely been completing the Admiralty one-hour test of a new machine.

Some say Harry was the first pilot to loop-the-loop on a seaplane. Be
that as it may, on a certain spring morning in 1915 he was out testing
one of the Tabloids to which floats had been fitted. He described a
couple of loops as perfect as any that could be done on a land machine.

Although most of his experience had been gained on high-powered Sopwith
biplanes, Harry was always equal to the occasion when it came to flying
something of a different order. Thus on a certain Sunday in August,
1915, he made a successful flight on a single-seater Beatty-Wright
biplane at Hendon. He was especially struck by the ease of handling
and sensitiveness of the controls of this machine, which in a sense
was not new to him, for it bore a striking resemblance to the old
Sopwith-Burgess-Wright.

On June 6th, 1915, Harry broke the British Altitude Record for pilot
alone by ascending to 18,393 feet. This height exceeded the previous
record by nearly 4,000 feet.

During April, 1916, Harry had the honour of flying before the King and
Queen at Brooklands, on the occasion of a Royal tour of inspection of
the Sopwith Works.

The welfare of munition workers during the war when the strain was
greatest was of the utmost importance, and no explanation is needed as
to why the Sopwith Aviation Company held an athletic sports meeting in
the summer of 1917. In the afternoon a Sopwith Camel came overhead,
piloted by Harry, who performed what were described as “the
most hair-raising stunts ever seen.” At a very low altitude,
so that all could see in detail, he carried out loops, side-twists,
apple-turnovers, spiral dives, and other evolutions for which names
did not then exist. Once or twice the machine swooped down so low that
people ducked their heads. Those who recall the giant German Gotha
aeroplane exhibited at the Agricultural Hall may remember that it was
by a Camel that that particular machine was brought down.

Of Harry’s work as test pilot to the Sopwith Aviation Company
during the Great War the best record is contained in his personal
log-book, or pilot’s diary, although this is by no means complete
and many entries are obscure, for Harry had no love for clerical work.

To reproduce this diary would occupy many more pages than the whole of
my book, but the more interesting details and a statistical summary for
the period 1914-1916 are not out of place. In the particular book with
which I am dealing the first entry was made on July 13th, 1914, and the
last on October 20th, 1916. Entries were made relating to flights made
on 199 different days during that period. The different machines flown
and tested numbered 295, a remarkable record when it is realised that
with no more than a dozen exceptions all the machines were brand new
and put through their initial tests by Harry.

Places mentioned in his diary as visited by Harry on his testing
expeditions include Brooklands, Farnborough, Southampton, Eastchurch,
Hendon, Blyth, Killingholme, Yarmouth, Dover, Calshot, Montrose,
Dundee, Woolston, Felixstowe, Chingford, Isle of Grain, Lincoln,
Kingston, Dunkirk, Villacoublay, Coventry.

[Illustration:

  _Photo by_]      [_Newspaper Illustrations, Ltd._

OUR HOUSE AT HOOK, SOON AFTER NEWS OF HARRY’S RESCUE FROM THE
ATLANTIC.
  [_Facing p. 174._
]

[Illustration:

  _Photo by_]      [_Newspaper Illustrations, Ltd._

HOME AGAIN! HARRY AND GRIEVE AT GRANTHAM STATION, AFTER THE ATLANTIC
FLIGHT. MR. SOPWITH IS STANDING IN THE DOORWAY.

  [_Facing p. 174._
]

During the war several thousands of Sopwith aeroplanes were supplied
not only to the British Government but also to France and other
countries; and it not infrequently fell to Harry’s lot to pay
flying visits to Villacoublay during the years 1915-1917. On one
occasion, while Harry was there, a certain British General—who shall
be nameless—came on the scene, full of his own importance and talking
loudly of what he knew and of what he did not know. The subject under
discussion was the Sopwith Camel, a machine which Harry loved to
fly and believed to be well-nigh perfect, despite adverse criticism
occasionally directed against it. The General said he had had a good
deal of experience of the Camel, and that he found great difficulty
in getting the machine out of a spin, which, of course, was a serious
matter.

In an undertone to a colleague, Harry said: “I don’t
believe he has ever flown one.” He then ordered a Camel to be
brought out from the sheds and extended to the General an invitation
to make a flight with him. Having carried the “Brass Hat”
about 2,000 feet up, he put the machine into a right-hand spin, from
which he did not attempt to recover until within but a few hundred feet
of the ground. Instead of landing and permitting the General to stand
on _terra firma_, he went up again and repeated the manœuvre, but with
a left-hand spin this time. Harry got out of the machine as if nothing
untoward had happened. He made no comment; but those who witnessed the
incident affirm that the way he looked at the General spoke volumes;
and as for the General, well, he suddenly discovered he had to go
off and inspect other sheds!

The episode seems not to have ended there, however, for within a day
or two the officer in charge of the Villacoublay sheds (the friend to
whom Harry had confided in an undertone) was requested to report to the
controlling authority there, who made serious complaint and requested
him to write a letter of apology, containing assurances “that Mr.
Hawker would not do this sort of thing again.” It appears that
just before Harry had carried out the stunts with the General there had
been an epidemic of crashes through foolish, inexperienced young pilots
stunting too near the ground. Harry was therefore chosen as the victim
for chastisement, an action which caused him and his friends much
amusement.

On one occasion it was necessary for Harry to go over from England to
Villacoublay by boat and train, a journey which to anyone, aviator or
not, was a miserable proceeding during the war. It is said that he
arrived at the aerodrome abusing everything to do with the sea, the
ships on it, the French railways, the railway officials, and everything
connected with rail transport. Finally he explained that he must have
a machine on which to fly back, as it was the only way of getting
about in reasonable comfort. How his want was satisfied provides an
interesting story.

For some time the French had been in a very parlous state in regard to
fighting machines, in consequence of which the Sopwith representatives
at Villacoublay applied to the Air Board to let them have a Camel to
submit for tests. The request was complied with, and instructions were
sent from London to G.H.Q. at Marquise for a Camel to be detached
from store and sent to Villacoublay. A quaint old ruin turned up,
that had about as many flying properties as a tea-tray: the engine, a
subcontracted Clerget, was described as “simply a collection of
ironmongery,” and, taking the machine as a whole, it was just
possible to stagger about in the air if one knew a lot about flying.
Needless to say, the machine was of no use for its intended purpose,
namely, for demonstration purposes before the French Government, and in
consequence it had been rotting in the sheds for months.

When Harry asked for a machine on which to make his return journey,
he was told that this was the only one available, and its history was
recounted in detail. Nothing daunted, he went and had a look at it,
and, after a few minutes’ examination, he expressed the opinion
that as apparently it had some indication of having been an aeroplane,
he thought, with care, it might be flown to London; and anyhow,
anything was better than boats and trains. He took the machine up and
found it unsafe to fly in its existing condition, for the engine very
nearly came out of its fixings.

As it happened, there were one or two experimental Sopwith 1½
Strutter biplanes, the property of the French Government, in the sheds,
and as the authority in charge decided that something very serious
might occur if Harry did not fly back, he ordered the engine from one
of these machines to be installed in the decrepit Camel.

Harry set out for England in the Camel next morning in filthy weather,
but it was not he who had the “hump,” for those at Villacoublay had
intermittent spasms of what they called “heart disease” during the next
twelve hours, as they could get no news of his safe progress or arrival.

Really, they said, they had not the least anxiety, for they had
unbounded confidence in what they described as Harry’s uncanny
capacity for getting out of trouble. Nevertheless, there were
considerable expressions of relief when news turned up that he had
landed safely. During the flight he had three forced landings owing
to failure of petrol feed; and he pulled out sundry odd bits of inner
tube and rubber piping from his tank. How they ever got there was never
discovered, but Harry regarded it as all in a day’s work, and a
subject of amusement rather than annoyance.

Mr. Alan R. Fenn, a colleague of Harry’s and French
representative of the Sopwith Company at that time, to whom I am
indebted for some of these reminiscences, in a recent letter to me
wrote:

 “One other little thing that occurs to me is concerned with
 the Dolphin. You will remember that we converted the 200 h.p.
 Hispano-Dolphin to take the 300, and this work was done in Paris, all
 more or less by rule of thumb. I then asked Harry to come over and
 look the job over and fly it, if he thought well, and generally to see
 if it was all right.

 “This was an extremely important matter, not by any means solely
 from the point of view of the Sopwith Co., but much more from the
 point of view of the French and American Armies in the field, who had
 then no fighting machines coming forward for the 300 Hispano at all.

 “When Harry arrived and I pointed out to him that he must
 not be too particular, explaining to him the very serious position
 of matters, he did not hesitate for a moment, but took the machine
 straightaway in the air, and as there was some little question as
 to its strength, he gave it a thorough good rolling, spinning, and
 diving, just to make quite sure it was all right.

 “It was so characteristic of the man in showing his complete
 absence of fear, even when there might be a doubt in his mind as
 to the capabilities of the machine. As a matter of fact, when this
 machine was stressed, it was found to be very seriously weak, and
 before it was put into production it was, of course, stiffened up.

 “There is one other characteristic little incident that occurred
 as illustrating his outspokenness when he knew a machine was not right.

 “I took him to the sheds of a certain very famous designer and
 constructor at Villacoublay to show him the new machine which had
 just been offered for test to the Technical Section of the French
 Government, and was supposed to be going to do all sorts of wonderful
 things.

 “It was a weird affair, and its designer and constructor
 happened to be in the shed at the time. Harry had a careful look over
 the whole machine and made one or two caustic comments to me. I then
 introduced him to the designer, who was a fairly tall man, and Harry,
 looking at him squarely with his brown eyes, enquired which way up the
 machine was intended to fly!

 “It was a tense moment, but Harry’s obvious sincerity
 completely disarmed the designer, and they went into a discussion of
 the pros and cons. Unfortunately I have no capacity for describing
 incidents of this sort, but it really was very comic, for it never
 occurred to Harry that his remark might cause offence: the design was
 wrong, and that’s all there was to it!

 “I need hardly say he was correct in his views, as the machine
 never did anything except kill a couple of people: which was what
 Harry said it would do.

 “On another occasion there was a big four-engined Blériot. Harry
 was on the field when this machine crashed at its first flight. The
 pilot, I believe, was paid one thousand francs for every minute he
 remained in the air. Harry was aghast at the whole machine and that it
 should ever go into the air. He foretold precisely what happened when
 it was flown.

 “The tail twisted off, and the machine, after falling like a
 stone, caught fire.

 “Harry’s visits were very much looked forward to at
 Villacoublay, and among the French pilots he was a source of
 considerable admiration for the brilliancy of his work and his
 profound knowledge of air work generally. Everybody turned out when
 they got to know that Hawker was in the air.”




CHAPTER XIII

A MOTORING HONEYMOON

 Harry to the Rescue—A Game of Cards—Keeping an
 Appointment—Twenty-four Hours too Early!—A Provisional
 Engagement—Marriage—Gas-bag Motoring—A Strained Back—Faith in
 Christian Science.




CHAPTER XIII


There must have been very few moments in Harry’s life when he did
not thoroughly enjoy himself, and since the time when I first met him
in April, 1915, stranded in a little light car which I used to drive
in those days, his cheery optimism has helped him over disappointments
and dangers which would have overcome a less buoyant nature. Some few
incidents of the intimate side of his character help to show how he
took life.

One Sunday in April, while driving with a school friend through
Richmond Park, we came to a sudden standstill half-way between the
Kingston and Richmond Gates. Before starting that day I had seen that
the boy had placed a spare tin of petrol in the back, and I had put
this petrol into the tank before leaving Kingston. My knowledge of cars
extended very little beyond the amount it took to get this particular
light car along, so any stoppage was the source of much anxiety if it
happened to occur far from the reach of assistance.

I commenced to look for the trouble in the carburetter, but this seemed
to be getting a proper supply of petrol. I dare not look so far afield
as that mystery the magneto, and I began to look upon the person who
could locate the cause of a stoppage almost immediately as a kind of
wizard; there seemed so many things that might happen. While I turned
the starting handle hoping that the car had forgotten its trouble, a
Grégoire came by in which were two men, and it was a sign of awkward
youth that I resolutely refused their proffered assistance, regretting
it as soon as the car was out of sight. Presently I noticed the
“petrol,” dropping from the carburetter when I flooded her,
instead of quickly disappearing into the ground, had accumulated into a
puddle, and then the bright idea at last struck me that the tank had
been filled up with nothing but water. I let all the contents of the
tank out and resignedly settled down to wait for a passing car whose
driver had a tin of petrol to spare. One or two passed, but we were
unable to obtain petrol from them.

Then the Grégoire returned, and this time pulled into the kerb. The
driver, whom we were soon to know as Harry Hawker, got out and said,
“Was it petrol after all?” Rather surprised at this very
lucky guess, we enquired as to how he got his knowledge. “If
a girl breaks down,” he said, “she will invariably take
everything down that is detachable before she looks into the petrol
tank”; and although this was not quite fair in our case, it was
characteristic of his almost uncanny gift of being able to discern
what was wrong with a car almost without seeing it. I explained what
had actually happened while Harry was filling our tank from his spare
tin. We exchanged cards, or, rather, it would have been an exchange
had not Harry, after a lengthy search in many pockets, found he had
left his case at home, and so wrote his name on the back of the other
man’s. He had a nervous, offhand manner all the time, and
although he made one very unconvincing effort at a compliment on my
knowledge of motor-cars, he seemed genuinely relieved when I let in the
clutch and with many thanks drove away.

But this did not prove to be the end of the episode, for the
following Sunday morning brought me a telephone message from the
“Police.” Vaguely wondering how I had broken the law,
although when one drives a car one gets on quite a familiar footing
with the police, I was surprised to hear that it was our rescuer of the
previous Sunday, who, with a sort of boyish enthusiasm, said he had
bought a 27-80 h.p. Austro-Daimler car during the week and suggested I
should come and try it. So we four newly-made friends set out, and this
was the first time I drove a real motor-car. It was characteristic of
Harry’s good-nature that each car he had—and he had many during
his lifetime—he was not only willing to let me, but pleased that I
should want to drive it, and those who have a kind of love for their
cars will know the effort required to let others handle them.

Every Sunday during the summer we continued these drives without the
knowledge of my parents, until these meetings were discovered, as
such meetings usually are sooner or later. After a while I managed,
by telling stories of his great gallantry, to persuade my mother to
ask Harry and his friend Basil, with whom he “digged,” to
dinner. After dinner, my father, mother, and an old friend wished to
get up a hand of whist, and Harry volunteered to make up the fourth,
and sat down as though he enjoyed it. There were some young people
there that night, and we all trooped off into another room to indulge
in more enlivening pastimes. Whether he thought that to play a quiet
game of cards with the older people would make a better impression
than playing such childish games as we others were indulging in, is
a debatable question; but I am not sure he would not have had more
success had he joined us, for, as I afterwards learned, he loathed
cards, had played whist only once in his life before, and, needless to
say, played a very bad game. However, his simple frankness found favour
and we were allowed to continue our Sunday afternoon drives.

Christmas drew near, and mother, on finding that Harry and Basil would
be alone in “diggings” for the festive season, invited
them to come and spend Christmas with us. “Now, don’t be
late,” she admonished them as they said good-bye on the Sunday
before. “We have dinner at four o’clock on Christmas
Day.” They certainly were not late, since they arrived at four
o’clock on Christmas Eve, twenty-four hours before they were
expected! Dad was the only one at home, and I arrived home at six
o’clock to hear his recital of their brief call. I guessed at
once they had made a mistake in the day, but Dad refused to agree with
me. The incident was never mentioned to Harry until after we were
married and about to spend Christmas in my old home. Then I said to
Harry, as we were packing: “We will not make a mistake in the
day this time!” “Good gracious!” exclaimed Harry,
“do you mean to say my wonderful display of tact failed on that
other occasion? As soon as we arrived, and I saw we were not expected,
I guessed we were a day too soon.” He went on to tell me that he
got out of a difficult situation by convincing Dad it was a time-worn
custom in Australia to make a call upon people the day before you went
to stay with them. Then he thought of the tell-tale bags in the back of
the car. He fixed Basil with his eye, and in a meaning voice directed
him to go out and turn off the petrol as the joint leaked—and Basil
took the tip. When Dad went out a little later to speed his two guests,
the bags were hidden beneath a large fur rug. Now, Basil felt the cold
intensely in England, but Harry not at all. So it must have been a
study in expressions when, in answer to a suggestion from Dad that they
should throw the rug over their knees, Harry assured him it was not
necessary as neither of them felt the cold in the least!

In those days of war, when Harry was very busy seven days a week
testing new machines, sometimes at the rate of ten a day, and working
half the nights on designs for new ones, it was brought home to me, on
Harry’s enquiry as to how I filled in my time, how little work
I did to justify my existence. “I bet you I will get some work
within a fortnight,” I told him, and, after arranging the nature
of the bet, he took me on.

Then followed a hunt for the elusive work. I had not the slightest idea
where to begin, as I had no special qualifications. However, I applied
at a Labour Exchange, an experience uncongenial in the extreme. I was
asked to fill in some forms stating my qualifications and experiences.
This did not take me long! I was then asked to fill in some more, and,
after this, was told to go home and await their communication.

In a few days I had a letter asking me to call on the Monday at the
offices of the National Health Insurance Commission, Buckingham Gate.
There were only three days more before the expiration of my bet with
Harry, so I was only too glad to keep this appointment. I could have
laughed aloud when Mr. Alfred Woodgate, afterwards affectionately
known as the ‘Archangel,’ turned to his colleague, Mr.
Bailey, under whom I afterwards worked, and observed: “Let me
see, Bailey, you are wanting someone at once, aren’t you?”
and I was told to consider myself engaged as from the morrow. I
wondered whether I ought to say “Thank you, Mr. Woodgate,”
or “Thank you, sir.” Eventually I just said “Thank
you,” and departed very elevated. Perhaps the greatest joys
and sorrows of my life hung upon the words, “Consider yourself
engaged from to-morrow,” for that same evening Harry and I became
provisionally engaged to be married. I say provisionally, because at
that time, being still in my teens, and taking into consideration the
uncertainties of war, I did not want to be tied completely.

The Sunday rides were continued, generally to Brooklands, where
there was always something for Harry to do. The Austro-Daimler had
been well “hotted up” and was now capable of 80 miles
per hour, and we spent many an exciting time “strafing”
anything willing and able on the road. I often wonder what manner of
curses we drew on our heads from nervous pedestrians who seem to enjoy
ignoring the footpath and walking with their backs to traffic, or
those twenty-mile-an-hour motorists who love the very centre of the
road and hate to move. I remember in particular an elderly gentleman
walking slowly along the road by the side of which was a perfectly
good and empty footpath, who, dropping his hat and stick, remained
firmly planted on both feet and stared at us in open-mouthed amazement
and disapproval as we whizzed by. Certainly for his especial safety
it would have been better had we indulged in our turn of speed on the
footpath. But I am sure Harry was less of a danger on the road driving
at 70 miles an hour than those, who cursed us most, were driving at 20
or sauntering about in the middle of the fairway. These little trips
did not cease, and I well remember the very last Sunday Harry was with
me he said: “Let’s go out alone like we used to do and not
take anyone with us.” We did so, but then we met some friends at
tea-time!

I often wonder if the early days of our engagement would have been
less stormy had I been more nearly Harry’s intellectual equal
or else a different type of girl altogether. But Harry had no time
for the “take-care-of-me” kind of female, and I believe
he thoroughly enjoyed our heated arguments. After we were married we
drifted into an always interesting and exciting existence, and life was
well worth living.

We were married at St. Peter’s Church, Ealing, on November 14th,
1917. Just before the appointed hour, I sent a message round to the
church to see if Harry was there, as he so easily forgot the times of
his engagements. But his brother, who was to attend him, had rounded
him off the aerodrome at Brooklands, where he had completed the testing
of a machine in the morning, and hustled him into the awful clothes and
awful hat customary at wedding ceremonies, which he wore for the first
time. My first sane memory after the ceremony and reception were over
was of a most appalling noise issuing from the room in which Harry was
changing, and eventually some object was kicked into my room, which
turned out to be the poor old hat in tatters!

For months Harry had been saving petrol from all quarters,—the
restrictions on that commodity being very severe then—in order that
we might spend our honeymoon on a motor tour. But motoring with petrol
became quite prohibited, so Harry had a large stand built on the
Grégoire to hold a gas-bag. We tried it a day or two before we were
married and found we could run a matter of about four or five miles
on the whole bag, which did not look very hopeful for a journey down
to Cornwall. Anyway, we started with the gas-bag up and the petrol
tank full and a few extra tins of petrol in the back, since it was our
intention to proceed by petrol except for an occasional mile or two by
gas for appearances’ sake. We filled up at Exeter, and arrived
at Launceston the next day in time for lunch. A dear old waiter, very
interested in us and our fearsome erection, related for our benefit
some incidents he remembered connected with the appearance of the
first motor-car in Launceston. He asked us how far we could go with a
bagful of gas. Harry said: “Oh, eighty or ninety miles.”
The waiter said someone had told him that gas-bags were no good, as
they could only do about ten miles. But Harry informed him we carried
compressed gas in an aluminium case, which assertion completely
satisfied him and left him with the idea that he had just seen the last
word in gas-propelled vehicles! The gas-bag was a nuisance, however,
and we should have done just as well without it, despite the remark
of the “bobby” inspecting petrol licences at Exeter.
When he saw us coming out of the gas company’s premises, he
said with a grin: “Ah! I see you have the laugh of the petrol
restrictions!”

All the horses shied at the wretched thing, and we were hung up half
an hour in a very narrow lane near Penzance owing to a horse which
had shied, fallen, and refused to get up again through fear of our
conveyance.

It was at this period that Harry’s back started to give trouble.
A week or so before we were married he was flying a machine to France
and had to make a false landing into thick snow for some trivial cause.
Not being able to speak any French to explain his presence there, and
being in civilian clothes, he was taken into custody by the French
authorities and placed in the guard-room. He was due to arrive at his
destination—Villacoublay, I think it was—before dark, so the delay
was serious. He managed to get away on a passing English lorry, and
with the assistance of two men he got the machine out of the snow and
arrived at Villacoublay before dark. In moving the machine, he strained
his back, which since his crash in 1913 was always apt to give trouble
under a great strain. It did not get better, and a month later he went
to bed for a time on his doctor’s order. The treatment gave him
no relief, so that after a fortnight he decided to get up and let his
back cure itself, which, for the time being, it did.

He had no trouble of any description until two years later. One day,
when he had been doing some heavy lifting in his workshop, he came in
and complained once more of the pain in his back. It grew worse and
worse, until he could not stoop or bend his back at all. He was then
advised to consult a famous bone-setter, who told him his trouble was
an adhesion of muscles which would have to be broken away, an extremely
painful process, but that when it was completed there would be no
further trouble. Harry said, “Go ahead,” and every week
he received the treatment and every week he seemed to get stiffer and
to suffer more pain. He persevered with the treatment for some weeks,
often in great pain, until I persuaded him to have further advice. He
consulted a back specialist in London, who, after having seen the X-ray
photos of his back, gave the verdict that two courses only remained
open to him. The first was to be flat on his back for two years; the
second, an operation, by which new bone was to be grafted into the
spine, followed by twelve months on his back. He was told that there
was no alternative to these two remedies, as if his back were left in
its present condition it would gradually grow worse until he could not
move at all. Poor Harry! This was the greatest trial of his life.

A few days later he was persuaded to have Christian Science treatment,
and by a strange coincidence Commander Grieve wrote to him on hearing
of his trouble, telling him in his blunt way to “Give Christian
Science a go.” He told of cures that had been effected in the
case of his own relatives, and said he firmly believed that their
lives were saved through Christian Science methods. Harry read out
the letter, saying: “Well, if it’s good enough for old
Mac, it’s good enough for me!” and at once received the
treatment which he had been advised to take, and made a study of the
Science. The result was magical. The pain in his back went away, not
gradually, but immediately, and never to the end of his life—only a
year it is true—did he have any further trouble, although that last
year was filled with greater physical strain—track-racing—than any
other year of his life. He was able to bend his back to do anything,
put on the weight which he had lost during the painful two months, and
was his own cheery self again.

I have written here just the bare truths of Harry’s back trouble
and cure, making no attempt to round it off with suggestions that the
cure may have been the effect of his first adviser’s treatment
(just for the benefit of those sceptics who will smile), since it
was his firm opinion that the Christian Science treatment did for
him immediately and permanently what no one in whom these sceptics
put their faith could do. We all know so little and profess so much,
and yet ninety-nine out of a hundred Christian people will back any
guessing human doctor against their God when bodily adjustments are
necessary, and smile with amusement when the odd one seeks and receives
his Maker’s help.




CHAPTER XIV

BUILDING A 225 H.P. MOTOR-CAR

 Harry Buys Two Aero Engines—And a Mercèdes Chassis—Structural and
 Starting Problems—Myself as Rivet-Driver—We Start the Engine—And I
 Stop It—On the Road—Shows Clean Heels to Big American Car—And Tows
 a Rolls—Harry in His Home Workshop.




CHAPTER XIV


As soon as we had settled down at “Ennadale,” Hook, Surrey,
and Harry had fitted up his own workshop adjoining the garage, he
conceived the idea of building himself a real motor-car, and with this
end in view he purchased two 225 h.p. Sunbeam aero engines (one for
spares) and a 35 h.p. Mercèdes chassis.

At the time we had an enclosed Talbot, the gas-bag Grégoire, and a
“sports” Ford, and Harry wanted to complete the “fleet” with a truly
sporting car.

He dismantled the Mercèdes chassis and then began his task of putting
the Sunbeam in the frame, no small undertaking single-handed.

The first trouble was the front cross member of the frame, which
did not allow sufficient room for the long engine, and for days he
debated whether he would cut out the Mercèdes four-speed gear-box and
substitute a smaller box of two gears or shift the member. He decided
to move the member back, and in the end the frame had so many holes in
it that it had the appearance of having been “lightened.”
However, he had all the surplus holes filled and the frame strengthened
to take the extra weight. Then he got the engine in, and the trouble
became the ground clearance, which only amounted to about six inches.
The engine was raised a little, and although the oil-sump and fly-wheel
seem perilously near the ground, no damage has ever been done. The
radiator he obtained off an aeroplane, which he had nickelled, and the
propeller-hole filled in with tubes. Then he started with sheets of
aluminium to make the bonnet. I became so proficient at riveting that
one side was left to me, which I successfully accomplished, though the
length of the bonnet, about 7 feet, made it cumbersome to handle.
Messrs. C.A.V. made a special starter capable of turning it at a good
speed, as it was impossible to start it by hand. I well remember the
first evening we started her up. The batteries were so low that the
starter would only just turn the motor over. The car was not ready for
the road, so we could not tow it, and we were a long time trying all
means to start it. At last, with Harry swinging for all his might,
helped by what little effort the starter could manage, it started up,
but on one side of six cylinders only.

With the deafening roar of an unsilenced aero engine running in the
confined space of a shut garage, and with the exhaust filling the air,
it became very uncomfortable to me, but not so Harry. He seemed quite
content to stand and watch it. Whether he had had secret forebodings as
to whether it would ever start, or, having started, whether it would
blow itself up, I do not know; but he looked so impressed to see the
motor running, although only on one side, that it was quite an effort
to leave it to fetch some tools which he needed from the adjoining
workshop.

It had been running some time, and not too slowly, when, looking round,
I saw the induction-pipe was red hot. I called to Harry to come and
stop the engine, but in the din he did not hear, so, rather than waste
a second, I stopped the engine. After all the trouble we had had to
start it, Harry thought I must be mad, until he saw the induction-pipe
creaking and cracking—all the solder run.

For a minute he thought the motor was spoilt, realising that it had
been running too long on one side alone.

However, off came the induction-pipe, and the next day it was brazed up
and then replaced.

A few days after this saw it out on the road for its first run. It
exceeded all expectations both as to speed, flexibility, and especially
acceleration, and we returned home covered in mud and home-made glory.
Harry had a special aluminium body fitted of his own design, one of the
first aluminium bodies seen on the road, and certainly the first real
attempt at protection for the rear passengers. For some time we had a
good deal of plug trouble. Continually they oiled up through running
slowly. Sometimes a good fast run would clear them, but generally they
had to be changed, and with twelve sparking plugs this became pretty
frequent. The use of special adapters, into which his ever-favourite
K.L.G.‘s were fitted, completely solved the difficulty and
never has the trouble recurred.

This car became Harry’s most valued possession. In appearance, an
ordinary powerful touring car, he loved to try her out against anyone
willing for a “go.”

I remember being passed on the Portsmouth Road at a high speed by a
12-cylinder Packhard, driven by a big American. We were not exactly
“dawdling” along at the time, and the Packhard came for
us, thinking Harry had his foot down. However, following it through
the town of Kingston at the staid pace that town demands, but, happily
for its finances, does not always obtain, we found the broad straight
road of Kingston Hill practically empty of traffic. The American opened
out, and the 12-cylinder Packhard is no indifferent “speed
model.” He sped away, we following closely, until well on to the
hill, when Harry, without need of the rapid change down employed on
lesser cars to get away quickly, put his foot down, and with a dig in
the back due to the acceleration we shot ahead with half the power to
spare.

At the top, the man on the Packhard came alongside and said,
“Say, that’s some roadster you’ve got there. What
power is she?” To which Harry replied with his usual inoffensive
bluntness, “Same as yours. Twelve cylinders, only better
ones.” They struck up quite a friendship, the American vowing at
parting that he must get something like that to take back to America
with him.

Another time, going to town to have it out with some body-works people
who had kept a chassis of his an unconscionable long time fitting
a body, and getting no satisfactory promise of an early date of
completion, Harry told them they could leave it altogether and he would
take the chassis home. He had a friend with him at the time who had
never driven a car in his life, and knew nothing about such troubles.
Well, the car was to be got back somehow, and if this man could not
drive it he “could at least,” says Harry, “sit and
steer it while I tow you gently.”

And thus they left London for Kingston, the novice at his first
steering-wheel being towed by Harry on the Sunbeam. The very natural
qualms on the part of the man were testified by the state of the brakes
when they eventually did get home, showing it was doubtful if they
were ever released in his manful endeavour to follow instructions and
“keep the rope tight.”

All went well, proceeding at little more than double the lawful
speed of five miles per hour for towing vehicles, until they reached
Putney, when a Benz, manned by a good portion of the British Navy,
started to tempt Harry. Undoubtedly the Sunbeam interested them,
and they kept passing and stopping, inviting yet hardly expecting a
“strafe,” considering the Rolls chassis tied on behind.
Still, Harry studied the feelings of his friend behind and plodded on
into the open road between Putney and Kingston. At last, having just
been passed like the wind by the Benz, the temptation got the better
of him, and with a glance behind to notify his intention, he opened
out, and up the hill he roared with his freight behind, passing the
Benz with its highly-amused and excited crew like an express train.
And the man behind only said two words when they arrived home to tea:
“Never again.”

It was never amusing to be towed home by Harry, as I know well from
experience. Once at Brooklands the 6-cylinder A.C., then in its
experimental stage, had broken something while on the track, and Harry
offered its driver, Victor Bruce, a tow home on his own racing A.C.,
then fitted with a two-seater body. Just before starting, a little
delay was caused by someone taking the passenger seat on the 6-cylinder
A.C. for a lift home, which said seat was apparently booked by another
member of a little gang of speed merchants who forgather at Brooklands,
called generally “Moir,” although he has other and very
nice names. The gentleman having been placed gently but firmly on his
feet by Moir, he started to walk up the hill from the paddock towards
the gate.

Harry, having tied the six-cylinder on behind with a bit of thin
string he had found lying about, we started off, accelerating to take
the hill. Halfway up, just passing the seat-usurper, to whom Moir,
standing on the seat that he could be better seen, was bowing with
that courtly manner lost to us centuries ago, the string broke through
the jerk in changing gear, and the bow had a sudden and undignified
ending. However, in a very up-to-date manner, the gentlemen assisted
in replacing him, and the rest of the homeward journey, with the same
string, only much shorter, leaving a couple of feet between the two
cars, was of sufficiently diverting a nature to remedy any discomfort
that might have been felt from the bruises. Harry and I being very late
for something that night, we hurried, making a run home in record time,
which time I should hate to see in print.

And yet he had very few accidents. The only one that might have had
bad results, but which fortunately did not, was when driving his
Austro-Daimler in 1917 with Lieut. Higginbotham, who was the Admiralty
representative in inspecting the Sopwith machines, and two other men.
Entering Brooklands for the flying-ground, they had just left the
paddock, and in negotiating the S bend which the road takes here, at a
good speed, the car turned completely over and landed in the ditch.

The three got out unhurt, but the car had to be lifted off
Harry’s arm where the steering-wheel had caught him. His shoulder
was badly put out, necessitating his arm being in a sling. The next
afternoon, in making some enquiries about some machines, he was advised
not to go near Brooklands for a day or two, or he might be tempted to
fly. He replied: “That’s all right, old man. I put three
of them through this morning, but this wretched sling is a nuisance
flying; I must have it off to-morrow”—which he did, although it
was very painful and took much longer to right itself. Another outcome
of the incident was that Lieut. Higginbotham the next morning lodged
a humorous complaint against the Sopwith Aviation Company for trying
to dispose of the Admiralty representative owing to his strictness in
supervising their productions.

[Illustration:

  _Photo by_]      [_Newspaper Illustrations, Ltd._

THE SCENE OUTSIDE KING’S CROSS STATION, LONDON, WHEN HARRY
RETURNED FROM THE ATLANTIC. THE AUSTRALIAN SOLDIERS DECIDED THAT HARRY
MUST HAVE SOMETHING MORE TRIUMPHANT THAN A CIVIC RECEPTION.

  [_Facing p. 198._
]

Harry spent all his spare time in his workshop attached to the garage,
where he always had some big undertaking on hand. He had the habit
of singing or whistling at his work, unless things went very wrong,
when he would work in silence and it was difficult to extract a word
from him. But it was when he had two or three days’ work to be
finished in one night that he developed that irritability which came so
quickly and went as quickly which was one of his characteristics. But
the occasions were comparatively rare, for generally he was perfectly
happy and good-tempered during the evenings we spent in the workshop.
He always worked with a rapidity which almost bewildered the stranger,
and he had no patience with a slow worker, rather doing the work
himself. In the winter months we decided to give up going down to the
workshop after dinner, and spent these evenings reading. Or, rather,
I read while Harry listened, as he could never read or write himself
for any time, since he performed both in such a slow and laborious
manner it was obviously no enjoyment to him. We always began with any
items of interest from the current motoring and flying papers, and
sometimes a long (and to me generally unintelligible) article from the
_Automobile Engineer_, and then continued the book we had in hand. He
was a schoolboy in his taste for literature, for it was always a tale
of adventure, varied by something gruesome, such as Bram Stoker’s
“Dracula,” which he chose to be read, and we got through
many books in this way.

One evening, soon after the Armistice, Harry came in and said he had
been asked to fly the Atlantic with a machine which Sopwith’s
were prepared to build. He had always been keen on the flight, and I
knew it would come sooner or later. Pamela was two months old at the
time, and I had a great feeling of responsibility on her account. Harry
gave me a perfectly free choice as to whether he should go or not,
and I was torn between my duty to Pam to ask him to stay and my duty to
him to let him go. I tried to imagine how I should feel if another man
were to fly the machine that Harry ought to fly, just because I feared
the consequences. I knew I could never allow that to happen. I said:
“Why should you think I want you to stay? I want to be proud of
you.”

So after that they went steadily forward with their preparations
and were eventually ready to start for St. Johns, Newfoundland, on
March 28th, 1919. Harry and Commander Grieve in a preliminary test at
Brooklands in one day flew a distance of 1,800 miles, equivalent to the
Atlantic flight, and there was no hitch, not even in the sandwiches
which I cut for them!

Jury’s Imperial Pictures produced a film showing Harry’s
trials for the Atlantic flight conducted at Brooklands prior to his
leaving for Newfoundland. The operator who took this film went up in a
second machine when Harry was in the air.

It was pouring with rain the day Harry started, and bitterly cold.
During the preparations my courage had remained high, but when I went
into Harry’s room just before we left, and found him crying, I
lost heart and broke down entirely. He had been putting a few last
things into his bag when his feelings got the better of him. He was
always sensitive and soft-hearted, and I knew he was going to be
terribly homesick until he got over the other side and had plenty to
do. The sight of his grief was too much for me—my courage oozed out
altogether. But tears—even the tears of a grown-up man and woman—are
a wonderful relief to overwrought feelings. We felt much better
afterwards, and were able to look on the bright side of things once
more.

I only went as far as London to see Harry off, for I could not leave
our baby for long at a time. The drive could hardly be described as
cheerful. I sat on the floor of the 12-cylinder Sunbeam, for better
protection from the rain, as we carried no hood. With my head on
Harry’s knee, I longed to sleep away the next two months. He
reached the station only just in time to catch the train, and a number
of friends had gathered to see him off. I recall that at that moment
I wished I had married a farmer’s lad without ambitions. I was
thankful when the whistle blew, as I felt so very unsure of myself and
was afraid of breaking down again. He was gone, and all I could do was
to wait for the future to unfold itself.

I got back home at ten o’clock in the morning, oppressed by a
feeling of great desolation. I could not settle to anything, and even
Pam could not brighten me up.

After the first week of Harry’s absence, time at home went fairly
quickly. I never left home for longer than two hours, and when I did I
bought newspapers of every edition, in the hope of getting news.




CHAPTER XV

READY FOR THE ATLANTIC FLIGHT

 Conditions Governing the Flight—Arrival in Newfoundland—Mount
 Pearl Farm—Snowed Up—The Test Flight—Local Interest
 Intense—Wireless Difficulties—Details of the _Atlantic_—An
 Aerial Lifeboat—Clothing of the Trans-Atlantic Airmen—Estimates
 and Anticipations—Over a Ton of Fuel—A Letter for the King—An
 Inspection by the Governor—Storms—Prospects of a Race—Revising
 Plans—Grieve—Navigation Problems and Methods—Weather Forecasts—A
 new Starting-ground—Nervous Tension—The Aviators are Amused
 by Their Correspondence—A Would-be Aerial Bandsman—False
 Weather Reports—Services of the Air Ministry—Weather-bound at
 St. Johns—Harry’s Confidence—Four Magnetos and a New
 Propeller—Address from the Mayor of St. Johns.




CHAPTER XV


The regulations governing the competition required that the flight be
made from any point in the British Isles to the United States, Canada,
or Newfoundland, or in the reverse direction, within seventy-two
consecutive hours. The competition was open to all persons of any
nationality not of enemy origin, and no aeroplane of enemy origin or
manufacture could be used. The starting-place had to be named by each
competitor and also as nearly as possible the proposed landing-place.
All starts had to be made under the supervision of officials appointed
by the Royal Aero Club, and only one machine could be used in each
attempt, which could, however, be repaired _en route_. The machines had
to be marked so that they could be identified on landing on the other
side. Intermediate stoppages were permissible, as also was towing on
the water, and if a pilot left his machine to go on board ship he must
resume his flight from approximately the same point as that at which
he went on board. (The latter condition seems at variance with the one
permitting towing.) It was permissible to alight on the water for the
purpose of making minor repairs, and an aeroplane could lie alongside a
ship for the period for making the repairs.

Harry and Grieve arrived at St. Johns, Newfoundland, on Sunday, March
28th, 1919, and immediately about to prepare for a start on April
16th, when they would have the advantage of a full moon, if conditions
otherwise were favourable. It was their intention to start about
10 p.m. English time, and they expected to reach Fermoy, co. Cork,
Ireland, between 4 and 5 o’clock on the following afternoon.
They arrived before their rivals, Raynham and Morgan, the Martinsyde
personnel. Considerable difficulty was experienced in getting the
Sopwith machine, in its gigantic packing-case, from the city to the
temporary aerodrome, although the distance to be traversed was only
a few miles. The roads between St. Johns and the aerodrome were in a
shocking condition, and the immediate approaches to the aerodrome at
the best could only be described as sodden.

The shed in which the machine was housed was of timber, 55 feet across
the front, 50 feet deep and 30 feet high. The front was made up of door
sections sliding between grooved panels to either side, where they
were removed and laid on the ground when the machine was brought out.
The replacement of these doors presented no little difficulty when the
wind was high. The shed overlooked a slight downward incline, with
an eastern aspect, facing St. Johns Harbour and the Atlantic Ocean,
neither of which, however, was visible from the aerodrome. The name
of the place was Mount Pearl Farm, four miles west of St. Johns, and
was the largest area of cleared ground in the vicinity. It was rough,
uncleared ground that made it difficult to get the machine from St.
Johns to the aerodrome.

For a distance of about 100 feet heavy stone was spread in front of the
shed to facilitate handling of the machine. When only quarter filled
with petrol about 20 men were required to wheel the machine on the
aerodrome.

On April 7th, there was a very heavy fall of snow followed by a
twelve-hours’ rainfall, which effectively combined to turn the
Mount Pearl Aerodrome into a mud-bath, thereby preventing any test
flights being made for several days. Thus delayed, Harry and the
Sopwith personnel were able to take it more or less easy in erecting
the machine. The work was soon completed. The Ford car which they
had at their disposal became stuck in the snowdrifts more than once.
Attempts to drain the aerodrome by the digging of trenches were made.
In expediting the installation of the wireless on the machine, the
staff of the Admiralty wireless station rendered considerable services,
for which Harry was very grateful.

Harry made the first flight with Grieve on Thursday afternoon,
April 10th. Leaving the ground at 4.40, he ascended to 3,500 feet,
flying above St. Johns and Concepcion Bay, where he carried out some
high-speed tests, during which well over 100 miles per hour was
attained. He landed at 5.30. But for the fact that the mud due to the
recent heavy fall of rain had been hardened by frost, this flight
would not have been possible; and, as it was, the wheels sank into the
mud considerably when the machine landed, in spite of the fact that
Harry had lightened the load as much as possible by carrying a minimum
quantity of fuel.

So far as concerned the engine, the test flight was entirely
satisfactory, and the only trouble with the aeroplane was a slight
bending of the rudder, which occurred as the machine was leaving
the ground. Considering the state of the latter, it is a matter for
surprise that more damage was not done. The wireless transmitter was
put out of action owing to the fan, by means of which the generator
was driven, being of unsuitable dimensions and turning too fast. As
regards the actual flight, all was nearly lost; for when the machine
was leaving the aerodrome an unusually strong “bump” nearly
drove it into a cluster of trees. Crowds of people in the streets of
St. Johns congregated to watch the trial flight, which, incidentally,
was the first ever seen by the majority. The interest was so great that
even the Senate, or Parliament, was prorogued in order that members
might see what was going on.

As his rivals with the Martinsyde were due to arrive, Harry was anxious
to get away as soon as possible. So well did everything go that at one
time he hoped to get away on April 12th (Saturday), but the weather
would not agree when the time came.

As already mentioned, the generator of the wireless transmitter was
burned out, and so Harry, being unable to replace it locally, cabled
home for another. In the interim, Grieve, who was inclined to favour a
smaller type of apparatus having a shorter radius of action, procured
a “Boy Scout” set for use in case the new generator
ordered from home did not arrive in time. The absence of wireless
“sending” apparatus would certainly minimise their chances
of safety in the event of a mishap because they would be unable to
summon ships to their aid by this means. Harry and Grieve, however,
were at first inclined to believe that, travelling at a speed of 100
miles per hour, wireless would be of little use in making effective
communication with passing vessels.

Nevertheless, one effect of the long delay in making a start was to
cause them to modify their views as to the utility of carrying a
wireless transmitter, for on April 20th Harry installed a small sending
apparatus. This, however, proved unsatisfactory, and about the end of
the month he cabled to England for a more powerful set to be sent out
by the steamer _Digby_ on April 28th. It is interesting to note that
experiments with a directional wireless apparatus were carried out
during the trials at Brooklands, but they decided to do without it on
account of its great weight and because wireless was not a necessary
accessory for Grieve’s method of navigation.

The Sopwith machine, which was christened the _Atlantic_, was a
single-engined biplane propelled by a 350 h.p. Rolls-Royce engine
installed in the nose and driving a four-bladed tractor air-screw.
The engine alone weighed 850 lb., and the rest of the machine (i.e.,
without fuel, oil, water, and pilot and navigator) turned the scale at
about 2,000 lb., the total flying load at the start being estimated at
6,150 lb. A maximum speed of 118 miles per hour could be attained and a
cruising speed in the region of 105 miles per hour at 10,000 feet.

The “fairing,” or streamlining superstructure of the body
or fuselage, was designed in the form of an inverted boat, partly
collapsible, which could possibly be useful in case of emergency if
the aeroplane kept afloat long enough for Harry and Grieve to launch
it. The boat was made of three-ply wood. During their long wait for
the weather they passed away much time by testing this boat in the
inland pools in which broken ice was floating, and found it possible
to launch it in less than a minute. The pair of them could walk along
with the boat, drop it into the pool, and, subject to their exercising
considerable caution, get in; but to steer a course in it was very
difficult owing to its unorthodox shape. The boat contained emergency
rations, paddles, and flares, the latter, of course, being for the
purpose of attracting shipping. Parachute lights for night signalling
and smoke flares for day signalling were carried in the fore part. At
the stern was carried an air-bag, which could be inflated not only
to serve as an additional means of flotation, but also as a support
for the collapsible upper part of the boat, which was made of canvas.
A sea anchor was provided. The emergency rations in the boat were
supplemented by a gallon of water in a hermetically sealed cask. In the
aeroplane the commissariat included sandwiches, cheese, beef extract,
toffee, and black coffee in Thermos bottles.

Neither Harry nor Grieve had much confidence in the lifeboat, in spite
of their skill in launching it. For one thing, they had no experience
in launching it with the aeroplane either afloat or in a sinking
condition. When ultimately they had occasion to launch their boat in
mid-Atlantic, Harry and Grieve found that, with the machine right
way up, the process presented no difficulty. To simply lift a catch
and heave clear was easily done. In the cold inland pools in which
they practised with their boat Harry and Grieve also tried out their
patent unsinkable clothes, which, contrary to many reports, were not
electrically heated.

The clothes which Harry and Grieve wore comprised heavy woollen
under-garments, and two jerseys over their ordinary suits. Outside all
this was a floating rubber suit with air-bags back and front, ready
for inflation if needed. These safety suits were of the American Navy
pattern.

In attempting the flight, Harry was of opinion that he was undertaking
nothing of an exceptionally hazardous nature. Several flights of over
20 hours’ duration had been made by other pilots previously, and,
having confidence in his machine from his knowledge of it, he felt as
safe over sea as over land. He would prefer to fall into the water than
on to the land, and the boat and special clothing were a good insurance
against the drowning risk. The only doubtful factor was the estimation
of the probable weather conditions in mid-Atlantic. Murky weather would
prevent the use of the sextant, and might therefore impede navigation.
Harry believed that at a height of 8,000 feet the conditions over the
Atlantic would be similar to those over a like area of North America,
which being so, he would be able to reach London in 24 hours.

It was estimated that the 350 gallons of petrol which they carried
would be enough to keep them in the air for 22 hours. They proposed to
fly at 10,000 feet and, if possible, maintain a speed of 100 miles per
hour. As the range of their wireless receiver was 300 miles they would
be in touch with the wireless station at St. Johns for three hours
after the start. Nevertheless, when it came to the actual test it was
very difficult to make out any message owing to the noise emanating
from the propeller, and the batteries ran down too.

Naturally, with over a ton of fuel on board to carry them across,
the machine would get lighter and lighter as they progressed, a fact
which would be in their favour as regards “landing.” Had
the engine failed near the start at, say, 10,000 feet the machine
would have glided down in about twelve minutes at an angle of 1 in 6,
and Harry, choosing a spot at once, could have “landed”
anywhere within a radius of about twelve miles. As the machine
proceeded further on its course and became lighter and lighter due
to the consumption of petrol and oil, the radius within which it
could “land” would become correspondingly greater owing
to the increasingly fine gliding angle. This fact was one to give
the two pioneers added confidence, seeing that ships which under the
circumstances prevailing near the start would have been beyond range,
if encountered later on in the flight might have been within the
gliding range.

When Raynham was asked why he had not any safety device such as boats
and tank-exhausters, his reply was that he “proposed to fly the
Atlantic, not to fall into it.”

Sir Charles Harris, Governor of Newfoundland, handed Harry a letter
for delivery to His Majesty the King, and, with members of the Cabinet
and several naval and military officers, inspected the machine on
Saturday, April 12th.

Among many visitors was Harry’s old friend Raynham, and Harry
returned the call on the following day. The two who, six and a half
years before, had struggled for the British Duration Record were now
matched for Atlantic honours.

After the inspection the tanks were filled, and on the main planes
seals were attached by the representative of the Royal Aero Club, Major
Partridge, who gave Harry an envelope addressed to the secretary of the
club, in which the number of the engine and a list of identification
marks were enclosed for Harry to deliver on landing. Truly for Harry
and Grieve it was now only a matter of sitting still and awaiting the
pleasure of the elements. Before the tanks were filled the petrol and
oil were strained six times.

A storm in mid-ocean was reported early in the day (April 12th), with
westerly winds right across the Atlantic, which caused Harry to decide
to start at 5 o’clock in the afternoon, but when 5 o’clock
came preparations were not complete, so a further postponement until 6
o’clock was made. But the weather conditions went from uncertain
to bad, and thence to worse, with a westerly gale blowing at St.
Johns, and so the flight had to be declared “off” for that
day. But at the first opportunity a start would be made, and this was
provisionally fixed for mid-day on the morrow, Sunday.

In the meantime Harry had plenty to do on the ground, with such duties
as supervising the turning of the machine on the ground while Grieve
was adjusting the compass. In England betting books were being made,
and Harry’s chances of making the flight before May 31st were
estimated at 5 to 1 against about the middle of the month, and he was
first favourite, Raynham being second at 7 to 1.

The mail, consisting of about a hundred letters, included, in addition
to the letter for His Majesty, others for the Prime Minister, Cabinet
Ministers, and other celebrities. “First Trans-Atlantic Aero
Flight” stamps were printed by Newfoundland, but there was no
demand for them at £100 each.

On the following day, Sunday, at the appointed hour, Harry was ready to
start, but a strong south-east wind, heavy rain, and thick fog would
not permit. Moreover, it had been raining throughout the night. At 1
o’clock the proposal to start was definitely abandoned. Harry
and Grieve were now very concerned as to their prospects, seeing that
rival machines were now getting ready and would probably be able to
start as soon as they did, whenever the weather became propitious. The
hangar was besieged by crowds of reporters, photographers, and cinema
operators.

Early on Monday, April 14th, Harry cabled to Sopwith the words
“Bad weather,” which intimated that the flight was not
likely to start on that day. As a matter of fact, after the week-end
a spell of continued bad weather set in, and on Tuesday Raynham was
practically ready to make his trial trip.

Harry was by several days the first to arrive and be in readiness at
Newfoundland, and small wonder that when he was robbed by the weather
of such valuable advantage there should be very keen competition
between him and Raynham. For several days they did not come in contact
very much, but when both had had time to realise that they might be
held up for weeks and months, the rival crews continued on terms of
most intimate friendship.

Thus one effect of the delays of Harry’s departure was to
increase the possibility of a race across the ocean by him and Raynham,
who was ready to start without a preliminary trial if necessary in
order to gain an advantage. Both crews were burning with eagerness to
be first away, but they fought the contest in a thoroughly sporting
spirit. They stayed at the same hotel in St. Johns and were on terms
of close personal friendship. When at one time it was thought that
Raynham’s aerodrome might be too small for his machine to get
off safely, Harry, with characteristic grace, offered the use of the
Sopwith field. They agreed that the first away should carry the mails.

The unavoidable delays in starting also served at least one useful
purpose in that they provided an opportunity for Harry to review and,
where necessary, amend his plans. His final decision was to head due
east until striking the northern steamship route, to which he would
keep, because, owing to alterations in the wireless equipment, he would
probably only be able to receive messages and not transmit them. On
sighting a ship he would fire a red Vérey light as a signal for the
ship to notify her position. These arrangements were communicated by
wireless from Cape Race to ships already on the high seas.

It was Harry’s intention to fly fairly low, gradually gaining
height, until reaching the Grand Banks, frequently fog-bound from
sea-level up to 2,000 feet. Beyond there he expected finer weather, and
would ascend to 8,000 feet, which he would maintain for the greater
part of the flight, until nearer home, where he would climb to about
12,000 feet. At 8,000 feet he anticipated freedom from the impediment
of fog usually very prevalent in that season, and as Grieve used
clouds, not the horizon, for navigation, it was necessary to be above
them. But if they were uncertain of their position at dawn Harry would
decide to come down low near some passing ship or other in order to
get a check on his reckoning. Arrangements were made whereby as soon
as the flight was begun the Admiralty wireless at St. Johns would
advise all the coast stations and ships in the Atlantic zone; and it
was anticipated that general interest in the flight would keep every
wireless operator on the Atlantic keenly alive to the importance of
getting news of the machine.

As for Grieve, his chief concern was as to the weather conditions over
the ice area from St. Johns to the Grand Banks. He conceived four
weather zones between Newfoundland and Ireland, the first of which
was that just mentioned, where conditions were complicated by the
existence of heavy Arctic ice-floes drifting south on the Labrador
current into the Gulf Stream, the fog being caused by this confluence
of currents having a temperature difference of 20 degrees. From Grand
Banks to mid-ocean was an area regarding which atmospheric conditions
above sea-level were very little known, but where frequent storms were
reported by shipping in the early spring. Farther east was an area
less notorious for violent weather changes, and beyond this the region
round the Irish coast, where, on account of the complete meteorological
records of the United Kingdom, the condition could be forecasted with
approximate accuracy.

Although Grieve had a good understanding of weather, forecasts were
useless unless the type of weather prevailing was known. This essential
information, obtainable only from vessels carrying wireless, was
very difficult to get, and when it arrived was generally days late.
A weather chart of the Atlantic was plotted out daily by the local
meteorological officer, Mr. Clements, to the best of his ability, but
he was handicapped by the absence of necessary reports and had to
assume a good deal. Regarding the weather during the Atlantic attempt,
Grieve wrote:

 “The day we flew the weather was apparently of the westerly
 type with a depression in mid-Atlantic a little to the southward of
 our course. This depression should have proceeded to the E.N.E., over
 towards Ireland, but apparently it spread to the northward, and we
 landed in the middle of it.”

The first half of the journey, therefore, seemed to involve the greater
element of risk, and it was a debatable point whether the great total
flying load during this stage would be an advantage or otherwise.
With a ton of petrol on board, the machine would be less likely to be
severely tossed about than without it, and if it did not yield to the
wind gusts it would have to be strong enough to resist the buffeting of
the wind, which it was quite capable of doing. On the other hand, it
would not have such pronounced climbing powers as it would in the later
stages, when a great proportion of fuel would have been consumed.
Grieve[2] was of opinion that, if they safely traversed mid-ocean,
information from west-bound ships in the vicinity would be of great
guidance during the remaining half of the voyage. He also believed that
the machine, the qualities of which they had tested thoroughly for
nine hours, could easily maintain full speed for eighteen hours, which
should enable them to reach Ireland; and they hoped to be able to make
their landing at Brooklands, another five hundred miles from there.

[2] Commander Kenneth MacKenzie-Grieve is the youngest son of Captain
MacKenzie-Grieve, R.N., and a younger brother of Captain Alan
MacKenzie-Grieve, R.N. He entered the Navy at the age of fourteen and
a half and spent many years on foreign stations, Australia, China, and
the Mediterranean. During the Great War he served in an armed trawler
on the East Coast, and was later acting Commander of H.M.S. _Campania_,
a seaplane ship, for navigating duties. In 1913 he received the vellum
of the Royal Humane Society for saving life.

In order to locate their position and lay a course which would take
them to the Irish coast, just north of Valentia, Commander Grieve
intended to take observations every half hour. It was Harry’s
intention to fly on to Brooklands without landing in Ireland if
daylight would allow. He also intended to release the undercarriage
soon after the start in order to conserve his petrol as much as
possible. In view of the fact that the machine would have to be landed
without an undercarriage it was highly important that this act should
be accomplished in daylight. A squadron of R.A.F. aeroplanes was in
readiness at Fermoy co. Cork to proceed to the coast to escort Harry
over the last few miles of his journey. Four magnetos were installed on
the _Atlantic_ on April 14th, in place of the two ordinarily carried,
the risk of engine failure due to ignition troubles being thereby
halved.

Heavy rain fell during the night of April 14th and the morning of the
15th, but by 11 a.m. the weather had somewhat improved. In view of the
keen competition of the Martinsyde, which was by then ready for trial,
Harry hoped to make a start from a less sodden stretch of ground which
he had discovered at Mount Pearl. Raynham’s main object was to
make a start at the same time as the Sopwith. Later in the day a fall
of snow prevented any flying for either the Sopwith or the Martinsyde.

The new starting-ground which Harry had found was a gravel hillside to
which he could draw his machine by means of horses. He expected to be
able to take off down the slope. Harry and Raynham had now become so
equally prepared to start that they agreed to spin a coin as to who
should carry the mail bag.

On Wednesday, the 16th, snow fell heavily all over Newfoundland, making
flying altogether impossible. Nevertheless, the rival camps kept a wary
eye on each other, Harry being particularly on the alert to prevent
Raynham stealing a march on him by an unexpected start, but really
there was nothing for both parties to do other than watch and wait for
the passing of the bad weather. The Martinsyde crew claimed that they
could afford to give Hawker three hours’ start, and catch him up
after that.

Later in the day report showed that it was very problematical as to
whether anybody would make a start during the week, and the weather
charts indicated unfavourable conditions for several days to come.
Raynham had made a trial flight on the previous day and was entirely
satisfied. The moon was on the wane, and as this was a most important
factor in influencing a decision to start by either party, hopes of an
early start were at most slight.

On the afternoon of Thursday, April 17th, Raynham and Morgan, his
navigator, made another trial on the Martinsyde. Raynham cabled to
London two bets of £50 each at prevailing odds on Harry and himself.

On the morning of Friday, April 18th, the weather prospects were so
good that both Harry and Raynham decided to start at noon, but before
then a storm came on, accompanied by weather reports which indicated
no prospects of an early start being at all possible. It was on this
day that Major Wood and Captain Wyllie left England for Ireland, in
the Short biplane on which they were to attempt the flight from east to
west. But their effort was terminated in its preliminary stage by an
enforced descent in the Irish Sea.

Hawker, Grieve, Raynham, and Morgan supported the nervous tension of
the immensely trying period of waiting with remarkable fortitude. It
was a great strain, living in a highly keyed-up condition day after
day; yet beyond a certain restlessness there was nothing unusual in
their outward demeanour. It was easy to see that they were watching
each other to guard against a surprise start. They were on the best of
terms. When practically no work remained to be done on the machines
they found time hanging very heavily, and how to pass the hours was a
matter of difficulty.

The long delay in starting was due to lack of knowledge of weather
conditions in the Atlantic rather than to the weather itself. Many
crossings will have to be made before the requisite knowledge is
gained, and as this knowledge is gained so will the evolution of
commercial trans-Atlantic aircraft be influenced. It was only
elementary wisdom for all concerned to wait for tolerable weather.

Hopes of a start being made were high on Sunday, April 20th, when the
Air Ministry stated that conditions were then exceptionally favourable,
except at Newfoundland, where it was still foggy, and between 18
degrees and 25 degrees west, where the clouds were low and extensive
and the sea rough. At St. Johns at 8 a.m. there was a light west
wind and a clear sky, and the day was very promising. If mid-ocean
conditions were in their favour Harry decided that he would start early
in the afternoon.

Subsequent reports, however, indicated the presence of storms
in mid-ocean, and all hope of an attempt being made that day
was abandoned. So Harry busied himself by installing a small
wireless-sending equipment, which was later on discarded as it proved
unsatisfactory. Raynham, too, would have nothing to do with appliances
tending to lessen his will-power and induce him to summon help in an
emergency which might otherwise be overcome.

Pending a change in the weather, Harry tended his machine as one would
a thoroughbred racehorse. Every morning he visited the hangar, started
up the engine, and tested the controls to ensure that everything was in
order for a “snap” jump-off in the event of the opportunity
arising; while Grieve busied himself “listening-in” for
wireless reports. Sandwiches were changed every morning and Thermos
flasks replenished, to the delight of young urchins, who enjoyed an _al
fresco_ meal. During the whole of the waiting period Harry continued to
be optimistic and was never really downcast by the weather prophets.

On Monday, April 21st, a strong head wind, accompanied by indications
of a complete break-up of the weather, prevented any start being made
and almost induced Harry to give up all hope of making a start during
the month. Nevertheless, the same evening the Air Ministry announced
ideal weather conditions as being prevalent. Betting odds on the
chances of a successful flight before May 31st were now 7 to 2 in the
cases of both Harry and Raynham.

The local weather conditions at St. Johns on April 22nd were decidedly
unfavourable for flying. A severe sleet storm was raging off the
coast, which would have impeded the progress of any machine, and the
city and suburbs were overshadowed by a dense fog. Conditions reported
from mid-ocean were equally discouraging, and the general effect of
the reports led Harry to suppose that there would be no substantial
improvement for a day or two. Both Harry and Grieve and Raynham and
Morgan were showing increasing signs of the strain arising from the
delays and the uncertainty regarding the start. They all agreed that
they had come to the starting-point much too soon, but each party
pleaded that the other was trying to steal a march and get away first.

While trying to pass away the time, Harry derived some entertainment
from a large number of letters which arrived daily, both from England
and all parts of the American continent. These letters contained good
wishes of all kinds, besides offers of assistance from inventors and
weather prophets, poetry, and the usual requests for autographs in
handwriting which was obviously “flapper.” The gem of
the collection was from an old Irish soldier in Manitoba, who asked
if the airmen would have any use for the services of a cornet-player
during the journey across. He said he served fourteen years in the
Army as a bugler and had the honour of sounding all calls during the
military ceremonies in connection with Queen Victoria’s last
visit to Dublin. His suggestion was that, apart from entertaining them
during the flight, he could make himself useful in sounding calls or
playing tunes as the aeroplane approached towns in Ireland or England.
He thought “Garryowen” would be suitable to herald the
arrival over Ireland, and suggested “We’re Bound for London
Town” as an appropriate melody after crossing the Irish Channel.
He wound up by saying he would give his services gratis.

From New York came a poem in a feminine hand, entitled “The
Vikings of the Air.” Both Hawker and Grieve, as well as Raynham
and Morgan, received copies of this effusion, which they considered
displayed considerable powers of versification in its authoress, but
was tactless in one part:

    “Like Norsemen bold who launched their sturdy craft
    On seas that stretched beyond their farthest ken,
    And drank deep draughts of ocean’s briny air
    With keen delight, and sailed they knew not where.”

The last line was considered by Grieve as casting serious aspersions on
his skill as a navigator.

From an Englishwoman in New York Harry received a letter which was
voted “first rate” by all members of the Sopwith party.
After wishing him the best of luck on his “daring venture,”
the writer continued:

  “I have followed the papers feverishly each day for news of
 your latest movements. And now the honour of the old Mother-Country
 rests on your success. You have just got to be the first across the
 Atlantic. May God speed you on your perilous but still wonderful
 flight.”

In a different strain was a letter received by Grieve from two young
women in the cable office of the British War Mission in New York. It
ran:

 “Sir, do buck up, and start—we cannot stand the suspense much
 longer. Best of luck from two Cablettes.”

Grieve’s only comment was to the effect that their suspense was
nothing in comparison with his own.

Excitement was keen on Tuesday, April 22nd, when Raynham announced his
intention to make another “trial” flight. Although the
fog prevented Raynham from carrying out this project, Harry had his
machine out, suspecting an attempt to outwit him, for on the previous
Sunday Raynham had declared that his next flight would be THE FLIGHT,
and Harry knew Raynham’s tanks were full. This episode resulted
in both parties coming to an agreement not to make a “hurried
unconsidered departure,” and not to start unless the weather
conditions were fairly settled. The local betting was by now 5 to 1
against Harry and 8 to 1 against Raynham. The weather conditions at St.
Johns, around the Newfoundland coast, and across the Atlantic continued
to be most unpropitious for flying, and there was little prospect
of an early change. Weather experts, who expressed doubts as to the
possibility of the flight being accomplished before May, said that the
only day during the previous two months on which flying was possible
was Friday, April 12th, when the Sopwith machine was scarcely ready and
the Martinsyde only arrived. Harry was now greatly concerned over the
prolonged delay and did not expect to be able to start before April
25th, or 26th.

Consternation was caused in the airmen’s camp on Wednesday,
April 23rd, by what appeared to be a genuine message from the Air
Ministry asking the reasons for Harry’s and Raynham’s
failure to start. The message, which was addressed to Mr. Clements,
the meteorological expert of the Royal Air Force at St. Johns,
declared that all the weather reports reaching England indicated
favourable conditions for a start. Harry replied that wireless reports
from vessels at sea announced conflicting winds, making the start
inadvisable.

The weather had not improved on Thursday, April 24th, when rain fell
all day. It was discovered that impostors had been busy sending
messages purporting to come from the meteorological bureaux of Canada
and the United States. One such message, which advised the airmen to
leave at once, said that the weather was suitable, notwithstanding the
fact that it was the worst possible.

The Air Ministry, in emphatically denying having sent any cable asking
why Harry or Raynham did not start, indicated that their function was
merely to prepare forecasts and not to say when a machine should or
should not start, this decision being within the province of the pilot
and navigator concerned.

Considerable mystery surrounded the circulation of the false weather
reports which held back both Harry and Raynham, who were waiting for
favourable weather at St. Johns, with their petrol tanks filled and all
stores on board their machines.

It appears that these reports were entirely in disagreement with
those supplied by the Meteorological Department of the Air Ministry.
During one spell of 24 hours the conditions were ideal and almost
unprecedented for the time of year, the anti-cyclone area extending
all over the route; and had the airmen started through the coastal
fog they would have soon flown into bright skies and light winds. As
it was, misguided by false reports from unknown sources, Harry and
Raynham, greatly to the surprise of the Air Ministry, decided not to
start. After this happening the Air Ministry arranged to transmit their
reports by secret code and so prevent interference.

Naturally, before the matter was cleared up, Harry bitterly resented
the attitude of the Air Ministry which resulted in his receiving
communications containing implied criticisms of his failing to fly when
weather conditions were favourable; for during three successive days no
mid-ocean reports of any kind turned up. He could not be expected to
risk a start without such information, seeing that it had to be made in
the “foggiest place in the world.” Having once ascended, he
would not be able, in case of emergency, to regain the aerodrome, owing
to the fog, and off the coast he might have had to face sleet which, if
it accumulated on the wings, would soon have driven him into the sea.

April saw no change for the better, and Harry and Raynham continued
weather-bound throughout the last week. On Saturday, the 26th, the
fog was reported as spreading many miles out to sea. Raynham having
received many mascots, including a wooden parrot, “Emma,” which was
built into the cockpit of his machine, Harry was interrogated as to
what special charms he intended to carry. “I only believe in one
mascot,” he said, “and that is Grieve.” Grieve, on the other hand, was
carrying mascots such as white heather and a lady’s handkerchief.

With the pilots straining at the leash to get away, the navigators
made good use of every opportunity to improve their wireless skill. A
Marconi representative gave them daily tests in receiving, wireless
communication being maintained between the two aerodromes, eight miles
apart. “D.K.A.” was the wireless “call sign” of
Harry’s machine.

Chatting with the special correspondent of the _Times_, after running
his engine, Harry said: “It’s simply splendid; to hear it
makes me long to be up and off.” He said that he had arranged to
throw overboard his charts and maps with a message asking the finder to
forward them to the Royal Aero Club, London, as soon as he had crossed
the Irish coast. On the back of the charts would be written the time
of crossing the shore and other details for identification purposes.
The Ardath Tobacco Company, Ltd., announced the offer of an additional
prize of 2,000 guineas to be given to the winner of the _Daily Mail_
£10,000 prize for the first Atlantic flight.

During the week-end the weather conditions improved a little, but not
to a degree that would warrant the making of a start. That Harry did
not hope to start for at least ten days was apparent from his having
cabled to England, ordering a new wireless outfit to be sent by the
steamer _Digby_, which left Liverpool on April 28th.

Describing his preparations in order to avert ignition trouble, Harry
said he had four magnetos, set in a series independently of each other,
each giving a spark to the twelve cylinders, so that in the event of
one or two failing he would still have a reserve. Discountenancing any
idea of effecting repairs in the air, Harry said, “Once we leave
the ground, we must fly or fall.”

There was great activity on Monday evening, April 28th, when hopes
of a start were high. Harry replaced his four-bladed propeller by a
two-bladed one. For over three hours Raynham and Morgan stood by their
Martinsyde, waiting to seize a favourable opportunity to get away. At 6
o’clock they decided to abandon the attempt. Just as Raynham had
given orders for his machine to be housed for the night, Harry drove up
from his aerodrome. Some good-natured chaff was exchanged.

The Mayor of St. Johns, on April 30th, presented each of the airmen
with an address from the inhabitants, a cup being forwarded to each of
them later.




CHAPTER XVI

ONE THOUSAND MILES OVER THE ATLANTIC

 Signalling Arrangements—Temperament—A Press Tribute—The
 American Attempt—Just Before the Start—Parting Messages—The
 Start—“Poor Old Tinsydes!”—Dropping the
 Undercarriage—Out of Sight of Land in Ten Minutes—Over the
 Fog—Four Hours Above a Sea of Clouds—Grieve’s Method of
 Navigation—Weather Not as Forecasted—Taking the Drift through a
 Hole in the Clouds—400 Miles Out—Cloud Banks and a Gale—After
 5½ Hours—Over-heating Radiator—What was the Cause?—The Only
 Possible Remedy—Is Effective at First—At 10,000 Feet—Giants of
 Nature 15,000 feet High—A Side-wind that Became a Gale—Flying
 “Crabwise”—Losing Height—Clouds, Darkness, and a
 Doubtful Time—Nearly Down to the Sea—Dawn—Sea-sick—Looking
 for a Ship—The _Mary_—The Rescue—Up to the Knees in the
 Sea—Captain Duhn—Sighting St. Hilda and the Butt of Lewis—A
 Famous Signal—“Is it Hawker?”—“Yes”—The
 Navy’s Guests—The Civic Welcome at Thurso.




CHAPTER XVI


No attempt having been made in April, the best time was expected to
be between May 12th and May 19th, when the moon would be more or
less full; but Harry decided not to wait in the event of conditions
otherwise becoming suitable in the interim. The general idea throughout
the whole of the waiting period was to make a start between 5 p.m.
and 7 p.m. (Greenwich time). It was expected that the ocean would
be crossed about nineteen hours later. If he was able to proceed to
Brooklands according to his intention, Harry hoped to land there about
7 p.m. (Greenwich time), i.e., 8 p.m. summer time, on the day after the
start.

Grieve decided to take half-hourly sights during the passage, and,
if they arrived in time, smoke-bombs would be used for ascertaining
the drift over the ocean and to indicate to ships the position of the
aeroplane in case of emergency. The smoke-bombs were not expected to
arrive before May 8th In the event of a mishap occurring at night a
white parachute flare was to be used, not unlike the flares used by
the Zeppelins over London, and visible for miles. The white flare was
to be fired at once if the engine failed or if a forced descent from
any other cause were necessary. But the white flare or a wireless
“S.O.S.” was only to be used in an emergency when the need
for help was very urgent. A red flare was to be used for opening up
communication with a ship.

In an article on “Temperament,” published in _The Morning
Post_ on Friday, April 25th, 1919, Mr. H. Massac Buist wrote:

  “Mechanical achievement has been pushed to such a pitch that
 endurance on the part of pilot and crew is now demanded in the highest
 possible degree, whereas many a brilliant aerial performance that
 has attracted world-wide attention in the past has made the maximum
 demands on nerve, but practically none at all on sheer physical
 endurance, as instance looping-the-loop and suchlike feats. Even in
 the war the average flight did not try the physical endurance of the
 pilot in any high degree, the strain being instead on the nerve.
 Of course, the requirements of the Service occasionally called for
 prolonged efforts, but if all the flights made from the start to
 the finish of the campaign are considered it will be found that the
 vast majority occupied less than four hours. In the Transatlantic
 enterprise, however, we have no competitor whose calculated speed
 would enable him to make the aerial journey in less than 19½ hours
 under the most favourable conditions.


“THE BEST PREPARATION.

“Yet it is not a matter of mere endurance, because the longest
over-water flight so far projected will be attempted in most cases
with machines not designed to alight on the water. In other words, on
setting out, each pilot will know that his life depends on nothing less
than absolute success, and is almost certainly forfeit if anything
goes wrong. That realisation represents the equivalent of the strain
of flying in war service, while the duration of the effort is the
multiplication of the strain. But the Transatlantic enterprise will
differ from war service in that the pilot himself will order himself to
start, whereas in war, no matter what betide, the individual has always
a realisation that a power outside himself has determined his destiny
and taken responsibility off him by giving him his orders, therefore
the issue is on the knees of the gods.

“Such qualifications afford the additional confidence that comes
of resource. One does not, of course, mean merely that the pilot helps
to rig the machine—all Service pilots are trained to that extent—or
that he touches ignition or throttle lever while the engine is running
through a bench test; instead, one means that the pilot one would
naturally look to successfully to perform a feat of this sort, other
things being equal, is a man like Harry Hawker and Sidney Pickles, who
year after year before there was a war, through the war, and after it,
takes a hand in the building of the experimental machines of the firm
employing him and puts them through all their tests, as well as the
standard products of the given firm—work which, regarded in all its
phases, represents taking as big risks per annum in peace time as are
taken by any soldier in war service, since in an experimental stage
none can really foretell what is going to happen when the first of a
new type aircraft is taken into the air.


“THE TYPICAL AUSTRALIAN ATTITUDE.

“The most consistently successful types of men at this work taken
over a long spell of years are perhaps those represented by a group of
three young Australians, Hawker, Pickles, and Busteed, who came over
here determined to realise their dreams of lives of adventure in the
air on the distinct understanding that there was plenty of money in the
venture. As one student of human nature remarked:

“They don’t want the Archbishop of Canterbury to hold a
special service for them before they get off the ground; they are not
going to die until they have done everything mortal man can to prevent
it; if they do die, they will take it to be absolutely as natural a
process as to be born; and, in the meantime, instead of wasting their
time collecting mascots and inventing fancy names for the machines
they fly they prefer to do as much of the building of them as time and
opportunity allow, and they see to it that the financial side of the
business is so fixed up that they will not be leaving spots of poverty
behind them.

“Undoubtedly that touch of self-reliance which we associate
pre-eminently with the Australian temperament will go a long way
towards securing success in such efforts as the race across the
Atlantic.

“Among our home-bred pilots of the same class, too, we have many
men who have acquired this habit of clear-thinking in essentials, of
eliminating emotionalism from their temperament, and of always taking
off their shirts to get right down to their job. Occasionally a man who
is not of that temperament may score a notable success; but if an eye
be kept on the performance of flying feats year after year, and the
average of each man’s achievement, it will be found that the man
whose name for consistent achievement year after year advances with the
progress of the science of flight is one with ‘no frills about
him.’


“WHAT MAKES FOR SUCCESS.

“It is right that the thing should be so. These men follow on the
lines of those masters by whose enterprise flight is alone possible.
The late Wilbur Wright was a plain man, and his brother Orville remains
so to this hour. They found that they had to know, and to do so much
that there was no time for social life as such, even if they had had
the temperament for it, which they had not.

“You do not find Hawker and Company lounging about in clubs
in the intervals between their big aviation undertakings, for the
sufficient reason that they give themselves no intervals of leisure,
because they are always busy working for money, which they know how to
look after when they get it. A result is that they never get overawed
at the prospect of any one of their aerial feats. Each is to them
merely part of the ordinary day’s work, imposing no more strain
than any other day’s work. For instance, I recollect some years
ago the effect exercised on one of the best aero engine mechanics in
the country on first coming in contact with Hawker:

 “‘I tell you ’ow it is with that there ’Arry
 ’Awker, sir; he’s my fancy for anythink every time.
 It’s like this: we were standin’ there down the Solent
 chattin’, and that there Tommy Sopwith was remarkin’
 as nobody’ adn’t looped-the-loop on a seaplane, and
 mentioned a matter of 40 quid for the man as did it first on one of
 his machines. ’Awker, who was standin’ by, got ’im
 to confirm it; then went across to his machine and started up the
 engine. There wasn’t what you might call more than a couple of
 ’andfuls of water where it was moored; but he just bumped and
 splashed it into a flight, and a couple of minutes after he looped
 over our ’eads twice. That’s ’Arry ’Awker;
 no ‘alf measures, no stintin’; and it was the first time
 a seaplane had looped-the-loop. Then he brought ’er down and
 walked straight up to Tommy Sopwith, ’olding out ’is
 ’and for the boodle—that’s ’Arry ’Awker, too.
 ‘E’s there and the goods ’as to be there. I tell
 you, sir,‘e’s my fancy every time.’”

The fact of no attempt having been possible in April probably accounted
for the comparative silence of the Press during the first days of May.
The public was beginning to doubt whether the flight would be possible
in the then immediate future. Nevertheless, Harry was by no means
idle. Among other things, with Raynham, he was busy looking for a more
suitable starting-ground, but, as most of the country was under the
plough, their efforts met with no success. Meanwhile, the Americans
were rapidly completing arrangements to make their now famous attempt
to cross the ocean, _via_ the Azores, in three flying-boats, with the
aid of several warships as guides and refuges in case of emergency.
These machines made their start at 10 p.m. (Greenwich time) on May
16th, but Harry was still delayed by weather on that day. The American
route bore distinctly southward, whereas the British route was slightly
northward.

When Lieut.-Com. Read in one of the American seaplanes had reached
the Azores, and so accomplished two-thirds of his journey across the
ocean, Harry and Raynham felt keenly that the blue riband of aerial
navigation was slipping not only from their hands but also from Great
Britain. Nevertheless, they were wise enough to know that to throw
precaution to the winds was to court disaster and so yield to the rival
nation. The last four days before Harry’s start were very trying
for him under such circumstances. He was continually in touch with the
weather office, only to hear of raging storms on his route and fair
weather on the Azores route. At one time he seriously contemplated also
flying to the Azores, but the difficulty of the petrol supply ruled
this out.

In spite of many preoccupations, Harry and Grieve passed a few hours
of the last few days of their sojourn at St. Johns by indulging in
motor-drives, while Raynham played golf and Morgan kept watch on the
weather bureau.


THE START

On the morning of the 18th there came a change. The _Atlantic_ was
brought out of her hangar, the petrol tanks were quickly and carefully
filled, every drop being passed through a perfectly clean strainer.
Oil and water tanks were filled and the machine thoroughly looked over
and the engine tested. While Harry busied himself with such operations
Grieve was seeing that all maps, charts, flares, smoke-bombs, and other
impedimenta were in order. The mail bag having been divided between
Harry and Raynham, the letter from the Governor of Newfoundland to
His Majesty, the one from the Prime Minister of Newfoundland to the
Rt. Hon. D. Lloyd George, and another from the people of Newfoundland
to the people of England, fell to Harry’s lot to be carried. In
addition to letters for Lord Northcliffe, the _Daily Mail_, the _Daily
Express_, and others, he also had a letter from the French Consul to
be delivered to the French Ambassador in London. He was also entrusted
with the medal of the American Joan of Arc Statue Society, for delivery
to the British Museum. Some dates, chocolates, and a flask of brandy
for use in emergency were included in the commissariat sufficient for
three days.

Harry arrived at the final decision to start not only for the reason
that the weather was better, although not perfect, but also because
owing to the progress made by the American flying-boats there was a
likelihood of his missing a chance of getting a British machine over
first. The moon was well on the wane, and any further delay would
probably have meant another matter of weeks. One American machine was
already known to have reached the Azores, and reports were current
to the effect that two others had as well. The night before starting
Harry and Raynham both agreed to set out if the weather looked at all
promising, and on the morrow they received fewer weather reports than
on any previous occasion.

At 3.5 p.m. Harry and Grieve were getting into their flying clothes.
Ten minutes later Harry waved his arm and the chocks were pulled away.
As he sped down the field he heard the rising cheers of the spectators,
which were soon drowned by the engine’s roar.

Before leaving, Harry was feeling particularly confident. “I have
a perfect machine for the trip,” he said, “and the engine
is the best in the world. I am confident that we shall get across.
The great problem is to find Ireland, but I have every confidence in
Grieve.” Grieve’s parting message to friends assembled
about the machine was, “See you in London.”

Speaking of landing without the undercarriage, Harry said, “I
expect to make a perfectly good landing, and have no fear of badly
crashing the machine.”

It will be remembered that Harry had changed his propeller. He
believed that the four-bladed type put an undue strain on the engine.
Furthermore, without the landing chassis the machine would land on
running skids integral with the base of the fuselage. Assuming he could
land with the two blades horizontal it was conceivable he could land
and do no damage at all, whereas with four blades the propeller would
be bound to fracture and possibly lead to other damage.

Harry considered the question of weight to be of the utmost importance.
Before starting he lifted Grieve’s bag and enquired whether he
could not dispense with his pyjamas, as he would have a long sleep at
the end of his journey.

Harry and Grieve boarded the machine without feeling in the least
bit “nervy.” After getting into his seat, Harry asked,
“How about old Tinsydes? Tell Raynham I’ll greet him at
Brooklands.”

At 6.48 p.m. summertime (5.51 Greenwich or 3.15 St. Johns) on Sunday,
May 18th, 1919, Harry and Grieve set out to cross the Atlantic from St.
Johns to Ireland, and, if possible, to Brooklands, in a single non-stop
flight. The weather conditions had been reported to be fairly good all
the way across the ocean, and the days had been lovely at St. Johns
for over a week. Visiting the Meteorological Office at noon, Harry
remarked, “Hang the weather! I go this afternoon, though it leads
me to the Pacific.” Three hours later they were completing the
final preparations, after having lunched at Glendinning’s Farm
with some local friends. At 3.15 p.m., having warmed up the engine,
Harry opened up and sped down the starting slope at Mount Pearl for
the last time. He covered almost the whole length of the ground before
rising, and only just cleared the fence at the lower end. It was only
by exercising more skill than is usually required in starting that he
was able to keep the machine straight while going over the not too even
ground. As it was, he took off in a direct line.

Everything at the start went well, as Harry intended it should. Getting
off the ground was necessarily difficult, as owing to the direction of
the wind and the dimensions of the ground it was essential to steer a
diagonal course over the aerodrome.

During the run of 300 yards the machine lurched hazardously, bumping
over the field until it struck a hummock and lifted. The wings took the
air at a low swinging start, but did not swerve a hair’s breadth
from the chosen course.

Three minutes later Harry was soaring above the western outskirts
of St. Johns, climbing steadily the while. With the sun shining on
her wings, the aeroplane _Atlantic_ was a glorious sight for those
who had the good fortune to see her from below. Steering a steady
course, ascending E.N.E., Harry passed over Pleasantville Lake and
Raynham’s aerodrome at Quidi Vidi at 2,000 feet, six miles
from the start. Looking down, he could see Raynham and his machine
surrounded by a big crowd of townsfolk.

Harry remarked, “Look at old Tinsydes with a crowd round
him!” To which Grieve, who was too preoccupied to look, replied,
“We’ve got the bulge on him.”

They continued on over Bolands Hill, a rocky promontory 600 feet high
separating St. Johns from the open Atlantic, where Harry could plainly
discern a dozen white mountains—icebergs—having no terrors for this
ship of the air. At 1,500 feet above Bolands Hill, having decided that
all was well, he slipped the undercarriage. So lessened in load by
four hundredweight, and with diminished air resistance, the _Atlantic_
began to climb with appreciably greater speed. Five minutes later she
was about 4,000 feet up, flying eastward, steady as a rock, and just
passing out of sight of those who were watching with powerful glasses.
As the undercarriage was being projected earthwards by gravity, Harry
thought of the stimulating effect it would have on Raynham.

As the machine passed out of sight of land at 3.35 p.m., about ten
minutes from the start, the signalman at the marine lookout on the
hills above St. Johns reported that it was flying in a north-easterly
direction.

When the start was made at Mount Pearl the weather was perfect, at any
rate locally, although a fog-bank at sea was visible. There was a light
north-westerly wind and a cloudless sky locally. The conditions were
described by Harry as “not yet favourable, but possible.”

The machine climbed very well, and after about ten minutes, when
it passed out of sight of land, Harry encountered the thick fog
of the Newfoundland Banks. Fortunately they had no difficulty in
climbing above this, although naturally they lost sight of the sea, a
circumstance which was, if anything, a little disconcerting. Above them
the sky was clear. Grieve just managed to get one drift reading before
they passed out of sight of the breaking waves.

For the first four hours after leaving St. Johns the clouds and fog
above which they passed were level-topped like a sea and gave a
perfect horizon for the celestial observations on which Grieve’s
navigation depended.

The following account of the process of navigating the machine was
given to _The Daily Mail_ before the start by Grieve:

 “Navigation of aircraft across the Atlantic must necessarily be
 of the rough and ready type, but as it is of vital necessity to ensure
 success every means must be taken of finding one’s position and
 making most use of the air currents met with.

 “Of course the machine might get across by steering a compass
 course, allowing for the various winds, supplied from the limited
 knowledge of the meteorologists. But few reports of the surface winds
 are available, leaving large spaces on the chart of the weather in
 which conditions can only be guessed, while the upper air currents are
 absolutely unknown.

 “Should the navigator allow for a beam wind of 30 miles an hour
 when the opposite exists he will be 60 miles out of his reckoning at
 the end of one hour, and soon altogether out of the weather system he
 is expecting on the direct route.

 “The only method of checking positions and finding the course
 and speed made good over the sea is by astronomical observations and
 obtaining the positions by wireless from ships _en route_. In the
 latter case the ships keep regular narrow lanes and may not be met
 with, as it would be virtually impossible to keep in their track, and
 unless one should pass over them and be seen by them their positions
 would be valueless.

 “My intention is to rely chiefly on astronomical positions
 which I shall obtain by sextant and work out by a diagram invented
 by my instructor, Commander Baker. The altitude of the sun, taken
 about every hour, will give me a line of position at the time of
 the observation. When the sun is on the prime vertical the line of
 position will be the longitude; when on the meridian the latitude.
 At other times two observations at a good interval, with the run
 in that time, will give me a position. To obtain this run the
 ‘drift’ must be known, and I hope to get this by dropping
 smoke-bombs by day and light-bombs by night and observing the true
 path of the machine past them through the ‘drift’
 indicator.

 “For night work I have a diagram to facilitate working the
 sights of six stars, each of which, in combination with the Pole
 Star, or each with the other, in certain conditions, will give me a
 good position. The chief difficulty in getting astronomical positions
 will be to see the necessary horizon. Should it be visible it will be
 necessary to know the dip of it, which is approximately the square
 root of the height of the machine obtained by the altimeter, an
 instrument in the cockpit indicating the height in feet above the
 sea-level.

 “If I am above the clouds I must judge the height above them and
 use them for my horizon, which will give useful, if only approximate,
 results. As a matter of fact, the whole navigation must be considered
 as an approximation, but as Ireland is large and there are no
 dangers in the air to keep clear of, I do not anticipate any serious
 difficulty in making a landfall, given good conditions.”

As regards the weather during the flight, it was not at all as they
expected. They anticipated a north-easterly wind for a short way out,
backing to the north-west, with a small depression, on the south side
of which they expected to pass and thereby get into favourable winds,
first westerly and then south-westerly, as they approached Ireland. In
actual fact they encountered northerly winds.

At about 7 o’clock Greenwich time, about an hour after the start,
the sea was visible through a hole in the fog for just a few seconds.
They were then at 4,000 feet and climbing. Grieve, by observing the
breaking waves through the drift indicator, was able to calculate
the drift of the machine as 10 degrees to the right of their course,
precisely the same as when he made his previous calculations just
before they passed above the fog.

Until 10.15 p.m. Greenwich time they steered a true east course, not
magnetic east. Meanwhile Grieve took sights every half hour, and at
10.15 he estimated that they were 400 miles from St. Johns and had
maintained an average speed of 91 miles per hour. They reckoned to be
then in the track of the steamships, to keep to which the course was
altered to North 73 East true.

The visibility became very bad. In front and to the right and left,
above and below, were heavy cloud-banks which formed dark, ominous
gorges, or chasms, through which they flew, feeling very, very small
and insignificant in comparison with such giants of Nature. That the
prospects were not bright was soon proved when they drove into a heavy
storm with rainsqualls. A strong northerly gale drove them steadily
out of their course and the dense masses of cloud impeded accurate
navigation.

It was a lucky stroke of fortune that the engine and all other vital
components of the machine survived this bad weather during this early
stage as they advanced into night skies.

After flying for five and a half hours, Harry noticed that the
temperature of the cooling water in the radiator began to rise. The
effect of this, while not appreciable at the moment, was likely to be
complex unless the cause, some defect in the circulation, could be
remedied. It was, of course, impossible for either Harry or Grieve
actually to inspect the likely source of the trouble, and any effort
to eliminate it had to be made, if at all possible, by manœuvring the
machine.

It was about 11 p.m. Greenwich time (i.e., midnight, summer time) when
the defect became apparent. Grieve was busy taking sights while Harry
was piloting and watching. The clouds were now exceptionally thick,
and Harry recalled that he had only once seen the sea since he was ten
minutes’ distant from St. Johns. And he had now been flying for
just on six hours.

The moon had not yet risen and it was well-nigh impossible to discern
anything. Flying at 10,000 feet, Harry could just make out innumerable
clouds, many of them terrible, ominous-looking peaks extending
upwards to about 15,000 feet. Having to go round the clouds, it was
difficult to steer a good course, and he could not really afford to
waste time and petrol in making any deviations from a truly straight
course. Furthermore, he and Grieve, side-by-side, were feeling not too
comfortable bodily. The cane ring forming the neck of Harry’s
suit, which kept his neck free, was jumping about. Grieve frequently
had to replace it, and his fingers became frost-bitten, as it could
not be done with gloves on. Otherwise they did not suffer from cold,
although it was freezing hard. As they forged ahead the temperature
of the water in the radiator rose from 168 degrees F. to 176 degrees
F. in the space of a few minutes. At the latter temperature it stayed
practically constant for a couple of hours or more.

It was at 1.30 a.m. that they realised the great extent of their drift
owing to the strong north wind. Taking sights regularly had become
impossible owing to the clouds having broken up and ceased to provide a
level horizon. Grieve managed to get a Pole Star down to a flat piece
of cloud, and discovered with no little surprise that they were about
150 miles south of their intended course. Harry therefore turned more
northward to counteract this drift. Nevertheless, half an hour later
they were still drifting southward and not making their course, and so,
realising that the strength of the gale must be terrific, they had to
force the machine still more northward up to latitude 50 degrees and
into the track of the ships.

Harry was somewhat concerned when Grieve told him that their drift was
equivalent to a side wind of 20 miles per hour, but this did not deter
him from sticking to the job. The effect of a strong side wind would of
course mean having to travel “crabwise” in order to keep
to the course, a proceeding which must lessen their forward speed.

Both pilot and navigator came to the decision that there must be a
cause for this abnormally high temperature in the radiator, which
persisted, and, if it continued, was likely to jeopardise their chances
of success, owing to all the water being ultimately boiled away. Harry,
having concluded that some obstruction had got into the water-filter
between the radiator and the water-pumps, knew that the only possible
means of removing it was by switching off the engine and diving down
steeply in the hope that this would clear the refuse in the filter.
This he actually did, and the result was for the time being successful.

But after another hour, by which time they were about 800 miles out
from St. Johns, the trouble recurred. The weather was still no better
and the clouds very high. Repeatedly Harry switched off and dived, but
the obstruction would not clear itself now. Every such dive entailed
losing several hundred feet in height, and it is not surprising,
therefore, that they gave up the diving process. Each time, after
climbing, the water began to boil; and so after getting to 12,000
feet they agreed to maintain that altitude for the latter half of the
journey. These episodes of the choking radiator had not yet given
them to doubt their being successful in making the crossing. They had
got above most of the clouds now, and, with the moon coming well up,
they could keep a good course. The fact that by closing the throttle
a little they were able to nurse the engine and keep the water from
boiling, although done at the expense of a little speed, ensured for
them every confidence that all would be well. Thus, with the engine
throttled, they cruised along at a constant height of 12,000 feet for
about four hours more until they came up against more of those very,
very high black clouds significant of unknown, unexplored wastes of the
Atlantic vault. They had encountered a depression which had travelled
north from the Azores.

So thick were these new clouds that it was almost impossible to get
between them. They extended upwards to an altitude of 15,000 feet,
3,000 feet higher than the machine, and the only thing to be done was
to get above them.

Once, twice, thrice did Harry try to get above those clouds; and as
many times steam belched forth ominously from the radiator and was
turned to ice. The radiator trouble having thus prevented a very
necessary and desirable manœuvre that would otherwise have been
possible, Harry could only go down into the abyss and find the bottom
of the enveloping clouds. Incidentally, the glide gave the water system
an opportunity to cool down.

Having glided down to about 6,000 feet, they entered an even darker
region than that from which they had just descended, due, of course, to
the presence of more clouds above them cutting off the light.

Climbing being out of the question, down they went to 1,000 feet only
above the water before they could see to fly. While they dived through
the clouds their engine was stopped, and when Harry opened up the
throttle it refused to restart. Only when they were within a few feet
of the water did it pick up by a lucky chance after Harry had given
up hope of its recovery. In fact Harry had hit Grieve on the head to
warn him to desist from pumping-up, which might result in his suffering
a broken arm when they struck the water. At that moment the engine
started. It was a very narrow escape. There they were greeted by those
delightful signs of the sun just getting up, one of the real joys of
Nature which has delighted the eyes of most flying-men. Again they
set their course, but that water would not be kept from boiling. It
was then that they agreed to “play for safety,” as Harry
himself expressed it.

At 5 a.m. two stars enabled Grieve to determine their position as
being directly on their course and about 950 miles from St. Johns,
representing an average speed of about 85 miles per hour. No more
sights were possible, owing to the clouds and the approach of daylight.
When they came down low to look for ships about 6 a.m. their position
was estimated by Grieve as 50 degrees north, 29 degrees 30 minutes
west; and they pursued a more northerly course to get well on to the
steamship route.

The hour of dawn was the one hour in twenty-four in which flying always
seemed to hold the greatest charm for Harry, as indeed I believe it
always has done for most aviators; and on this occasion, after having
flown through a black night _above_ one desolate waste whose secrets
may never be unfolded and _ahead_ into another which had never before
been explored by man, as one can well appreciate, Harry was overjoyed
on beholding the first signs of the dawn of May 19th, 1919. That he and
Grieve almost immediately began to have an eye for the refuge of a ship
only goes to prove the serious nature of the radiator trouble. But for
those high clouds which, coupled with the doubtful cooling system, had
forced them to yield most of their advantageous height, they might have
been able to continue on further than they did at a moderate cruising
speed with the engine throttled. But although they covered almost
two-thirds of the journey, the chance of their being able to complete
it under any circumstances had become practically negligible owing to
the loss of water due to several hours of overheating.

Mentally both Harry and Grieve were comfortable, but an attack of
seasickness upset Harry a bit. While flying a couple of miles above the
dark ocean they did not attempt to probe in their minds the secrets
of regions four, five, perhaps six miles below them. Even had they
done so, such thoughts could scarcely have had a demoralising effect
on souls like theirs. The fallibility of a machine, against which no
man can have absolute insurance, was all that robbed them of the joy
of completing their intention. Theirs was a successful failure, and
beyond perhaps additional monetary reward (which to Harry was never an
unimportant consideration), had they had the good fortune to make the
direct flight, I do not believe they would have commanded one iota more
respect than they did when they returned to the world at large, as from
the dead.

They decided to fly diagonally south-east and then south-west across
their course to see if they could find a ship, knowing that they would
be unable to go on indefinitely boiling away the water. For two and a
half hours they carried out these tactics, in sight of the very rough
ocean and with their machine pitched and rolled about by a tempestuous
north-east wind described by Harry as “half a gale.” There
were heavy rainsqualls, between which were clear spaces in which Harry
endeavoured to keep. But these spaces became smaller and finally
visibility had almost gone. At last Harry’s eyes were gladdened
by the sight of a ship close to them on the left. Both the ship and
the aeroplane were more or less in the fog, with low clouds above, and
Harry and Grieve were almost over the ship before they saw her. At a
height of 400 feet they flew alongside, firing three Vérey lights as
signals of distress.

While flying so low down between the rough sea and low clouds the
_Atlantic_ was bumped about very badly. As Grieve said, “It was
like being in a small motor-boat in a heavy sea.”

It was at about 6 o’clock on the Monday morning that the second
mate and the helmsman of the _Mary_ sighted the aeroplane. The sea was
rough and a stiff breeze was blowing, and the conditions for launching
a boat were getting worse instead of better. So much so, in fact, that
Captain Duhn did not think he could have saved them an hour later.

Harry was very cheered when he first saw the _Mary_, for he had been
looking about for a ship for over two hours and had been violently
seasick the while. Grieve also was thankful and relieved when he saw
the ship.

The machine floated well. The engines held the air, as well as the
spaces in the petrol tanks and the wings.

They flew to and fro above the ship several times until they saw men
on deck, after which they went ahead about two miles and made a very
good “landing,” although a heavy sea was running, with
waves about 12 feet high which swept over the wings intermittently.
Apart from waves breaking over it, the machine floated well on an even
keel and was generally well out of the water. As they saw the steamer
approaching they released their lifeboat in case the aeroplane should
break up and sink, as it showed signs of doing. Their life-saving suits
kept them more or less dry while the crew of the _Mary_ were putting
out their boat, which operation took fully an hour and a half. The
vessel was only about two hundred yards from the aeroplane.

After they touched the water, Harry and Grieve found themselves
standing in the cockpit, up to their knees in water.

Waves were “sloshing” under the upper planes of the
machine, the nose of which was heading into the wind. Sometimes waves
dashed right over the top planes. Harry was indeed amused by the
sight of the first big wave striking the under-surface of the top
plane, which until then had been dry and shining. It lifted them right
out of the water, and the trailing edge of the top plane broke away
completely. The sun was hazy, and low driving clouds were prevalent.
Having launched their own little boat in case they should need it in
the event of the _Atlantic_ going under, they spent the interim until
their rescue in discussing as to the possibility of the _Mary_ having
appliances whereby they could salve the aeroplane.

After much difficulty the boat succeeded in reaching them, and they
were taken aboard and the boat was drawn to the _Mary_ by a line. It
was impossible for them to salve anything from the aeroplane, and they
arrived on board the _Mary_, which rolled heavily, without boots or
caps, and Grieve without a coat. They were exceedingly sorry to have to
leave valuable instruments and mail on board the _Atlantic_.

As the ship’s boat came up to them it banged heavily into the
aeroplane and they hopped aboard at once. The _Mary_ slung out a rope
with which they were hauled to her. Grieve, being a naval man, was
spokesman when they first got on board. He went on the bridge and asked
Captain Duhn if he could salve the machine. Captain Duhn regretted he
could not, and remarked on their narrow escape. Grieve’s log was
washed from his pocket while they were in the water, with the exception
of one page of rough notes. The _Mary_ was on a course from the Gulf of
Mexico to Pentland Firth, and was crossing the main steamship route,
which is only a few miles broad.

The total distance over which they had flown without a stop was
approximately 1,050 miles at an average speed of about 80 miles per
hour, approximately the distance which Harry covered in stages at a
much lower speed in the Round-Britain Seaplane Circuit in 1913.

Altogether, before being picked up, they had been 14½ hours out from
Newfoundland, it being 8.30 a.m. on Monday, Greenwich time (9.30 summer
time), when they boarded the _Mary_. There they met Captain Duhn, whose
English was good. He told them he had feared they would sink before his
boat could pick them up. As they went on the bridge with him, he said,
“Another hour and you would have gone down.” He thought
Harry and Grieve were Americans, and seemed very nonchalant. As Harry
said, “We were struck by the casual manner in which he took the
whole business, as if it were an everyday affair to take airmen out of
the Atlantic.” Naturally the first enquiries, Harry and Grieve
made were as to their bearings and the likelihood of their meeting a
ship that day or the next and being in the main route of shipping.
The _Mary_ carried no wireless and they were anxious to let friends
know of their safety. When they went on board, Captain Duhn considered
there were good prospects of seeing a ship with wireless at any moment.
But as the day wore on the storm increased in violence and they had
to heave to, only making about a knot in a northerly direction. This
course took them away from the shipping route and lessened their
chances of being able to communicate.

Neither Harry nor Grieve were the slightest bit excited either at the
start or when rescued. As Harry put it: “When we started we felt
it was a ‘cert’—100 to 1 on.” And Grieve, “We
had been waiting so long, we felt callous about the whole thing.”
They were pretty well “done up” when they got on board, and
feeling seasick, in preference to taking food they had a good sleep.
Grieve woke up first and went on the bridge.

Grieve’s seat was not absolutely side-by-side with Harry’s,
but was just a little behind, Harry’s left shoulder being in
front of his navigator. Grieve was thereby able to move about to the
extent of kneeling down to look at the drift indicator, to stand up
to take observations, or to move forward a little for working the
wireless. This probably accounted to some extent for Harry being in
need of sleep, since he had not had such freedom to move about.

Captain Duhn thought they were Americans—in fact Harry jokingly
remarked that he rather thought Captain Duhn was a little disappointed
that they were not. Harry told the Captain he would like the
opportunity of making another attempt, and he pointed out the advantage
the Americans had over him in the shorter oversea distances and the
assistance of the American warships, although he personally would not
have appreciated such assistance, which detracted from the value of
the performance. When they had rested and made themselves “at
home,” Harry and Grieve passed away much of their time on board
reading English books which Captain Duhn had.

[Illustration:

  _Photo by_]      [_Newspaper Illustrations, Ltd._

HARRY AND GRIEVE LEAVING BUCKINGHAM PALACE AFTER HAVING BEEN DECORATED
BY THE KING. ALTHOUGH A CIVILIAN, HARRY RECEIVED THE FIRST AIR FORCE
CROSS—A SERVICE DECORATION.

  [_Facing p. 244._
]

On Sunday morning, May 25th, almost one week after starting, they
sighted St. Kilda and later on the Butt of Lewis, when communication
with the mainland became possible. It was a beautiful morning, with
the sea as smooth as ever off this exposed coast. Shortly after 10
o’clock, heading for the Butt of Lewis, Captain Duhn, after running
up signal flags reading “_Mary_,” began sounding the syren. With the
weather so fine as it was, this could not but attract the attention of
the coastguards. As the vessel drew nearer the shore, Captain Duhn,
acting on Harry’s instructions, ran up the signal, “_Communicate by
Wire_,” which had the desired effect of intimating to the coastguards,
Chief officer William Ingham and Leading Seaman George Harding,
that an important message would follow which they must transmit to
headquarters by telegraph. The next signal run up was the international
signal for “_Saved Hands_,” and this was then replaced by the symbol
indicating that the following signals would be spelt. Up went the
flags “_S.O.P._,” followed by “_A.E.R._” and after another interval by
“_O.P.L._,” and finally “_A.N.E._” It was when they received the last
syllable that the coast-guardsmen were thrilled with the knowledge
that they had good news of men whom the world had given up as lost.
Having delivered this message, Captain Duhn put out to sea, again,
and was just going beyond signalling range when he saw on shore
the flags asking “_Is it_.” Returning towards the shore, he read,
“_H-A-W-K-E-R_.” Up went his reply, “_Yes_.” The form of signal was
made out by Grieve, who was conversant with the code.

Off Loch Erribel the _Mary_ was met by the British destroyer
_Woolston_, sent out from Scapa Flow by Admiral Fremantle to take them
aboard. Harry and Grieve therefore bade farewell to Captain Duhn and
thanked him for the great kindness they had received at his hands.
Captain Duhn described Harry and Grieve as a couple of unusually
amiable and pleasant fellows in whose company it was a pleasure to be.

Harry and Grieve did not converse a great deal during the flight,
although the noise from the engine was comparatively quiet, most of
it being carried away behind them through a long exhaust-pipe. Their
conversation was mostly carried on by signs. Grieve would hold up the
vacuum flask when he wanted to know if Harry required a drink. They had
an inter-communicating telephone, which they rarely used. As Grieve put
it, they were too busy to talk much.

Sometimes they communicated by writing. One of Grieve’s messages read,
“We didn’t have much to spare taking-off,” referring, of course, to
their only just clearing the boundary of the starting-ground at Mount
Pearl. He wrote all the compass bearings during the flight and held
them up for Harry to read. Grieve used the clouds for his horizon
simply because they saw more clouds than sea. In fact, with one
exception it was nothing but clouds until they were forced down almost
to the water during the last two or three hours. But the weather did
not hinder them, and Harry was convinced that but for the radiator
trouble he would have won through.

Speaking after the flight of their means of communication with ships,
Grieve said that the first wireless fitted was tried during their
test flight at St. Johns, when the exciter of the generator burnt
out owing to the too great speed of the small windmill or air-driven
“propeller.” They therefore had to discard this set, which
they replaced at once by a small “Boy Scout” plain aerial
set, designed to give a radius of about 25 miles. Their long wait at
St. Johns gave them time to receive from England a new set slightly
different from the original one, and more powerful than the “Boy
Scout” set, for it had a range of 250 miles. They were unable
to give this a preliminary test in the air, however, because they
preferred not to risk any more test flights on such a small aerodrome
as they had. When they got in the air they found the spark to be
very feeble, and only a small ampèrage could be raised, owing to the
windmill or “propeller” in this case being too small.
Nevertheless, they felt they had enough power in their transmitter to
communicate with any ships within moderate range, and they tapped out
messages every half hour, with the object of letting the outside world
know that they were still in the air. But no acknowledgment of these
messages was ever received during or after the flight. When the engine
was throttled down, during the last few hours to keep the temperature
of the water as low as possible under the adverse circumstances in
which it was circulating, the speed of the machine was not enough to
drive the wireless windmill.

Nevertheless, the S.O.S. call was tapped out at intervals of 15 minutes
in case the spark should happen to operate. Fortunately Grieve never
intended to rely on the wireless for navigating purposes other than
to check positions occasionally by communicating with any ships which
they might pass above. Previously to the flight, ships were asked by
wireless from St. Johns to make known their position in the event of
their seeing an aeroplane by day or a red Vérey light at night. Harry
and Grieve saw no vessel other than the _Mary_, and therefore fired no
lights until then. Ships that reported having seen red lights in the
sky before then probably saw the red glow from the exhaust-pipe of the
machine as she passed in the night in and out between the clouds.

Exactly half the petrol carried, 170 gallons, was used, an equal amount
remaining in the tanks when the machine took the water.

One of the conclusions arrived at by Grieve was that future navigation
in the air undoubtedly lies with directional wireless, once that is
perfected.

They spent Sunday night, a week after their romantic departure from St.
Johns, on Admiral Fremantle’s flagship, H.M.S. _Revenge_, and
on Monday morning, having received an Admiralty pass to London, they
transferred to the destroyer F.O.8, which took them from Scapa Flow to
Thurso in about 45 minutes. It being low tide, it was impossible for
the destroyer to go into harbour, and so Harry and Grieve were rowed
ashore by half-a-dozen bluejackets, once again to set foot on home soil
at Scrabster Pier, whence the late Lord Kitchener had departed on his
ill-fated voyage in the _Hampshire_. The sun shone gloriously, and away
in the distance could be discerned the blue outline of the Orkneys.

As they reached the landing-stage cheer upon cheer rolled forth from
those who had assembled to meet them. Provost and Mrs. MacKay, with
members of the Thurso Town Council, several naval officers and men, and
townsfolk, had motored out to Scrabster, where everybody and everything
was _en fête_. Provost MacKay was the first to greet Harry and Grieve.
Addressing them, he said:

  “Mr. Hawker, in the name of the people of Thurso I offer you
 and Commander Mackenzie-Grieve a welcome, not only to Thurso, but
 to the shores of Britain. Throughout the length and breadth of the
 land, and of every land, to-day the news of your safe deliverance is
 ringing, and hearts everywhere are rejoicing. It is true that you have
 not achieved what you so gallantly set out for, but to-day you need
 not worry over that, because you have indeed achieved great things.
 The names of Hawker and Grieve will live for ever in the annals of
 Atlantic flight. You have brought a new lustre to the daring, the
 endurance, and the intrepid spirit of our race. Your countrymen greet
 you warmly and proudly as heroic pioneers and sportsmen. From the
 moment of your departure from St. Johns the world has been on tension
 for news of you; expectation gave way to anxiety, and then anxiety to
 gloom, but happily all fears and forebodings are to-day dispelled.
 The world-wide joy over your pluck and safety is so great because the
 sense of relief is so great. It was at this landing-stage that Lord
 Kitchener said farewell to the land he loved, and now we shall also
 know it and mark it as the place of wonderful welcome to two brave
 sons of Empire.”

Harry, on behalf of Grieve and himself, expressed his heartfelt thanks
for this warm greeting, with the modesty and brevity which were so
characteristic of him on such occasions. Provost MacKay then introduced
the members of the Town Council and other Thursonians, after which Mrs.
MacKay invited them to her house for luncheon, an invitation which they
were happy to accept.

In the Provost’s car they drove through the beflagged streets,
where many people, including parties of bluejackets, had foregathered.
At North Bank House they enjoyed a quiet luncheon with Provost and Mrs.
MacKay, Sir Archibald and Lady Sinclair, of Ulbster, and the senior
naval officer, Lieut. Weir, and his wife. They were feeling very fit
and their complexions were sunburnt. Briefly Harry recounted their
experiences, telling of the cloud-banks, the clogged radiator pipe, the
descent nearly to the water, the rough seas and tempestuous winds, and
the sighting of the _Mary_ and their gallant rescue.

Harry and Grieve were much amused by some of the newspapers which
Provost MacKay showed them, containing their obituary notices. Grieve
was particularly touched by a photograph purporting to be that of his
wife, for he was not married! Before driving to the station Harry and
Grieve spoke of the warmth of the hospitality they had received, not
only at Thurso, but also at Scapa on the previous evening with the
Grand Fleet.

During the luncheon, crowds assembled outside Provost MacKay’s
residence, and at the station Thurso had never before seen such a
throng. Cheers were ringing on all sides, handshakes, cameras, and
autograph books were the order of the day. Thurso was _en fête_ as
never before.




CHAPTER XVII

MY OWN REMINISCENCES OF THE ATLANTIC FLIGHT

 I Wait for News—The Americans Start—I Hear Harry has Started—And
 I Put Out the Flags—No News Next Morning—Fate is Unkind and
 Brings a False Report—Which, Contradicted, Delivers a Paralysing
 Blow—No Further News—“All Hope Abandoned”—Good
 News—Peace of Mind Once More—Everybody Happy—The King Telegraphs
 Congratulations—I Go to Meet Harry at Grantham—Harry’s
 Triumphal Progress to Grantham—Together Once More—Harry
 Rides a Horse Through London—“Escape” from the
 R.Ae.C.—Celebrations at Ham—Fireworks at Hook.




CHAPTER XVII


After the first week of Harry’s absence the time passed fairly
quickly. I never left home for longer than two hours, and then I bought
newspapers in case Harry had started. Often I would have news about
seven in the evening to the effect that Harry was about to start. I sat
up until the news was contradicted. Never before had I taken such an
interest in the moon as during these few weeks. I knew every phase, and
when it reached the full I felt sure that Harry would be starting.

I was in town when I saw a placard saying that the Americans had
started, and I at once rushed to the nearest telephone box to find out
if any message had come through from Harry, as I knew he would not let
the Americans arrive first without a struggle; but the moon was waning
and the weather reports none too good.

On the night of May 18th I received a message to the effect that Harry
had left at 6.30. The first thing to do was to put out all the flags,
for he would be home on the morrow. But this did not take long, and,
when done, the time seemed to drag.

As the hours went by and darkness came on, the time passed even more
slowly for me. I remember I went to the window and stood there waiting
for the moon to rise; it was waning, but, despite that, seemed to make
the night less terrible. It was very cold, and I wondered whether it
was all worth while. I had written down each hour that Harry was to be
in the air, and hour by hour crossed them off.

When the papers arrived on the morrow they were full of the start
of the Atlantic flight, but gave no news beyond the precise time of
the start, as no wireless had been received. No message came for me
until about ten o’clock that night, after I had been down to
Brooklands expecting his arrival. The message, which was from the
Admiralty, told me that Harry had landed in the sea forty miles off
the mouth of the Shannon, and until two or three o’clock in the
morning the telephone unceasingly rang, bringing congratulations from
far and near. My brother, who had obtained special leave, remained up
all night and made himself comfortable by the telephone. The beginning
of the night found him receiving messages and returning thanks with
energy, but by one o’clock his tones lacked their initial
gusto, and by two o’clock they were hardly lucid. I went to bed
thoroughly happy and at peace, but I was too excited to sleep.

I was the first one down in the morning to get the papers. I opened the
_Daily Mail_ first of all, and the headlines I saw nearly blinded me.
I have since had to read worse news than I read that morning, but I do
not think I have ever felt so frantic and yet so completely hopeless as
when I saw the fatal words, “Hawker Missing—False Report of Fall
in the Sea.”

I believe at that moment I gave up all hope. Then I thought of almost
his last words to me before he left: “If things don’t go
quite right, never give up hope”; and as there seemed to be two
sides to the question whether he was alive or not, and no definite
proof of either, I decided, no matter what happened, to cling firmly to
the belief that he was alive.

Mrs. Sopwith, who came to see me about ten o’clock, helped me to
keep my resolution during the whole of the ensuing week. My brother
obtained leave to stay with me; and then it was a case of waiting. Day
after day passed with no news. Each morning, after reading the papers,
I went off to the Admiralty for any further news; and every day I saw
the papers getting less and less hopeful. Everyone seemed to put a time
limit on his, or her, hope. One said, “I will give them three
days,” while one more optimistic said, “A week.” When
I had waited a week I could almost feel that Harry was near, and on
Saturday I was perfectly sure that I had only one more day to wait.

On the 24th I received the following telegram:

 “The King, fearing the worst must now be realised regarding the
 fate of your husband, wishes to express his deep sympathy and that of
 the Queen in your sudden and tragic sorrow. His Majesty feels that the
 nation lost one of its most able and daring pilots to sacrifice his
 life for the fame and honour of British flying.

  “STAMFORDHAM. ”

But neither this nor Lord Northcliffe’s generous offer to make
provision for myself and Pamela changed my conviction that Harry would
turn up safe and sound.

On the Sunday morning I read in the papers that “all hope had
now been given up for the safety of the Atlantic airmen,” and I
recall thinking how silly “all hope” sounded, when they
could not know everyone’s hopes. I went to the little church
opposite, where prayers were offered for the safety of Harry and
Commander Grieve. I remember hurrying home because I thought the good
news had come; but it had not.

About an hour later I was told that the _Daily Mirror_ wanted me on the
‘phone with a message that could not be entrusted to anyone but
myself. They simply told me that Harry and Grieve had been picked up
by a Danish ship without wireless and had just signalled their message
with flags to the Butt of Lewis; and could they, as the first to convey
the news to me, send a representative down for a private interview at
once. What I answered I do not know—probably nothing—but I felt that
anyone could do what they liked then; I should be happy.

My brother and I rushed round to spread the good news. We went first
to the Sigrists’ bungalow on the Thames Ditton island, where I
had spent the previous day. They had already heard the news, and Fred
Sigrist rushed down the steps of his house saying, “What can I
do for you?” I replied, “Oh, jump in!” He at once
took a header, fully clothed, and swam up and down, shouting incoherent
messages to all and sundry on the island. By this time a lot of people
had collected, and we drank everyone’s health at Fred’s
expense. Then we went home, with everyone following us. When we
arrived at Hook a terrible vision of a dozen or more reporters met our
eyes. The _Daily Mirror_ man wanted his interview as promised, and the
others wanted to listen, which did not suit him. Anyway, we all shook
hands, there was no “interview,” and plenty was said next
morning in the papers.

By this time there was a large gathering of people, and although I
believe each of them had a cup of tea or a glass of something better,
there was little food in the house for such a crowd. I then went to the
special Thanksgiving Service which Mr. Wood, the curate-in-charge, had
arranged at Hook Church. It was a most beautiful service, and I was
much impressed by its simplicity and the feeling in the hearts of the
congregation.

On arriving home again I found a dinner had been arranged at the
Piccadilly Hotel, and we were to start, about thirty strong, just as we
were, the men-folk in boating flannels and the ladies in light summer
frocks. Perhaps we exceeded the speed limit, or the inspector who
operated a trap on Putney Hill thought we did, and we had to stop. My
brother and I were leading in the Sunbeam. When the police recognised
us (an enormous Australian flag attached to our radiator cap must have
given them some idea), they waved us on without complaining; and as we
passed, one of them said to me, “I’d feel like a bit of a
blind myself if I were in your shoes.”

We were a very jolly party, and it only needed Harry’s presence
to make it complete. When we arrived at the hotel the orchestra there
played “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” and everyone
was very gracious. We dined, and, after visiting a few friends in
London, returned home.

After news of Harry’s safety was confirmed, I received the
following message from the King, by telegram:

 “The King rejoices with you and the nation on the happy rescue
 of your gallant husband. He trusts that he may be long spared to
 you.”

From Queen Alexandra I received this telegram:

 “With all my heart I wish you and the nation joy on the safety
 of your gallant husband and his companion. I rejoice that a Danish
 ship rescued his precious life.

  “ALEXANDRA. ”

The next day I had appointed to go and see an Atlantic flight film
at the Majestic Cinema, Clapham. We arrived at the hour fixed, and I
thought there was a fire somewhere, as all the traffic was held up and
there were simply mobs of people. I could not believe that they had all
come to see us, but it seemed they had, and I am afraid they must have
been very disappointed. Someone gave me a beautiful bouquet, but before
I had gathered myself together it was taken away and then presented
to me again by the same charming lady. It appeared that the hitch was
caused by the cinema operator opposite falling off his cab just at the
critical moment when the bouquet was being presented, so it had to be
done all over again. I never saw the film version of this incident, but
it must have been funny.

From a flag-bedecked box we saw the film of the Atlantic flight. Mr.
Derwent Hall Caine said some very nice things about Harry, and added a
few about me for the sake of politeness.

The next morning I stayed in bed and amused myself opening the more
interesting of the correspondence. I received about 2,000 letters
before Harry came home—that was in two days—and I am afraid many did
not get opened for weeks.

Mr. and Mrs. Sopwith and myself left for Grantham just before lunch,
and arrived with nearly an hour to wait for the train which was
speeding Harry down from Scotland. The station was closed to the public
and only R.A.F. cadets were allowed on the opposite platform. The
station-master was most charming, and had arranged for Harry to meet me
in his own little room on the platform.

While on board H.M.S. _Revenge_, Harry sent the following message,
_via_ Aberdeen, at 10.35 p.m. on Sunday, May 25th:

 “My machine stopped owing to the water-filter in the feed-pipe
 from the radiator to the water-cock being blocked up with refuse,
 such as solder and the like, shaking loose in the radiator. It was no
 fault of the motor [Rolls-Royce]. The motor ran absolutely perfectly
 from start to finish, even when all the water had boiled away. I had
 no trouble in landing in the sea. We were picked up by the tramp ship
 _Mary_, after being in the water 1½ hours. We are going to London
 from Thurso at 2 p.m. on Monday, arriving in London between 7 and 8
 p.m. on Tuesday.”

The above message constituted the first public account as to the cause
of the failure.

To Harry, on the _Revenge_, Provost MacKay, of Thurso, sent the
following message:

 “The people of Thurso heartily rejoice over your and
 Mackenzie-Grieve’s safety, which is surely as wonderful as
 your pluck. May I have the pleasure of meeting you and any others at
 Scrabster (Port of Thurso) to-morrow and providing luncheon before the
 departure of the afternoon train or of assisting you in any way?”

The progress of Harry and Grieve to London was nothing short of
triumphal and an experience in itself, apart from the actual flight
accomplished. After leaving Thurso, at Bonar Bridge station they met
with a rousing reception. The people there had turned out _en masse_,
and two pipers, McBain and Macdonald, played soul-stirring strains
while the crowd cheered and cheered again. As the train stopped, the
folks swarmed round the carriage door and Harry and Grieve shook hands
with as many as possible. There were several telegrams awaiting them at
this remote little station, an augury of what they might expect nearer
home. They took in a tea-basket here.

At Tain the excitement took a similar form. Here a council meeting
was specially adjourned, and the councillors proceeded to the station
to meet the train. Provost Maitland delivered a brief congratulatory
message. Harry’s radiant smile thoroughly captivated the people,
who cheered to the echo as the train passed out.

Similar expressions of the public joy occurred at every station between
Thurso and Inverness. At Brora most of the population, including the
school-children, were on the platform, and loud cheers greeted the
arrival and departure. At Invergordon the crowds on both sides of the
train were particularly large, and unbounded enthusiasm prevailed. At
Alness they were acclaimed by pipers, amid cheers. At Dingwall and
Beauly similar warm-hearted acclamations were offered.

At several places _en route_ ladies offered bouquets, and by the time
the train reached Inverness Harry’s compartment was rich in the
perfume of the lily of the valley.

There were many incidents of human interest on the journey. At one
point far up North Harry noticed a woman and her two kiddies waving at
the train from the door of a crofter’s cottage on the hillside.
He and Grieve both responded by waving their handkerchiefs until they
were out of sight. At some of the stations children came shyly forward
to shake hands and say, “Good luck.” Some were more bold,
and said, “You will do it yet.” Harry was completely won
by the warmth of the Highland welcome, and remarked later, “What
fine people!”

As the train came over the bridge into Inverness, the siren of a vessel
in harbour heralded their arrival. The station and the vicinity were
occupied by enormous crowds, and it was with the utmost difficulty
that Harry and Grieve were able to get, or rather be got, to the
Station Hotel. Speaking from the main staircase of the hotel, Provost
Macdonald, on behalf of the people of Inverness, said:

  “We congratulate you very heartily on your brave attempt to
 cross the Atlantic and more particularly on the marvellous escape you
 have had. In 1913, when you, Mr. Hawker, passed Inverness, you did not
 give us much of a chance of welcoming you, but we now have the chance,
 and give you a real Highland welcome. We are delighted to see you, and
 to congratulate you on your wonderful attempt to cross the Atlantic.
 We are glad to know that you live to fly another day, and I hope that
 before long you will win that great prize offered by the _Daily Mail_.
 The proprietors of that newspaper have done a generous and patriotic
 action in stimulating aviation—one that deserves the congratulations
 of the whole country. We are all delighted to have you and Commander
 Grieve with us. I hope that after you have had a needed rest you will
 have another try at the Transatlantic flight, and, if you do, you
 will have the best wishes of the people of Inverness that your second
 attempt will be successful. I call for three cheers for Mr. Hawker and
 Commander Grieve, and three more for Mrs. Hawker, who has never lost
 faith in her husband’s safety.”

When the cheers had subsided, Harry said:

 “I can assure you I feel very embarrassed under the present
 conditions. I cannot help feeling in a sort of way that I am here
 under false pretences in so far as I am not so good as people think
 I am. The risk I ran was not so great as people think it was. It
 was a perfectly straightforward thing, and not at all an attempt
 of the do-or-die order.” (Amid cheers, somebody shouted,
 “You’re too modest!”) “Under ordinary
 conditions, there are hundreds of ships in the Atlantic without
 wireless, and one might be picked up and be there for a fortnight
 without anybody knowing about it. There was practically no risk at
 all. I thank you very much indeed for your warm welcome and your good
 wishes.”

Grieve was also called on for a “speech,” and said:

 “I can only echo Mr. Hawker’s words. I deeply appreciate
 your great and enthusiastic welcome, as I am a Scotsman myself.”


They were both called on to make a brief speech from the balcony of the
hotel as well. After supping with Provost Macdonald, they entrained for
Edinburgh and London.

In the small hours of the night, even at tiny stations, there were
little groups of people eager to catch a glimpse of the train as it
passed through, and long after Harry and Grieve were enjoying a sleep
they were passing stations where the train halted to the accompaniment
of bagpipes.

Perth was reached at 5 a.m., when one would have thought everybody
there would be fast asleep. But this was not so. The people were
there in thousands to cheer and watch the heroes of the hour for a
few moments. A bouquet was presented and, in acknowledging it, Harry
mentioned that he had had an excellent sleep from Inverness and was
feeling very fit.

As for the reception at Edinburgh, I cannot do better than reproduce
the account given by the _Evening News_ (London):

 “... At Edinburgh, which has grown accustomed to the visits
 of the great, there were the same scenes. The station platform was
 crowded by 8 o’clock and there was a strong force of police on
 duty to keep the way clear for passengers. When the train steamed
 in there was a great murmur of excitement and craning of necks.
 Hawker was at once surrounded by all kinds of official and unofficial
 admirers. It was really marvellous, the number of solemn officials
 who found it their duty to be very near Hawker as he came down the
 platform. The cheers grew and grew till the whole station echoed with
 them. Suddenly there was a rush through the barrier, and before the
 police realised what was happening Hawker was raised shoulder high and
 carried, smiling and a bit unstable, through the clamorous crowds. It
 was an extraordinary scene of fervour and welcome. Then he disappeared
 into the Station Hotel for breakfast. The same desire to see and
 acclaim the hero was there, though it was more discreetly veiled, as
 becomes a great hotel. It was wonderful, the number of people who had
 left their newspaper and their handkerchief in the dining-room and in
 the hall.

 “I had a few words with Hawker in the hotel. I found him looking
 the very picture of health, bright and youthful—as one could hardly
 believe after his journey into the Atlantic and across Scotland. He
 told me that already he had given the whole story of the flight. He
 talked with the greatest enthusiasm of his journey through Scotland.
 ‘You would hardly believe,’ he said, ‘how kind and
 appreciative they have been the whole way down. It has absolutely
 astonished me.’ I asked him whether he thought he would ever
 try the Atlantic again. One might have expected a very emphatic
 negative to such a suggestion, but all Hawker could say was, ‘I
 don’t know.’ He said it depended on the Sopwith firm,
 seeming to suggest that his own personal experiences and tastes were
 rather unimportant things.

 “Commander Grieve does not look quite so fit as Hawker. I
 thought he looked a bit tired and strained, but the journey from
 Thurso would do that, even if he had not done before it the biggest
 feat in navigation the world has known since Columbus. When the train
 left at 10 o’clock there was a repetition of the scenes of
 arrival, only with a bigger crowd.

 “Every corner of stair and platform and bridge where one could
 get a glimpse of Hawker and Grieve was crammed to the utmost. There
 was wild cheering and the police were busy. The two dived quickly into
 the Pullman as if a bit embarrassed with all this excitement; but,
 after many requests, appeared at the carriage door to be photographed.
 In a moment the train was away, and Edinburgh set to talking about the
 magnificent young heroes, and to-night will read of the acclamations
 all down the line.”

At Newcastle, some hundreds of people were on the platform when the
train steamed in, and Harry and Grieve met with a great reception.
The Lord Mayor and Sheriff (Mr. Cole), who were accompanied by other
members of the Corporation, and Mr. Herbert Shaw, representing the
Chamber of Commerce, congratulated them on their escape and wished them
better luck next time. The Lord Mayor presented each of them with a
volume of views of Newcastle and a case of cigarettes as a souvenir of
the occasion.

After thanking the Lord Mayor, Harry held a miniature reception by
shaking hands with some hundreds of people who passed in front of his
carriage door.

In acknowledgement of their great welcome to him, Harry addressed the
following message to Scotsmen, through the medium of the Press:

 “I am deeply touched by all the marks of respect that have been
 shown to me, and particularly by the kindness and sympathy displayed
 towards my wife during a week that must have been a severe trial to
 her. Only the kindness shown to her could have enabled her to get
 through that trial.

 “As for myself, I am simply overwhelmed by the warmth of the
 greeting showered on me everywhere since first I touched British soil
 on Sunday last. I shall remember it to my dying day. It almost makes
 me feel that it was worth while failing to have such an ovation as has
 been accorded to us. Certainly I am convinced that the public display
 of appreciation more than repays me for anything I have gone through,
 and convinces me that the attempt to cross the Atlantic was well worth
 while.

 “I am not discouraged in the least by what has taken place, and
 I have not abandoned the idea of crossing the Atlantic. What I shall
 do is a matter for discussion with my friends and backers, but I am
 far from being out of the race.

 “I have nothing to say about the criticisms of those who think
 the attempt under the conditions then prevailing was foolhardy, save
 to say that I do not regret anything I have done, and that under
 similar circumstances I should act in the same way. The attempt was
 well worth making, and it had to be made, for there was a danger of
 the honour of being first across the Atlantic being wrested from the
 old country. Someone else may succeed where I failed, but I hope that,
 whoever does succeed, the honour will rest with Britain.

 “I may say I have been loyally backed up by my wife; and when
 a man embarks on an adventure of this kind the spirit in which it
 is taken by his wife counts for a great deal. She has been splendid
 through it all, and what credit there is for what has been achieved is
 hers as much as mine.”

Commander Grieve’s message ran:

 “I can only say ‘ditto’ to Harry Hawker. I have
 been deeply touched indeed by the kindly interest taken in our flight
 and the disappointment of failure is easily forgotten in the warmth
 of the welcome given us. It was a fine stunt, well worth attempting,
 and, like Hawker, I have no regrets. I am more than ever convinced
 that the Atlantic can be crossed, and I am ready to try again when
 circumstances permit of the battle being renewed under more favourable
 conditions. Next time we ought to succeed, but if somebody gets in
 before us we can only say ‘Good luck to you.’ Everybody
 has been splendid in connection with our flight.”

[Illustration: A SOUVENIR OF THE FIRST TRANS-ATLANTIC AIR MAIL.

  [_Facing p. 264._
]

At Darlington the welcome was magnificent. Hundreds of people
were congregated on the platform, and as the train—15 minutes
overdue—steamed in, loud cheers were raised and cries of welcome
greeted them. Harry came to the carriage door, and his bronzed face
was the signal for renewed hurrahs. The crowd surged round the door to
shake Harry by the hand. Smilingly he responded by gripping as many
hands as possible. As the train left the station cheers were renewed,
rattles sounded, and hooters and whistles were blown.

At York, the Scotch express was twenty minutes behind time, and for
over half-an-hour before the scheduled time a crowd had been steadily
assembling on the platform. Lord Knaresborough (Chairman of the
North-Eastern Railway) was among those present, and he subsequently
travelled on the train to London.The Sheriff of York (Alderman C. W.
Shipley) was also present.

When the train ultimately drew up at York station, shortly after three
o’clock, a rousing cheer went up. The police found it impossible
to restrain the crowds from surging up to the fore part of the train
where Harry and Grieve occupied a first-class compartment. They
swarmed round the door, crowded on the footboards and on the coaches,
and cheered themselves hoarse. Aided by the railway police, Mr. T.
C. Humphries, the station-master, was able to reach Harry’s
compartment and hand in some telegrams, including the Royal Command to
Buckingham Palace. For some minutes Grieve held the door while Harry
was busy with replies to telegrams; then he, too, appeared. There was
a fresh outburst of cheers. Describing the scene, the _Yorkshire Post_
said:

 “... He looked well-bronzed, wonderfully fit, and smiled
 genially in acknowledgment of a fresh outburst of cheers. For the
 convenience of a group of photographers, who were poised on a pile of
 baggage, Mr. Hawker pleasantly raised his head and leaned forward. The
 cheering was continuous, and both Mr. Hawker and his navigator seemed
 particularly interested in a portion of the crowd who, failing to see
 from the platform, had climbed to the roof of a train on an adjoining
 platform, swarmed over the tender and cab, and along the footplate
 of a locomotive, while the more nimble juniors had clambered to the
 under-girders and lattice-bracing of the station roof.

 “Mr. Hawker did not attempt to make a speech, though encouraged
 by the crowd to do so. He was also appealed to by autograph hunters,
 several of whom vainly waved their albums from the densest part of the
 crowd. Some Australian soldiers, not to be denied, forced their way
 through the crowd and grasped the hand of their fellow-countryman,
 congratulating him with characteristic warmth and vigour. When the
 train, after ten minutes’ stay, was restarted, a perfect
 forest of hands was thrust towards the carriage, and as his coach
 slowly passed forward Mr. Hawker grasped such as were within reach.
 It was a royal reception from a crowd moved to the highest pitch of
 enthusiasm, and their deafening cheers completely drowned the noise
 of the escaping steam as the powerful train moved on its southbound
 journey.”

Harry’s next stop would be at Grantham, where he expected to meet
me.

At last the train came in, and there seemed to be an awful scuttle
outside. Then Harry literally fell into the little room where I
was waiting. He just said the sweetest and most wonderful thing I
could ever hear, and added, just as the people started to crush in,
“Don’t cry.”

Then we went back to the waiting train. Standing in the doorway of the
little room, we were faced by a veritable sea of cameras, which I tried
to count but could not.

We got into our carriage in comfort—the last comfort of the day—and
with an aeroplane as escort overhead, Harry and Grieve triumphantly
proceeded to King’s Cross, where a terrific reception awaited
them. As the train drew up at the platform, part of the enormous crowd
surged into our compartment. How they knew which one was hard to tell.
The civic reception party who were on the platform to give official
welcome to the heroes were completely shattered, and I believe it must
have been wonderful tactics which allowed the official Mace-bearer
to retain the mace in the face of 300 or so Australian soldiers who
thought they needed it. Anyway, the two adventurers were just carried
out of the train and placed in Harry’s big Sunbeam, which a few
hundred Australians, not content with towing, began to carry!

Harry, by then worried as to what would happen to his car, with about
forty people up, and carried by hands which caught hold of anything
which projected, decided, in consideration of the welfare of the car,
to leave it, and he began literally to crawl out over the heads of the
people. Eventually he was saved through the offer of a ride _in tandem_
on a police officer’s horse. Later, this officer relinquished
the animal for Harry, who arrived at the Royal Aero Club in Clifford
Street in triumph and to receive more welcomes. Arrived there, and
once inside, Harry and Grieve had to stay. The crowds outside grew
bigger and denser instead of the reverse. Mr. Sopwith and others, from
the balcony, tried to persuade them to disperse by telling them that
further jubilation was not desirable and the aviators wanted rest
badly. But these efforts were of no, avail, probably because owing to
the tumult below the words passed unheard rather than unheeded.

However, a little strategy, a side door, and about ten mounted police
who kept close to the car until it had gathered up enough speed to keep
people from jumping on, combined to facilitate an escape, and, having
parted from Grieve at the Club, we were speeding off for Kingston.

The employees of the Sopwith firm had organised a special entertainment
in the grounds of the Ham works, and Harry had promised to be there.
But when he arrived all seemed to be in a state of chaos. A singer
stopped singing in the middle of a word, and the whole audience rose
as one man and seemed to engulf Harry. It must be a very strange and
wonderful experience, even although it last but a few days, to be
continually the centre of a demonstrative crowd. Crowds waiting to see
you leave your house; more crowds waiting at your destination. It can
only be the very few who remain unspoiled by such ovations.

After having thoroughly broken up the proceedings at Ham, for which all
the artistes who had not yet appeared were probably thankful, our party
proceeded to Kingston in the car of honour, towed at a run for about
two miles by the Sopwith people. At Kingston an impromptu supper was
given to all and sundry by Mr. and Mrs. Sopwith.

At about 11.45 we all left for Hook, as I had promised the people in
the village they should get their welcome in some time during the
evening. Although it was about midnight when we reached our home, the
crowds around were far more than the population of which Hook could
boast. Here, as our car turned into the gate, Harry was greeted by a
fine set-piece which emblazoned the words, “Welcome Home!”;
and this was followed by a long and wonderful display of fireworks,
arranged by the men at the Sopwith Works and executed by Messrs. Brock.

More speeches and thanks returned and then to bed, after what must have
been a day which few men have experienced; especially as I know all
the welcomes and demonstrations were unexpected by Harry, who, having
failed to do what he set out to do, had thought of creeping home and
getting to work on another machine as quickly and with as little fuss
as possible, with a view to making a fresh start.




CHAPTER XVIII

AFTER THE ATLANTIC ATTEMPT

 Harry and Grieve Receive a Royal Command—The King and Queen and
 Prince Albert Hear their Story—The Air Force Cross—Comedy of a
 Silk Hat—A Cheque for £5,000—Is Nearly Lost—The _Daily Mail_
 Luncheon—General Seely Delivers Official Congratulations—Harry
 Replies—And Grieve—Tributes to Lord Northcliffe—Another Luncheon,
 also at the Savoy, on the Following Day—Royal Aero Club as Host—An
 Appropriate Menu—The Derelict _Atlantic_ is Recovered—Harry is
 Pleased.




CHAPTER XVIII


The vigorous expressions of public joy and enthusiasm evinced on
Harry’s arrival in London on Tuesday evening had by no means
abated by the following morning, when Harry and Grieve were to attend
at Buckingham Palace in response to a command telegram from the King.
The appointed hour was 10.30, and before that time many hundreds were
gathered near the gates, around the Victoria Memorial, and in the Mall.
A _Times_ correspondent’s account read:

 “Most of the crowd clustered round the main gates to the Palace.
 They were expecting the visitors to enter that way, and were looking
 for two young men dressed in the easy garb which had proved singularly
 appropriate for arrival at King’s Cross. Under this delusion
 they paid no attention to two solemn men who drove up in a Rolls-Royce
 car about 10.20 through the other gateway and were admitted into the
 Palace. The solemn man in morning coat and silk hat was Mr. Hawker,
 and his equally solemn companion in naval uniform was Commander Grieve.

 “The error had been realised when the airmen left the Palace
 about an hour later, and the crowd, now to be numbered in thousands,
 seemed resolved to make up for lost time. Without his hat, as he
 first appeared, Mr. Hawker was quickly recognised, and the cheers
 rang out in a moment. There was a rush to approach nearer the
 gates, but mounted policemen kept back the crowd. Girls waved their
 handkerchiefs, men their hats, and all shouted as loudly as they
 could.”

It was shortly before 10.30 when Harry and Grieve arrived at
Buckingham Palace in response to the Royal telegram which had reached
them during their southward journey of the previous day. They were
received by the King, who in congratulating them and bestowing upon
them the Air Force Cross, spoke in high terms of their attempt to make
the crossing when the weather conditions were not entirely favourable.
A few moments later the Queen and Prince Albert joined His Majesty
to listen to Harry’s and Grieve’s accounts of their
experiences. The conversation was informal, and Harry and Grieve were
entirely at ease. The King asked many questions about the flight, and
was particularly interested in Commander Grieve’s methods of
navigating when among the clouds. Harry said afterwards, “The
King was as much interested in the scientific attainments of the flight
as in anything concerning the adventure. He also questioned us closely
upon the personal aspect of the trip, and was deeply interested in the
description of our experiences and impressions. We were with Their
Majesties about twenty minutes, and when we left, the King and Queen
again shook hands most cordially with us.”

On May 29th, after the visit to Buckingham Palace, Harry and Grieve
were entertained to luncheon by the _Daily Mail_ at the Savoy Hotel.
Outside the hotel crowds of enthusiasts cheered them in appreciation of
the high honours conferred at Buckingham Palace by the King earlier in
the day.

In the absence of Viscount Northcliffe, who was unable to be present
owing to an impending operation on his throat, Mr. Marlowe, chairman
of the Associated Newspapers, Ltd., and Editor of the _Daily Mail_,
received the large and distinguished company of guests.

Harry sat on the right of Mr. Marlowe, on whose left was Grieve, while
the only lady present, myself, was honoured by the presence of the Lord
Chancellor on my left and the Air Minister on my right. Among others
present were:

Lord Inverclyde, Lord Morris, Lord Londonderry, Major-General
Sir F. Sykes, Admiral Sir Edward Seymour, Mr. Cecil Harmsworth
(Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs), Mr. Andrew Fisher, Sir W. A.
Robinson, Sir Edgar Bowring, Sir Joseph Cook, Mr. John Walter, Sheriff
Banister Fletcher, Sir Arthur Stanley, Sir George Sutton, Sir Campbell
Stuart, Sir Marcus Samuel, Sir William Sutherland, Sir Howard Frank,
Sir Jesse Boot, Sir Thomas Roydon, Sir George Frampton, Sir Squire
Bancroft, Sir Thomas Devitt, Sir Herbert Morgan, Sir Robert Hudson,
Brig.-General Sir Capel Holden, Sir Trevor Dawson, Sir Henry Dalziel,
Sir Edward Hulton, Sir George Watson, Sir Samuel Waring, Sir Charles
Wakefield, Sir William Treloar, Sir Harry Brittain, Sir J. Masterman
Smith, Sir Frank Newnes, Sir E. Mountain, Major-Gen. Sir Sefton
Brancker, Major-Gen. R. M. Ruck, Commander Perrin, Colonel F. K.
Maclean, Mr. T. O. M. Sopwith, Mr. Handley Page, Mr. Claude Johnstone,
Colonel T. O’B. Hubbard, Mr. Max Pemberton, Mr. Charles E. Hands,
Mr. Howard Corbett, Mr. W. Lints-Smith, Mr. H. W. Wilson, Mr. James
Douglas, Col. G. B. Cockburn, Mr. A. V. Roe, Mr. A. H. Fenn, Mr. Holt
Thomas, Mr. Harry Preston, Mr. Gerald du Maurier, Mr. C. B. Cochran,
Mr. Hamilton Fyfe, Mr. C. R. Fairey, Mr. Hamilton Fulton, Mr. R. O.
Cary, Mr. C. Grahame-White, Major F. C. Buck, Major Heckstall-Smith,
Mr. Sidney Pickles.

The chief table was surmounted by a floral model of a Sopwith biplane,
and graceful floral propellers were suspended from the electroliers.

Following the Royal Toast, the Chairman read messages of regret from
many distinguished people unable to be present.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Duke of Connaught wired:

 “I much appreciate having been asked to luncheon to-morrow to
 meet Mr. Hawker and Commander Grieve, and regret that I am unable to
 do so. With every Englishman I rejoice that these two distinguished
 airmen have been saved after their splendid endeavour to fly the
 Atlantic.”

The Lord Mayor of London wrote:

 “The City of London is immensely delighted that Hawker and
 Grieve were saved, and joins in the welcome you are offering
 them.”

The Duke of Atholl wired:

 “Much regret, owing to my being High Commissioner in Scotland
 representing His Majesty at General Assembly, it is impossible for me
 to attend the luncheon to Hawker and Grieve. I cannot say how proud
 we all are in Scotland of their performance, and congratulate them on
 their safe return.”

From Paris, Mr. Hughes, Prime Minister of Australia, wired:

 “I greatly regret that Fate denies me the opportunity of paying
 my tribute to one of Australia’s most noble sons and his
 estimable navigator.”

Admiral Sir Rosslyn Wemyss, First Sea Lord, telegraphed from a place
which, as Mr. Marlowe said, was significantly indicated by a blank
space:

 “I regret that, owing to my having a Service engagement, I am
 unable to accept your kind invitation for to-morrow. I shall be glad
 if you will inform Mr. Hawker and Commander Grieve how sorry I am
 that I am prevented from joining in your welcome to them after their
 gallant attempt to fly the Atlantic.”

Lord Weir, the late Secretary of State for Air, wiring from Glasgow,
said:

 “I sincerely regret that, owing to my departure for the United
 States, I am unable to accept your kind invitation to the welcome
 luncheon to Hawker and Grieve to-morrow. In affording this opportunity
 to two gallant airmen, the _Daily Mail_ has shown the same spirit of
 enterprise which has always characterised its efforts on behalf of
 aviation.”

Lord Northcliffe, who, as I have already stated, could not be present
owing to illness, wrote:

 “I regret that my physicians forbid my taking part in any public
 functions just now. Had I been present to-day I should have liked to
 elaborate a few outstanding facts connected with this occasion.

 “The war has shown us that the courage of the sister nations
 of Australasia, Canada, South Africa, and Newfoundland is every whit
 equal to that of the small Motherland from which they sprang. The
 partnership of Hawker—the Australian flier—and Grieve, of the Royal
 Navy, has proved what can be achieved by unity of members of our
 British Commonwealth.

 “Their flight is as great a step forward in the march of
 science as was the first important but unsuccessful attempt to lay
 the Atlantic cable, and it will so rank in history. The lessons they
 have learned will help forward the time when a direct Atlantic flight
 will be almost as easy as, and even more useful than, that across the
 English Channel.

 “As remarkable as the exploits of our two heroes is the
 immutable confidence in Divine Providence of Muriel Hawker, who not
 for one instant faltered in her absolute belief that her husband would
 be restored to her.

 “Were I present I should like to raise a glass in congratulation
 of our American friends on their careful and characteristic
 preparations for their fine record-breaking flight to the Azores and
 Lisbon. They have still left to us the problem of a direct flight
 from America to Europe. Personally I have no doubt but that, with the
 lessons and experience gained by Hawker and Grieve, a direct flight
 will soon be accomplished, and that by a British ’plane, with a
 British motor, manned by Britons.”

Mr. Marlowe, in proposing the health of Harry and Grieve, said they
were thankful that day to be able to welcome them back to London and
back to life. When the master of the steamship _Mary_ last Sunday
answered “Yes” to the enquiry of that excellent signalman
at the Butt of Lewis, he lifted a burden of apprehension from many
minds. “We have not all been able to share the serene confidence
of Mrs. Hawker.”

       *       *       *       *       *

“When the two airmen started, weather conditions were not
favourable, and if it had been a matter merely of winning the _Daily
Mail_ £10,000 prize the day would not have been selected; if that were
all, Mr. Hawker could have waited for better weather, but he felt that
for the honour of the British Empire he was no longer free to choose
his time. The United States seaplanes were at the Azores, and Mr.
Hawker decided to risk all, even defeat and death, rather than give
up the palm without a struggle. That was the spirit of Australia, the
glorious spirit of Mr. Hawker and Commander Grieve, which had touched
the hearts of the people of this country.

“As Britons,” continued Mr. Marlowe, “we give
sincere congratulations to the United States airmen on their flight
to Lisbon, completed on Tuesday. It was an historic performance and
earned respectful admiration. But this afternoon we cannot refrain from
congratulating Mr. Hawker and Commander Grieve, who, after all, in one
way or another, got across the Atlantic first. In the present stage of
flying there is no such word as ‘failure.’ Every effort
leads directly to accomplishment, and the flight of Mr. Hawker and
Commander Grieve will teach other airmen. It was not a failure: it was
a great effort which contained the seeds of success.”

The toast of “two very gallant gentlemen” was then honoured
with enthusiasm.

General Seely, who next spoke, said:

 “Mr. Chairman, Mrs. Hawker, My Lord Chancellor, My Lords and
 Gentlemen,—I think, my Lord Chancellor, you will allow that I put the
 precedence right just for once, for you take precedence on all other
 occasions in a gathering of His Majesty’s subjects—I have been
 asked to present to Mr. Hawker and Commander Grieve the cheque for
 £5,000 provided by Lord Northcliffe and the great journals with which
 he is associated.

 “First of all, on behalf not only of the Air Ministry but of His
 Majesty’s Government as a whole, and I know one may say of the
 whole of the people of Britain and the Empire, we rejoice to see you
 both safe and sound. It is a good thing that you have done. It has
 not been a useless thing. Apart from your start against adverse wind,
 not for the money, but for the honour of Britain, valuable lessons
 were learned. The lesson that Commander Grieve taught us is that in an
 aeroplane 15,000 feet up above the clouds you can, if you have got a
 cool head and steady brain, take accurate observations from the stars
 with a cloud horizon.

 “There is another good thing, that there was no tinge of
 jealousy of our Anglo-Saxon brethren, the Americans. They were more
 anxious, I think, even than we were—and I cannot put it higher—for
 your safety when the news came that it was probable that you were
 missing. The American Ambassador told me last night that he believed
 there was more concern in the belief that you two brave men were lost
 than over almost anything else that had happened in America in his
 recollection. Of course, it was not an angry race—it was a generous
 emulation. Just as in the field for many months British and American
 soldiers vied with one another and finally succeeded in overcoming the
 foe, so we vie to see who will overcome the difficulties and dangers
 of the Atlantic crossing.

 “Still less is there jealousy on the part of the Royal Air
 Force, for whom I am entitled to speak to-day. The presence of
 General Sykes, fresh from injuries sustained in a landing a little
 less fortunate than yours, though not so far from safety, testifies
 to one side of our organisation. General Trenchard, whom you know as
 Chief of the Air Staff, but better still, perhaps, as Commander of
 the Independent Air Force, to whom we owe so much for the victory
 we gained, asked me to say on his behalf, and on behalf of the Royal
 Air Force, that he hoped you, Mr. Hawker and Commander Grieve, would
 accept a message from him—a characteristic, simple message:

 General Seely continued: “On behalf of every officer in the
 Royal Air Force, I can say they are proud of your achievement, and
 that they rejoice that His Majesty the King was pleased to-day to
 give to each of you the Royal Air Force Cross for distinct acts of
 gallantry in the air.

 “I think I disclose no secret when I say that it was due to His
 Majesty’s direct intervention that all difficulties as to time
 and precise statutes and other difficulties and red tape were swept
 away in order that he, the head of the State, the head of our great
 Empire, might to-day present to you this coveted distinction for acts
 of gallantry.

 “These are two good men we are honouring to-day. Mr. Hawker,
 as I was told by one best qualified to know, by his technical and
 practical knowledge, by his nerve, skill, and gallantry in deciding
 every type of new invention during the war, contributed in the first
 degree to produce those wonderful machines which helped us to gain
 supremacy over the enemy. He may well be proud of that war record.
 Then there is Commander Grieve, of the ‘Silent Service,’
 who served with his comrades in the Royal Navy, and always with
 distinction.

 “They have rightly had a welcome; they filled our hearts with
 joy because there was a happy ending to this glorious adventure with
 such possibilities in the future. They dared and did a great thing,
 but in the hearts of us all we rejoice, Mrs. Hawker, that your husband
 was brought back to you from the jaws of death.

 “On behalf of the Air Ministry I am privileged to hand you this
 scrap of paper. It is a very real scrap of paper. It contains not
 only a generous gift from a man to whom the whole of aviation owes so
 much—and whom we hope shortly to see restored to health—but it is
 also an emblem of the thoughts of your country for a gallant deed done
 for the honour of your country. I congratulate you, Mr. Hawker and
 Commander Grieve.”

       *       *       *       *       *

 Amid loud and prolonged cheers, General Seely then handed The _Daily
 Mail_ cheque for £5,000 to Harry and Grieve. The cheque was the joke
 of the luncheon, for when it was all over Harry and Grieve were so
 busy signing autographs that they forgot all about it, until General
 Seely cried out, “What about this scrap of paper?”

 Harry had an enthusiastic reception. Blushing and stammering slightly,
 he expressed his thanks for the handsome gift, and caused great
 amusement by alluding to his feat as a feeble effort which any one of
 the company would have performed in the same circumstances.

 “When the Americans started,” he said, “Raynham
 and I determined to proceed by way of the Azores also, as the wind
 was in favour of a journey by that route. But on Sunday week there
 was a change in the conditions, and I set off by the direct route.
 Unfortunately Raynham was unable to rise.

 “We could not have wished for better assistance than we had
 from the Air Ministry. The non-success of the wireless was not due to
 the wireless itself but to our fittings. As to the reports of ships,
 I think that if we had had ships every twenty yards apart you people
 would have looked on it as a joke and not a serious attempt to fly
 the Atlantic. If you are going to fly the Atlantic you have to weigh
 it up in your mind whether it is a serious proposition or a do-or-die
 effort, as the Americans like to call it.

 “We weighed it up perfectly well, and it was a perfectly serious
 attempt in every way, and with the ordinary means and the ordinary
 amount of luck that you get in a machine there is no reason why you
 should not fly the distance to-morrow. You would think nothing of it
 overland. If you put a ship every fifty miles apart it only shows that
 you have no faith in your motor or in your machine.”

Commander Grieve, also received with loud and prolonged cheers, said:

 “When I left St. Johns I did not know how things would pan out.
 The sun was shining and there were clouds below. I said, ‘Here
 are clouds, here is the sea, navigate as on the sea and use the clouds
 as your horizon’—with certain technical differences. This went
 on very well for four hours, until the middle of the night, when the
 clouds got up higher than ourselves at a time when they were most
 required. I got no sights for about four or five hours, until the moon
 came up and the clouds flattened themselves out a bit, and I managed
 to get a sight of our position.

 “This only shows that navigation in aircraft is quite possible.
 Wireless is a valuable adjunct, the position of ships is valuable as
 a check, but unfortunately our wireless went wrong through lack of
 trial. We only got our fittings out just before we left. In every way,
 I think the navigation on the whole was a success, so far as it got.

 “In conclusion, I would like, on behalf of my parents, to thank
 the _Daily Mail_ for the sympathy shown and for the way they kept them
 informed of events.”

The health of Mr. Marlowe, the Chairman of the gathering, was proposed
by the Right Hon. Andrew Fisher. Mr. Marlowe, in reply, said he could
not help wishing that his chief, Lord Northcliffe, had been able to
be present. All the great flying prizes which the _Daily Mail_ had
offered—the £10,000 prize for the flight from London to Manchester,
another for a flight round England, the seaplane prize, in which Mr.
Hawker played a very gallant part, and many others—all owed their
origin to the personal initiative and action of Lord Northcliffe,
who was, in his opinion, the first Englishman to foresee the great
importance of aviation to the people of our islands, and to grasp,
with that practical imagination which is one of his richest gifts, the
developments of which it had shown itself to be capable.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the morning of May 30th Harry, Grieve, and myself had the honour of
being received by Queen Alexandra, who was greatly interested in the
story of their rescue by Captain Duhn.

Later Harry and Grieve were the guests of the Royal Aero Club at a
luncheon in their honour at the Savoy. The menu was:

    Barquettes Hawker.
  Suprème de Sole Atlantique.
    Poulet Reine Sopwith.
    Salade Southern Cross.
  Timbale de Fraises Northcliffe.
    Gâteau Danois.
        Café.

In proposing the toast of “The King,” the Chairman of the
gathering, Brigadier-General Sir Capel Holden, paid a tribute to His
Majesty’s intense interest in aviation. His Majesty had, he said,
acted according to the old motto, “He gives twice who gives
quickly,” by his having “done away with red-tape” in
promptly decorating their two guests.

The Chairman also mentioned that in 1913 Harry was congratulated
on having been nearly successful in flying round Great Britain in a
Sopwith seaplane for the _Daily Mail_ £5,000 prize; and it was again
owing to the foresight and generosity of Lord Northcliffe that the
attempt to cross the Atlantic was due.

Mr. Thomas Marlowe said that Harry had given him to understand that
if he and Grieve had not found the steamship _Mary_ they would have
found another in an hour or two, and that in any case there was no
danger whatever—a statement which provoked considerable amusement. Mr.
Marlowe paid a tribute to the very great assistance rendered by the
Royal Aero Club, and in particular by the secretary, Commander Perrin,
in the making of arrangements in connection with the flight.

[Illustration: TRANS-ATLANTIC AVIATORS’ REUNION DINNER. THE LATE
SIR JOHN ALCOCK IS ON THE EXTREME LEFT; MR. F. P. RAYNHAM ON THE RIGHT
(NEAREST THE CAMERA); SIR ARTHUR WHITTEN-BROWN IN UNIFORM (OPPOSITE
THE CAMERA); AND ON HIS LEFT LIEUT.-COMDR. K. MACKENZIE-GRIEVE, A.F.C.
HARRY IS THIRD FROM THE LEFT OF THE PICTURE.

  [_Facing p. 282._
]

Colonel F. K. Maclean, introduced as “the father of British
aviation,” said he remembered how in navigation the compass
had a habit of turning round and round somewhat faster than the
machine. He had flown without a compass, but he thought that to get
one’s position in mid-Atlantic, even with a compass, was the most
extraordinary thing of which he had heard.

When the toast of Harry and Grieve was being drunk, an extra special
cheer was given for me, and someone added, “And for the little
Hawker!”—and so Pam was toasted too.

Harry was relieved of most of the onus of replying by Mr. Sopwith, who
mentioned that he and Grieve had arranged to share the £10,000 prize if
they won it in proportions of 70 and 30 per cent. Harry had, however,
insisted that they should halve Lord Northcliffe’s prize of
£5,000, because they had both suffered equal risks. Mr. Sopwith also
paid a warm tribute to the generosity of Lord Northcliffe and to his
staunch belief in aviation, and concluded by saying that Harry had told
him that if he made another Atlantic flight he would have nobody else
to navigate but Grieve.

Grieve said he was much amused to see himself referred to as an aviator
in certain papers. “I’m not an aviator, and never will be.
But it has been a great source of pride to me to be associated with the
Royal Aero Club.”

On Friday, May 21st, the American steamer _Lake Charlotteville_, bound
from Montreal for Danzig, with 3,500 tons of flour and 500 tons of
coal, sighted the derelict Sopwith aeroplane at longitude 49° 40´ N.,
latitude 29° 7´ W. at 2 p.m., on her starboard beam. The machine was
considerably more submerged than when it was abandoned by the aviators,
and only the remains of the tail and the rear part of the fuselage
remained above water, projecting vertically. The steamer arrived at
Falmouth at 4 p.m. on the following Wednesday afternoon with the
remains of the aeroplane lashed on deck in her forepart, looking at
a distance like a broken perambulator. Although the engines did not
appear to have suffered a great deal from the effects of the immersion,
the aluminium was noticeably corroded with brine. The propeller was of
course smashed and splintered, as also was the timber structure of the
machine. There was a mass of twisted wires among the fractured wings
and soaked canvas.

There was a heavy swell running when the captain of the _Lake
Charlotteville_ bore down on the derelict and, not knowing that the
airmen had been rescued, searched for survivors. As a matter of fact,
the machine was not so damaged when picked up as when it reached
Falmouth. It was hoisted on board by winches, and later the sea swept
the deck and caused further damage.

Harry was delighted when he heard that the machine had been salved.
“Its recovery will be of the greatest value,” he said,
“for on it are many records which will be of great assistance
to the future science of aviation. In addition there are a number of
mails on the machine, which happily will not be very much damaged by
the water, as they are in waterproof casings. Some of the appliances
of most delicate construction and adjustment, too, are attached to the
machine, and these, we hope, will give first-class information for
future flights.”

The undercarriage, which Harry had released before passing beyond the
Newfoundland coast, was subsequently found and now reposes in the
museum at St. Johns.

After all the necessary festivities were over we decided to leave
London for a little while.

We went to stay at a little seaside place in Norfolk where, for
the first evening at least, Harry was quite unknown. It was a very
enjoyable rest, but the next day, returning to lunch after a long walk
along the coast, we were met with many interested glances, and at lunch
a small child appeared with an autograph book. This spoilt everything,
and by tea-time the whole village had brought their books for
signatures. We hastily arranged to leave the place. We had not used the
Sunbeam, since it might have been conspicuous, but this had evidently
been the tell-tale, and we left for Cromer. Harry’s popularity at
this time must have been enormous, for the crowd that assembled round
the hotel when it was known he was staying there was quite a terrifying
spectacle, and again we left. We went for a short tour then, staying
one night in each place, and then went back, Harry being anxious to
superintend the construction of the new Schneider Cup machine.

Towards the end of August the machine was ready, and we went down to
Southampton for a week or two before the race, which was to be held
on September 10th at Bournemouth. Harry sent his racing motor-boat
down with the machine and used this boat as a conveyance between
Southampton, where we stayed, and Hythe, where the machine was housed.
A very serious accident was only just averted on the machine’s
maiden trip. The machine was small, fitted with a 450 h.p. Cosmos
Jupiter engine, fitted with special floats made to Harry’s
design. After starting up the engine, however, prior to her first
flight, and opening out to get away, instead of speeding across the
water the machine gave a lurch and dug her nose into the water, the
tail coming up until it was almost perpendicular. The cockpit of the
machine was very small, in fact so small that only a tight-fitting
sweater could be worn in it, so it was not the quickest thing to get
out of in the case of emergency. However, it was not many seconds
before Harry appeared out of the cockpit, from which he hopped with
agility, shouting to the mechanics on the slipway to hang on to the
tail to prevent the machine sinking. They successfully beached the
machine, and it was discovered that the floats, by some error in the
drawings, had been fitted too far back. The machine was packed up under
Harry’s supervision with extraordinary haste and was ready on
the lorry to return to London. The lorry was then found unfit for the
journey, something having happened to it on its journey up. Harry,
nothing daunted, had decided that the machine was to go to London that
night, and so it did. He got his Sunbeam from Southampton, to which he
securely fastened the loaded lorry and towed it, at a speed that must
have made the lorry’s hair stand on end, to London that night.
There are occasions when the very high-power car has its uses which the
smaller car could not carry out.

Within two days the machine was back, and it exceeded expectations in
the form of speed, attaining at one time a speed of 180 miles per hour.

Four British entries for the Jacques Schneider International Seaplane
Race, necessitated eliminating trials being arranged on September
3rd at Cowes. At the time of the start only three of these turned
up—_Supermarine_ (450 h.p. Napier Lion, piloted by Squad.-Com. B. D.
Hobbs, D.S.O., D.F.O), the _Fairey_ (450 h.p. Napier Lion, piloted by
Lieut.-Col. Vincent Nicholl, D.S.O.), and Harry, so the eliminating
trial was unnecessary, the Avro being held as reserve. This was very
lucky for Harry, as on alighting on the water he was seen to be sinking
rapidly, and only succeeded in getting to land with the aid of a
rowing-boat, which was put under a float. It appeared that a large part
of the under-surface of the float had been torn away by some floating
object on landing and so it would have been necessary to get new floats
before another flight was made.

Harry had the broken floats removed and put on _Kangaroo_ II, his own
motor-boat, for removal back to Hythe. This hydroplane was designed
to carry two people at speed, and not as a useful conveyance for
friends and baggage, so it was with feelings of qualm that I took
my seat beside Harry, my sister on my knee, two floats securely tied
on the bows, and two men at the stern. Heading towards the Solent it
did not take much movement of a limb to list the boat, and Harry was
continually singing out, “Trim the boat!” However, in
rounding the bend out of the harbour into the open sea the _Kangaroo_
decided it was over-worked, and thereupon turned over completely,
pitching all and sundry on the waters. Only one of the party could not
swim, and he luckily found a float at hand to which he desperately
clung.

It is no joke to be suddenly put in the sea clothed in thick coats and
furs. The first few minutes one swims with much gusto, but things get
very heavy after a little while and a kind of effort is required to
keep up.

Harry bobbed up somewhere near me and started a sort of roll-call.
Meanwhile a rowing-boat had put out from the shore and come alongside
my sister and I. We had just about had enough of floating about,
although I do not suppose it was really so long as it seemed, and
thankful enough for the boat; but suddenly one of the two Australian
soldiers, who had pushed out the first boat they could find, found
it was sinking, and unceremoniously left for the shore alone. They
had forgotten to put the bung in! However a launch soon came up and
we were safely “beached.” Harry towed the _Kangaroo_ to
shore, where he found the magneto had suffered badly by its immersion
in water, and proceeded to dismantle it. By about nine o’clock
he was ready to start back with it, this time without the floats. It
was quite dark, and little more than half-way across the Solent the
magneto gave out again. They moored behind an anchored vessel and in
the dark Harry had no little job in getting things right. He eventually
arrived back at the hotel at about eleven o’clock, still in
his wet clothes. As for my sister and myself, Mr. Smith, who was one
of the victims, took us back by the Southampton steamboat, in which
the captain, hearing of our plight, kindly allowed us the use of the
engine-room as a drying-ground, and for the journey of just over an
hour we steamed away merrily.

The new floats were procured, but the actual race itself was a fiasco.

There were three French and one Italian competitor beside the English,
and on September 10th, the day of the race, the weather was good and
everyone had arrived. Just at the hour arranged for the start a thick
fog descended, completely blotting out the points to which the machines
had to fly.

Harry, who had again damaged his racing floats on landing at
Bournemouth from Hythe, only just managed to get off the water with
one float nearly submerged. In the compulsory landing after one lap he
landed near the shore, the machine being pulled on to the beach by the
mechanics before it had time to sink.

The fog had not lifted, and as it was impossible to find the boundary
buoys everyone gave it up, with the exception of the Italian
competitor, who did round after round at a terrific speed, but it was
very doubtful if the actual round was flown each time, as the outpost
people could not distinguish the passing of any machine.

In fairness to the Italian competitor, it must be said that nearly all
the French and English competitors had had float trouble, and it was
doubtful if, had the weather been good, he would have had many rivals.
There was a good deal of controversy afterwards as to whether the Cup
should be awarded; ultimately it was agreed that the race should be run
the following year in Italy, but the 1919 race was to be considered as
null.

After this race Harry and I had arranged to go to Scotland on a visit
to Mr. Sopwith, there to enjoy a stag-shoot. Harry was an exceptional
shot, and the previous autumn had had the unique experience of shooting
two royal stags in one day. This year, however, the railway strike
prevented our going, which naturally was a great disappointment to
Harry.




CHAPTER XIX

MOTOR RACING

 Harry Turns to Motor-racing—Successful Début at Brooklands—Why
 I Stayed at Home—The 250 h.p. Sunbeam Touring Car Takes Second
 Place—When the 450 h.p. Racer Comes on the Scene—Harry Drives
 the Largest Car in the World—A Terrible Crash—Without Serious
 Consequences—Back to the Air—The R.A.F. Tournament—Reunion of
 Pioneer Aviators—Eleventh-Hour Entry for the Aerial Derby—Second
 Place, but Disqualified—A Very Busy Month—Aeroplane Trials at
 Martlesham—British International Motor-boat Trophy at Cowes—More
 Motor-racing at Brooklands—His Aeroplane Enables Harry to be
 (nearly) in Three Places at Once—Harry “Brings Home”
 a £3,000 Prize for the Sopwith Company at Martlesham—I Decide
 that Motor-racing is Too Risky—And Fate Deprives Harry of a
 Race—Motor-boat Racing—Racing an A.C. Light Car—And a D.F.P.—The
 Gordon-Bennett Air Race of 1920—Bad Luck—The 450 h.p. Sunbeam Again.




CHAPTER XIX


During the winter of 1919-20 there was little to be done in the way
of flying and the prospects of it recovering its pre-war popularity
not very hopeful. Harry looked round for other fields of achievement
to fill in the spare time he now had on his hands. Always keen on the
possibilities of the racing car, it was with great enthusiasm that he
accepted the offer from Mr. Coatalen to drive the new 6-cylinder racing
car which Sunbeam’s had built for the meeting at Indianapolis
and wished to put through its paces at the first post-war Brooklands
meeting on Whit-Monday, 1920. Harry went down to Wolverhampton to see
the car, and was amazed at the care with which the racing cars are
produced, and to quote his own expression, “The Sunbeam people
do the whole thing properly.” A day or so before the meeting the
car was brought down by road from Wolverhampton, and the trial runs
on the track proved more than satisfactory. The race-meeting itself
was a record one, and the scene, even for Brooklands, a memorable one.
“From the bottom of the Test Hill to the entrance to the course
the track was lined on both sides with packed masses of cars, while the
Hill was crowded with people breathlessly following the fortunes of
their favourites as the burnished bonnets of the great cars glittered
like shooting stars round the great track,” to quote from a
current issue of the daily Press.

Judging by his reception and the notices which appeared on Tuesday,
Harry was the popular figure of the day. In the first of the two races
in which he was to drive the Sunbeam six, the Short Lightning Handicap,
he won the race from scratch, overhauling his most formidable opponent,
Mr. Kilburn’s Vauxhall, just as they were entering the finishing
straight, when his average speed from start to finish was 98½ miles
per hour. Harry’s victory in this, and again in his second race,
the Long Lightning Handicap, where after an exciting race he was first
home by about a length, brought him a tremendous reception from the
delighted crowd. His best lap for the day was at the speed of 106·65
miles per hour.

It is interesting to note that in passing the Opel, another competitor
in the first race, at a very bumpy part of the track the gear lever of
the Sunbeam jumped out of gear, and in attempting to replace it Harry
accidentally put it into second gear. The car continued to gain on
the Opel, and before changing up into top while running at 100 miles
per hour the revolution counter showed the extraordinary turnover of
5,700 revolutions per minute. Afterwards the motor was dismantled, but
no damage of any description had been incurred by this exceptional
achievement.

This was Harry’s début as a motor-racer, and it was the first day
of complete success he had ever had. I well remember him saying that
now he felt his luck had changed and he was finished with failures,
glorious or otherwise.

It was a great disappointment to me not to have seen his first
attempt at motor-racing, but Mary, who was born on the anniversary
of Harry’s start to fly the Atlantic, and named after the boat
which subsequently saved him, being a few days old, I was reluctantly
compelled to stay at home and be contented with watching them set out
in the car in the morning, receiving my reward when just after tea they
all returned home bubbling with pride.

This new form of speed had got well hold of Harry, and he filled in
the time before the next meeting, at which he was to drive the new
450 h.p. Sunbeam racer, the largest car in the world, by tuning up
his own 12-cylinder Sunbeam. Stripping the car of all unnecessary
equipment—lamps, mudguards, wind-screens, etc.—he attained, after
much “changing of jets” and general tuning, a speed of 107
miles per hour with a four-seater touring body. Shedding about half
the rubber off a front tyre, high on the banking at nearly 100 miles
per hour, causing a series of tremendous skids out of which it did not
seem possible to straighten successfully, did not deter him, for he
seriously contemplated having the car properly streamlined. Luckily
the 450 h.p. Sunbeam got down to Brooklands, and after a run on her
Harry brought our Sunbeam home, spent an evening tightening up the
body everywhere and replacing all the impedimenta. He also ordered new
tyres, saying that, after all, a car only capable of under 110 miles
per hour was only fit for a touring car, and so ended its racing career.

On June 26th, the B.A.R.C. held their Midsummer Meeting, at which the
450 h.p. Sunbeam was to make its début.

The car not having arrived down from Wolverhampton until late in
the week, Harry decided to give it a lap or two on the morning
of the meeting. Accordingly he set out early on his Ford, and I
was to follow later with the Sunbeam. We arrived at the gate and,
the congestion being so great, we were held up for some time in
the “queue.” During the wait someone coming on foot
from the paddock shouted across to some people in a car near us,
“Hawker’s crashed on the Sunbeam in practise!” What
one does on these occasions is generally hard to remember, but I know
I got out of the stationary car and walked on to the paddock, almost
dazed, to find out what had happened. Arriving at the gate, the sight
of Harry standing there was such a relief that instead of hurrying
to tell him of the great anxiety of the last few moments I could say
nothing. He was surprised to see me walking in, and asked where the car
was. “You don’t generally walk to Brooklands.”

“And you don’t generally wait patiently just at the gate
for me to come.”

“No,” he replied, “but I have just blown a tyre off
the Sunbeam and shan’t be able to race to-day, so I’ve
nothing on earth to do.”

So much for coming off the banking at the fastest part of the track
with a flat tyre at something over 110 miles per hour, crashing
through a fence and jumping a ditch the other side. A Press account of
the accident taken from Harry’s own description of the incident
shows how a terrible disaster was only just averted.

 “Hawker had the car out on just an ordinary race-meeting
 practise run. On the banking under the Members’ Bridge the car
 was doing 125 miles per hour beautifully, with plenty of power and
 speed in hand, a black-snouted, white-bodied speed monster, hurtling
 round in the fresh morning air, well up the banking, when—the Fates
 being liverish—the front offside tyre burst. A swerve, a struggle
 with the wheel, utter disaster averted, and with the front axle
 chattering uncushioned on the concrete the car plunged on under its
 momentum down the railway straight. Try as he will, Hawker cannot get
 the car to answer to the wheel and bear left. The drag of the erring
 tyre holds it to the right of the track. Careering almost parallel
 with the fence which runs alongside the straight for a quarter of
 a mile, the car at last digs its forepart into the corrugated iron
 sheets, still doing over 80 miles per hour, rips them apart for eleven
 or twelve yards, gambols obliquely down a four-feet drop, and finishes
 up on all fours, right side uppermost a paling immovably jammed in one
 of the front wheels, but otherwise unhurt. Mr. Hawker, too, seemed
 but little shaken by his experience and far more interested in the
 glorious running of his mount before taking the toss than in the
 accident itself.”

On the same day during a race the 6-cylinder Sunbeam, the car which
Harry had handled at the previous meeting, came to grief. What actually
happened was not definitely known, but the car was seen to swerve
at almost the same part of the track that Harry had his trouble,
and, after coming down the railway straight, left the track for the
Sewage Farm, where it turned two complete somersaults, the driver,
Captain Geach, miraculously escaping any serious injury. Perhaps it
was the penalty of fame or a proof of popularity that in the next
morning’s papers there were lurid accounts of Hawker’s
escape from death, one heading reading, “Hawker, the man who
won’t be killed!” while little comment was made on Captain
Geach’s more serious accident.

A few days later, July 3rd, saw him in the air again, at the Royal
Air Force Tournament at Hendon, where a huge crowd had assembled to
witness what proved to be the finest exhibition of all kinds of flying
ever seen in one afternoon. Here Harry, on his Swallow monoplane, went
through a series of stunts which he loved so well, and according to a
current flying paper, “executed many extraordinary evolutions
which seemed quite different to those just witnessed.”

Perhaps it would have been more extraordinary still to all those
watching him had they known he was undergoing certain treatment for
his back at this time that caused him great pain and sleepless nights.
During the time that he was receiving this drastic treatment he was
hardly fit to be walking about, and certainly not to be flying and
racing, but with that indomitable courage and determination to go on as
usual, he refused to give up any part of his work.

On July 12th he was present among numbers of well-known airmen at the
dinner given at the Connaught Rooms to the survivors of the first
hundred British aviators. Forty-eight of that number were present,
including two women, Miss Bacon and Mrs. Hewlett. The Duke of York, who
was present, replied to the toast of the Royal Family, in which speech
he modestly referred to himself as an indifferent pilot.

The Aerial Derby for 1920 was arranged for July 24th, but Harry not
having a machine which could put up a good enough “show”
decided not to compete, but agreed to come over to Hendon during
the afternoon on the Swallow and help to amuse the crowd during the
somewhat tedious wait from the start of the last competitor to the
return of the first. About a day before the race, gripped by the
lure of the contest, he decided to fly the Sopwith Rainbow and take
a sporting chance. Immediately his entry was received the papers
announced Hawker’s mount as the “dark horse” of the
race, and consequently he became favourite, with three machines faster
than his as competitors.

However, they say the public backs the pilot, as though by some
extraordinary prowess the popular favourite can produce an extra ten
miles per hour from his mount.

The Rainbow was the Schneider Cup machine of 1919 with the floats
replaced by a land chassis and the Cosmos Jupiter engine substituted by
an A.B.C. Dragonfly engine.

In a field of sixteen competitors Harry was No. 13 to start, having
1½ minutes’ start on the Bristol Jupiter, eight minutes on the
Martinsyde Semiquaver with 300 h.p. Hispano Suiza, and 9 minutes on the
Nieuport Goshawk with 320 h.p. A.B.C. engine.

Harry made a very spectacular get-away at 3.47 and was soon out of
sight in his attempt to catch up the twelve other competitors, the
first of which had started just over one hour and a half before. He
flew high, as he always did, and was back again at Hendon, having
completed the first of the two laps of 100 miles in 41 minutes 31
seconds. The Nieuport Goshawk, the fastest machine in the race, having
landed at Brooklands, and Harry having passed the Bristol Bullet during
the lap, the Martinsyde Semiquaver was the only fast machine to be
overtaken.

The last machine to finish the first of the two circuits to be flown
was the Martinsyde F4, which arrived at 4.40, and fourteen minutes
later Captain Hammersley arrived on his Baby Avro (30 h.p. Green
engine), having completed his second lap, and was thus winner of the
Handicap.

The winner was closely followed by Hinckler on an identical machine,
and ten minutes later Harry appeared at speed, having picked up
nearly 1½ hours on these two machines, when, except for finishing
incorrectly, he would have taken second place in the Aerial Derby and
third in the Handicap. He was unfortunately ruled out of the race, as
he finished by flying straight across the centre of the aerodrome,
as in previous years, instead of making a circuit of the pylons. The
Semiquaver then appeared, having finished the whole of the course of
205 miles in 1 hour 18 mins. as against Harry’s 1 hour 23 mins.,
and so won the Aerial Derby. Unfortunately, in landing, the Semiquaver
overturned, but the pilot, Mr. Courtenay, who had at the last moment
taken Mr. Raynham’s place, was uninjured.

The next month was a very busy one for Harry, as during one week his
presence was required in three different places each day as far apart
as Cowes, Brooklands, and Martlesham Heath in Suffolk, and he was only
enabled to do this by the use of his monoplane.

The first fortnight in August he was due at Martlesham Heath, to fly
the Sopwith Antelope through the Air Ministry Competition.

On August 4th, 10th, and 11th, he was to steer _Maple Leaf V._ in the
British International Trophy at Cowes, and on August 2nd he was to
drive the 12-cylinder Sunbeam racing car at the Brooklands Meeting.

As it was necessary to spend a good deal of time in practise and trial
before each of these events, some idea of the effort required to carry
them through may be gathered.

The Air Ministry had offered prizes of £64,000 for speed and
reliability of the various types of aircraft, and the Sopwith Aviation
Company entered the Antelope, fitted with a Wolseley Viper engine, to
compete in the small type of machines. This machine had an enclosed
saloon for its two passengers, fitted with two comfortable armchairs,
sliding windows, a sliding panel in the roof, by which when sitting
in the raised chair one could have the benefit of an open machine
if required. A hot and cold air regulator was fitted and also a
speaking-tube to the pilot in front.

The tests consisted of slow flying, speed, economy (a comparison
between useful load carried, in pounds, not including weight of pilot,
oil, and petrol, and the amount of fuel and lubricant consumed),
landing and getting-off tests, and self-controlled flights.

In the slow flying test the Antelope got down to 43 miles per hour,
the lowest recorded, and in speed attained 110·35 miles per hour,
the second best performance. It also put up a good performance in the
landing tests in which the machine had to land in a given circle over a
row of balloons tethered 50 feet from the ground by means of threads.
The Antelope, in landing in 187·7 yards, beat all the others by a good
margin, the second being the Westland Napier, taking 235 yards.

In economy the Antelope took second place, and also in the getting-off
test, taking 23 feet as against the Westland’s 22·75 feet.

Harry arrived from Cowes on the monoplane and was soon up with
the Antelope on the reliability tests, which consisted of two
three-and-a-half-hour periods at a speed of not less than 80 miles per
hour and at above 3,000 feet up. Harry took Mr. Sopwith as passenger
and carried out both periods himself, although a different pilot was
allowed for the second three-and-a-half-hour test.

In the uncontrolled test the Antelope flew for five minutes by itself.

The result of these competitions was very hard to judge, the Sopwith
and the Westland running very close together, but the official result
showed the Westland first, thus winning the prize of £10,000, and the
Sopwith gaining the second prize of £3,000.

During this time Harry had been officially living at Martlesham, flying
down to Cowes almost daily on the monoplane to watch the progress of
the Saunders boat which he was to steer in the British International
Trophy.

On August 2nd, Harry was to drive the 450 h.p. Sunbeam at Brooklands.
The narrow escape which he had with this car at its first public
appearance on the track perhaps accounted for the unsportsmanlike
attitude I took up on the occasion of its second.

While Harry was staying at the aerodrome at Martlesham I was at
Bournemouth with the babies, and on the Friday before the race-meeting
on Monday, Harry came down for the week-end. On Saturday he went over
to Cowes to see how the Saunders boat was progressing for the coming
race, and returned to London on Sunday. Perhaps it was continually
hearing from people who knew, or should know, that the wonderful new
Sunbeam car was too fast for the track, and catching stray sentences,
as one does in the paddock, I could not rest. On the Friday he came
down I tried to persuade him to give up the racing on Monday, but
I only succeeded in thoroughly upsetting him, as I did not see the
position I was putting him in, and that he had no excuse for cancelling
his arrangements for the track at the eleventh hour. I expect the
unusualness of my attitude worried him, since it was the first time I
had tried to deter him from any of his precarious activities. On Monday
morning I decided to go to town, praying that something might happen to
prevent his driving the car. Arriving at Surbiton, I found the only car
in the garage was the racing A.C. before it had come into fame, which
I managed to start, and arrived at Brooklands past the time of the
Sunbeam’s first race.

I found Harry and Mr. Coatalen beside the car, which had not been out,
as its first race had been passed over through wetness of the track.

Surprised at seeing me, Harry told me to cheer up—he had had some laps
in the morning and she was running beautifully.

The time approached for the second and last race, and, the track having
dried, the meeting was resumed, and the huge 450 h.p. car roared out of
its “stall” and slowly made its way to the starting-line.

Having by this time worked myself into a perfect example of the panicky
old woman, and with the words “too fast for the track”
always tingling in my ears, I longed for anything to happen to stop
its racing, quite regardless of any possible damage to the reputation
of both driver and maker in the fear of the awful something that might
happen. I watched all the competitors start one by one, as of course
the Sunbeam was scratch, and when, as it was standing roaring on the
line, the flag fell for it to start, there was a jerk and a silence.
Harry had stopped the motor on the line, and the Sunbeam was not to be
seen at speed at that meeting. Such carelessness, accident though it
was, and so unlike Harry in any of his efforts, especially when I knew
his heart was set on doing well with the car, was hard to understand. I
knew that, although I had got what I prayed for, I had failed him, and
his disappointment afterwards was my punishment. He said very little
about it afterwards, just called it “damn bad luck”; but
then he was always the real kind of sportsman—a good loser.

He took me to the station next morning on my return to Bournemouth, and
saying “Good-bye,” added, “See you at Cowes to-morrow
for the B.I.T.; it will sure to be some fun,” and the whole
incident was forgotten.

[Illustration: HARRY ON BOARD A YACHT DURING ONE OF THE PERIODS WHICH
HE DEVOTED TO MOTOR-BOAT RACING.
  [_Facing p. 300._
]

[Illustration: PAMELA SETS THE PACE ON THE LAWN AT HOOK.

  [_Facing p. 300._
]

The next day, August 4th, he was out on _Maple Leaf V._, in practise
for the eliminating trials which were to be run off during the day.

_Maple Leaf V._, entered by Sir E. Mackay Edgar, Bart., was 39 feet
in length, equipped with four 12-cylinder Sunbeam engines of 400
h.p., making a total of 1,600 h.p. The hull was built of the famous
“Consuta” wood, which looked, but was not too fragile to
bear the weight of those four enormous engines.

_Maple Leaf VI._, steered by Lieut.-Col. A. W. Tate, D.S.O., was of
similar construction, fitted with two Rolls-Royce engines together
supplying 1,100 h.p.

There were six British entries for this Trophy and eliminating trials
were to be held to find the three best boats.

The 900 h.p. Sunbeam-engined _Despujols II._ shipped water just before
the start, and all efforts to start her up failed.

Bad luck was also experienced by _Miranda V._, a 33-feet Thornycroft
boat equipped with an engine of 475 h.p. of the same name, which,
although first over the line at the start, had to give up hurriedly in
the first round, making for shore with a hole in her stern by which she
filled rapidly, and finally sank in shallow waters near the shore.

The remaining four boats consisted of _Maple Leaf VI._; a 39-feet
Saunders boat fitted with two Rolls-Royce engines of 1,100 h.p.
complete; the 8-_metre_, 450 h.p. Sunbeam-engined _Despujols_; and
_Tireless V._, a Cox and King boat fitted with Green engine of 900 h.p.

The results of the trials were _Maple Leaf V._, _Despujols_, _Maple
Leaf VI._, and lastly _Tireless V._ The time results were very
disappointing, the winning boat having averaged little over 30 knots.

America had sent over three representatives in the form of _Miss
Detroit_, of 38 feet length, and _Miss America_, of 26 feet, both
fitted with 800 h.p. Smith Marine Twin motors, which were rebuilt
Liberty aeroplane installations of two V-type engines of 400 h.p. each.
The third boat was _Whip-po’-Will_, which during a preliminary
run a few days earlier had burst into flame and sunk, and was a
complete loss.

The total course of the race was 33 nautical miles, broken up into five
rounds.

At the start of the first race on August 10th there was some dexterous
manœuvring for the advantage of being first to get away, the boats
circling round a space before the starting-line while three-minute
signals were given. Harry managed to get _Maple Leaf V._ over the
line first in great style, 12 seconds after the gun had fired. He
was followed after an interval of 8 seconds by _Miss Detroit_, _Miss
America_ following but 1 second behind.

_Maple Leaf VI._, steered by Lieut.-Col. A. W. Tate, D.S.O., soon
followed, and _Despujols_, steered by Sir A. G. Guiness, Bart., brought
up the rear 33 seconds after the gun. At the end of the first round
_Miss America_ showed her superiority, leaving _Maple Leaf V._ to set
the pace to _Miss Detroit_; _Maple Leaf VI._ throwing up spray and
seeming to proceed by means of hops, gaining for herself the name of
_The Kangaroo_, passed the line fourth, and _Despujols_ last. The same
order held for the second round, while in the third round Harry’s
boat was seen to be in trouble, and in the fourth round seemed almost
to stop. He managed, however, to complete the course well within the
time limit on one engine, thereby qualifying for the second race. The
race had been easily won by _Miss America_, followed by _Maple Leaf
VI._ _Miss Detroit_ had engine trouble, but finished the course.

The next day the weather proved good, the sea being quite calm—too
calm for the British boats, who hoped for a choppy sea—and there was
hardly a breath of wind blowing in Osborne Bay.

The start this time was a good one, _Maple Leaf VI._ being over the
line first 7 seconds after the gun, the last man away being within
20 seconds. When the boats got thoroughly going the order was _Miss
America_, _Miss Detroit_, _Maple Leaf V._, _Maple Leaf VI._, and
_Despujols_. This order was maintained till the finish, _Miss America_
winning easily. The actual times over the whole course of 33 miles were:

  _Miss America_      37 min.  9⅕ sec.
  _Miss Detroit_      37 min. 43⅘ sec.
  _Maple Leaf V._     37 min. 59  sec.
  _Maple Leaf VI._    40 min. 59⅕ sec.
  _Despujols_         41 min.  5⅕ sec.

The average speed of the winner over the whole course was slightly
faster than in the first race, _Miss America’s_ speed being 53·42
miles per hour as against her speed the day before of 51·45 miles per
hour.

The American boats were conspicuous by the manner in which they
skimmed over the water, which they hardly seemed to displace, and very
little white spray ever appeared. It was quite easy to distinguish
the various boats at a distance by the amount of foam. _Maple Leaf
VI._ could easily be found by the periodic banks of spray as she
“hopped” along, and _Maple Leaf V._ seemed to proceed
through two walls of water. And so the British International Trophy
went to America for the fifth time since 1903.

On September 4th, the date of the Junior Car Club’s Autumn
Meeting, Harry, in entering an A.C. car which he had lately acquired,
was to have made his first attempt at light car racing.

His entry was received and accepted, and it was not until the cars were
lined up in the paddock prior to entering the track that the gods that
be decided not to permit him to race as the car was not standard.

The car was a new 4-cylinder overhead valve model which the A.C.
Company had made with a view to a fast standard sports model
production, and the race was for standard cars only. But the word
“standard” involuntarily brings a smile when applied to any
of the veterans’ mounts. And also being a handicap race, there
is always the energetic handicapper at work at Brooklands who has a
wonderful knack of letting the light in on dark horses. However, if the
mount had been a Mr. Brown’s entry it would probably have been
allowed to race, and possibly even spoilt the reputation and interest
it gained that day, but the speeds put up by the rest of the standard
cars must have brought complaints from many a disappointed owner, who,
trading on his all too standard production to little effect, wondered
if personal training would produce the missing 20 or so miles an hour.

On September 25th, at the last B.A.R.C. Meeting of the year, Harry,
having formed a company in Australia with an agency for D.F.P. cars
decided to enter a perfectly ordinary 4-cylinder D.F.P. car.

The handicapper notes H. G. Hawker’s entry of a D.F.P., gives him
plenty of time at the starting-line to study the various “get-aways” of
the other competitors, and has the satisfaction of seeing him coming up
the finishing straight as the cars for the next race were proceeding to
the starting-line, having been “all out” the whole race. So much for a
name.

Harry’s next activity was to have been, with any sort of luck,
as one of the three representatives for the Gordon-Bennett Air Race
of 1920, to be held at Etampes, France, on September 28th, the other
two entries being Raynham on the Martinsyde Semiquaver which had won
the Aerial Derby, and Tait Cox on the Nieuport Goshawk, which had also
flown in the Aerial Derby. Fear was expressed as to the possibility of
the latter’s entry owing to the closing of the Nieuport firm, but
although the entry was satisfactorily arranged, it was not among the
starters in the race, as it had not arrived at Etampes early enough the
previous day to comply with the rules.

Neither was Harry’s ill-luck at rest, as a week or so before
the race it was found necessary to withdraw the machine, the Rainbow,
fitted now with the Bristol Jupiter engine in place of the A.B.C.,
owing to the liquidation of the Sopwith Aviation Company. These were
the beginning of the very lean days which do not seem to fatten
even yet, and England was left with the Semiquaver as its only
representative.

There were three American and three French entries, which latter
country had but to win the race this time to gain the Cup right out,
having won the two immediately preceding competitions.

Any competitor could fly the course any time after 7 a.m. during the
day, and times were compared afterwards to ascertain the winner.

Raynham was the last of all the competitors to start, and it was a
very melancholy moment for England when, with Tait Cox standing by
his disqualified machine, and Harry, hands in pocket and no machine,
Raynham was seen to descend after the first lap owing to oil trouble.

Harry and Raynham, staunch friends and rivals since the days of the
Michelin Cup incident in 1912, consoled each other, bemoaning their
“same old rotten luck as usual.” And who had attempted
more, from the days when flying was a very risky hobby, and failed so
often, than these two sportsmen? The Trophy was won outright by the
French.

Early in December it was arranged that Harry should attempt to break
world’s records for short distances with the 450 h.p. Sunbeam.
A day was chosen and the track booked for the event. A very large
gathering of the Press sat down to an excellent luncheon, but the
weather clerk did not approve of the proceedings, as rain fell heavily
all the morning. Hopes were entertained of the track drying after
lunch, as the rain had ceased, but these hopes were not fulfilled.
However, during the afternoon Harry took the car round for a few laps,
but although a speed of nearly 125 m.p.h. was attained, it was not
a fair test of the car, as owing to the wet and greasy state of the
track the wheels failed to grip and most of the power was lost. The
revolution counter showed a speed of 140 miles per hour had the wheels
gripped the track.

It was disappointing to the many people present, but one cannot back
the English weather in December, and it was visibly unsafe to attempt
anything further on such a wet day.




CHAPTER XX

MOTOR ENGINEERING AND RACING

 Formation of the Hawker Engineering Company—The Racing
 A.C.—Amusing Experiences—Remarkable Performances Due to Efficient
 Streamlining—Several Records Broken—An Accident—The Hawker
 Two-stroke Motor-cycle.




CHAPTER XX


Immediately after the war efforts were made by the Sopwith Aviation and
Engineering Company to turn out domestic utensils from aluminium. Mr.
Sigrist tells the tale of Harry walking into his office one morning
after discovering the new object the firm was to produce, and sitting
down, said: “Well, Fred, what do you think of it! Saucepans!
Where do I come in? I never thought I should live to find myself in a
job that Mrs. Beeton could do better than I.”

I believe a good many saucepans were made, which, according to a
contributor to a flying paper, “involved strenuous work on the
firm’s chief tester,” and also a certain wooden toy was
turned out in good numbers; but the firm commenced real post-war work
in the production of the A.B.C. motor-bicycle.

The company continued with the production of this cycle for some time,
but was eventually unable to weather the slump of 1920, and in the
September of that year the Sopwith Aviation and Engineering Company
closed down.

In November a new company was founded by Messrs. Sopwith and Sigrist
and Harry, known as the H. G. Hawker Engineering Company, which started
in the production of a 2-stroke motor-cycle and also special aluminium
body-work. After the appearance of Harry’s streamlined A.C. a
considerable demand for like racing bodies appeared, until most of the
best known racing light cars became furnished with Hawker streamline
bodies.

In the meantime Harry had been working hard at every spare moment on
his A.C., the acquisition of which is very interesting. One day in
the summer Harry went for a short run with one of the directors of
Messrs. A.C. in a new model fitted with an overhead valve engine. It
was purely an experimental production, and after the run Harry wanted
to see the drawings. He immediately saw possibilities as a racing car,
and then and there wanted to buy it. He did buy it, and then followed
months of real hard work, bringing in its wake alternate successes and
disappointments. From the moment he brought the car home there was
little rest for all concerned with it, his own energy and enthusiasm
being enormous. The engine was hurried into a standard sports chassis
and headed for Brooklands in a remarkably short space of time, to be
back again for modification almost as quickly. Many dark days followed.
Troubles that would have broken the heart of some men followed in
what seemed like endless succession. In one day he had six gaskets
“blow” before he found the right means and material to
withstand the tremendous pressures involved. It does not take much
experience to know what this means in terms of work, as the gaskets
were all hand made, and the “head,” complete with pipe
systems, connections, etc., had to come off each time.

This trouble over, and a set of pistons with decidedly ambitious tops
having been designed and fitted, he proceeded to lap at what were
then remarkable speeds indeed, and in spite of the fact that the very
necessary parts frequently fell either in or out of the engine, he
never lost faith in it. I remember, towing him home for it seemed
the hundredth time, saying with a lack of his optimistic patience:
“Let’s burn the thing and buy a motor-car!” but his
cheery reply was: “Never mind, we’re really beginning
to go now!” and proceeded to take the motor down prior to an
all-night sitting. Coffee and cakes figured at intervals in these
“all-night jobs,” and I expect the neighbours wondered if
he ever slept.

On one occasion he walked into the office of Mr. Weller, the designer
of the engine, at the A.C. Works and, laying a mutilated mass of metal
down on the desk, exclaimed: “Here you are. How’s this
for an A.C. con.-rod? How soon can I have another?” One had
to be produced, and off down to the track again. He fitted stiffer
valve-springs and reconsidered the “cam contours,” with the
result that the speed kept creeping up and curious rumours regarding
some kind of forced induction floated round the paddock, much to his
amusement.

Mr. Weller tells of a very funny incident. When everything had been
looking promising, one afternoon Harry, smiling as usual, came into the
office and called him down to the yard. “Come and have a look at
the engine,” he said. “I’ve got something to show
you.” And he had. Mr. Weller found the remains of the precious
engine strapped to the back of Harry’s Rolls-Royce, the body of
which he had recently discarded, and in the interval of the fitting of
the new body ran it for “use,” as he called it.

A gaping hole was in the crank-case of the engine big enough to put a
boot in. Harry then produced a tangled remnant which had once done duty
as a connecting-rod, saying: “It shot clean across the track! I
walked back and found it lying on the grass; it was still warm when I
picked it up.” It was quite true he found it in the exact spot he
shed it, but while the design was almost identical, on close inspection
the stamping number proved conclusively that it was not an A.C. rod at
all, but some other unfortunate who must have gone round just before.
As far as I know, the proper remains were never found.

Even this disaster failed to deter Harry. Although the cross-shaft was
smashed and A.C.’s had no spare crank-case available, he very
quickly improvised a bracket and remounted the magneto in front of the
engine, where, driven by a chain, it operated very well. A patch was
welded on the crank-case and the engine was soon running again with as
much “pep” as ever.

With the advent of high and sustained speeds the exhaust valves
commenced to give trouble. The valve-heads could usually be found
reposing on the bottom of the sump, but on one occasion, after a
fruitless three-hour search, Harry discovered the valve-head must have
gone out through the exhaust-pipe!

Once, as the car was coming off the Byfleet banking on the track,
after a lap or two at speed, unmistakable sounds proclaimed that the
“umpteenth” valve-head had broken. It being the day before
it was to race at a meeting, it was a very serious matter, but Harry,
nothing daunted, mechanically began to tie the rope attaching the A.C.
on to the Minerva, saying: “We’ll be with them when the
flag falls.” That his confidence was justified is now a matter
of light-car history. The Minerva I have just mentioned was my car,
which Harry had had fitted with an enclosed body upholstered in Bedford
cord for comfortable winter motoring. It degenerated into a travelling
workshop for the A.C., which little car I always followed proudly to
Brooklands, complete with tow-rope and spares, and nearly always, less
proudly, preceded it home, connected by the rope.

[Illustration:

  _Photo by_]      [_Temple Press, Ltd._

THE 12-CYLINDER RACING SUNBEAM AFTER HARRY’S SMASH AT BROOKLANDS,
WHEN SEVERAL YARDS OF CORRUGATED IRON FENCING WERE TORN DOWN.
  [_Facing p. 312._
]

[Illustration:

  _Photo by_]      [_Temple Press, Ltd._

MR. T. O. M. SOPWITH, C.B.E., AND HARRY, WITH THE HAWKER TWO-STROKE
MOTORCYCLE—A POST-WAR ENTERPRISE OF THE HAWKER ENGINEERING COMPANY.

  [_Facing p. 312._
]

Soon the A.C. started to reach the 90 miles per hour mark, and it was
then that the single-seater streamline chassis was made in which Mr.
Weller gave great care to questions of weight distribution as well as
the elimination of any external details which might cause resistance.
To this chassis Harry designed and built in his works his now famous
streamlined body, and in his able hands the success of the combination
exceeded everyone’s expectations from the start, and at its début
created a sensation in racing circles.

The car made its first public appearance in its streamlined form at
the Easter Meeting of the B.A.R.C., where it caused a great deal of
enthusiasm, it being the first really streamlined racing car ever
seen at Brooklands. But it was not the first time it had actually
been on the track, so although “terrificly fast for a 1½-litre
car,” as one current motor paper had it, it was handicapped out
of any hope of winning either of the races entered, but succeeded
in taking second place in both. In the second race he made a very
spectacular run through the whole field, with the exception of the
limit man who won the race.

After winning the 1,500 cc. Scratch Race at the Junior Car Club Meeting
and also the very interesting short sprint of 250 yards against Captain
Fraser Nash’s famous G.N. named _Mowgli_, he began to really
“tune up” for records. He was very anxious for his A.C.
to be the first 1,500 cc. car to attain 100 miles an hour, and on
June 3rd he gained the coveted distinction on his A.C. under official
observation. He attacked the flying and standing half-mile records,
which stood to the credit of the G.N., and established world’s
light car records by achieving the speed of 105·15 miles per hour for
the flying and 61·43 miles per hour for the standing starts. Those
records caused a great sensation in the motor world, and even the lay
Press showed some sort of enthusiasm for the latest achievement of the
world whose efforts are generally ignored.

Harry received many letters of congratulation from the people
interested in the first “100 miles an hour light car,” and
I think the real sporting atmosphere of Brooklands was conveyed in a
genial letter of congratulation from Mr. Lionel Martin, who was not too
proud to say he had coveted the distinction for the Aston-Martin car,
which I know Harry appreciated very much, as also the hearty grip of
Captain Nash who, till then, had swept the board at Brooklands with his
G.N., but who now realised he had met his match in the A.C.

In practising for the Midsummer Meeting of the B.A.R.C. on June 25th,
he had a very narrow escape from disaster. I was timing his lap speed
from the stand, when, as he was about to enter the railway straight
at about 100 miles per hour, he suddenly appeared to slide down the
banking, and a huge cloud of dust concealed him from view. A man
immediately behind me, who had been watching the A.C., exclaimed:
“Hawker’s off the track! He’ll need his luck now!” Running down the
steps of the stand, the first person I saw in the paddock was Mr.
Coatalen just getting into his car. He took me round to the spot,
where, as one would quite expect, Harry was standing up by the side
of the track, waving his hands to denote his complete fitness. His
appearance, however, was terrible, as his whole face was covered with
blood, but, rubbing it with his handkerchief, asked for volunteers to
help him out with the car, which could not at first be seen. It had
completely hopped the three-feet concrete parapet that surrounds the
track, and was reposing, right way up, in the long grass.

Remonstrances to him to leave the getting up of the machine to the many
willing volunteers who had arrived on the scene were of no avail; he
hated any sort of fuss, and only left for the paddock when the car was
on the track again. It appeared the cause of the accident was the side
of the bonnet, over which there was no strap, coming loose and hitting
Harry on his forehead, dazing him for the minute. Later, holding out
his goggles, complete, but splintered in a thousand pieces and covered
with blood, Harry said: “Hang it all, these are my favourite
goggles! Just fitted me before; only fit for Triplex display window
now!”

We towed the A.C. home, very little damaged considering the jar it must
have received in negotiating the parapet, and the whole of that night
was spent in taking the body off and looking for any possible trouble.
New wheels were substituted for the two completely buckled ones, and
Harry raced the car the next day at the B.A.R.C. Meeting, where,
unfortunately, engine trouble prevented him winning any races.

After the sprint records he had put up, Harry’s intention was to
go for sustained and still greater speeds with the object of attacking
world’s records irrespective of size before the end of the year,
but he was only destined to live three more weeks, leaving the car, his
loved car on which he had spent so much of his interest and time during
the last six months, at the height of its fame, for others to carry on
to the 120 miles per hour goal.

During this time, Harry and Sopwith displayed much enthusiasm in their
two-stroke motor-cycle production, and they entered and themselves rode
machines in many competitions and trials, with a good amount of success.

Harry designed and made in the works a special racing two-stroke cycle,
but although he had it out on the road on its maiden trip, he was never
to have it out on the track, and after his death the work on this cycle
was not continued.




CHAPTER XXI

THE PASSING OF A BRAVE AVIATOR

 “_One moment stood he ... high in the stainless eminence of air.
 The next he was not._”




CHAPTER XXI


Harry had elected to pilot a Nieuport Goshawk biplane in the Aerial
Derby on Saturday, July 16th, 1921. Another pilot had already attained
a speed of 166 miles per hour on this machine, and Harry hoped to
maintain British prestige in competition with the principal French
champions, or “Aces,” who were coming over with machines on
which they had exceeded that speed. In short, Harry would get the best
possible performance out of the aeroplane.

       *       *       *       *       *

 “Hawker, Ennadale, Hook Rd., Surbiton.—Machine ready for flying
 Tuesday afternoon.—FOLLAND. ”

So reads the telegram which Harry received on Saturday, July 9th,
intimating that on the following Tuesday the machine would be ready for
him to test.

       *       *       *       *       *

Those who closely followed aviation during the late spring and early
summer of 1921 will remember that there was a striking coincidence
between a spell of exceptionally hot weather and an unusually large
number of flying accidents (although not all fatal).

       *       *       *       *       *

Exactly what happened or what was the cause will never be known, but
it seems probable that something serious, which, Harry realised, might
cause a fire, occurred while he was fairly high over Burnt Oak, Hendon;
and it was evident that he proceeded to land, but was unable to do so
before the machine took fire. As the aeroplane struck the ground the
petrol tank exploded. That Harry died instantaneously there is no
doubt, for his body, terribly fractured, was found some 200 yards away.

       *       *       *       *       *

  HARRY GEORGE HAWKER.
  AGED 31.
  DIED, JULY 12, 1921.

       *       *       *       *       *

I have said enough: but let the tributes which more learned judges have
paid to the father of my Pamela and Mary be widely known.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration:

  _Photo by_]      [_Daily Sketch._

FLORAL TRIBUTES BEING TAKEN TO HARRY’S GRAVE, AT HOOK, SURREY, ON
THE 225 H.P. SUNBEAM, BY MY BROTHER, CAPTAIN L. PEATY.

  [_Facing p. 318._
]

“Hawker’s one ambition was to get more from an internal
combustion engine of given size than anyone else had succeeded in
getting, and his perpetual success became a byword.... It was in this
particular that Hawker shone most brilliantly, and never an engine
passed through his hands but it showed an increased power capacity
of from 20 per cent. to 100 per cent. when he had finished with it.
The same applied to his work in aeroplane and motor-car design. He
began where others had left off, and carried what they considered the
final stage of development to a point that they had either not dreamed
of or had definitely decided to be impossible of achievement.... No
one but Hawker could have avoided death at the end of that skid. It
took place on a car which, originally capable of some sixty miles an
hour, regularly accomplished, when he had finished with it, over a
hundred.”

       *       *       *       *       *

“If ever there was a trier, Hawker was one. Once he made up his
mind to do a thing, he would try, and try, and try again until he
succeeded. Failures served to spur him on to new effort.... He loved
to do things that were worth while, and did them for the sake of doing
them, not with any sort of gain in view.”

       *       *       *       *       *

“The nation has lost one of it most distinguished airmen, who by
his skill and daring has contributed so much to the success of British
aviation.”—H.M. KING GEORGE V.

       *       *       *       *       *

“The nation is the poorer for the loss of one who always
displayed such splendid courage and determination. To such pioneers we
owed our supremacy of the air during the war.”—RT. HON. D. LLOYD
GEORGE.

       *       *       *       *       *

“No man has done more to further the march of modern practical
science than has Mr. Harry Hawker. A man of deeds and few words, his
name will go down in the annals of history as a pioneer airman and
motorist. The development of the aeroplane as an arm of warfare owes
much to his skill and bravery—skill that was not only shown in his
handling of experimental machines in the air, but also in the way
he applied his remarkable fund of practical technical knowledge to
eliminating faults and improving existing designs. His war record as
test pilot of Sopwith machines is unmatched.... Mr. Harry G. Hawker,
A.F.C., will ever be remembered as one to whom the word fear was
absolutely unknown.”

       *       *       *       *       *

“Harry Hawker was stamped with genuineness. He was a simple,
clean, straight-souled man. He was bred and born to do things. He did
them; he did them thoroughly, deep-bitten. He made and left his mark.
But in all that he did he worked so simply, so single-mindedly, that in
his passing the world of actualities loses not merely a fine airman and
a cunning handler of motor-cars.”

       *       *       *       *       *

“The world of aviation has lost a champion; his wife, near
relatives and friends have lost something which is quite irreparable,
but in our sorrow let us be comforted by the thought that Harry Hawker
died as he had lived, doing the work he loved.”


THE END

PRINTED BY THE ANCHOR PRESS, LTD. TIPTREE ESSEX, ENGLAND.


Transcriber’s Notes

Page xv    — Ascent changed to Asçent.
Page xxii  — Capain changed to Captain.
Page 79    — nseo changed to nose.
Page 83    — seal changed to sea.
Page 87    — 3.2 changed to 3.20.
Page 94    — 8.8 am changed to 8.08 am.
Page 139 & Page 140 — Denham changed to Denman.
Page 146   — experiened changed to experienced.
Page 146   — manœurve changed to manœuvre.
Page 191   — Mercedes changed to Mercèdes.


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