FLYING, AND THE ENGLISH CLIMATE. BY G. O. M. By reason of our climate, cross-country flying in England will not be a practical business proposition until, or unless, an aeroplane is invented which can descend quite slowly in a vertical direction, under full control. Were there a great lack of means of communication in the country it is possible that, with all its delays and dangers, aerial transport, even in its present state of efficiency, would be used. (Witness what is being done on the Continent and in Australia.) But we are already excellently well served by our railways and roads. I will mention in as few words as possible the chief difficulties that an air pilot of to-day has to contend with on a cross-country flight in England. a level, or upward direction, by the power of the engine; or in a downward direction by momentum, sacrificing about one thousand feet of height for every mile covered over the ground in still air. If there is a wind of, say, twenty miles an hour blowing over the ground, this will have to be taken into consideration by a pilot who has lost the aid of his engine, and is compelled to make a landing by skilful use of the gliding qualities of his aircraft. 2. His vision is considerably impeded by the necessity for wearing goggles, and by the engine, body, and wings of the aircraft. 3. His only means of judging his height above the ground (short of what his eyes can tell him) is an aneroid barometer, 1. His aircraft must main- dialled in hundreds and thoutain a minimum air-speed of sands of feet. The pointer of from fifty miles per hour (if this instrument is set at 0 feet a "light" aeroplane) to seventy at the spot on the ground from miles per hour (if a heavy load- which the craft ascends, and it carrying one), otherwise it will faithfully records, subject to lose flying speed, and fall, more variations in atmospheric presor less quickly, and more or sure, the alterations in height of less out of control, towards the the aircraft with relation to the earth though it is true that ground level which it has just this "out of control" stage left. But possibly, within ten need only be a temporary one. minutes of the commencement If the pilot has a few hundred of the flight, the aircraft passes feet of "air room " he can fifty feet over the top of a hill easily recover control and air- which is one thousand feet speed. higher than this ground level. Speed may be maintained in The altimeter reading will be one thousand and fifty feet. Very misleading in clouds! Suppose the pilot finds clouds at five hundred feet in a part of the country where he knows, or can see from his map that there are hills of greater altitude? If he flies in the clouds he runs too great a risk of hitting a hill, for cloud-flying is exactly like driving a motorcar very fast through thick fog; if he flies above the cloudlayer, which may be several thousand feet thick, he must gamble on finding a gap through which to come down, or on the chances of coming down through the clouds at a spot where the ground level is at least three hundred feet below them. So his only really safe course is to fly below any clouds. Very well. The crux of the situation is visibility. Can the pilot see the ground from five hundred feet higher than the highest point likely to be met with on his journey? Can he see it at least a mile ahead? For if he can only see the ground immediately below, he must know the country over which he is flying extremely well from the air, otherwise he is likely to lose his way, or fly into danger. For that mile will be covered in something less than a minute. I only propose to argue concerning communications between large centres of population sufficiently distant from each other to make the question of the desirability of making use of aerial transport worth considering. Similarly, I rule out the very early morning and late evening hours of summer-time; because the convenience of the public must be borne in mind. If we look at a map of England we shall see that it is almost impossible to fly for one hundred and fifty miles, or three hours, in a more or less direct line, direct line, without passing over ground which is more than five hundred feet above sealevel. On an average of one day in every three throughout the year, it would probably be possible to get aircraft through safely between two points one hundred and fifty miles apart. Whatever cloud formations were met with could be flown under; or over and through, if broken up. Rain and hail might annoy, but would not greatly impede. Strong winds (though perhaps very uncomfortable) might delay, but equally might accelerate the passage. But what about the other two hundred and forty days in the year? On many of these days it would be quite possible to fly round an aerodrome, of course. But it would be impossible, dangerous, or doubtful to undertake a three hour cross-country journey. Fog, mist, and low-lying cloud haunt the south and south-east of England to an astonishing degree. It would surprise many non-flying people to know how frequently clouds hang about at five hundred feet. The tops of the Chilterns, be recognised in order that an Cotswolds, Pennines, Cheviots, accurate course may be mainand the hills of the Scottish tained, and alterations in the Border are far more often than strength and direction of the not obscured by cloud during wind near the ground are so most of the day. And even frequent, and often so great, the tops of the South and North in England, that on comparaDowns, Marlborough Downs, tively short cross-country flights and hills no higher than the dead reckoning is very undeYorkshire and Lincolnshire pendable. Wolds, are frequently within a few feet of the clouds. Almost worse, however, than cloud to contend with is the black or yellowish-brown atmosphere, usually mixed with rain, which reaches from the ground up to about three thousand feet all round the big manufacturing areas of the Midlands, the north-east and north-west ports, Glasgow, and the Forth and Clyde Canal. Visibility here is usually so bad that many a cross-country pilot has lost himself, and been compelled either to descend and inquire, or run the risk of going many miles out of his way. For the country is a mass of industrial townships, knitted together by a confusing network of railways, and the four greatest aids to the crosscountry pilot-coast-line, hill ranges, large rivers, and distinct railways-are largely absent, or obscured. But if we had aircraft in which we could let ourselves down slowly and vertically, we could make use of meteorological reports regarding the upper winds (which are more constant than those at ground level), and of our course and distance indicator, and of our compass, and could venture safely above the clouds (or through them, if very high), and at the end of a suitable period of time, come down to have a look at the country and find out if we were near our destination a Alternatively we want means of seeing through clouds and smoke. Considerable claims have been made for directional wireless, but with aircraft which have to keep moving at seventy miles an hour, it is rather like trying to control a bull in a china shop by hypnotising him. Until we get one of these improvements, flying in England will remain what it is toFeatures on the ground must day-a fascinating risky sport. 'Jennings," I said to the skipper when he came up to the office one morning, "you might have a look round San Midi while you're down there and see what's doing. It looks as though the place might be waking up." "I've never heard that phrase since I heard it on the lips of a skipper of ours," he "You mean you-you wish remarked. me to go ashore there, sir?" "What- debt of honour,' he almost stammered. do you mean? And I shall never hear it again without remembering the yarn he told me. You don't know South America, do you?" "No," I said, putting down my pencil and sitting back in my chair. "But if you've got a story? "Why not?" I asked. "If I remember rightly you were in the coastwise trade years ago, weren't you?" And as he nodded, "Then you'll know the place inside out, of course." But-but I'd rather not land there, sir," he stammered again. Rather not? For a mo"Rather I have," he said. Listen ment I stared at him. to this. not land there?" I repeated blankly. Jennings fumbled about with his cap. "If I go ashore, I shall probably never come back!" he got out at last. Two years ago we had occasion to send a boat down to a place which I will call San Midi. Now, although our boats run from A to S, we had never before done anything with San Midi, which lies, I might mention, almost midway between the two places. There was no trade there, for one thing at least nothing About five years ago now, which the little coastwise craft sir, when I was in the Kestral." "Oh, so that's the way of it, is it?" I asked, tumbling to his meaning. "You've been in trouble there? How long ago was this?" "Oh, well," I laughed easily, relieved that it was nothing more recent, "they'll have forgotten it by this time!" They'll never forget," said Jennings gloomily. "I'd never dare to set foot in San Midi, not again!" I admit that I was unpleasantly surprised. I'd known the man pretty intimately for upwards of five years-in fact, ever since he had been with us, -and I'd never had reason to think him other than he had appeared to be. A big, openhanded, open-hearted chap, a fine seaman, unmarried, past the years of indiscretion, just the type of man we liked to get into our service. "Sit down, Jennings," I said. "You'd better tell me all about it." And as he sat down, "It might be murder," I added, "judging by the look of you." For a long while I sat motionless. 'Murder!' I thought. 'Good Lord!' I looked again at the man before me. It didn't seem possible. I ought to have let it go at that, I suppose, but having known Jennings for so long, and feeling in a way responsible for him, I asked him how in the world it had come about. can't imagine you committing murder," I said. "I I've known. But for all that " -he hesitated a moment-" the circumstances were too strong for me. Nobody would ever believe me, sir, and so I'm afraid-I'm afriad I can't go back to San Midi. If the Moorhen goes to San Midi, either I must stay aboard her, or some one else must go in command. I daren't put foot on that accursed shore, sir, and that's the plain truth of it. It 'ud be more than my life's worth!" Now, as I think I've told you, South America is a deuced queer country, and life out there is raw. Killings are only a shade less common than in the great U.S.A., and create only a shade more interest, so that I wasn't as much shocked as intrigued at Jennings' disclosures. "It was long before I ever joined you, sir," Jennings explained. "In those days I was on the coast run, Sto Q- with three days at San "And I didn't, sir," he as- Midi both on the outward and sured me quickly. "It was homeward voyage. I was as clean an accident as ever Fourth in the Phoebe then, the |