Undergraduate Page
NEVER AGAIN
By IAN CRICHTON, King's College (Cambridge)
THE creamy whiteness of parachute silk against a background of deep-blue sky is a beautiful and inspiring sight. To the observer on the ground it is animating enough, but how much more welcome to the man swinging directly beneath it in his 'harness. For him, however, the appreciation is not entirely aesthetic. The blessed relief that flows through his body when he knows the 'chute has opened would be the same if it was a filthy, spotted horror. Even so, the canopies of most parachutes are incredibly lovely things, at the end of a mass. of white rigging lines reaching upward and outward. But if this pattern is not ideal and symmetrical, then every trick is tried to make it so. The twists that frequently occur in rigging lines can usually be eliminated by a series of violent kicks in the air, but nothing very serious would happen if they were to remain there for the whole descent. However, the inevitable contact with the ground might be a little harder, and anything that detracts from the maximum efficiency of a parachute is to be .avoided if possible.
Having got rid of his twists, the parachutist can relax. The measurement of time in seconds is misleading in his case, for, though it may only take him half a minute to reach the earth, it seems a life-time. .For the first few seconds his mind is not troubled by any thoughts of the landing, and he can appreciate the delights of his situation to the full. He can watch the plane he has just left as it disappears from view ; he can shout to his friends who are also in the air—but he will be startled to hear how. thin and weak his own voice sounds. He can look in wonder at the model houses and patchwork quilt of fields below him. He can marvel at their small- ness, but he is more often impressed by the fact that he does not seem to be moving at all. .
At first the only sensation of movement is given by the uprush of cool air as he falls through it, but he does not think of this & realise its implication. He seems to be floating soundlessly in a void. All is quiet, except for a droning in the distance, and all is peace. He is hanging motionless and free, and on a fine day this can produce such a feeling of satisfaction as to amount almost to ecstasy. He is alone, and his dangling feet touch nothing. He can laugh at the cotton-wool smoke of a toy train far below, or admire the brilliance of colour in everyday things like roofs, roads, hay- stacks and cars. Life seems to take on a new meaning for him ; this new viewpoint appears to offer immense possibilities. He is above the troubles of the world, and its cares are suddenly remote. With all this comes the half-conscious realisation that the worst is over, and that the awful fear of being too afraid was unfounded.
Blissfully he continues in this state, staring all about him, until he happens to glance down again. This time he receives a terrible shock. The objects on the ground are at once a great deal larger and nearer. They are toys no longer, and are all too horribly realistic, with hard surfaces and unpleasant protuberances. But most horrible of all is the shattering of the illusion of being stationary, as they slowly and steadily move up to meet him. He reflects unhappily on the truism that what goes up most come down, and prepares himself for the landing. Action must now take the place of pleasant day-dreams, and the efficiency of the action is added to immeasurably by the possibility of a broken limb.
The tempo of life is abruptly increased, and the correct position for landing is hurriedly adopted. Good timing is vital at this stage, to ensure that contact with the ground is made as gently as possible, and every technique is employed to manipulate.straps, rigging lines and canopy to this effect. It is possible to control the amount of air in the canopy so skilfully that it can be made to inflate quickly just at the moment of impact, thus temporarily slowing down the descent at the most important time. Soon it is apparent that there is horizontal as well as vertical motion, caused by the wind, and the ground appears to be rushing sideways and upwards at an alarming speed. The last few seconds are a hectic panic of remembering the drill and pulling the correct straps, and then the feet are struck
very hard from below, and the parachutist rolls over and gets out of his harness.
A parachute on the ground is a stricken beauty ; almost lifeless, deflated, a tangled mass of silken lines and webbing straps. Occasionally the wind will catch a part of it, to make it flutter and then drop back, like some wounded animal trying to rise to its feet. The man who has just used it so selfishly rarely thinks of the immense trouble and skill that has gone into its folding and packing—all for a life of thirty seconds. Instead he is occupied with his personal thoughts of how pleasant it is to be on terra firma once more, and looks forward to meeting his friends and exchanging experiences. Very certainly he is conscious that all is over for the time being, and often purposely forgets that both the 'chute and he are due for another jump. He lives for the moment, and his present mood rejects any consideration of the next time. There are plenty of men who positively look forward to the following jump, and who beg permision to do more than their allotted compulsory quota, but these are not normal men. There is some insistent and restless need within them demanding to be satisfied, and the exhilara- tion of danger to them is like meat and drink to men who are hungry.
Cold statistics show that there is really less danger in parachuting than there is in crossing a busy street. But it is just as well that the mental strain of the first is not also present in the second. Other- wise professional psychiatiists would soon be the most overworked men in the world. Brute. strength and colossal muscles are little use in the air if the mind is unwilling. In the Army it is indeed worse than useless to train a man to physical perfection if, when the time comes, he refuses to jump. Consequently a great deal of care is taken in weeding out a potential " jibber " before he even sees an aeroplane, though the process continues right from the moment he volunteered to when he makes his eighth jump. A large percentage of volunteers are not accepted at the initial inter- view, and all through the training men are being sent back to their units for physical or psychological inadequacies. Since it is entirely voluntary, there is no stigma attached to a man if he does not complete his course. Anyone is allowed to leave when he likes. But after the eighth jump it is a different story. Now he is a qualified parachutist, and wears the wings and draws the pay entitled to him. If he should now refuse to jump, he is liable for court- martial, though there is seldom need for this.
Many men become inured to parachuting, but most face the same awful mental torture every time they are preparing to jump. The fiendish process is better appreciated by the more sensitive, naturally enough, though the suffering is all a matter of degree. It usually starts when the men file through a hangar to collect a parachute. The good-humoured backchat with the pretty W.A.A.F. packers pardonably lays emphasis on the hope that they have done their job superlatively well on this particular day. Then comes a tightening of the emotions as the process develops. In the plane hands become clammy, hearts beat faster, faces go ashen grey. A song is started, and each man sings—anything to cancel out and forget the next five minutes. At last the green light goes on, and in a final burst of dazed agony, the torture is over. I have gone through it only eight times, but never again—I hope.
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