Europe by Air in a Week

No. r.—Five Cities in Seven Days

WE flew over a light haze. The Channel glittered under the pale morning sun. Through the clouds Romney Marsh shone a bright blue. This first glimpse of the Channel was a moment I shall never forget. All was ethereal, shimmering and unreal. Only half an hour ago I had left the prosaic surroundings of Croydon.

Four of us were flying in " Beery Harry," as the Imperial Airways B.H. 'plane is colloquially, known—a close-cropped fat-necked individual, a probable professor and an American tourist. We sat in wicker chairs with comfortable leather seats, our coats and handbags in a string rack. It was marvellously smooth, and the vibration caused by the noise of the engines was lessened by the cotton wool we put in our ears. At first I was more conscious of the strangeness of my surroundings than of the actual sensations of flying ; but presently I leant back and watched the chequer-board panorama beneath me. We passed from the suburbs of London, over the green weald of Kent with its oast-houses and hay-ricks, over the moated castle of Lympne, and before I had had time to drink in all the beauty of the early morning Channel we were skirting the coast of France, striking inland for Paris just west of Le Touquet. I was looking with the pleasure of recollection at the ram- parts of Montreuil when I became uncomfortably aware of the gale which was blowing over France. The plane began to rock backwards and forwards, from side to side, and up and down. The motion of a ship is com- paratively regular, and one can adjust one's body to it ; but that of an aeroplane is a more complicated sensation. The only thing to do on a rough passage is to relax one's body completely. I did not relax. The cabin began to feel stuffy, and I had not the courage to ask my neighbour to open a window. To my surprise and horror (for I am a good sailor) I was suddenly ill. Almost instantly, however, I recovered, and this was my first and last experience of air sickness. I watched the small rectangular fields below me, with their different coloured crops, like a Cubist picture, and the towers of Beauvais which stood out from the smoky city. Then the spire of Sacre Coeur rose up, and Paris was on our right. Circling the aerodrome so that we should land against the wind, we started to come down. With engines off, in a welcome hush we skimmed grace- fully to the ground at Le Bourget. One is not really conscious of speed when one is flying, unless one watches the shadow of the 'plane racing over the land ; but coming to earth is a stimulating sensation. I was personally sorry to feel terra firma beneath my feet, and could hardly believe that a moment ago I had been thundering through the air in this Olympian machine. After a hurried but welcome meal (for flying is an amazing aperitif) we set off on our journey to Basle, en route for Zurich.

From the moment the engines are turned on, one is filled with a feeling of excited expectation, and as the plane soars into the sky that excitement increases until one is deliriously happy—at least, I was. The air is intoxicating, and breathing its cool freshness into one's lungs is a delight. I watched the long straight roads of France and the immense stretches of plough. For an hour and a half one might never have moved, and presently my exhilaration gave way to a sense'of detach- ment. Soon I went to sleep.

I woke up to find a very different landscape. We were approaching the Vosges, and were flying over gay green hills and blue lakes surrounded by gorse in full bloom and fir trees. Although we were flying high, we passed mountains which were even higher, and I felt that by stretching out my hand I could touch the yellow-green fir tops on the steep slopes. Far below, cattle and goats looked like microbes in a microscope.

We landed at Basle, and after half an hour's wait, while the engines were inspected and the petrol tanks filled, we flew on to Zurich—a short but delightful flight over the luxuriant hills and valleys of German Switzer- land. I arrived tired but happy, having flown 535 miles in eight hours including stops. It was good to swim in the Lake of Zurich between the intermittent thunder. storms rolling round the mountains, and to admire the magnificent view.

Zurich looks very endimanche, with its spotlessly clean streets, new showy buildings decorated by plaster carvings, its attractive saxe-blue and white trams, and its brightly coloured gardens fringing the lake. But it is always Sunday afternoon in Zurich.

I left at 10.80--not the next morning, alas ! as I had intended, but two days later owing to all seats for Vienna being engaged. At last, however, I found myself in an eight-seater, three-engined German Luft Hansa Junker, a monoplane of a very graceful design. The visibility was excellent the 'whole way from Zurich to Vienna, and on my right in the distance stretched the snow-capped Alps, dazzlingly white in the sunshine.

Words fail me in attempting to describe that great barrier as seen from the upper air. Crossing the Tffike of Constance, and leaving Friedrichshafen with its Zeppelin hangars on our left, we arrived at Munich for an early lunch. Even more beautiful was the onward trip to Vienna. We crossed the Inn and the Salzach, winding its way to Salzburg, followed for some time the valley of the Danube, and then, leaving that river to its own circuitous route, we flew right over the Ring and landed at the Vienna aerodrome on the far side of the Danube. Every architect, landscape gardener and town-planner should see Vienna from the air with its admirable design. Collared sleeveless nightgowns seem to be the fashion in Vienna, and a passing impression of mine was that girls spend the little money they have on pretty clothes and pleasure rather than on good food and soap. But there is always the Danube to bathe in. However, I cannot begin to describe this most romantic of cities.

The flight to Prague, over the plain of Czechoslovakia, was not so interesting. Almost every village had its factory, where the cheap but effective Czechoslovakian goods are manufactured. But although certainly indus- trious, Prague looks as if it badly needs a coat of paint. No one should come here without first learning to speak Czech, for the people who could understand German pretend they can't (everything German is banned), and few natives speak French or English. Also the street names and notices are in Slav script, so that one's faithful and trusty Baedeker is not much good.

From Prague, always in a Junker monoplane, we first followed the valley of the Elbe, and then traversed the Erzgebirge to Dresden, which looked from the air more beautiful than any town I had yet seen, with its warm sandstone churches and castles and winding river. It seemed hard that if one so much as stepped on the grass to smell a rose in the Grossen Garten one was fined three marks by a diligent official. But the restful charm of the city by the Elbe will survive any amount of officialdom.

Last Friday, when I left Dresden for Berlin, it was a lovely sunny morning. There was not a breath of wind, and the flight over the fir tree woods and pastures of southern Germany was as smooth as one could wish. We landed on the Templehofer Feld, the famous parade ground of pre-War days, and now the most finished and well-equipped aerodrome I have visited.

Berlin was looking its best. The Tiergarten roses were in full bloom and everywhere there seemed a great air of prosperity. I spent a delightful twenty-four hours with friends (as I had also done at Dresden indeed, not only did I see these two families, but in the course of my week's flying I was able to visit both my former German governesses), and after dancing at the Villa d'Este," going to a play and late supper at the Grill am Zoo, I was very sorry to leave on the Berlin-London Luft Hansa 'plane, which left the Templehofer Feld precisely at 9.30 a.m.

We had an extremely rough passage, with the rain beating against the window panes and the wind dead against us, over the thickly wooded route to Hanover. After a rusk and a cup of coffee we crossed the Weser, flying just north of the Ems-Hanover canal, where the villages were roofed with gorgeous red tiles. Slate is an abomination from the air. Soon we sighted the sandy wastes of Holland, marking our approach to the Zuyder Zee.

From Amsterdam to London is a most interesting flight. The best view of Holland is certainly from the air. Its eccentric network of dykes, the windmills, the endless rows of greenhouses and house-fringed canals are mapped out for one's leisurely inspection. It was low tide when we sighted the Hook, and there were long islands of dry sand on which I detected some curious dark objects. Suddenly the pilot dipped his 'plane sideways so that we could see better, and there was a shoal of porpoises (or were they a school of seals ?) sunning themselves on the sand. Directly they heard our engines they jumped up in disgust at being disturbed in their meditations, and waddled into the sea.

We saw the memorable outline of Zeebrugge, and in the distance the spires of Bruges, then Ostend, Dunkirk and Calais. Before leaving the French coast we could clearly see the white cliffs of Dover. After a rough crossing to Lympne and a bumpy passage over Kent, we reached Croydon an hour and a half late. Still, we were about ten hours ahead of the time it would take to come by the fastest express from Berlin to London. I had left Airways House the Friday before last, and returned there last Saturday, having covered two thousand miles and seen a large slice of Europe in these eight crowded days.

Of the cost and comfort of my journey I hope to write in the next article. I need only add that this was one of the most delightful weeks I have ever spent.

CELLA. SIMPSON.