AIR TRAVEL AND AN EXHIBITION.
OF Mr. Riley, in The Mill on the Floss, George Eliot says, " Though he had a general sense of under- standing Latin his comprehension of any particular Latin was not very ready." The same thing might be said of most people's knowledge of flying. Although the aeroplane has - spread a conventional knowledge of itself so that most people would find it a kind of humilia- tion to profess ignorance, their particular knowledge of flying is—well, like Mr. Riley's knowledge of Latin. For this reason the writer hopes that there may be some who will be (at least secretly) interested in an elementary account of first impressions in a flight from London to Paris.
Before the first five minutes in the air are over you are asking yourself in an unexpected ecstasy what power has prevented you from experiencing such delights before. Was it the false warning of friends who had never been in an aeroplane themselves or was it merely the instinctive fear of something new, the same fear which at one time madeyeople sceptical as to the possibilities of the motor-car ? Once off the ground and through the looking-glass one finds oneself in a wonderland from which there is no desire to return ; certainly there is no desire to cross the Channel any other way. The monoton- ous roar of the engines and rhythmical action of twelve cylinders just outside the cabin window quite compel confidence, and the feeling of security is as complete as you have in a railway train or motor-car. You bowl merrily along the high road of the air. That is all. You could fancy that something hard and visible, some- thing 'that was not air, supported you from beneath.
As your first enthusiasm becomes more dull with experience you remember suddenly the warning that you will probably suffer from air-sickness. But again the prophets prove false. Never did the writer have a greater sense of advantage over his fellow-men than when, most comfortably seated in an armchair, he saw them 2,000 feet below fighting against the merciless motion of the Channel waves on a rough day. The comfort of the air traveller is provided for in a manner that seems almost contemptuously to put physical risks out of mind. On the main services to the Continent the cabins hold from twelve to fourteen passengers. These cabins are, of course, closed, and except for a cold draught that creeps round one's legs are well warmed. A luncheon basket may be bought before starting. Those who, fearful of imaginary consequences, do not provide themselves with food will soon regret their mistake, for, as has already been said, there are no disturbing influ- ences to upset one's appetite. At least, this is true on most days. In the summer, when the density of the air varies, or in winter fogs, air pockets cause a sudden, lift- like motion, and then an abrupt drop into the cavity is apt to leave one's stomach in one's mouth. Most passenger machines travel at a height of about 2,000 feet, a height that would terrify many if they were looking down from the top of a precipice and cause some of them, perhaps, to want to throw themselves down. In an aeroplane, however, there is no cause for giddiness and no impulse to commit suicide. The land, seen in minia- ture, seems to lie on either side quite near by, and unless one wants to look at something immediately below, there is no need to lean heavily against the window.
At present aerodromes are at some distance from the towns they serve. This might seem a great disadvantage, but the difficulty has been overcome by taking passengers from centres of importance, such as Trafalgar Square and the Place de la Concorde, to the aerodrome without charge. This part of the journey is necessarily slow, but no doubt, when the landing speed of aeroplanes is reduced and a smaller space is required, we shall find the aerodrome nearer the centre of the town. In London, a corner of Hyde Park or Regent's Park might be used, but in this case the altitude limit above towns would have to be abolished. As it is, one can stand in Trafalgar Square at 11 o'clock in the morning and be outside the Hotel Crillon just four hours later. Of the four hours two and a-quarter are spent in the air ; and the remainder in the two motor coaches and in the usual delays at the Customs. Everyone, however, must appreciate the fact of having but eleven companions at the Customs instead of some hundreds.
The aerodrome at Le Bourget, a few miles to the north- east of Paris, is the centre of a great web of air lines whose threads stretch to every corner of Europe, even of the world. It is the Clapham Junction of the air. Here one may stand and see the expresses of the air leaving for Constantinople, Berlin, Warsaw, Brussels. Manchester, Marseilles, Spain and Algiers.
The greatest disadvantage of air travel is its uncer- tainty. If the weather is very stormy, or if visibility is bad, services have to be cancelled. Batt to business men and others who value their time the great speed of air travel must make a special appeal under all ordinary conditions. A final word may be said of the expense, A return ticket from London to Paris now costs £12, a sum which cannot exceed the first-class railway fare by a great deal when you have added to it all the incidental expenses. The extra cost, anyhow, is a small price for the relief from porters, junctions and struggles with crowds.
The large Exhibition Hall in the Champs Elysees in Paris is at present being used as a showroom for aero- planes. All sorts and sizes are to be seen, from the smallest scout to a mammoth bomber. The general impression gained at the Exhibition is that there is little new in principle, that there has been no startling development since the War. The few passenger machines are in a minority among the large bombing and fighting machines, the fast observation machines, and two large torpedo carriers. When one considers the weight of these machines and their intricate apparatus, one would scarcely have room left for surprise if a battleship itself were to take wings. Everywhere in the Exhibition one saw the destructive power of the aeroplane in war, but only here and there its constructive power in peace. To one fresh from a Handley-Page passage all this seemed somehow incongruous. Those who like may draw the moral for themselves. J. A.
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