It was most fortunate that I had taken in plenty of petrol.
Picking up the railway line close to Mayfield, I followed it due south
towards Heathfield. For half the distance I could see that it ran
through woods, for the moon was rising, and gave us a slightly better
view of what lay below us.
When just over Heathfield Station the searchlight from the anti-aircraft
post on Brightling Beacon again shot up suddenly, and in a few moments
was upon us. I was flying quite leisurely, and banked so that they
might get another good view of the rings on my planes.
They evidently recognised me through their glasses, for very quickly
they shut off their light and I continued, finding my way by the
coloured signal-lights of the line from London to Eastbourne.
The land beneath us was low-lying and pretty level. There, before me, I
saw a few half-obscured lights denoting Hailsham town, then the railway
lights of Polegate junction came into view, and still farther in the
distance the row of scattered lights, some of which were moving, denoted
the position of Eastbourne.
The authorities may make all sorts of complicated "lighting orders" with
power to the police to enforce them, but it is next to impossible to
black out any even moderately populous area.
While a hundred residents will effectually darken their windows, there
are the few thoughtless ones who burn gas beneath their skylights, or
who do not sufficiently cover one window--often a staircase-window--or
servants who go to bed neglectful to draw their curtains across the
blinds.
Then there are shaded street lamps burning at dangerous corners, or at
cross-roads, and these, provided the ground is wet after rain, reflect a
zone of bright light which acts as an excellent guide to aviators aloft.
In the increasing light of the moon I made out the big gasometers of
Eastbourne which stood out as a landmark in the direction of Langney,
but, leaving them on my left, I steered a course for the coast over
Willingdon Hill, my altimeter again showing 2,800 feet.