The intensity of the interest aroused by the Round-Britain Seaplane

Race may be gauged by the fact that on the morning before the start of

the competition the passengers on one of the Cowes-Portsmouth steamers

loudly cheered, and cried “Good luck!” to Mr. Sopwith

as they passed him on his yacht _Ceto_, which was anchored near the

_Enchantress_. In an aside to a friend while acknowledging the cheers,

Mr. Sopwith said he only hoped no one would wish Harry good luck. Every

time he had done that during the Mortimer-Singer Competition he had

failed. The last time he had not done it, and Harry won. In none of the

big things which Harry had done had he received a good wish from him.

Harry and Mr. Sopwith had a big talk at the hangar before parting on

Friday night, and one read in the newspaper on Saturday morning of

“the owner giving his jockey the last instructions.”

Hopes were particularly high in the Sopwith bunks on Friday night when

a fresh southerly breeze sprang up, for it was realised that such a

wind on the morrow would greatly help Harry after he had passed Dover.

But the glass remained high. Fog would be the greatest danger, and if

only sufficient wind would rise to blow it away, all would be well.

The race was originally scheduled to begin at 6 a.m. on Saturday

morning, August 16th, but late on Friday night the start had to be

postponed until after 10 a.m., as it was found that the shed in which

the machine was housed made it practically impossible for the machine

to be launched until high tide. It was hoped, too, that the delay would

enable McClean to bring his Short machine along in time to start with

Harry and provide the added excitement of a neck-to-neck race. Those

who were privileged to enjoy the hospitality of the _Enchantress_

overnight were delighted with the prospect of a good night’s rest

without the necessity of breakfasting at an unearthly hour in time to

witness a 6 a.m. start.

Nevertheless, at 5 a.m. one heard voices diligently enquiring for Mr.

Perrin, the secretary of the Royal Aero Club, and a general commotion

and clamour seemed to be in progress on the gangways and in the

corridors outside the cabins. A little bird told that the Mayor of

Southampton, who through having retired early had not received notice

of the postponement of the start, announced late on Friday night,

came on board the _Enchantress_ before 6 a.m. in full regalia, to

be greeted by the secretary of the Royal Aero Club clad in plebeian

pyjamas. The outcome of all this was that most people got up and had

a 6.30 “brekker,” while a Sopwith Bat Boat and a Borel

hydro-monoplane, carrying out evolutions in naval hands, relieved to

some extent the monotony of the few hours pending the time when Harry

would be ready to start. The water was remarkably calm and the day

bright and sunny. Any wind that was rising came from the south, and

would obviously be an aid to Harry in traversing the East Coast.

At about 11.30 Harry arrived on the scene with his machine, and landed

a considerable distance from the _Enchantress_, about midway between it

and the shore. A medley of racing yachts, motor-boats, steamers, and

boats put out to meet him, and after about ten minutes these were seen

to draw away—a sign that Harry was about to start.

The scene as Harry and Kauper were starting up their engine was

inspiriting. The sunlight dancing on the water, the throngs lining

the Netley shore, the countless mastheads with their pennants, all

combined to make a charming spectacle. From 5 a.m. thousands of people

had been lining the shore and sojourning in boats to see the flight

begin. Just before the start, Mr. Sopwith, Mr. Perrin, and other

officials gave Harry his final instructions from a motor-boat. With

a “Right—thanks!” Harry put in his breast-pocket the

official landing-cards handed up to him by Mr. Perrin. Somebody in a

yacht cried out, “Good-bye, Hawker! Good luck!” which must

have moved Mr. Sopwith to tears if he heard it.

At 11.47 a.m. on Saturday, August 16th, 1913, Harry rose from

Southampton Water, and after disappearing from sight past Calshot and

passing over the Solent, he sped off for the open sea. Before most

people had realised that a great attempt to defeat the elements had

begun, he was out of sight.

A very true description of the start was given by Mr. H. Hamilton Fyfe

of the _Daily Mail_, in which he said:

“The morning was perfect. The sunshine made the landscape

glitter in a warm glory of light. The southerly breeze tickled the

surface of the water into sparkling ripples—the ‘smiles

without number’ of summer. A wind had come up out of the sea

and said, ‘Oh, mist, make room for me!’ The coast-line

was clear. The Isle of Wight shimmered well within view. This had

been the weather from the early hours, and it was a great pity the

intention to leave at six was not carried out—a pity I mean from Mr.

Hawker’s point of view. The delay was by everyone else hailed

with joy. ‘Oh, it’s nice to be up in the morning, but

it’s nicer to stay in your bed,’ sang Sir Thomas Lipton,

quoting Mr. Harry Lauder’s song, and everyone sat up later than

usual because there was no need to cut short the hours of bed.

“The reason for the delay was twofold. At the last moment the

compass in the machine was found to need adjusting, and also it would

have been necessary to put the waterplane into the Medina River from

its shed between 1 and 2 a.m. ‘I need a good night’s rest

before I start,’ Mr. Hawker pleaded, and so it was settled

that he should wait for another tide. The telephone was kept busy

announcing the postponement, but unfortunately there were many people

who could not possibly hear of it.

“As soon as Mr. Hawker dropped into the water between the

_Enchantress_ and the shore, Mr. Perrin went out to give him a copy

of the final rules and regulations and to take the exact time of his

start. The pilot and his passenger, young Kauper, had no elaborate

flying-suits on. Their coats and caps were of rough waterproof

canvas, but they wore their ordinary trousers and boots. They might

have been doing an everyday practice flight. ‘Have you got any

grub with you?’ I asked them. ‘No,’ they said.

‘Can’t be bothered. We’ll get it at the stopping

places.’

“Nothing in their manner, save a little suppressed excitement,

betrayed by a slight huskiness of voice, suggested that they were

starting on an attempt to fly 1,600 miles over sea almost straight on

end. I suppose the thought, ‘How foolish and unnecessary,’

was in the Oriental minds of a party of lascars in a launch who were

being taken up to Southampton from the troopship _Rohilla_ lying close

by. They hung over the side to see as much as they could of this

latest invention of the ‘white mad folk,’ but I know every

English man and woman there heartily admired the two Australian boys

for their nerve and skill.

“A GREAT DAY.

“As they made their last preparations I saw as in a moving

picture kaleidoscope the scenes of the starts in earlier _Daily Mail_

flying contests. I saw Louis Blériot in the field behind the beach at

Baraques, near Calais, setting off at sunrise across the Channel and

asking just before he started, ‘Where is Dover?’ I saw

Grahame-White pelting off from Wormwood Scrubbs at six o’clock

in the evening and vainly chasing Paulhan, who had got away from

Hendon an hour before. I saw Brooklands in that hot afternoon when one

after another the machines entered for the Circuit of Britain rose and

sailed away to the delight and amazement of the huge crowd.

“The actual letting go was unemotional. Ours was the only boat

close by. There was a clear path for the start. The crowds were too

far away to cheer. Exactly at 11.47 the motor began its rattling din

and the machine moved off without difficulty, foamed along over the

water, and leapt suddenly into the air. Gradually, as he went down

towards the Solent, Mr. Hawker climbed up to a good height. He was

watched with intense sympathy until he disappeared into the sky. Then

everyone heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction and said, ‘Well, it

has been a great day.’”

“The two naval airmen, Lieutenant Travers and Lieutenant Spencer

Gray, were to have convoyed him as far as Ramsgate, but to the grim

amusement of Mr. Green, inventor of the air motor used by Mr. Hawker,

and of Mr. Fred May, managing director of the company, both their

foreign engines had broken down. The Gnome in the Borel machine was

repaired by the afternoon, but the Austro-Daimler in the ‘Bat

Boat’ had something seriously wrong with it, and Lieutenant

Spencer Gray had to tow his waterplane to Calshot as evening

fell.”

Seen from the _Enchantress_, Harry’s machine appeared to the

special correspondent of the _Daily Mirror_ as a big dragon-fly chased

by a crowd of angry little water-beetles. At times it seemed that the

“beetles,” sending up clouds of spray, would overtake their

quarry, but the “dragon-fly” shot ahead desperately; and

suddenly, as though it had just found the use of its wings, leapt out

of the water and soared up gloriously into the air. The motor-boats

snorted and grunted at this sudden manœuvre, slowed down their engines

and abandoned the chase!

The first stretch to Ramsgate was 144 miles; the next to Yarmouth 96

miles; and the third to Scarborough 150 miles. To have any reasonable

chance of completing the whole course in the appointed 72 hours, Harry

realised that he would have to get at least as far as Scarborough

on the first day. His delay in starting after 10 a.m. was due to

difficulty in adjusting the compass, which had to be done, as he would

require it in negotiating the mist and fog hanging about the Solent

and the Thames Estuary. Assuming that he would reach Scarborough on

Saturday, he expected to cover the 446 miles from there to Oban on

Monday; on Tuesday he would make Dublin, 222 miles distant from Oban,

and proceed on to Falmouth, a further 280 miles, leaving the final

stretch from there to Southampton to be completed on Wednesday, on

which day his time would be up at 4 p.m.

Having reached the open sea, Harry, keeping well out from the land and

maintaining a steady height of about 1,000 feet, followed the South

Coast, and was seen by numerous holiday folk at Brighton, Eastbourne,

Folkestone, and Dover, which he passed in good time.

After rounding the corner of England he was assisted by the light

southerly wind. The first control, Ramsgate, 144 miles from the start,

was reached at 2.11 p.m., an average speed of 60 miles per hour having

been kept up. While passing Margate, Harry saw a Blériot monoplane

rising to greet him. This was M. Salmet, who was giving exhibition

flights at Margate. Harry and Kauper enjoyed his company for a few

minutes while he flew along beside them. On arriving at Ramsgate,

they were welcomed by the Mayor (Alderman Glyn) and members of the

Corporation, the Mayor, speaking through a megaphone, announcing that

they had won the Cup offered by the townspeople to the first competitor

arriving at Ramsgate. Ramsgate was _en fête_ with much bunting, and

crowds were there from Deal, Dover, Broadstairs, Margate, Canterbury,

Whitstable, and all the villages for miles around, thronging the

shore, piers, harbour, and every point of vantage. Local coastguards

acted as patrols in two motor-boats, to keep the official control area

clear. Mr. Thomas and Mr. Ramsden Tagore, members of the Royal Temple

Yacht Club, lent their craft to the Royal Aero Club. At 3.20, the Aero

Club officials having inspected the machine and handed to him a clean

waybill with which to proceed, Harry started his engine and began the

second stage to Yarmouth. Crossing the mouth of the Thames, he was

unable to see either bank owing to the fog, and, steering by compass,

he proceeded northward, afterwards passing Walton-on-the-Naze and

Clacton, at which places holiday crowds enjoyed a passing glimpse of

the machine in the distance, flying strongly.

Those who have made the tedious journey by steamboat from Yarmouth

to London, taking the greater part of the day, will particularly

appreciate the marvel of travelling all along the coast-line from

Southampton to Yarmouth in less than five hours, including a rest of

one hour at Ramsgate. At Yarmouth Harry and Kauper were received with

an enthusiastic welcome at 4.38 p.m. At the time of landing, Harry

was feeling quite fit, but soon after he had been rowed ashore he

collapsed. He had been troubled by the gases escaping from the rather

short exhaust-pipe, and this, coupled with the fact that, as Kauper

reported, the sun had been very trying, and Harry had not worn any

goggles, led to the case being diagnosed as sunstroke aggravated by the

conditions under which he had been flying. I am inclined to think that

his actual breakdown was completed by the change of conditions from

piloting the seaplane to being rowed ashore in a small boat, and it was

a lucky circumstance that this temporary breakdown was not deferred

until he had taken the air again.

The following communication from a special correspondent of the

_Evening News_, published on Monday, August 18th, 1913, sheds some

light on the circumstances:

“YARMOUTH, _Monday_.

“The hope expressed by Mr. Sopwith that Mr. Hawker may have

recovered sufficiently to make a fresh start from Southampton this

week is based on the opinion of the doctor attending the airman. His

view is that Mr. Hawker should be quite fit again in a couple of days.

“The doctor tells me that no specific cause can be assigned as

the reason of the airman’s breakdown.

“It is, he says, a general accumulation of nerve strain, lack of

rest, and, on top of it all, Saturday’s hot sun.

“Mr. Hawker’s breakdown was most dramatic. When the

machine came to rest on the water he hopped out of the seat, and,

standing on the floats, was active in directing the disposition of the

machine.

“‘Be ready to fill her up,’ were his words on

leaving her.

“I walked up the beach with him to the officers’ quarters.

‘Fit as a fiddle,’ was his own phrase, and though grimy

and travel-stained, he looked fit.

“Suddenly a change occurred. He passed his hand wearily over his

eyes, and his whole complexion changed.

“The room was speedily cleared, a draught was administered by

the doctor, and a cold compress applied to the forehead, but it was

apparent to onlookers that he could not possibly go on.

“Indeed, Lieutenant Gregory tells me that had Mr. Hawker essayed

to do so he should have put his official veto on the attempt.”

The fact that Yarmouth was one of the controls proved to be one of

the big local attractions of the season, and people flocked in from

all parts of Norfolk and Suffolk. Lieutenant Gregory, R.N., who was

in charge of the East Coast Naval Air Stations, spared no pains in

perfecting the local organisation. The control area was a triangle, of

which the apex was the familiar lightship which faced the Naval Air

Station. The Mayor of Yarmouth, Mr. Westmacott, personally assumed

responsibility for keeping the control area free from intruding boats.

When they landed, Harry and Kauper were very deaf from the incessant

roar of the engine during the flight, and their friends had to shout

their loudest to make themselves heard.

As soon as it was found to be out of the question for Harry to proceed

with the flight, Mr. Sopwith at once took steps to find a pilot to

assume control of the machine and carry on the work which Harry had so

well begun. Through the kindness and sportsmanship of Messrs. Short

Brothers, he was able to engage the services of their pilot, Mr. Sydney

Pickles—like Harry, an Australian. The _Daily Mail_ not expecting

pilots to fly on Sunday was a fortunate circumstance which gave Mr.

Sopwith all the time needed to get Mr. Pickles on the scene by Monday

morning without sacrificing flying time or having his new pilot tired

out before the start.

At 5.30 a.m. Pickles with Kauper made a determined effort to get away,

but the sea was too rough, and there was nothing to do but switch off

the engine and be taken in tow. This was just as well, as subsequent

reports showed that much rougher seas were running at Scarborough, the

next control, where the buoys marking the official control area were

washed away.

But troubles were by no means at an end when Pickles switched off

and waited for help. Propelled by a strong north-easterly wind, the

machine drifted southward from a point north-east of the St. Nicholas

Lightship, past the harbour entrance, down to Gorleston Bay, where,

after being taken in tow by a rowing-boat, the machine was beached. An

examination of the machine as it lay on the shore at Gorleston showed

that, in spite of the buffeting it had received, very little damage had

occurred. The elevator and one of the floats were damaged. As Mr. F.

Sigrist, the works manager of the Sopwith Aviation Company, said at the

time, the incessant bump of the water, which was on that morning about

as soft as concrete, was sufficient completely to break up a good many

machines.

After breakfast Mr. Sopwith, Mr. Sigrist, Mr. Pickles, and Lieutenant

Gregory held a conference, principally to decide whether or not

the machine should be sent back to Southampton by air. After much

discussion, which resulted in such a division of opinion that the

toss of a coin was resorted to as the deciding factor, the machine

was dismantled and sent back to Cowes by rail to be ready for a

second attempt. The railway companies were very obliging in providing

facilities for rapidly transporting the machine in time for it to be

re-erected and to make a fresh start to accomplish the whole circuit

before the close of the competition. One cannot help expressing

sympathy for Mr. Pickles in being robbed by a heavy sea of his eleventh

hour opportunity of participating in the flight.

In the meantime, Messrs. Short Brothers and Frank McClean, with the

assistance of Mr. Fred May, of the Green Engine Company, got their

machine into serviceable trim, and hoped to fly to Southampton on the

following Thursday evening, to be in readiness to make a start on the

Friday, but owing to radiator troubles they were forced eventually to

abandon the contest.

CHAPTER VI

SECOND ATTEMPT TO FLY ROUND BRITAIN

Harry Recovers—And Takes Charge Again—An Early Start—Almost Unseen

by the Starter—Thick Fog—Behind Time at Ramsgate—An Explosion—A

Favourable Breeze—But Bumpy Air off Cromer—Scarborough—A

Forced Landing—Five Hundred Miles in a Day—Resting at Beadnell

Overnight—The Second Day—A Spiral Glide at Aberdeen—A Terrible

Journey to Oban—The Third Day—A Water-Logged Float—Another Forced

Landing—Ireland—“A Piece of Ghastly Bad Luck”—Kauper

Goes to Hospital.

CHAPTER VI

By Thursday, August 21st, 1913, Harry had made good progress towards

recovery, and expected to be ready to make a second attempt on

Saturday, August 23rd, exactly a week after his first effort. Pickles

held himself in readiness in case Harry should still be unable to

proceed. However, by Monday morning, the 25th, Harry had completely

recovered from the effects of sunstroke and the exhaust gases, and a

start was made at 5.30 a.m.

Public interest was not lacking through his being the only competitor.

As a matter of fact, the previous failure served to enhance the

appreciation of the difficulties with which the aviator had to contend

on such a journey. The physical trial was dramatically revealed

through the pilot’s collapse at Yarmouth on August 16th, and

in the second attempt a special sporting touch was introduced by the

doubtful possibility of his getting further or not so far, which more

than compensated for the absence of other competitors to provide a

neck-to-neck race.

Harry tested the machine on Saturday the 23rd, and was well satisfied

with everything. The engine had been muffled by the fitting of a longer

exhaust-pipe. Although at dawn on Monday the atmosphere was bright

and clear, a thick mist rolled up, and as Harry, this time making a

flying start, passed above the starting-line punctually at 5.30 a.m.,

only a fleeting glimpse of the machine was enjoyed by those aboard the

_Enchantress_, as she sped overhead.

Nevertheless, in the Solent Harry found the weather clearer than on

the other occasion, but in the Channel he met with a good deal of

fog and had to rely on his compass several times while skirting the

South Coast. He was wearing helmet and goggles and running no risk of

sunstroke this time. Seeing that he and Kauper had been over this

stage of the course only a week before, he hoped they would reach

Ramsgate in slightly better time, but the fog was against them, and it

was not until 8.08 a.m. that they alighted at Ramsgate, having taken

159 minutes from Southampton, or 15 minutes longer than when they made

their first attempt. They expected to sacrifice a little speed through

the provision of the longer exhaust-pipe, which would offer a slight

additional resistance to the free passage of the burnt gases from the

engine.

[Illustration:

_Photo by_] [_J. Cecil Gould, Weybridge._

THE SOPWITH DOLPHIN, PUT THROUGH ITS INITIAL TESTS BY HARRY.

_Facing p. 94._

]

[Illustration:

_Photo by_] [_J. Cecil Gould, Weybridge._

THE SOPWITH CAMEL—A WORLD-FAMOUS FIGHTING BIPLANE. HUNDREDS OF

MACHINES OF THIS TYPE WERE TESTED BY HARRY DURING THE WAR.

_Facing p. 94._

]

Exactly one hour afterwards Harry started for Yarmouth. Between

Ramsgate and Southwold they were practically out of sight of land all

the time, so dense was the fog. A curious incident, which happily

had no serious consequences, befell them while they were crossing

the Thames mouth. Kauper accidentally switched off the engine.

His switching on again was accompanied by a loud explosion in the

streamlined exhaust-pipe, due to the unburnt charge taking fire.

The pipe was deformed from a streamlined to a circular section, but

otherwise no damage was done, and there was no necessity to alight.

Kauper felt the effects of the exhaust gases a little, but Harry was as

fit as a fiddle.

Yarmouth was reached at 10.36 a.m., the 96 miles from Ramsgate having

been traversed in 1 hour 28 minutes through the aid of a southerly

breeze. Mooring their machine, Harry and Kauper went on board the boat

of an Australian friend, Mr. A. Williamson, where a short rest and a

meal were enjoyed. Before leaving, they were presented with a sprig

of Australian eucalyptus as a memento. Kauper was feeling the strain

of the flight, but not severely enough to prevent his proceeding. The

official inspection had been completed quickly, but one or two minor

adjustments necessitated their spending a whole hour at Yarmouth.

At 11.44 they were well under way for Scarborough, 150 miles distant.

There was still much fog about, and off Cromer the air was particularly

bumpy. After relying on the compass during the greater part of the

journey, and flying at a steady height of 1,000 feet, they reached

Scarborough at 2.42. The town was crowded with people, who had

flocked from neighbouring districts to see the wonderful sea-bird,

and, if possible, its personnel. But of course Harry did not venture

ashore. He rested awhile aboard Mr. W. Jackson’s yacht _Naida_.

Arrangements had been made here for illuminated boats to be moored

at the control area in the form of a triangle in case Harry should

have arrived in the dark. The next stage to Aberdeen being 218 miles,

Harry decided he would stop at Berwick to take in some petrol. At four

o’clock the several boats, that had been attracted to the machine

with almost magnetic precision, were cleared away, and at 4.22 Harry

took leave of Scarborough.

After about an hour and a quarter it was found necessary to descend

at Seaham Harbour, owing to a water-pipe springing a leak owing to

the heat of an exhaust-pipe causing fusion of a rubber connection.

Having repaired the trouble and refilled the radiator, Harry started

again at 6.40 after a delay of 65 minutes. Exactly one hour later the

same trouble showed again, and he was obliged to descend at Beadnell,

20 miles south of Berwick. He had piloted the machine over 495 miles

during the day at an average flying speed of over 53 miles per hour,

and had been on the go for more than 14 hours. It was almost too dark

to see the compass, the air was very bumpy, and the engine inclined

to misfire. Harry and Kauper therefore agreed to stay overnight at

Beadnell and get going at 5 a.m. on the morrow. Nothing was wrong with

the engine, and the water connection was effectively repaired.

On Tuesday morning Beadnell was left at 8.5 and 20 minutes later

Harry passed Berwick. At 9.55 a stop was made at Montrose for the

purpose of taking in water and making a few adjustments. After half an

hour’s spell they set out for Aberdeen, the next control after

Scarborough, which was reached at 10.58. They came down from 1,500 feet

in a spiral glide. Both Harry and Kauper felt very fit after their

night’s rest at Beadnell, and the fine weather prevailing gave

them an additional stimulus to renewed efforts. At 11.52 they set out

for Cromarty, the next control, 134 miles away. Near there the air

was exceptionally rough, but an otherwise good passage was made in 2

hours 13 minutes. At this point let us leave the itinerary for a while

to enjoy further comments of “The Dreamer,” which were

published in _Flight_ on August 30th, 1913:

“THE SOPWITH-HAWKER-GREEN COMBINATION.

“I really cannot let this issue go to press without having a

word to say about the topic which is on everybody’s lips: the

race round Britain. At the time of writing, H. G. Hawker has only

reached Cromarty. I say ‘only,’ with regard to the full

distance to be covered, and not as meaning I had expected him to

have got further; and what a magnificent flight! Southampton to near

Berwick in a single day! I wonder what some of those who lived during

the old coaching days would think could they know of the advance in

modern travel. I wonder what the versatile Sam Weller would have said

about a machine which could have delivered the venerable Pickwick safe

and sound at Ipswich, whilst he, following in the coach, was changing

horses at the Castle at Woodford.

“Mr. Sopwith has every reason to be proud of his machine. That

he himself is a pilot of skill and great experience, experience

gained not only in this country, but abroad, is liable, if we are not

careful, to slip one’s mind for the moment, now that, as head

of the Sopwith Aviation Co., he is placed in a position where his

services are of far more value on the ground than in the air. A year

ago and Tom Sopwith would undoubtedly have piloted his machine round

personally. That his experience is now standing him in good stead as

a constructor is proved by the splendid performances of the machines

emanating from his works. When one considers the comparatively short

time in which this company has been building, and then remembers

that their machines hold all the altitude records—and good ones at

that—for this country, together with the Michelin Cup No. 1, the

Mortimer Singer prize for six flights, with alternating landings on

land and water, and the splendid performance now being put up, the

Sopwith machine must be rated as one of the very best.

“And what of the engine? Surely no one will say after this

that England cannot build a good aerial engine. Think for one moment

of this engine, so light that it only weighs some three pounds per

horse-power, pounding away hour after hour, and asking nothing but

to be kept well fed with petrol and oil. Have you ever seen the

crank-case of an engine, with the crank-shaft in position, having

the bearings tested by a bench run, by power applied from without? I

have; and at top speed the cranks move so fast as to appear as one

straight line of shining metal, and do not seem to be moving at all.

Imagine this Green engine moving at this speed with the pistons in

position, and induction, compression, explosion, and exhaust taking

place so rapidly, together with all that it means in the way of moving

valves, and keeping this up for hours on end! It says something for

construction.

“Of the pilot, what can I say? The strain, mental and physical,

must be enormous. Think of some one or other of the long journeys

you have done in a motor-car; remember how stiff and tired and

worn-out you have felt at the end of the day, with nothing but the

ordinary care needed on the road to worry you; and think of this

man sitting there twelve hours a day, day after day, thousands of

feet up in the air, ears keenly on the alert all the time to notice

any different note in the tune of the engine, eyes, whenever they

can be removed from the petrol and oil gauges—not forgetting the

compass, altimeter, and other instruments—for a moment, striving to

pick up and follow the coast-line, always alert, always watching,

always ready, and always the excitement of the race—the knowledge

that one is attempting something never before accomplished; it needs

nerves of steel to stand it, and Hawker has evidently got them. May

he come in safe and sound with time to spare, and get all that he

deserves.”

At Cromarty, Harry and Kauper were well aware of the fact that they had

to set out from there on what was probably the most difficult stage

of the journey—from Cromarty to Oban, 94 miles along the Caledonian

Canal. At 3.5 they started: nor did they reach their destination until

6 o’clock. This represented an average speed of slightly more

than 32 miles per hour. Not only had they to drive against a high

south-westerly wind, which had previously been aiding them, but also

they suffered the consequence of the wind being terribly gusty owing

to the mountainous nature of the region they were traversing. At times

Harry changed his altitude by as much as 2,000 feet in his endeavours

to dodge the particularly bumpy air currents. Many changes in their

height were made involuntarily, the machine rising and falling in

vertical air currents over which no human control was possible. All who

have flown in an aeroplane in bad weather can appreciate what Harry

and Kauper went through on the way to Oban. Having reached there at 6

o’clock, and it being out of the question to proceed to Dublin at

such a late hour, Harry decided to spend the night at Oban and set out

for Ireland at dawn.

At Oban they had a wonderful reception. There was a large dinner

arranged for them, without regard to the fact that they had only the

clothes in which they stood, with the exception of a clean collar and a

pair of socks. Harry had arrived at his last pair of socks, and oil was

continually dripping on his feet while he was flying. Having an hour to

spare before dinner, for comfort’s sake he proceeded to wash and

dry his socks. He tried to get out of the dinner on the ground, that

he had no raiment fit for social functions; but he was jokingly told

he need not trouble to dress. Nevertheless, Harry and Kauper spent a

most enjoyable evening, and their only regret was that the proceedings

had to be cut short in order that they might have adequate rest before

their start at dawn.

Rising at 4 a.m. on Wednesday, the partners enjoyed a hurried

breakfast, and then had a good look over their machine. At 5.30

they were all prepared, and at 5.42 they started for Dublin, having

previously arranged to call on the way at Larne for petrol. But the

machine was reluctant to leave the water, and Harry beached her about

a mile from Oban. After spending an hour in extracting water from the

floats, he made a good restart. Before leaving Scotland he landed at

Kiells, in Argyllshire, in order to effect a minor engine adjustment.

At 8.25 he was in the air again; and 65 minutes later he glided down

into Larne Harbour. He made south for Dublin at 11 o’clock,

only to be foiled a few miles short of the Irish capital by what he

described as “just a piece of ghastly bad luck.”

Suspecting that some of the valve-springs had failed, Harry decided

to come down to inspect them. Meanwhile the engine had been running

and developing its power, but an ominous rattle had worried Harry and

Kauper. It was unfortunate that they did not know that Mr. Green, the

designer of the engine, was awaiting them at Dublin with a set of new

valve-springs. Had they been so acquainted, Harry would, of course,

have continued on to Dublin without coming down to have a look at

the springs. As it was, while descending in a spiral he lost control

owing to his greasy boot slipping on the rudder-bar, and the aeroplane

side-slipped into the water. Harry was unhurt, but poor Kauper suffered

a broken arm and some cuts about the head. He was soon taken to the

Mater Misericordia Hospital, at Dublin, where he made a good recovery,

ultimately leaving the hospital on September 18th, 1913, with all his

wounds healing well. The machine, of course, was done for.

Thus ended the most important event held under the auspices of the

Royal Aero Club during 1913, in which 1,043 miles were covered in

55¾ hours, the actual flying time being 21 hours 44 minutes—a

world’s record for a seaplane in those days. In recognition of

his skill and courage, the _Daily Mail_ made Harry a personal present

of £1,000.

On the morning after the crash near Dublin Harry was busy

superintending the work of dismantling the wrecked aeroplane. While so

employed he was considerably interrupted by photographers and autograph

hunters. Apparently souvenir hunters were also on the scene during his

absence, for one of the radiators had been carefully detached. Having

seen to the packing-up of the remains of the machine, Harry returned to

Brooklands, where on Friday, with his usual nonchalance, he was testing

machines for the Admiralty.

CHAPTER VII

A BIG CHEQUE, AN AERIAL DERBY, AND OTHER EVENTS

Echoes of the Seaplane Flight—Mr. Winston Churchill’s

Views—Back to Work—The £1,000 Cheque—And a Gold Medal from

Margate—The Carping Critic—And the Reply he Received—An

Expedition to Eastchurch—Lost in the Air—Racing a Powerful

Monoplane—An Exciting Aerial Derby—Hamel’s Bad Luck—Harry

Finishes Third—And in the Sealed Handicap is Fourth—A Bad Crash

at Hendon—Other Races—Michelin Efforts Again—Harry’s Bad

Luck—He Puts up Some Wonderful Flights—A Headache in the Air.

CHAPTER VII

Harry and Kauper received many messages of appreciation immediately

after their failure. Sir George Reid, High Commissioner for

Australia, wired: “Win or lose, Australia is proud of you

both.” Mr. Robinson, the Agent-General for Queensland, also

wired: “Queensland warmly congratulates you both on splendid

achievement, the merit of which is not detracted from by the

regrettable accident that prevented you from reaching the goal.”

Mr. Winston Churchill, who was then First Lord of the Admiralty, and

was on board the Admiralty yacht at Deal when Harry passed overhead, to

the _Daily Mail_ wrote:

“Mr. Hawker has achieved a wonderful result, and the accident

which prevented complete success in no way detracts from the merit of

a feat at once memorable and serviceable. The whole competition has

been of real value to British flying. Though we started last, we must

persevere till the first place is gained and held.”

As various false reports as to the cause of the smash off the coast

of Ireland were circulated, the Royal Aero Club found it expedient to

issue an announcement as follows: “With reference to certain

reports that the accident to the Sopwith biplane, used by Hawker in

the recent race round Great Britain, was caused by the wings breaking

in the air, the Royal Aero Club has carefully investigated the matter,

and finds that the wings were entirely intact at the time the aeroplane

struck the water.”

On the Saturday, Harry was busy at Brooklands testing two machines and

carrying many passengers, including the late Mr. Pizey, instructor

at the Bristol School, Salisbury, who was afterwards invited by Mr.

Sopwith to pilot the tractor biplane, which he praised highly. Rain

prevented any flying on Sunday. On the Monday, Mr. Sopwith, Mr. Green,

Mr. Fred May, Mr, Perrin, and Harry were the guests of Mr. Thomas

Marlowe, Editor of the _Daily Mail_, at a luncheon in the precincts of

the Royal Automobile Club in commemoration of the flight. Mr. Harold

Harmsworth, Mr. Hamilton Fyfe, Mr. Ashworth Briggs, and Mr. Sutton were

also present. After luncheon, the company adjourned to the _Daily Mail_

offices, where Harry received the handsome consolation prize of £1,000.

Addressing him, Mr. Marlowe said:

“In handing you this cheque for £1,000 I may mention that this

is the eleventh prize—making £24,750—that the _Daily Mail_ has given

for the encouragement of airmanship, and, like all the others, it is

due to the direct initiative of Lord Northcliffe, the chairman of

our company. I am sorry that, owing to his absence in America, he is

unable himself to present it to you as a tribute to your courage and

in recognition of the fact that you are the first man—and a British

subject, too—to fly 1,000 miles over the sea. That, as I think we

all agree, was a very great performance, one that shows that the

waterplane is a weapon which will become of great value for military

and naval purposes, and consequently a prime necessity of this island

country.

“I have also to hand you a gold medal presented by the Mayor

of Margate for the first airman to pass that town in this race, and

another medal, which he asks me to hand to you for Mr. Kauper, your

passenger. There is a third medal from the Mayor of Margate which

he asks me to hand to Mr. Sopwith, the owner and designer of your

waterplane.

“Here is a great bundle of letters which I have received for

you. I have no doubt they all contain wishes in which we join—that

you will be the first home when the race takes place next year.

“Finally, let me say that our greatest thanks are due to the

Royal Aero Club, and especially to Mr. Perrin, the secretary of the

club, for the admirable arrangements they made for the control and

observation of the flight.”

Harry briefly expressed his thanks.

On behalf of the Sopwith Aviation Company, its founder proposed a vote

of thanks to the _Daily Mail_ for the “very sporting way”

in which they had promoted the competition. The vote was seconded by

Mr. Green, the builder of the engine.

In reply, Mr. Marlowe referred to the important parts played by Mr.

Sopwith and Mr. Green. He said: “They made the flight possible.

They brought it so near success that it must be achieved next year, and

I can only hope that when the prize is won they may be very near the

winning-post.”

The following editorial comment is from _Flight_, September 13th, 1913,

and should be carefully studied by anyone who doubts the utility of

aviation and in particular the usefulness of Harry’s flight round

Britain:

“Under the heading of ‘Mr. Hawker’s Flight. What

is the Moral of it?’ there was published in the _Manchester

Guardian_ of the 1st inst. a letter, signed by a Mr. S. V. Bracher,

whose address is simply ‘London,’ and which is so full

of false premises and erroneous conclusions that we can hardly allow

it to pass without comment. The main proposition which he sets out

to disprove is, as he says, that the enterprising newspaper which

promoted the competition is now declaring that the lesson to be

learnt from it is that the Navy must have a great many waterplanes,

and that the designers of British engines and the builders of British

waterplanes must make their plans immediately. He apparently does

not think either that the Navy requires waterplanes, or that it is

essential that British designers of engines and aircraft should make

any plans for the future. He begins his argument by saying:

“‘To anybody able to keep cool amid the vast output of

scare headlines and process blocks, it must be perfectly clear that

one of the lessons of Mr. Hawker’s plucky adventure is that

the time is not yet ripe for great public expenditure on aviation.

His achievement has enabled everybody to realise the extreme

precariousness and uncertainty of aerial navigation as hitherto

developed.’

Continuing, _Flight_ says:

“To take the first point, which apparently is that the Navy

does not want waterplanes. We have no knowledge whatever of Mr.

Bracher’s status as an authority in this matter. For all we know

he may be the power behind the throne at the Admiralty—presuming

that such a personality is needed by My Lords—or, on the other hand,

he may know even less of the technical side of the subject than we

ourselves. It seems to us that the best reply we can make to the

proposition as stated is: Ask the Navy. But there is no need to ask

the Navy, since we know perfectly well in advance what the Navy thinks

of aerial navigation and its probable influence on war at sea. Is it

for fun that the Navy is establishing aerial stations round the coasts

and is training dozens of officers in the science of flight? Or must

we regard things seriously and believe that the Naval authorities know

their business? There is manifestly but one reply to this, and we can

safely leave even Mr. Bracher to figure it out for himself. Unless

we are content to ignore all the lessons of the past development of

flight, and particularly those learned during the nearest approach to

the ‘real thing’ it is possible to devise, we must come to

the cold-blooded decision that the Navy not only wants waterplanes,

but wants them rather badly.

“Having got thus far with our argument, we come to the next

Bracher point, viz., that the main lesson of Mr. Hawker’s flight

is that aviation is yet in so precarious a stage of development

that it would be foolish to spend large sums of public money in the

equipment of an aerial defence service. Does Mr. Bracher really

seriously ask his public to believe that this is the one and only

conclusion to be reached from the result of Mr. Hawker’s attempt

to circle the coasts of Great Britain? Unless he is writing with his

tongue in his cheek—and we do him the justice of saying that we do

not think this for a moment—then he must be woefully deficient in

imagination and wanting in the power of logical reasoning. Let us

hark back and see what actually did happen during this flight. We

need not go over all the details of it. Quite sufficient that we

point out to Mr. Bracher and others who may be of his way of thinking

that Mr. Hawker actually flew for a distance of more than a thousand

miles—that is to say, a full two-thirds of the whole distance he

set out to cover—and that he failed through absolutely no fault of

the engine or of the machine. It was the lapse of the human factor

that brought the enterprise to an untimely end. Therefore, it is fair

to deduce the argument that already the machine and its engine have

overtaken and passed the capacity of the man, and that if improvement

is needed anywhere it is in the human and not the material machine.

Let us say that we are not advancing this as a definite argument, but

we do press the point that it is a fairer deduction than that reached

by the correspondent of the _Manchester Guardian_.

“No one claims, as far as we are aware, that the aeroplane has

reached its ultimate stage of development, but is that any argument

for holding back provided we can be satisfied that it has arrived at

a useful stage? Not for a moment could such a contention be allowed.

As well might it be argued that because the Dreadnought is practically

obsolescent before it is completed for its first commission, we

should cease building battleships until such time as the final

development has been reached. The man who would seriously argue thus

would, deservedly, be accounted a dangerous lunatic. Upon the same

ridiculous principle no one would go into the water until he could

swim; no business undertaking would be engaged upon until a profit

actually accrues at the moment of starting, and so on.

“The next point is this. Mr. Bracher says:

“‘Experts are saying that seaplanes require much stronger

frames, vastly more powerful engines, and far more effective float

devices than have yet been provided. In short, design must be

revolutionised. Clearly this is the time for experiment, and not for

any wide scheme involving heavy expenditure.’

[Illustration: THE SOPWITH ROLLS-ROYCE-ENGINED BIPLANE,

“ATLANTIC,” IN WHICH HARRY AND GRIEVE ATTEMPTED THE

ATLANTIC CROSSING. THE TOP OF THE FUSELAGE WAS MADE IN THE FORM OF AN

INVERTED BOAT, WHICH THEY DETACHED IN MID-ATLANTIC. THE UNDERCARRIAGE

WAS DROPPED SOON AFTER THE START, IN ORDER TO REDUCE AIR RESISTANCE.

[_Facing p. 108._

]

“Now, this impresses us as being specious argument, since it

is the sort of thing with which it is impossible not to agree in

principle, but before we arrive at complete agreement we must examine

the proposition and see what we mean by it all. Nothing was ever

yet first produced in its final and perfect state, but this last

has inevitably been reached by stages involving long and careful

experiment. From the line-of-battle ship of the Nelson era to the

last _Centurion_ is a far cry. Again, in the case of under-water

craft, there is an enormous gap between the original Holland boat

and the latest submarine of the day. Now, what would have happened

in either case if it had been agreed that these vessels were still

‘experimental’ and everyone had sat and waited for someone

else to perfect them? Once more, the answer is obvious. We should be

where we were a hundred or more years ago. Instead, however, of having

adopted any such foolish policy, we have gone on building and equipping

ships which were the best we knew how to construct at the time, and

have developed accordingly until we have reached the super-Dreadnought

and the submarine as we know them now—and still the end of development

is not in sight.

“Next, Mr. Bracher makes it a cause of complaint that the Naval

and Military Defence Committee propose to:

“‘Equip all the coast defences and defended ports of

the Kingdom with aviation stations, and in the case of the former,

permanent establishments are to be maintained as soon as the necessary

buildings can be erected and fleets of aeroplanes provided. Of the

cost of this scheme one-third will be borne by the Navy and two-thirds

by the Army.’

“He adds the surprising information that:

“‘The trouble is that, as a cold fact, the whole cost will

be borne by the taxpayer’!!!

“Now, unless we are content to assume that aviation has no

bearing on military and naval operations, the answer is that these

stations are necessary, even supposing the practical aeroplane has not

yet materialised. That, of course, we do not allow, since we know the

contrary to be the case. But even supposing it were so, we do know that

its day is not far off, and as we construct dry docks large enough to

take in battleships far exceeding in size those at present afloat, we

must provide accommodation for our air fleet to be, for the sane and

simple reason that it takes far longer to put up buildings than to

construct the aircraft to occupy them.

“So far as we are able to read between the lines of the letter

we have traversed, the meaning of it all is, that all the necessary

experimental work is to be carried out by private firms at their own

risk and cost, and that the State, which must ultimately benefit,

should placidly stand aside and wait until private enterprise has

accomplished the perfection of the machine. Never mind what is being

done in other countries or what lead they may have or hold, let no

penny of public money be spent on the development of aviation, but

rather let that be left to the fools and the patriots. Such logic

sickens us. Fortunately, we are able to think that it appeals to but a

small minority of our countrymen.”

* * * * *

On Saturday, September 6th, 1913, ending a week of rainy and windy

weather, Harry started from Brooklands for Eastchurch at mid-day,

carrying Mr. Simms as passenger, in one of the 80 h.p. Gnome tractor

biplanes, for the purpose of delivering the machine to the Admiralty.

He, however, lost his bearings at 1,500 feet, owing to the dense

fog, and landed at Cheam. After leaving there with the intention of

returning to Brooklands, he got lost again, and this time came down to

learn that he was at Guildford, whence he easily found his way back to

Brooklands. He ultimately made the flight to Eastchurch in 56 minutes,

two days later, against a strong wind. With a full load and passenger

he made a record climb for one of these 80 h.p. Gnome Sopwith Tractors,

rising to 3,200 feet in 7 minutes 15 seconds. Leaving Brooklands at

2.40 p.m., he made Eastchurch shortly before 4 o’clock.

In spite of an overcast sky and a gusty wind, on Sunday, September

7th, many people flocked to Brooklands to see their hero of the

Round-Britain Flight, and Harry was kept busy by numerous admirers,

writing his autograph in their books. He took up the winner of the

ballot for a free passenger flight—Mr. J. S. Marsh of Birley Edge,

Wadsley Bridge, near Sheffield—in addition to many other passengers.

He also indulged in several exhibition flights, making steeply-banked

turns and graceful spiral descents, thoroughly enjoying being back on

a lightweight machine. On the following Sunday, the 14th, he took up

several passengers and made exhibition flights in the evening, after a

30 m.p.h. wind had died down. In an impromptu race with Barnwell, whose

mount was the 120 h.p. Martinsyde monoplane, he was obliged to yield to

the superior horse-power of his rival’s machine.

In the Second Aerial Derby, for a Gold Cup and £200 presented by the

_Daily Mail_, held on Saturday, September 20th, 1913, Harry was one of

fourteen entrants, of whom eleven actually started and nine completed

the course, all landing within an interval of 20 minutes. With a couple

of passengers, Harry brought his 80 h.p. Gnome Sopwith Tractor over

from Brooklands in the early afternoon, before the race, Barnwell

on the 120 h.p. Martinsyde monoplane, and Raynham on his Avro, also

bringing their machines over about the same time.

The course of the race was a single circuit of London, starting and

finishing at Hendon, _via_ Kempton Park, Epsom, West Thurrock, Epping,

and Hertford, a total distance of about 95 miles.

Commencing at 4 o’clock, the pilots started at intervals of one

minute in the following order:

Baumann (60 h.p. Caudron biplane).

Verrier (80 h.p. Henri Farman biplane).

W. L. Brock (80 h.p. Blériot monoplane).

B. C. Hucks (80 h.p. Blériot monoplane).

Raynham (80 h.p. Avro biplane).

Hawker (80 h.p. Sopwith biplane).

Marty (50 h.p. Morane-Saulnier monoplane).

R. Slack (80 h p. Morane-Saulnier monoplane).

Barnwell (120 h.p. Martinsyde monoplane).

Hamel (80 h.p. Morane-Saulnier monoplane).

The weather was exceptionally fine, what clouds there were being very

high, and the sun constantly breaking through. The organisation of the

event left nothing to be desired, and the start at 4 o’clock was

punctual to schedule. Early in the afternoon there was a gusty wind,

but as time went on this became steadier, and during the actual race it

blew from west-north-west at no more than 18 miles per hour. Throughout

the greater part of the course the wind was a beam or side wind, which

materially reduced the flying speed. The crowds were enormous, every

enclosure being packed, and the motor-car paddock could not cope with

demands. Fields and vantage-points all around were crowded. Both Harry

and Hamel were loudly cheered as they passed out of the aerodrome above

the thronged enclosures; Harry presumably on account of his recent

glorious failure, and Hamel on account of his being favourite in the

race through having chopped about ten feet off the span of his wings!

In the course of the race, Harry, who was sixth to start, passed

Baumann before reaching the first turning-point, Kempton Park. As a

matter of fact, Baumann landed and dropped out of the contest about

half a mile before Kempton Park. Between there and Epsom, the second

turning-point, Harry passed Verrier and caught up Hucks, with whom

he was now one minute behind Raynham and half a minute behind Brock;

and so when Epsom was reached he was flying neck-to-neck with Hucks

to decide which of them should assume the third position. By the time

West Thurrock, the third control, was reached, Harry had got it, both

Hucks and Brock being left behind on their monoplanes. But although he

had passed Brock, Harry was still only third, for Hamel had bounded up

and was one minute and a half ahead. Raynham still led Hamel by half a

minute. Behind Harry was Barnwell, only one minute’s flight away.

Before Epping was reached Hamel had trouble with his petrol tap, and

pluckily continued his flight, using one finger as a plug. At Epping,

Harry had caught Raynham, and Barnwell led them both by about one

minute. Hamel had dropped behind through the inconvenience of having to

be a human plug for his petrol pipe. Nevertheless, when Hertford, the

final turning-point, was reached, Hamel, with another burst of speed,

was forcing his way past Barnwell, with Harry close behind, steadily

gaining on Raynham. In the end Hamel won an exceptionally good race at

an average speed of 76 miles per hour; Barnwell was second with 72.5

miles per hour to his credit; and Harry finished third at 67 miles per

hour, beating Raynham by a few seconds.

In the Shell Sealed Handicap flown in conjunction with the Aerial

Derby, Harry was fourth, Hucks, Barnwell and Brock taking precedence in

the order named. Hamel, the scratch man, of course deserved to win the

handicap, seeing that not only was he first home in the Derby, but also

that he accomplished this under very great difficulties.

The day was marred by an unfortunate occurrence in which Mr. Pickles

sustained a broken limb and internal injuries, and Mrs. de Beauvoir

Stocks severe concussion, through side-slipping in a Champel biplane

shortly after the race.

In the October Aeroplane Cross Country Handicap, held at Brooklands on

Saturday, October 4th, 1913, Harry on an 80 h.p. Gnome Sopwith Tractor

biplane was one of sixteen entrants, of whom only six started owing to

rain and minor mishaps. He was second to Merriam, Barnwell and Knight

being third and fourth respectively. On the Sunday, Harry made many

exhibition flights in dull weather, and expressed his versatility by

flying both 80 h.p. Gnome and 100 h.p. Green biplanes.

Wednesday, October 8th, was an unlucky day, for in attempting to start

for the British Michelin prize, Harry crashed. At first it was thought

to be serious, but at the Weybridge Cottage Hospital he was found to

have escaped with only a severe shaking. By Monday he was fit and well.

The Royal Aero Club issued a notice to members on October 18th which

read:

“Mr. H. G. HAWKER.

“Mr. H. G. Hawker, who met with an accident at Brooklands last

week, has now recovered. He visited the club on Tuesday last, and is

quite fit again.”

The accident occurred through his trying to cross over trees, houses,

and other obstructions at too low an altitude, he having left the

aerodrome without doing a preliminary circuit to gain altitude. There

was a fairly strong breeze blowing at the time, and the configuration

of the ground and the trees caused gusts. The machine dived to the

ground and struck one of the banks of the River Wey where it approaches

Brooklands track towards Cobham. The impact was slightly out of the

straight, and the force was relieved by the breaking up of one wing.

Harry received strains to his back, but was prevented from flying for

only ten days. He was busy installing the 100 h.p. Green into the

Sopwith in preparation for further Michelin attempts on October 25th.

In the 1913 competition for the British Empire Michelin Cup No. 1 and

the £500 Prize, he had extraordinarily bad luck. The competition was

originally to have ended on October 31st, but the donors of the prize,

in consideration of the fact that by that date Harry’s attempt,

when he crashed at the start on October 8th, was the only one that

had been made, postponed the closing date until November 14th. In the

meantime Harry made another effort on October 31st. After flying for

three hours and travelling a distance of about 220 miles in twelve

stages between Brooklands and Hendon on a 100 h.p. Green-engined

Sopwith, he was obliged to alight owing to a very violent headache.

This attempt could not therefore be recognised, as the minimum

qualifying distance to be covered was 300 miles. Two days before the

closing date, the competition was won by Harry’s rival, R. H.

Carr, on a Grahame-White five-seater biplane fitted with the late S. F.

Cody’s 100 h.p. Green engine. On the last day of the competition

Harry attempted to beat Carr’s effort, but the weather was too

rough, and the flight had to be abandoned in consequence.

Even sadder were Harry’s fortunes in the competition for the

British Empire Michelin Cup No. 2 and the £800 Prize. On November

19th, after ascending at 9.30 a.m. and flying from Brooklands

_via_ Eastchurch, Shoreham, Salisbury, and Hendon on the 100 h.p.

Green-engined Sopwith, a distance of 265 miles in five hours, without

a stop, he was obliged to return to Hendon through trouble with his

petrol supply. After passing over Hendon at 4,000 feet, and with only

a few more miles to cover, he discovered that it was necessary to fly

with one wing lower than the other in order to collect the petrol in

his tank at the side where the outlet ran to the carburetter. The

reason for the shortage was that the pressure pipe to the tank had

developed a bad leak and was hot because the consumption of the engine

had been underestimated. In fact the reverse was probably the case,

for it was subsequently found that everything adjacent to the tank was

literally drenched with petrol, and 4½ gallons still remained in

the tank. It was an unfortunate circumstance that a strong wind blew

from the direction of Brooklands, but for which Harry would probably

have been able to glide there from the height at which he was at the

time. There was no hope for it, however, and he was reluctantly obliged

to return to Hendon in a long glide.

At 10.20 a.m. on Thursday, November 27th, Harry set out on yet another

determined eleventh-hour effort for the Michelin No. 2 Cup, but between

Croydon and Eastchurch the fog he encountered was so thick that, being

unable to see his way, he landed at Brooklands after three-quarters of

an hour in the air.

The British Empire Michelin Cup No. 2 and the £800 Prize were not

awarded in 1913.

On a new 80 h.p. Sopwith, Harry flew to Farnborough from Brooklands

on Saturday, November 22nd, returning at dusk. On the Sunday he had

an impromptu race with Raynham in the course of exhibition flying. He

again flew to Farnborough on Monday, November 24th, on the 80 h.p.

tractor biplane, with Mr. Blatherwick and Mr. Simms as passengers.

CHAPTER VIII

THE PROTOTYPE OF THE FIGHTING SCOUTS

Harry’s Stroke of Genius—Ninety Miles per Hour with an 80 h.p.

Gnome—When German Interests were at Brooklands—The Real Value of

“Stunting”—A Biplane that Exceeded Expectations—When

Hendon was Surprised—Construction of the Tabloid—Contemporary

Sopwith Products—In Harry’s Absence—Pixton Pilots a

Tabloid to Victory—A £26,000 Ante-Bellum Aviation Company—Mr.

Rutherford—Another Type of Genius—One of Harry’s Records

Broken—An Australian Poem—Death of Hamel.

CHAPTER VIII

Were I asked to state in brief my justification for writing this public

record of the life and work of Harry George Hawker, I would say that

Thursday, November 27th, 1913, should be remembered as a day marking

one of the great innovations in aeroplane design, a feature which

contributed largely to Britain’s supremacy during the Great

War, and for which Harry was principally responsible, although he was

always too modest to acknowledge that he had contributed more than a

little towards it. The occasion was the arrival at Brooklands from the

Sopwith Works of the 80 h.p. Gnome-engined Baby biplane, afterwards

known as the Sopwith Tabloid. Although engined with a unit of orthodox

dimensions, this machine could be described as a miniature biplane, the

wing surface having been cut down to a minimum.

Prior to the inception of the Tabloid, the only reason for building

biplanes, as opposed to monoplanes, was to get a large wing surface

in as compact a form as possible. Therefore, when comparatively

great weights had to be carried which demanded the use of big wing

surface, biplanes were constructed. Furthermore, a certain structural

weakness that had been revealed in the monoplane types of the day also

contributed to the popularity of the biplane. But it was wholly a new

idea to construct a biplane of smaller dimensions than the average

monoplane. The initiation and general arrangement of this new type was

entirely Harry’s work, and was a most wonderful stroke of genius.

Almost every day somebody achieves a measure of fame by constructing

some machine or other (not necessarily an aeroplane) of colossal

dimensions surpassing anything previously engineered, but to achieve

notable success by adverting to a Lilliputian scale, seemingly

primitive, is surely indicative of genius, and this is precisely what

Harry did. The Sopwith Tabloid was a prototype which was copied far and

wide by most of the leading aeroplane constructors in every country

where aeroplanes were manufactured.

Naturally, when the machine arrived at Brooklands in its packing-case,

Harry was very anxious to get it assembled and into the air,

particularly as he was shortly returning “down under” to

Australia, on a visit to his people and for a spell of flying there,

and, all being well, he would take the Tabloid with him. After spending

only an hour and a half in assembling it, he took the air and flew

round the track at 90 miles per hour, an unprecedented speed for such

a low-powered machine. His landing, too, was remarkably slow; and the

speed contrast meant that his first design was an unparalleled success.

I am not sure whether he was inspired by the necessity of having a

small machine to carry on board ship, or by Hamel’s performance

in the Aerial Derby with clipped wings, but whatever it was induced

him to design the machine, Harry was responsible for a trend in

aeroplane design that has only been equalled in importance perhaps by

the innovation of the monoplane wing devoid of external bracing, and

even for this it could not be claimed that it was of incalculable, if

any, value to the Empire and the world during the Great War. Fighting

scouts—thousands of them—were subsequently made for the Allies, and

were the outcome of Harry’s genius.

It is a fact of no small significance in view of subsequent events that

when the Tabloid made its début at Brooklands a German aircraft concern

was established there, and on Saturday, November 29th, Herr Roempler,

a famous German pilot constructor, was flying one of the German D.F.W.

machines.

The Tabloid was intended as a machine on which stunts of every

description could be performed. Sopwith and Hawker were among the

first to realise that manœuvrability, or the “stunting”

property, was of more than mere spectacular interest, and that in time

of war it would be of incalculable value. With such principles at the

back of his mind, Harry announced his intention of looping-the-loop

at an early date, a feat that Pégoud had introduced in order to

demonstrate the strength of the Blériot monoplane and remove the

prejudice against that type. The engine, tanks, pilot, and passenger

were massed together in an unusually small compass, the passenger being

seated side-by-side with the pilot. The original anticipated maximum

speed was about 85 miles per hour, but in actual practice 94 miles per

hour was exceeded. The wings, which were only very slightly curved, or

cambered, measured only 26 ft from wing-tip to wing-tip. The curvature

of the wings was considerably less than that of the standard type

tractor biplanes, although wing spars of exactly similar section were

employed—a notable instance of early standardisation. The original

Tabloid had warping wings—not ailerons.

Pixton, who incidentally won the International Schneider Cup Contest

at Monaco in the following year on a Sopwith Tabloid seaplane, had

now come to the Sopwith hangars to carry on the work which Harry must

relinquish during his sojourn in Australia.

In an earlier chapter of this book reference was made to the deviation

of the hub of British aviation from Brooklands to Hendon, where the

London Aerodrome had by now developed into a popular rendezvous

of London folk, and a good selection of British and Continental

racing aeroplanes was to be found. Two days after having erected the

Tabloid Harry flew it over to Hendon at a speed of over 94 miles per

hour. Entering the aerodrome, he made two circuits at what was then

considered an astounding speed, estimated at 90 miles per hour. Earlier

in the day he had been down to Farnborough with the machine, where in

an official test he attained a maximum speed of 92 miles per hour, a

landing speed of 36·9 miles per hour, and a rate of ascent of 1,200

feet per minute. This performance, which was a world’s record,

was carried out with a passenger and fuel for 2½ hours. Empty, the

machine weighed only 680 lb. On the following day Harry returned from

Hendon to Brooklands, where he was surrounded by numerous admirers of

the new Sopwith-Hawker product.

[Illustration: TESTING THE LIFEBOAT. ON THE BACK OF THE ORIGINAL

PHOTOGRAPH HARRY WROTE: “NOTE THE BROKEN ICE BETWEEN THE BOAT AND

SHORE.”

[_Facing p. 122._

]

[Illustration: THIS PICTURE SHOWS SOME OF THE DIFFICULTIES IN GETTING

THE AEROPLANE TO THE STARTING-GROUND IN NEWFOUNDLAND. THE DRIVER

APPARENTLY TOOK THINGS LYING DOWN.

[_Facing p. 122._

]

The following description of the Sopwith Tabloid is extracted from

_Flight_, December 20th, 1913:

“When the latest production of the Sopwith Aviation Co. made

its bow to the public at Hendon a few Saturdays ago it did so like

a bolt from the blue, and, wasting no time in showing what it could

do, immediately completed two circuits at a speed of about 90 m.p.h.

The successes of the former Sopwith machines—designed by Mr. T.

O. M. Sopwith and Mr. Sigrist—are, no doubt, still fresh in our

readers’ minds, and with this new 80 h.p. “baby”

biplane, in the design of which Mr. H. G. Hawker, who piloted the

former machines to success, has played an important part, it seems

that further achievements will soon be added to the credit of this

go-ahead Kingston firm.

“The general lines of the new biplane are similar to those

of the other Sopwith Tractor machines.... It has been designed

with the intention of producing what might be called an exhibition

machine, that is to say, a machine capable of performing all sorts of

evolutions such as steep bankings, small circles, switchbacks, etc.

This machine is therefore of small dimensions, having a span of 25 ft.

6 ins. and an over-all length of 25 ft. The total area of the main

planes is 240 sq. ft., which gives a loading 3 lb. per sq. ft. light

or 4·5 lb. per sq. ft. fully loaded, the weight of the machine empty,

and with pilot and 3½ hours’ fuel, being 670 lb. and 1,060

lb. respectively. The main planes, which are comparatively flat, are

set at a slight dihedral angle, and the top plane is staggered forward

1 ft. They are built up in two cellules, the lower planes being

attached to the lower portion of the fuselage, whilst the top planes

are secured to a centre panel supported above the fuselage by two

pairs of struts; there are only two other pairs of struts, separating

the main planes near the extremities.... In plan form the planes have

a greater length in the trailing edge, as on the Morane monoplane. The

fuselage follows usual Sopwith practice, being rectangular in section,

tapering to a vertical knife-edge at the rear. The pilot is seated

in a small cockpit between the planes, whilst another seat for a

passenger is provided on the pilot’s right. The forward ends of

the top and bottom longerons converge, forming an attachment for the

front engine bearer. The 80 h.p. Gnome engine is mounted in the nose

of the fuselage, and is almost completely covered by a neat aluminium

cowl, but is nevertheless efficiently cooled by the stream of air

pressing through a narrow slit formed in the cowl by the front engine

bearer; the lower extremity of the engine also projects slightly below

the cowl. The latter is easily detachable, and hinges forward, giving

easy access to the valves. The carburetter, to which the petrol is

fed by gravity, projects within the cockpit, and can easily be got at

by the pilot or passenger. The landing chassis has been considerably

modified, and consists of two short skids, each connected to the

fuselage by a pair of struts. At the rear the skids are connected

by a streamlined cross-strut, in the centre of which is hinged the

divided axle, carrying at its outer extremities the covered-in running

wheels. In its normal position the axles lie in a groove formed in the

cross-strut, thus maintaining the streamline effect of the latter.

The axle is sprung by means of rubber shock-absorbers attached to

the skids, and is held in position by two very short radius rods,

hinged to the rear extremities of the skids. In order to prevent

the cross-strut from bending downwards in the middle, it is braced

at this point to the fuselage by a wire.... The tail consists of a

semi-circular stabilising plane, to the trailing edge of which are

hinged two elevator flaps with a balanced vertical rudder, almost

circular in shape, between them....

“Lateral control is by wing warping, the movement being carried

out by a wheel mounted on a vertical column, a fore-and-aft movement

of which operates the rear elevators through a connecting-rod and

countershaft. The warp cables are led from a rockshaft to pulleys let

into the uprights of the fuselage just above the rear spar attachments

of the lower plane. From these pulleys the cables go to the top

sockets of the rear outer struts. A continuous cable also runs from

each of the outer rear strut sockets of the lower plane over pulleys

on the tops of the two rear struts attached to the fuselage.... Flying

over the measured course at Farnborough, fully loaded with fuel for

2½ hours, pilot and passenger, a maximum speed of 92 m.p.h. and a

minimum speed of 36.9 m.p.h. were attained. The climbing speed was

1,200 ft. in one minute, also fully loaded—quite a credit to British

aeroplane design. It was originally intended to take this biplane over

to Paris during the Aero Show in order to demonstrate its wonderful

capabilities in the home of aviation, so to speak. We understand,

however, that this plan has been changed, and that the machine has

been sent out to Australia, where Mr. Hawker will put it through its

paces above his native soil, and endeavour to rouse the interest of

the Australian Government. After staying there some months, we may

hope to see him back in England. Our readers will, we feel sure, join

us in wishing both Mr. Hawker and the Sopwith Aviation Co. every

success in this latest enterprise.”

Among other new machines under construction at the Sopwith Works about

this time may be mentioned a huge seaplane of 80 ft. span, propelled by

two 120 h.p. Austro-Daimler engines. The two propellers were each of 12

ft. 6 in. diameter. There was also a new type of flying-boat driven by

a 200 h.p. Canton-Unné, or Salmson, radial water-cooled engine. This

machine, which was exhibited at the Aero Show held at Olympia in March,

1914, was considered the strongest and best-made flying-boat of its

time. Very soon after the advent of the Sopwith Tabloid, and shortly

after Harry’s departure for Australia, another Sopwith made its

first appearance, in the shape of a machine whose size was between the

Tabloid and the standard 80 h.p. tractor biplane. This new biplane,

known as the Tweenie, was engined with a motor of 100 h.p. The first

model was acquired by the Admiralty. In April, Pixton, on a Sopwith

Tweenie fitted with floats, won the classic Schneider Cup at Monaco.

The achievement attracted much attention from foreign journalists as

signifying a great British triumph. Very little notice of the event was

taken by the British lay Press; but the Royal Aero Club held a luncheon

in honour of Sopwith and Pixton, on which occasion Sopwith recounted

many of the amusing little incidents which led up to the evolution of

the winning machine.

Before giving a detailed account of Harry’s experiences on his

Australian expedition it is well to record one or two happenings which

transpired in his absence from England.

“Will o’ the Wisp,” in _Flight_, January 10th, 1914,

perpetrated the following, which calls for no further explanation:

“‘Sopwith Aviation Company, Ltd. December 15th, 1913.

£26,000 (£1) (6,000 six per cent. cum. pref. and 20,000 ord.). To

take over,’ etc. Um—sounds all right. Fast little beggar that

new Baby-plane. Good Hydro, too, that one that nearly got round the

circuit. Clever chap T. O. M., clever men with him, too: what are we

going to see in 1914?”

An Australian, after a visit to England, said: “Plenty of flying

can be seen at Brooklands. They’re cool customers nowadays. They

bid you good-day, hop on board their machine, there’s a whiz and

a flutter, and your man is out of sight, all in a space of a minute or

two.”

Of nine tractor biplanes ordered from the Sopwith firm by the War

Office about this time, Harry was only able to deliver the first, as

the others were completed in his absence, when Pixton was responsible

for delivery.

Harry’s name was well known outside aeronautical circles, even in

these days, when trans-Atlantic flights were no more than suggested.

The following incident, reproduced from _Flight_ of January 31st, 1914,

provides amusing evidence of this. “Will o’ the Wisp”

is again the culprit.

“When Mr. Hawker returns to this country from Australia he

will have to search out Mr. Rutherford, of Gainsborough, and have a

few words with him. Mr. Rutherford rode up to one of the hotels in

Lincoln the other day on a motor-cycle, and said he was Hawker, come

to do some exhibition flying in the neighbourhood. He was, of course,

immediately the hero of the place, and was introduced to all and

sundry. He had great tales to tell of his flight round Great Britain

and what he was going to do in the future. So friendly did he become,

that he promised to take many of the guests for a joy-ride so soon

as his mechanics should arrive with the machine. Of course, there

is always somebody who can’t leave a poor chap alone, and the

kill-joy in this case was a policeman, who turned up and arrested

the giddy Rutherford for stealing the motorbike, which he had hired

at Gainsborough and had forgotten to return. The police found that

he was in the possession of ninepence, which goes to prove the old

saying that it is not always necessary to possess money to be happy.

Incidentally, he said he had had over a thousand offers of marriage.

Perhaps, when he has finished his four months’ imprisonment, he

will consider one of them.”

On Tuesday, February 3rd, 1914, Harry’s British height record

of 11,450 feet was unofficially broken by Raynham, who, with Mr.

Harold Blackburn as passenger, ascended to 15,000 feet. Harry’s

absence in Australia provided an unique opportunity for his records to

be broken and new records held by others, at least until his return.

On the following Tuesday, under official observance, Raynham broke

Harry’s record for one passenger by ascending to 14,420 feet

with Mr. MacGeagh Hurst. On March 7th, Captain Salmond’s flight

of December 13th, 1913, when 13,140 feet was reached, was officially

recognised as beating Harry’s record. Harry’s other

records, for one, two, and three passengers, still stood, pending

confirmation of the reports of Raynham’s attempts to break them.

“Aeolus,” in _Flight_, May 15th, 1914, wrote:

“From a chatty letter to hand from Mr. George Payne, of

Ballarat, Australia, it is evident that Harry Hawker’s trip

‘down under’ has created considerable enthusiasm among our

Australian cousins. In the case of the local poet this enthusiasm has

found vent in the following effort, which I think well entitled to a

corner in this page:

’ARRY ’AWKER.

(After Kipling, behind scratch.)

News Items.—Mr. Harry Hawker, the young Australian airman, made

several successful flights at Caulfield in the presence of 30,000

people. During one of his flights he was accompanied by a young lady.

Senator Millen, Minister of Defence, was a passenger with Mr. Hawker in

a recent flight over Melbourne.

’E’s a boster! ’Arry ’Awker,

’E’s a doer, not a talker,

Wot we calls a real corker,

Tho’ not rash;

’E cares nothing for a blizzard,

Though it cut him to the gizzard;

In the air he “is”—a “wizard”—

Less the smash.

An’ ’e don’t use any frillin’

Just to set the people thrillin’

When they pay their bloomin’ shillin’

At the show;

But ’e takes things wery easy

While ‘e sees the engine’s greasy,

An’ ’e shouts, ’owever breezy,

“Let ‘er go!”

An’ away ‘e goes a-soarin’,

While the ladies all adorin’

With us common blokes a-roarin’

In our joy;

An’ our praise ’e needn’t flout it,

So let everybody shout it,

For there is no doubt about it

‘E’s the boy!

An’ we ‘ear that Mr. Millen

Found that flyin’ way so killin’

That no doubt ‘e’ll now be willin’

Straight away

To give ’im an invitation

To be boss of aviation

For our young Australian nation,

With good pay.

With ’is plane to fly about in

‘E’ll be just the boy for scoutin’

If the foeman pokes ‘is snout in

Doin’ wrong.

’E will never prove a balker,

’Ere’s good ’ealth to ’Arry ’Awker;

May ‘e keep like Johnny Walker—

Goin’ strong!

But be wery careful, ‘Arry,

While with us you mean to tarry,

Or I’ll bet you’re bound to marry

Wery soon;

For you’ll find yourself a-sighin’,

An’ the ring you will be buyin’,

If you take the ladies flyin’,

Near the moon!

“In his letter, Mr. Payne also mentioned that Australia is sending

us another of her sons, as Mr. Treloar, of Ballarat, is going to

England shortly in order to be initiated into the gentle art of flying.

I hope that Mr. Treloar will prove as apt at handling the control-lever

as are those of his compatriots who have already made a name for

themselves in the flying world over here.”

The saddest episode of which England’s shores were the scene

during Harry’s absence in Australia was the disappearance of poor

Gustav Hamel, who, after setting out to fly to France, flew into a

Channel fog and was never heard of again.

CHAPTER IX

AERIAL PROPAGANDA IN AUSTRALIA

Back to Australia—Harry Expresses Some Views—Australian Air

Policy—He Speaks of Stabilising Devices—A Reminiscence of the

Round-Britain Seaplane Flight—A Civic Welcome—Harry’s

Father Speaks—Assembling the Tabloid—First Flight in

Australia—Preparations for Flight—Flying from a Street—An Object

Lesson at Government House—Harry Dispels a Fallacy—And Speaks about

Whirling Propellers—A Flying Call on the Governor-General—Interrupts

a Game of Tennis—What the Governor-General Thought of Harry—Old

Melbourne Friends Fly—The Australian Press—Enterprising Lady

Passengers—Passengers pay £3 per Minute—Curious Attitude of

an Association Official—Organisation of a Big Public Flying

Exhibition—Harry’s Views on Flying—A Crowd of 25,000—Is

Difficult to Handle—And Affects Harry’s Programme—An

Accident—Without Serious Consequences—The Minister of Defence

Ascends 3,500 Feet.

CHAPTER IX

There arrived at Fremantle on Tuesday, January 13th, 1914, R.M.S.

_Maloja_, having on board the Sopwith Tabloid and Harry, who landed

at Melbourne on the following day to visit his parents. Interviewed

by a representative of the Press, Harry said the difference

between a modern biplane, such as that he had with him, and an old

“box-kite” biplane, an example of which the Australian

Government had recently acquired, was as great as that between

a motor-car and a bullock wagon or pantechnicon. Aviation, he

said, had made great strides during the previous year or two. The

“box-kite” biplanes were still regarded as serviceable

school machines, but had not sufficiently good speed capabilities

for military requirements, which the higher-powered modern machine

undoubtedly possessed. He pointed out that the costs of the Tabloid

and of a “box-kite” machine were about equal, and that,

considering its power, the former was the cheapest machine on the

market then.

With an eye to business, Harry said he was prepared to fly from

Melbourne to Sydney in about 4½ hours. He would also loop-the-loop.

The latter offer was received with some surprise, as no one, least

of all a layman, had contemplated the possibility of doing this in

anything but a monoplane then. He was prepared to take off from the

street in his small speedy biplane, provided there were not, of course,

any cross wires or paddocks. Reminded of the attempt of one, Cugnet, to

rise from the Melbourne cricket ground, Harry said he would not have

tried to do that in a slow, low-powered machine. “What Cugnet did

said more for his pluck than his brains,” was Harry’s way

of putting it.

Regarding stabilising devices, Harry declared them to be superfluous.

“The bird has no mechanical stability device,” he said.

“The muscles of its wings give it stability, and, as pilots

have become more skilful and have gained a better knowledge of their

machines, the risk of capsizing has been reduced to practically

zero.” Aviation, said Harry, had advanced in the direction of

knowledge and greater power and control. Never had he heard of an

aviator being blown over. On account of the high degree of natural

stability in the modern aeroplane it was, he said, a difficult matter

to keep a machine on its back when deliberately flying upside down.

Natural stability received too scanty attention, and if pilots would

let their machines “fly themselves,” so to speak, there

would be fewer accidents, was Harry’s opinion.

“Flying,” he said, “is full of interest and is not

half so dangerous as the public imagine. Over 90 per cent. of the

accidents are due to carelessness, not necessarily on the part of

the pilot, but of workmen who leave wires slack and do not test the

structural parts of the aeroplane.”

Asked for reminiscences of the Round-Britain Seaplane Flight, Harry

replied: “I don’t think there is much left to be said

about it. Every inch of the way has been discussed and every experience

told. We were in danger several times; out of sight of land, and at

times out of sight of the sea beneath as well, owing to thick fog. The

strongest impression I have retained is of an old Scotsman. Having

landed somewhere on the Scotch coast to repair an oil-tube, we were met

by this gentleman sauntering down with his dog. Was he astonished? Not

at all. One would have thought he had seen thousands of aeroplanes. His

conversation was limited. He sat on a stone while we worked, and asked

us where we were going and why, and whether ‘Yon thing all goes

up together,’ a question which has since become almost a classic

among the humorous anecdotes of aviators. We assured him it did. He did

not seem in the least surprised when we came or when we departed.”

On his return home to St. Kilda, Harry was welcomed by the Mayor, at

the Town Hall. It was mid-day, and there was a distinguished assembly.

The presence of the Postmaster-General was significant, for postal

authorities had then, and even now still have, to be educated as to

the value of aircraft for mail-carrying. The Mayor said they had all

followed with the greatest interest their fellow-townsman’s

advancement in the Old World, and it was hoped when he returned to

England he would put up further records in the world of flight. Mr.

Agar Wynne spoke of Australians having all wished Hawker every success

in his attempted flight round Great Britain. There, in Australia,

they were far away from the big centres, and it was only by the push

and energy of their young citizens at the other end of the world that

Australia had become known among all the nations. He expressed regret

that Hawker had again to leave Australia, but hoped that when he came

back again they would be able to congratulate him on still greater

achievements. After others had said their say, Harry in reply expressed

his pleasure in knowing that as an Australian he had gained successes

in England, where, on his return, he would do his best on behalf of

Australia. Harry’s father said that amidst all the successes

and applause his son had not forgotten his home. He had brought a

machine with him, partly of his own design, which had not been publicly

demonstrated in England to any extent. Victoria was to have the first

opportunity of seeing that machine fly.

The welcomes over, Harry lost no time in assembling the Tabloid, on

which the necessary work was almost complete by January 22nd. On

Monday, the 26th, the machine was on view, assembled, at the C.L.C.

Motor and Engineering Works, Melbourne. The highest-powered aeroplane

ever seen in Australia, it was regarded as a most serviceable type. A

trial flight, which Harry provisionally arranged to make on the 26th,

had to be postponed owing to the fact that the special castor oil,

necessary for lubricating the Gnome engine, had not passed the Customs.

There was talk of Harry taking part in the Sydney Aerial Derby, timed

to be flown in February, and it was generally supposed that, if it did

compete, the Tabloid would win easily. Harry certainly was considering

the question of making a non-stop flight from Melbourne to Sydney

on behalf of a well-known rubber tyre firm. The Australian Defence

Department had recently acquired a number of aeroplanes, and it was

hoped that some at least of these could take part in a race to Sydney.

Harry made his first flight in Australia on Tuesday, January 27th,

1914, a fortnight after his arrival. Several flying-men had visited

Australia before, and one or two had left the ground, but Harry

was fairly acclaimed the first to show Australians the immense

possibilities of mechanical flight. One who stood by while he carefully

went over every nut with a spanner, tested each wire and each moving

part, recalled to mind previous flights that failed, and bethought

himself care is not the whole of an airman’s equipment. But the

tightening of a nut might prevent a broken neck, and it was little

wonder that an airman should not overlook anything that might mean the

saving of his own neck.

There was nothing theatrical about the preparations. The hero of the

day did not gaze anxiously up aloft, frown, and shake his head. He

did not have long and heated arguments with his mechanic, nor did

he attire himself in large yellow clothes or look unduly nonchalant

with a cigarette hanging from the lower lip. The onlookers, contrary,

perhaps, to expectations, saw only the man whose interest was centred

in carefully tightening the nuts and adjusting the bracing-wires. As

one said, each airman who came to Melbourne had a different expression

just prior to the appointed hour for flight. Cugnet, he said, looked

stern and perhaps a little sad; Hammond bore the impassive countenance

of an Indian chief; but Hawker smiled as if it were an enjoyable game.

His decision to make his maiden Australian flight was, apparently,

sudden. In the morning it was announced there would be no flying, but

by 4 o’clock in the afternoon the news had gone round in some

mysterious manner to the effect that he was about to make a trial

flight. One wing was put on the machine in the garage in which it was

stationed, the other being put on and adjusted when the machine had

been wheeled out into the street. When everything had been trued up,

and there only remained the engine to be tested, Harry got into his

seat, the propeller was swung, and several people lost their hats in

the draught caused by the rotating mass. Much dust was raised too.

The engine having cracked and spluttered and roared, and Harry being

assured of its good tune, he waved his arm, and the four begrimed

individuals who had been holding the machine back let go. Down New

Street, lined by crowds on both pavements, the machine raced for thirty

yards or so before rising into the air. Harry climbed steeply, at once

turning westward over the golf-course, while a maddened horse, drawing

a van, rose on its hind legs, seemingly pointing out the aeroplane to

the crowd, who watched a beautiful demonstration of the aviator’s

art.

At a height of about 600 feet Harry described right-and left-hand

circles, banking at 45 degrees and more. Then he dived at what appeared

to be an unprecedented speed to within a few feet of the ground,

afterwards steeplechasing above fences and trees. He climbed and

climbed again, alternately switching off his engine and diving, as it

were, to the attack. Finally he mounted higher than previously and set

off in the direction of Toorak. After following the valley of the Yarra

at a height of about 5,000 feet, he glided down above the grounds of

Government House and switched on again at about 2,000 feet. He then

crossed above the lake in Albert Park, returning by the seashore to the

Elsternwick golf-links, to which he descended in a fine spiral glide,

ending in a sharp vertical dive and a beautiful landing at only 34

miles per hour. The flight occupied about 20 minutes. He was received

with vociferous cheering. As the good horseman after finishing a

journey sees that his horse is fed, watered, and bedded before he seeks

his own dinner and repose, so did Harry carefully stow away his machine

out of reach of the crowd before yielding to any calls for speeches and

interviews.

It appears that airmen who had previously made unsuccessful attempts

at flight in Australia sought to justify their failure by declaring

the Australian air to be unsafe and mysteriously different from the

air of Britain or France. This fallacy was clearly dispelled by

Harry. “There is not the slightest difference,” he said.

“It is the same sort of air, except that it is clearer than the

English. When I crossed the Albert Park lake I could see Geelong very

plainly.”

Speaking of his machine, Harry said: “The engine worked

splendidly. The highest barograph record shows 5,000 feet. The

engine developed its full revolutions, and I was doing 90 miles per

hour.” He explained that there was one point upon which the

Australian needed education. That was—that it is unsafe to get in

the way of an aeroplane when it is rising from or coming to ground.

“The whirling propeller,” he said, “has played a part

in not a few tragedies at European aviation meetings, and crowding in

on it is a very good method of suicide.”

This short trial flight which Harry made was considered by far the best

that had been seen in Australia, both as regards speed and control.

Getting off from the street was in itself a unique performance. The

value of swift flight under precise control in warfare was appreciated

by the onlookers as incalculable.

A few days later, on February 3rd to be precise, the Governor-General,

Lord Denman, received a literally flying visit from Harry. It was

shortly after luncheon, when Lord and Lady Denman, about to play tennis

with some friends whom they were entertaining, were surprised by a

telephone message to the effect that Harry had just left Elsternwick

and would be over to see them in a few minutes. Their Excellencies had

barely time to reach the lawn before a tiny speck became discernible

against the blue sky and fleecy white clouds to the south-east. After

very few minutes had elapsed, Harry in the Tabloid passed, seemingly

slowly, over the massive buildings of Government House, at a height

somewhere between 3,000 and 5,000 feet. To those on the ground it was

apparent that Harry had experienced no difficulty in finding his way,

for he came straight as a die from the south-east, where Elsternwick

lay, and as soon as he was above his destination he began to descend

in a magnificent spiral, whizzing round and round and down and down at

a terrific pace. As he came nearer to the ground he executed several

manœuvres for the benefit of those below. Making sharp turns, he

banked his machine to such a degree that many considered it miraculous

that he kept his seat at all. Then, when above the polo ground and

facing Government House, he glided down to the lawn, steeply and with

startling suddenness.

Harry’s main concern while landing was thinking out how he should

present himself to the Governor-General. As the Tabloid came to rest,

like a great winged beetle, at the far end of the lawn, Lord Denman and

his party walked over to it and came upon an unassuming, clean-shaven

young man, clean and unruffled as if he had just done no more than

merely walk from St. Kilda road opposite. A little bit nervous, Harry

shook hands and thanked the Governor-General for the warm welcome. He

had, he said, a very good flight from Elsternwick, and the stiff breeze

which blew did not trouble him at all. The landing, too, had presented

no difficulties.

Harry stayed for about half an hour, during which he explained his

machine to his hosts. They were particularly interested in the cockpit

and controls. Harry learned that Lord Denman was very interested in

aviation and before going out to Australia had enjoyed one or two

flights as a passenger in a Grahame-White biplane. There was also

present Captain Pollocks, A.D.C. to the Governor-General, who had also

had some flying experience in England. The departure was as informal

as the arrival. The machine was pulled round a little so that it would

have a clear run against the wind. Harry then said he thought he

“had better be getting along,” and, after again thanking

His Excellency for his warm reception, he climbed in and was away.

After skimming along the ground for thirty yards or so, the machine

rose grandly over Government House and sailed at full speed round the

grounds, under such perfect control that the whole business looked

very simple. Again he banked his machine on sharp turns, and at times

he appeared to be almost on the point of turning over. But Harry did

not indulge in any trick flying of that nature, but was contented to

attempt no more than well-balanced turns and “zooms.” One

of his dives was so sudden that Harry’s manager, Mr. Sculthorpe,

remarked that it looked more like the influence of an awkward

air-pocket than an intentional manœuvre. After climbing to an altitude

of about 3,500 feet, Harry at last headed south-east for Elsternwick,

leaving a trail of smoke behind. In a few minutes the machine, after

dwindling to a mere speck, passed from sight.

When informed subsequently of the allegation that Harry was far more

nervous of meeting him than of flying in the teeth of a gale, Lord

Denman laughingly said that so far as he could see, “This young

Australian airman seemed to be little concerned over one thing or the

other.” His Excellency added that the flight seemed not to have

any physical effect on Harry. “His hand was as steady as mine

when we met,” he said.

On his return to Elsternwick, Harry, feeling less restrained, gave

an even more spirited display of fancy flying for the benefit of the

crowd gathered to watch his landing. He alighted on the golf-links

without incident, and after a brief rest made two more flights, each

time accompanied by a passenger. His two passengers were two old

Melbourne friends, Cecil de Frager, who subsequently lost his life in

a motor-cycling accident in France while serving as a captain with the

Australian Forces, and Maurice Smith.

Commenting on Harry’s flights, the _Melbourne Argus_ remarked

that a characteristic feature common to all of them was the complete

absence of theatrical display. Harry flew as unconcernedly as an

expert drove a motor-car, and apparently with the same degree of ease

and comfort. He made the whole business delightfully simple, and his

personal preparations before starting a flight were considerably less

formal than those of a motorcyclist before mounting his machine. He

wore ordinary clothes, his sole extra covering or protection being a

pair of goggles. When he stepped on to the lawn at Government House he

was not even ruffled. His hair was nicely parted and his tie straight.

To the uninitiated it seemed absurd to think that he had been tearing

through the air at 90 miles per hour, a mile above the earth. One could

understand his not wearing a dustcoat in such circumstances, but might

have expected something less ordinary than a lounge suit and a grey cap.

Another matter upon which the Press commented was the rapidity with

which the Tabloid was prepared for action. At 2.20 p.m. the machine had

been reposing more or less dismantled in the garage of the C.L.C. Motor

Works. In less than an hour it was soaring aloft with a man, nearly as

high up as the top of Mount Buffalo. In that brief interim the biplane

was pulled out from its shed, the wings were attached, and everything

made ready for flight. On no occasion did Harry omit to thoroughly

examine his machine before flight.

Although his intention to fly to Government House had been kept a close

secret, the flight was, of course, witnessed by several thousands of

the populace, who happened to catch sight of the machine or hear the

murmur of the Gnome engine as it passed high overhead. A large crowd,

including nearly a hundred amateur and professional photographers,

gathered at Elsternwick to see the start and end of the flights.

A special exhibition of flying was arranged to take place at the

Caulfield Racecourse, and while in the air Harry distributed handbills

announcing the fact and vouchers valid for admission to the course.

On February 3rd, the day on which he flew to Government House, Harry

was waited on by two ladies who desired to fly as passengers. The

flights were arranged to take place on the Saturday following, although

one lady offered £10 to be taken there and then, so that she might

be certain of being the first lady passenger in Australia. She was

disappointed, however, as Harry was not prepared to undertake any more

flying until Saturday.

Passenger flight tickets found a ready sale at £20 each. In

anticipation of a rush for tickets at the Caulfield Racecourse

meeting, combined railway and admission tickets were on sale at

tourist booking-offices beforehand. Special tramway services were also

announced. The biplane was arranged to be in a prominent position where

all who entered the course would be able to make a reasonably close

inspection of it.

[Illustration: THE DETACHABLE BOAT CARRIED ON THE ATLANTIC FLIGHT.

[_Facing p. 142._

]

THE SOPWITH TRANS-ATLANTIC BIPLANE IN THE HANGAR NEAR ST. JOHNS,

NEWFOUNDLAND.