No airman is capable of talking through his hat—at least, not literally, for he does not possess such a thing, that article of his attire always being referred to as a “gadget.”
To have “cold feet” in the air is to have a bad attack of nerves or funk. One day at Hendon, before the war, a well-meaning but somewhat dense journalist attached to a big London daily was told Hamel was suffering from “cold feet.”
Imagining that “cold feet” meant some ailment of the feet, like chilblains, and solicitous for his welfare, this enterprising individual approached the famous airman immediately after his descent from a trip up above.
“Excuse me asking, but is it true that you suffer from cold feet, Mr. Hamel?” he asked.
Hamel’s reply is not recorded.
[CHAPTER III]
THE INITIAL FLIGHT
Once in the Service, the R.N.A.S. man may be selected for one of three branches of flying, namely, seaplane, aeroplane—which, incidentally, is far preferable to any other branch, and holds forth more opportunities of active service—and kite balloon, probably the safest and most comfortable job of the war, but dull—deadly dull.
For the sake of those of my readers who do not know of the captive kite-balloon, I will here briefly explain. It is a queer sausage-shaped craft, that is tethered to a steam-winch on the ground somewhere beneath it by means of a stout steel cable. Usually situated some five or six miles behind the firing-line, the basket of the balloon will only hold two observers at one time. It is connected to the big guns by telephone, and is useful for the direction of artillery fire, which it does by telling the men at the guns whether their shells are falling over, under, or to the left or right of the target that they are aiming at.