On Going “Solo.”
At last I have gone “solo.” On Sunday and Monday two of our machines were smashed by pupils on their first solos and both machines had to be scrapped. In consequence, the pilots have been rather chary about letting us go up alone, and we too have been wondering whether we were fated to follow the example of the others.
At length, however, Captain —— sent up X this evening, and he got on all right. So he turned to me suddenly and said, “Well, you’d better go and break your neck now.” Thus cheered, I gave my hat as a parting gift to Y, shook hands mournfully all round, and amid lamentations and tears took my seat for the first time in the pilot’s seat.
“Contact,” etc., and my engine was running. I pointed her out into the aerodrome, and then turned her to the right; but “taxiing” is almost as tricky as flying, and before I could stop it the machine had turned completely round. However, I got it straight again, and taxied to the starting-place.
A “biff” of my left hand on the throttle, and the engine was going all out. Faster and faster over the ground; a touch of the controls, and we were off! The next thing I recollect was passing over a machine on the ground at a height of 200 feet, and then I was at the other end of the aerodrome. This meant a turn; so down went the nose, then rudder and bank, and round we came in fine style. A touch on the aileron control, and we were level again. Thus I went on for ten minutes, and as Captain —— had told me to do only one circuit and I had done considerably more, I decided to come down.
It was growing dusk, so it was as well that I did. I took her outside the “’drome,” then pointed her in, put the nose down and pulled back the throttle.
The roar of the engine ceased, and the ground loomed nearer. A very slight movement of the controls and we flattened out three feet above the ground and did a gentle landing.
A touch on the throttle, a roar, and I taxied back to the waiting mechanics. “Good landing,” sang out one of them, and a moment later some half a dozen pupils were shaking me violently by all the hands they could find and all talking at once in loud voices. “Where’s my hat?” I asked, and a crumpled object was handed to me. Then up came Captain ——, very red in the face, and looking exceedingly happy. “Damn good, ‘Theta’!” and so it ended. Heaps of love to you both.
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Went “solo” last Wednesday and shall be surprised if I do so again before Christmas. It is cold and misty, and when not misty it is windy; when it is neither it rains and so on, but mist from the marshes is the worst by far. So sometimes we sits and thinks and cusses and smokes; and sometimes we just sits.