In each case the competitions seemed impossible of fulfilment at the time when they were inaugurated; and in each case the unimaginative began with scoffing doubts and ended with wondering praise. Naturally, the prizes were offered before they could be won, for they were intended to stimulate effort and development. This object was achieved.
But for the stimulus of these competitions, Great Britain, at the beginning of the war, might well have been in an even worse position as regards aviation than she was. And all who flew on active service during the first three years of the war realize what they owe to Lord Northcliffe's crusades for more and better machines, and for a more extensive use of aircraft.
Having helped to win one of the Daily Mail prizes, I am not going to quarrel with the principle of flying competitions. Certainly, the promise of reward brings to the surface ideas and potential powers which might otherwise lie fallow; but I do not believe the system of money prizes for spectacular flights to be altogether an economically sound proposition. It is not generally realized that as a rule the amount spent by each of the firms that enter a machine for such a contest as the transatlantic flight vastly exceeds the amount of the prize, although the money reward more than covers the expenses of the aviators who gain it.
Would it not be more practical to pay directly for research work? Anybody with vision can see some of the infinite possibilities which the future of aviation may hold, and which can only be found by painstaking and properly applied research. There are plenty of men able and anxious to devote themselves competently to seeking for yet-hidden solutions whereby flying will be made cheaper, safer and more reliable. What is especially wanted for the moment is the financial endowment of research into the several problems that must be solved before the air age makes the world a better place to live in, and, by eliminating long and uncomfortable journeys, brings the nations into closer bonds of friendship, understanding and commerce.
Apart from the honor of taking part in the first non-stop flight between America and Great Britain, I am especially pleased to have helped in a small way in the construction of a new link between the two continents to which I belong. My family is deeply rooted in the United States; but generations ago my ancestors were English, and I myself happened to be born in Glasgow.
This was in 1886, when my parents were visiting that city. I was an only child, and I was so well looked after that I caught neither a Scotch nor an American nor even a Lancashire accent; for later, between visits to the United States, we lived in Manchester. There, after leaving school, I served an apprenticeship in the works of the Westinghouse Electric and Manufacturing Company. I inherited in some degree a love of and an instinct for engineering from my father, one of the best mechanical engineers I have ever met. He helped to develop this instinct by encouraging me in everything I undertook, and by making me profit by the results of his experience.
In the works I was for a time a workman among workmen—a condition of life which is the best possible beginning for an embryo engineer. I found my associates of the workshop good companions, useful instructors and incorrigible jokers. My father's warnings, however, saved me from hours of waiting in the forge, at their direction, while a "straight hook" or a "putting-on tool" was made, and from hunting the shops for the "spare short-circuit."
I was congratulating myself on making good headway and, in articles accepted by various technical journals, was even telling my elders all about engineering, when the outbreak of war changed all my plans and hopes, and interfered with the career I had mapped out for myself. In fact, I was in exactly the same position as many thousands of other young men at the beginning of their careers.