FLYING AS A REAL REST CURE

Hawke's Bay Herald-Tribune, Issue 89, 1 May 1937, Page 11

FLYING AS A REAL REST CURE

' ' ' *' ' WOMAN PILOTS VIEWS Utmost From Living

IJntil last summer, 1 was absolutely earthbound ; I refused to go to any aerial - display, and when I passed Croydon I ■ used to shdke my head at the air liners and pity the poor lunatics who chose to go noisily and, as I thought, dangerously by air when they could. hav« g^ne in leisurely comfcrt. and comparative safety by train and boat, says Aun Stafford in the Listener. But then I was illj it left me lame, oored, bad-tempered . and exceedingly careful of myself. I rested and 1 rested and I rested ; I went on being bored and bad-tempered and nervous. Until, qUite by aceident, I discovered that fiying was the cure I needed. It was, the fault of a small boy who had to be transported to a part of England which takes half the day to reach by train and boat, but to which you can get by air in ten minutes. In a wild. moment, I rashly suggested that one of my friends and relations should uy the child across. It never occurred to me that anyone, would think that I should "do it. In those days I expected people to go on saving me trduble and exertion alpost indefinitely. But my kind friends jibbed; they suggested that I should go instead. Worse, they took the tickets and drove me to the airport and watched to see I didn't run away. I tried all I knew to get lost in the ticket office till the 'plane had left. But I never stood a chance; kind and competent officials, used to soothin, gnervous passengers, assured me that ladies of ninety travelled by air with the greatest of cairn. They led me firmly to the 'plane, pushed me in gontly (hut with considerable difficulty, because so much resting had made" me fat) and presented me with a horrid paper bag. *

Thank , goodness, 1 didn't need the paper „bag; I was too busy ' being frightened, doafened and enchanted, each in turu, while the small boy yapped madly beside me. And then, with the very gentlest of turns, the smootliest of glides,. we wero down, bumping over the grass, and ifc was over.

But in that ten minutes, fiying had got me: I kncw, too, that with very little • more, even as a passenger, I should get m ynerve back again. For ■t wasn't much use jibbering . with fright at the thought of.crossing a road or driving a car, when you had been up on equal terms with the clouds, for even tch minutes. Why, tliere are 1 stil) quite a lofc of people — young ones ■ witli the full use of their limbs and , hearty health— who rofuse to go up. , It made me feel good just to Jook down , on them. And besides, that feeling of l being air borne,- literally lifted up on 5 the arms of tho wjnd, was intoxicating

and miracubus and I had to have . it J again. . ' , . I was up on one of those joy flights • in a Hornett Moth— a neat' little cabin two-seater fitted with dual "controls, where you sit side by side. , I'had gbne through my usual spasm of panic when' We took- off . and .the : lesser one .which comes at the-first turn, and I: wa3 feeling grand. It- was one of .'those- .very steady bltte days," hardly a bump in /he air, h'ardly* a cloud. 'The earth, banded with haze, was tranquil, for the harvest was in. I looked out and down and out and up, and ,along the spreading wing ; it seemed to belong to me - more. than to the 'plane; even ! the noisy engine was just a part ,of " my own reviv-, mg energy.' We 'huiig * over the > earth and coinpelled it. to unroll beneath us. And then a loud cheefful voiee 'said': • Would you like to haveFa, shot ?' !Auothpr voiee, which X recognised in horror as my own, said that I would.* Feet on the rudder,*I learned to steer; *hand on the stick,-. * I learned to ; move the nose up* and * down 1 and bahk to one side or the other — very gently. Then tho voiee said; 'You've got her.' I had: miraculously we were still in the air, still fiying towards the hills. Of course,* irritable commonsense' just jeered and said that naturally, these .'planes as good as flew themselves, andno doubt the pilot had set the : thing so that any fool could fly it if she sat still and- held -on.-\ Di'd that matter? Nofc a bit. All . my sub-couscious was' dancing with delight; it ; said I was simply roaring b'rave, no: end of a fine fellow. A* nervOus ex-invalid? Me? Wliy, I was " going to be a pilot.

In that moment I was cured. I ' still am. But I miglit* say that I am; far i'rom being tho most amateur of pilots, though I can and do have all the ex•Yilaratiiig. fun of learning. •* . It gets better, too,' as you go on. For oue thing, you slied your years when you are learning to fly. You al'e back at school again, but meeker than you were. lustdnt obcdieiice is demanded of you, and you give it. It's such a relief .for tbe* people who have had responsibility for years, • run a home, scolded children, ordered dinners — it's such a relief, such a rest to one's mind, to obey orders again. ■

^ And at first, you do this all the time. Even in a * cabin 'plane where , your Lnstructor sits 'by your side, he . seems to be nearly al] . voiee : and the Voiee roars at you to keep your nose up, to bring : up your : left wing, ' to * throttle back, to glidei to turn" to the left, to tlie^left. And you do it. You are scolded, . you 'are browb'eaten. Nothing but absolute precision W.ill do; nothing t ut " y our best * is' ' good' enough. ... But even,if it's, a fairly poor best, you, win your (crumb . of praise. You take a grip on yourself ; you' concentrate so violehtA ly on what you . are doing that- all -the grit in your 'mental maehinery seems to get dislodged. . And. even. if you are not very apt, still .you get", slowly, towards an . entirely . new - and superb coordination betwefen your.brain and your body. Brain, eye, hands and feet, they should work in -absolute ' timej and though, of- course, they don't, still . they get gradually towards a .new standard of efficiencyjt iThi's; by jfche'.-wayj goes- oh m ohe's' earthly .life, so to speak. • You find thatyou drive a'car with infinitely greater " precision and much ' better judgment. • I've no douht-, if you are a gocd cook (which I'm not), or a fine typist, you would find that your cooking or your typihg improved too. For. fhere's something very valuable • and, incidentally, very cpmforting, about learning the' delicate " movements ■* that are .needed in fiying. Vou-have to;.be so very* definite yet so - gentle ' in . tho hahdling • pf the ■' controls ; / your hands must' he sen'sitive and you must - not make a single jerky or ill-judged movement. In learning the steadiness and serenity needed *to control the machine something of these qualities p^rsist after oue- has lpft it. Then there's the. question of fear; personally VI > shouldn't.* enjoy ; '.fiying nearly as. much, and I- don't believe it would do me half as much good, if I weren't always, -at some point, a little

afraid. There s . something very exiniarating ahout being" afraid and coining through it, Of course, -the' moment of tear keeps 'getting put off as you learn. At first you liave it most. acutely when you leave the ground ; then you lose it till you begin to do take-offs j-ourself. when it comes back aeutely. Then it recedes again, and you get ifc when you begin" to do laudings. It's never, I

ihink, the, fear of faliing. You don't >elieve that you can f all bedause the lir fepls so solid. But though your •eason tells you; that you are— with" rour instructor — as safe as you would )e in a 'bus, your sehses warn you ;h'at it is dangerous. You.do know, ill the time, that you must not make a nistake. And though you also know ;hat if you did, . y cur instructor would nstantly correct it, still, with each lesson you come to rely more and more >n yourself, * and • so" the sense of danger, and therefor© of fear, is always there to make you catch your breath. But, in its humbler forms, fiying is 5asy enough to be within most people's sompass. " In.good weather it's actually Sasier than driving a car once you're up. Even the intricaties of landing come to one >in time. That doesn't mean'that skiiled pil'oting is easy. But We're talking about people who need a rest cure, who may not achieve solo fiying, or wish to do it very much, but who do want the feeling of occasionally borrowing wings. Of course, as my un-air-minded friends say to me, it's no use. The answer to that it that one doesn't want it to be any use., We spend 90 per cent of our lives doing useful things; most of our pleasures ar© useful, or we make them sa; we dme out or play golf for the social" contacts it brings,

or , the business acquaintances . whom we can entertain, or • for the sake of beneficial exercise. It's, a blessed rest to stop doing useful things and , do something utte'rly -Useless and 'rather extravagant, • For it .is«-extravagance«; Like*any rest cure it costs -a bit. But. on the other haud one might be ordered clxampagne every day : and one " can" . do a lot of fiying, spread out into short lessons, for the price of a dozen of good champagne. And so, though I may never get my A licence at all or be able to call myself pilot, never fly across country or own a 'plane, yet whenever 4ife looks like getting me down, I shall go and have : a lesson in the air, try a spin, or grapple with landings. And, when I come down again, I' shall be able to tell my worries just where' they get off. I shall be able, without a* tremor, to speak to • the laundry or the butcher or my unruly cliild or the income tax or anyone else who annoys me, finish the article that dared to stick, tackle the book that refused to be written, eat my dinner with zcst, and squeeze the utmost out of living. That's what fiying— as a rest cure— does for you. Jt's a very humble kind of fiying, hut that doesn't matter ; I expect a sparrow gets as much .fun out of Jife as an eagle, any day.