THE AVIATOR’S NERVES.

Manawatu Herald, Volume XXXIV, Issue 1083, 15 August 1912, Page 4

THE AVIATOR’S NERVES.

“SITTING ON A JELLY IN STRONG WIND.’’ The position of the airman while flying has been variously described. The late Professor Langley likened it to “a skater gliding over thin ice,’’ while Mr C. C. Turner, the well-known aviator-author, has summed it up as akin to “sitting on a jelly in strong wind.” Aviation is a science that calls all the time for one’s whole attention, and the airman constantly finds himself in a position where nerves must conquer nerves. And yet a tour of the hangars at an aviation meeting would almost convince the visitor that the aviator is one of the most nervous beings on earth. He smokes innumerable cigarettes as he superintends the operations of the busy mechanics who are overhauling his machine, and appears to be - a bundle of fussiness.

Louis Paulhan has an antidote of his own to the possibility of falling into “the blues” on his aerial journeys. “When lam on a long flight,” he says, “I smoke cigarettes, I laugh, I shout, I sing. It relieves the monotony, and distracts one from thoughts of danger.” Not always is the airman in cheerful frame of mind as he soars over the peaceful countryside. Renaux, the well-known French pilot, was haunted on one of his voyages by a relentless vision of the fate of Chavez, who was dashed to death at the moment of his magnificent transAlpine victory. Morene, another famous flyer, could not rid himself of the hallucination that Notre Dome was always before him, although he knew that Paris was hundreds of miles away.

The exposure to which the flyer is open, even at fairly moderate altitudes, is not conducive to an easy mind. This is bad enough when the pilot is alone, but when, as in the case ot George Beatty, the American airman, recently, the aviator is piloting a lady passenger who suddenly turns hysterical on account of the intense cold, the danger is increased manifold, Beatty had to turn half-round and hold his passenger fast with one arm, controlling the mechanism of the machine with the other hand, during the perilous glide to earth. What this glide means may be better understood when it is mentioned that, while it takes the better part ot an hour to reach an altitude of n,ooo feet, the long, switt, sickening swoop to earth may be accomplished in a matter of ten minutes, during which, as in the case of the late Graham Gilmour, an unexpected development may suddenly occur, throwing one’s life into jeopardy. Harry Attwood, one of America’s best cross-country flyers, some time ago declared that it was absolutely dangerous to sneeze while on an aerial voyage. Attwood was flying over Ohio when a small insect flew into his nose, tickling it so much that a sneeze was inevitable. “I realised at once,” he said afterwards, describing the incident, “the fix I was in—the spasmodic jerking of the head, the brief loss of sense of direction, a probable jerk of the lever, might make recovery ot balance impossible.” The sneeze, fortunately, however, was an uneventful one.

The British aviator, Barkes, on the other hand, suffers severely from hay fever while on terra firma, and he has discovered that when he gets into the air he is at once freed from the malady.

The aeroplane in flight would not be considered by many a very safe or comfortable bed. And yet, in a paper read some time ago, before the Academic des Sciences by Dr. Cruchet and Dr, Moulinier upon the case of the high flyer pathologically considered, there was cited the instance of a young aviator whose failure to return betimes to his hangar caused his friends to institute a search for him. He was found seated safely on his machine in the open country, last asleep ! When he was wakened he could not explain how he came to alight in the place where he was discovered.

That this is no mere tall yarn from “across the herring pond” is proved by the admission ot the lamous aviator, Gustay Hamel, that be dosed in his aeroplane while flying aoooit over Windsor. “I settled comfortably back in the

machine,” be said, recounting the experience, “and felt quite as easy as though I were seated in the big armchair by the fireside at home.”

The mystery of the fate of Cecil Grace, who was so tragically lost sight of during a cross-Channel flight, may probably be explained if one remembers that the aviator, steering his machine by compass, is apt to lose his sense of direction, particularly if he has no land marks to guide him. The strength and directi' n of the wind may change and the flyer may be quite oblivious of the fact. In long voyages over sea the aviator would have to take very frequent and very astronomical observations. Probably Grace made no allowance for leeway for the strong wind that was blowing him in the direction of the North Sea, and he only discovered that he was lost in the air and was doomed to a lonely death when his fuel had all but given out.

But the known and unknown dangers of the air are being mastered, and ere long the perils of those who take a flight in the air will be no greater than the perils of those who go down to the sea in ships.

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