The Golden Age

Chapter 3: Taking Off

At Halfpenny Down Airfield on the edge of Stourside, Jean Alardyce had been working hard to get her aircraft ready. After their meeting at the tennis club, Alice was determined to watch Jean take off on her record attempt. She joined the crowds out at the airfield as the sun set – Bertie had explained how an evening take off meant Jean would have the smoothest air when she got to the Atlas Mountains the following day.

There was quite a throng in the area that had been roped off for spectators close to the control tower but Alice had been able to work her way almost to the front. In front of her a broad swathe of grass provided the airfield's runway and beyond she could see the two hangars used by the club and by Clegg's business. She'd managed to get a good position almost directly opposite where Jean's monoplane, the Silver Wing, was standing ready beside Clegg's hangar. It was already laden with fuel for the thirty six hour flight ahead. Its long wings, designed to flex as the aircraft achieved higher altitudes, arced downwards so that their tips were only a foot or so above the grass. It seemed at once laden down and anxious to be free of the ground. Two mechanics busied themselves around the plane. One pulled the cover from the windscreen. Another wedged the door to the cabin open, ready for its pilot.

Not far away was Clegg's seaplane, tied down to its launching trolley. The pencil like body of the streamlined single-seater, polished to mirror like smoothness, glinted in the last rays of the setting sun. Alice had expected to see Clegg himself but he didn't seem to be around.

A great cheer went up as Jean Alardyce emerged from the airfield control tower building. In her characteristic white flying suit, carrying her flying helmet in one hand and her parachute pack across her shoulder, she strode purposefully across the grass. Her hair streamed in the wind as she waved to the crowd and walked towards her aircraft.

She tossed her parachute into the aircraft cabin and then stepped into the hangar. Emerging a few minutes later clutching a bundle of charts and, wearing her flying helmet, goggles and gauntlets, she was now evidently ready to go. The crowd watched as she scribbled her destination on the side of the engine cowling just as she always did for luck. “ Johannesburg ”, it said in large letters. The crowd cheered as she clambered in. They cheered as the aircraft's propeller turned over. They cheered as the engine coughed, and burst into life with spurts of smoke from the two exhaust pipes that ran under the aircraft's fuselage. They cheered as the chocks were pulled away from the plane's wheels and cheered again as Jean waved from the tiny window of her cabin and started to taxi slowly towards the end of the runway. As the aircraft passed in front of the crowd, Alice thought it seemed as though Jean was waving just to her. She yelled out, “Good luck Jean, good luck!” but knew of course that her own cheers would be drowned out by those of the rest of the crowd and the roar of the Silver Wing's engine.

The plane reached the end of the field and turned. A green flare shot up from the control tower and the Silver Wing started its take-off run. Packed with the fuel needed for the non-stop attempt – the papers had christened the plane “The Petrol Tank With Wings” – it started slowly and looked as thought it would never gain sufficient speed to leave the ground. The crowd held its breath and the only sound that could be heard was the straining of the plane's engine. Slowly the tail lifted and the craft bounced on its main wheels. Once, twice, it bounced; its drooping wing tips almost brushing the ground. And then it struggled free of the field, still painfully slowly, off of the ground and into the air. The crowd gave a final cheer as it cleared the airfield boundary and climbed away into the distant dusk.

Alice stayed, staring at the disappearing dot that was Jean's aircraft, as the crowd dispersed. She wasn't sure why but she was worried. Suddenly she was aware that she was alone in the dark, still standing by the fence that had kept the crowd back, still gazing into the distance. Now she did see Clegg. He was silhouetted in the light streaming from the hangar door as he walked across towards his seaplane. Obviously not a man to be caught up in the excitement of an event like this, thought Alice , a bit of a cold fish. She headed back to her car.

An hour later, now far away to the southwest the plane climbed steadily but slowly, reaching its cruising altitude as the plane headed out over the English Channel . Two lighthouse keepers heard the drone of its engine, still steady, as it passed over their lonely rock in the western approaches.