Control Car
Flight-Sergt. Watson steering. Flight-Sergt. Mayers at the elevator wheel. Altimeter (large dial) needle shows the ship is at about 1,200 feet above the sea.
Friday, July 11, 1919 started out with clear weather and a moderate sea. A planned flyover of London had to be abandoned when one of the two engines in the rear car broke down and could not be repaired. Later in the day, the forward engine had to be shut down to replace broken valve springs.
Otherwise the day was uneventful. The airship made good and rapid progress towards home base in Scotland.
Below are extracts from General Maitland’s log to give a first-hand flavor to the idyllic world of airship travel, even in a military ship.
10.30 pm—Beautiful cloudscapes on port beam. Cloud formations, in so far as they indicate whether, are like an open book profusely illustrated, and with a story that changes almost completely every few hours.
12.30 pm—Lunch. Meal-times are always most welcome, as they give the more responsible members of the crew a much-needed interval.
The new gramophone [given by Edison, himself] is going strong after lunch and, as I was descending the ladder into the forward car, I caught a glimpse of Luck and Harris doing quite a nice one-step together!
3.30 pm—Still at 3000 feet; in and out of the clouds. We have not seen the sea since 8:30 am.
4.30 pm—Scott brings his ship down for a glimpse of the sea, and so get an idea of our speed; but at 900 feet [the clouds are] still quite thick and he abandons the attempt.
Coming down from the 3800-foot level to the 900-foot level, we pass through no less than five distinct and separate layers of cloud, of which every two layers contain a world in themselves, with separate sky above and cloud horizon beneath. A most fascinating spectacle, and one which impresses me more, perhaps, then anything I have yet seen on either journey.
4.45 pm—We emerge above the clouds for a few blissful moments, and see a beautiful cloud panorama—range upon range of alternate white and slate colored mountains with wide deep valleys, and an occasional glimpse of bright blue sky immediately above.
The glare is almost blinding, and we can only look at them for a moment moment or two at a time.
7.05 pm—Passing through wet rain cloud—it has been raining very heavily since five o’clock.
Scott tries the 5000-foot level in the hopes of getting out of it, but with no success, so returns to the 3000-foot level. Very cold and dark, and all doors and windows shut.
8pm—Supper, and a very good one too. We are well equipped with little luxuries, having learnt from experience on the outward journey exactly what is necessary and what isn’t.
Delicious fresh honey, also “candies”, and chocolates… The gloom does not affect our appetites in the very slightest.
Crew Space Inside Hull
One of the crew peeling potatoes for dinner. Lieut. Shotter and Sergt. Gent in background.
11.25 pm—On long journeys like these, it is the engineers upon whom the heaviest strain falls and, on the outward journey, some of them had difficulty in sleeping when off watch. On this return journey we issue them a “tot” of rum before turning in, with very beneficial effect. [Note: an engineer on an airship is a mechanic and had responsibility to keep the engines running smoothly at all times, as well as perform any other mechanical repairs that were needed.]
12 midnight—Still pouring with rain… the whistling of the wind completely deadens the distant hum of our engines. It is indeed a “dirty” night at sea. For some reason or other I cannot get off to sleep, and lie awake in my hammock with a feeling of complete confidence and security…
I think the General summed up flying by airship quite wonderfully: “a feeling of complete confidence and security”. Especially in 1919, when a one- or two-seater open cockpit airplane, flying in “a ‘dirty’ night at sea”, would have been an experience worthy of a new level in Dante’s Inferno.
Stay tuned! The R 34’s voyage continues tomorrow!
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