From Wax Wings to Flying Drones E-Book

Norman Ferguson

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Was Keith Harris's Orville really named after the first-ever flyer? What exactly is a 'Spitfire'? Why did Richard Branson try to cross the Atlantic in a balloon when he owned an airline? These are the questions that fail to keep proper aeronautical historians awake – but no matter, From Wax Wings to Flying Drones is here to answer them. Chock-full of important stuff like planes, pilots and pioneers such as the Wright brothers, Amelia Earhart and that man off the telly who used to fly on Concorde, this is a book for everyone who's ever watched a plane in the sky and thought, 'I wonder what its registration is?'

Leseprobe

Cover illustrations

Front: Aerial Steam Carriage (Library of Congress); Woman riding a horse attached to a balloon (Library of Congress); An accident at Savy Aerodrome, 1918 (Australian War Memorial); Air Force One (Norman Ferguson).

Back: Planespotter on a roof in London (National Archives).

First published 2022

The History Press

97 St George’s Place, Cheltenham,

Gloucestershire, GL50 3QB

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

© Norman Ferguson, 2022

The right of Norman Ferguson to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the Publishers.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978 1 8039 9140 5

Typesetting and origination by The History Press

Printed and bound in Great Britain by TJ Books Limited, Padstow, Cornwall.

eBook converted by Geethik Technologies

CONTENTS

Introduction

one

The Very Early Pioneers or I Should Have Paid More Attention in Wax-Heating Class

two

Ballooning or Are You Sure They Haven’t Invented Parachutes Yet?

three

Powered Aeroplanes or The Wright Persons for the Job

four

Those Magnificent Persons in Their Flying Machines or A Leather Cap Doesn’t Offer Much Protection, Does It?

five

The First World War or When Are Those Parachutes Arriving?

six

The Golden Age or GPS Would Be a Great Thing Right Now

seven

Civil Transportation or I Say, Jeeves, Have You Seen My Boarding Pass?

eight

The Second World War or This Is Getting Serious Now

nine

The Jet Age or Those Ejector Seats Sound a Good Idea

ten

Modern Wars or All You Need Is Live Precision-Guided Munitions

eleven

Civilian Aviation or Why Don’t We Get Parachutes?

twelve

Things We Almost Forgot or Droning On and On

Acknowledgements and Sources

INTRODUCTION

Humankind has always had a fascination with flight. From the first time they could crane their big, hairy, monkey-like heads up, early humans would stare at the skies, mesmerised by the idea of taking to the air, of floating among the clouds and of getting peanuts in silver foil bags rather than having to fight sabre-toothed tigers for them.

Much later, when they’d stopped looking like apes and shed most of the hair, aviation pioneers wanted to emulate the birds. Not the birds who ransacked their rubbish bins or pooped on their charabancs, but those that cartwheeled in the blue skies with abandon, using their wings to pirouette in the free air. (Although some really did want to poop on their neighbours’ motor vehicles, especially the ones who played their radiograms too loud on a week night.)

This fascination with getting off the ground – and staying there – would inspire a drive to become aviators, to build machines, to seek out new worlds, to boldly go where … no, that’s Star Trek, but it was sort of the same, but on Earth.

Anyway, enough of this. To start at the beginning, there was a Greek person called Icarus …

ONE

THE VERY EARLY PIONEERSORI SHOULD HAVE PAID MORE ATTENTION IN WAX-HEATING CLASS

There are many legends and myths from the distant years of yore about humans taking to the air, but one stands out. It is about a young person called Icarus and his dad. Icarus was a Greek person whose dad was another Greek person called Daedalus. One day father and son came up with a plan to escape Crete, where they had been kept captive for some reason or other. Their plan? They would fly out. Easy. One small problem: no airports. Ah. They sat back down and ruminated for a while. Daedalus scratched his chin, hoping that would help his thinking process. It did. He jumped up, exclaiming, ‘Eureka!’

‘No, my name is Icarus, Dad,’ responded his son sulkily, like any teenager would.

‘Yes, that’s right, son. Well done for remembering. But something even better: I have it!’ the dad exclaimed. And he explained how they would build their own airport. Icarus just sighed and shook his head. What a loser Dad is.

His loser dad ruminated some more, scratched his chin some more, and then put his fist onto his forehead (hoping a sculptor would pass by and immortalise his thinking pose). Then he slowly stood up.

‘I have a great idea.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

And he did. They didn’t need an airport, just aerial flying machines. Being a carpenter, Daedalus was good at making things and knocked up a couple of pairs of wings for him and his sullen offspring. The wings were made of feathers and wax. Being a good dad, Daedalus gave his son some Very Solid Advice: ‘Don’t fly too close to the sun, as the sun’s heat will melt the wax and the feathers will fall out and you will fly like an obese emu carrying a load of house bricks, and then you could very possibly die.’

They launched themselves off into the wild blue yonder, but of course Icarus didn’t listen to Pops, did he, and up and up he went, reaching for the skies as only a young man aching for glory but doomed to disaster could. The sun duly melted the wax and down young Icarus plunged, tumbling to the sea below. As he fell, he could only rue the day* he didn’t listen to his father. In his head he could hear his old man saying, ‘Told you so,’ and seconds later he could hear it for real as his trajectory took him past his dad, who shouted, ‘Told you so,’ at him.

Of course, this is the stuff of legend, and we should place some scepticism around the factual accuracy of this story. For one thing, Daedalus is known as the person who built a maze to imprison a part-human part-bull creature called the Minotaur. Now, we have lost many species over the years due to extinction, but it’s unlikely that this mythical monster was ever alive to become extinct. Sorry to be a party pooper but science and its associated facts are things you just have to believe in.

OTHER DOOMED-TO-FAILS

Icarus wouldn’t be the last to disastrously try his hand at flight. In fact, over the years a long list grew of brave and intrepid persons willing to risk injury or worse while attempting to fly.

One such person in the ninth century BAD* was the legendary figure of King Bladud** of the Britons. Now, he might not actually have lived as there’s some doubt he was a real person, but we’re not going to let facts get in our way. The man who would put the ‘dud’ into Bladud was said to have discovered the healing powers of mud when the brown stuff rid him of leprosy. More relevant to this tome, however, is that he made himself some artificial wings and tried to fly. He jumped off a temple of Apollo but, unlike the later American space programme of the same name, it didn’t result in any giant leaps for humankind. Instead, he made a giant leap for extinction – dying at the bottom of the temple, shortly after being at the top of it.

Another early ‘flyer’ was Simon the Magician. With a name like that you would expect great and astonishing things. Things not at all like flying around Rome, falling to Earth, breaking both legs and being stoned by a crowd before expiring at the hands of dodgy physicians. Was he magic? Not a lot.

But not all the flyers died. In the ninth century AD, a man called Armen Firman became Armen Airman when he jumped off a Córdoba tower in a cloak. Another brave attempt to become airborne was made a few decades after that by another Córdobian called Abbas ibn Firnas. (Although we should say they may be the same person, as back then there was no Córdobian Planespotters’ Group around to verify the identification). So when Firman/Firnas covered his brave self with feathers and launched off, he surprised everyone – including himself – by not immediately plummeting to his demise. He glided for quite a distance before coming to a landing. Yes, he was injured, but he wasn’t dead. His work in aviation is rewarded with an airport named after him (Ibn Firman/Firnas Airport) and a crater on the Moon. So that’s not so bad. It won’t pay the bills, but it’s a nice-to-have.

Firman/Firnas inspired future jumpers. One was the eleventh century’s Ismail ibn Hammad al-Jawhari. IHJ was renowned as a clever man, a bit of a scholar – amazing at quizzes, seemingly. Ask him any country’s capital – bam, he knew it right away. But this wasn’t to earn him renown. Oh no. One day he announced he was about to fly before a crowd’s very eyes. The punters, keen for some entertainment that might involve some risk, stared agog with these very eyes as the brave IHJ climbed up a mosque with a set of wooden wings. The crowd’s eyes continued to stare, even more agog, as the brave IHJ made ready. He jumped. And fell straight to his death. No airport for IHJ.

In Britain, undeterred by the very real prospect of failure and death, Elmer had a go. This wasn’t the children’s colourful elephant character, although he had the same flying characteristics of the species (Dumbo excepted). This was Elmer of Malmesbury, also known as Oliver. He constructed wings and attached them to his limbs. After jumping off the local church tower – the standard operating procedure for instigating flight at this time – this intrepid flying monk actually did a bit of flying. A bit. Oliver’s armies were getting tiredies and he crashed to the ground, breaking both his leggies and sadly becoming lame for life. Not waiting for the accident investigation board, he immediately blamed himself for not fitting a tail. Oliver later became a prophet, which he might not have been too qualified for, what with the not-seeing-his-crash-a-coming. His work in aviation is marked with a stained-glass window and a pub named in his honour. It’s not an airport but not to be sniffed at as tributes go. Pubs are all right.

Despite mixed fortunes, the ‘tower-jumpers’ continued through the medieval period. One such person was an Italian, Father John Damian, who was part of the royal court of the Scottish King James the Forth Bridge. It was the time of the Renaissance and new-fangled ideas were being discussed hither and thither. New innovations were all the rage, as long as they were approved by the Church. Ask Galileo. Well, you can’t, because he long ago entered the Great Departure Lounge in the Sky, but if you could, he’d probably break into a wry smile and say something mysterious in Italian. Very clever man was Galileo.

But back to the courageous Father Damo. Keen to impress, Damian manufactured some wings and, having carefully thought through his next move, jumped off Stirling Castle’s ramparts on his way to France. It’s good to dream big. He didn’t do too badly, only breaking one leg after falling into a dung heap and having onlookers wet themselves laughing.* Father D blamed using feathers of a flightless bird (a chicken) in his wings. Father Damian was also an alchemist, at which he was just as successful, i.e., not at all.

Another dreamer around this time was João Torto, who lived in Portugal. In 1540 the brave João leapt from a cathedral tower of St Mateus.* As well as his cloth-covered wings, he sported an eagle-shaped helmet. He would have been better donning one resembling a penguin to reflect his aeronautical chances as, when he landed on the chapel roof, his helmet slipped over his eyes and he fell to a not-totally-unexpected fatal death.

They kept coming. In the 1630s Hezârfen Ahmed Çelebi was seen to fly around Istanbul (then Constantinople) using eagle feathers. He is thought to have flown across the Bosphorus. His achievements scared the locals, who rewarded him with a bag of gold and exile to Algeria.

Also in the 1600s, Italian Tito Burattini was another who tried his luck. He was a clever type and had worked out the circumference of the Earth. (It’s the distance around it.) In terms of flying, he worked out that eight wings on a ‘dragon’ would be enough to launch a human. It was enough to lift a cat into the air but those aren’t humans. Close but no cigar, Tito.

Some of these early pioneers put great thought into their ideas. In 1670 a priest called Francesco Lana published his proposals to build a flyable craft on the notion of four vacuum-filled globes and attaching them to a boat, which would thereby be lifted up. He worked out the size of the globes needed and how to steer while in the air, but the ideas lacked physical existence and Lana’s thoughts never got off the ground. Despite this he was called the Father of Aeronautics. And not just by his mum either.

Would a locksmith have the key to personed flight? Frenchperson Besnier the Locksmith certainly thought so. His aviational attempts, unlike his first name, have not been lost to history. He made rods with wings on the end attached to his feet by strings, with which he could ‘flap’ and so attain flight. He was said to have flown over a house, so that was pretty good, but as a design it wasn’t to be repeated. Too much flapping.

Another who was sure he could fly was the Marquis of Bacqueville. In 1742 the bold Jean-François, as he was known to his nearest and dearest, stated his intention to fly across the River Seine using two pairs of home-made wings on his arms and feet. As crowds of undertakers watched expectantly, the brave Marquis jumped off a Parisian hotel’s roof. He didn’t fall immediately to injury or death but actually managed to get some way across the river before crashing into a boat. And breaking his leg. Quelle surprise.

There were some who were keen to progress with flight as long as they weren’t directly involved. Pierre Desforges was a clergyperson in France, so he could claim to have assistance from those Higher Up. Would this heavenly help make the difference? Pierre made some wings and tried to force a lowly peasant to use them. The peasant used several Anglo-Saxon words in response and the man of the cloth backed down. He wasn’t to give up though. The tenacious D came up with a more elaborate machine. It had a gondola and wings and was duly hauled up to the top of a local community centre. No, it wasn’t! It was a local tower. Not finding any volunteers, Pierre went for it and swiftly afterwards reached the ground. He wasn’t killed or even seriously injured. Just a broken arm. Mon dieu!

Using feathers and lengths of wood hadn’t really worked out that well despite centuries of trying, and it was to be another method that brought the success so dearly desired. But before that we almost forgot someone important.

LEONARDO THE VINCI

One of the great minds of his age (he was 37) was an Italian called Leonardo ‘da’ Vinci. He became so well known he was referred to by his first name, in the same way as musician Madonna Ciccone and jungle survivor Harry Redknapp. Leo was a top-drawer drawer, able to turn his pencil to anything. He could draw a perfect circle without running the pencil around a jam jar lid or anything. Leo was interested in many topics – what we call a ‘philomath’ or ‘clever arse’. In his drawings we see things he drew. One of his most famous was the Star Jump, which shows a naked man. (Caution is advised for those of a nervous disposition. He’s really naked. You can see everything.) Leo could also paint. He did The Last Supper and the Mona Lisa, the latter of which has been the subject of much discussion over the painting’s subject, although there is a strain of thought that suggests she is a woman called Lisa.

But to get back to why we’re here: it’s the area of aviation that demands our attention. One of Leonardo’s sketches shows a flying machine called an ‘aerial screw’ that, appropriately enough considering its geographical heritage, looks like those twirly pasta shapes. It is the earliest depiction of what we would call ‘a helicopter’. Mr da Vinci also came up with the design for what we would call ‘a parachute’. This suggests he didn’t have too much confidence in the airworthiness of his aerial screw.

* That day.

* Before AD.

** An interesting aside – although you’ll be the judge of that – is that Bladud’s son and heir was a certain King Leir, who later gained fame when the playwright William Shakespeare wrote a play about him called Hamlear – no it wasn’t! It was King Lear, of course.

* It wasn’t funny for everyone. The Stirlingshire Planespotters’ Group immediately admonished one of their members for not noting down Damian’s registration number.

* Not the patron saint of successful cathedral jumpers.

TWO

BALLOONING OR ARE YOU SURE THEY HAVEN’T INVENTED PARACHUTES YET?

Some clever types figured out that humans didn’t have enough power to flap their arms as quickly as a bird. Gyms hadn’t been invented and it would be decades until Victorians invented those round barbells that men with hipster beards and waxed moustaches could lift while wearing long johns. As portable power wasn’t around, another method of attaining sustainable flight had to be found.

MONTGOLFIER BROTHERS GO BALLONING

It is lost to history just where the concept came from of filling a spherical object with hot air to make it go up. There are reports of inspiration coming from school children inflating frogs and then watching them float over trees, but these have little or no basis in fact.

The French – who definitely didn’t blow frogs up (but might eat them) – were first to go down the hot-air route when, in the eighteenth century, the Montgolfier brothers made a flyable ballon.* The two brothers, Monsieur Montgolfier and his brother Monsieur Montgolfier, were paper manufacturers and had made enough money – it definitely did grow on trees for them! – to allow them to follow their dream. Cynical onlookers said they were full of hot air, to which Monsieur Montgolfier responded to huge peals of laughter, ‘No, but our ballons are!’

He had a right to say this, as they had invented the hot-air ballon and, in the year of 1783, they put on a public demonstration of their handiwork. They were keen to show their prowess in this awe-inspiring arena of flight, but they weren’t daft. The first to take to the air were animals: a sheep, a duck and a chicken. One of these was best placed in case things went awry, having an inbuilt nice woolly cushion, but the other two would have to:

1. Fly to safety

2. Hope its wings evolved into being useful really quickly.

The flight was to take place at Versailles, the royal palace home to no less than the royal persons Marie ‘Cake’ Antoinette and King ‘Louis’ the Sixteenth. On the appointed day that would echo down the aeronautical history centuries, the blue touch paper was lit and the ballon rose into the air. ‘Oh là là!’, ‘Sacré bleu!’ and ‘Zut alors!’ were just some of the stereotypical phrases that might have been said, by those who had learnt their French from ’Allo, ’Allo!

Up they went into the air and history. The animals flew for eight minutes and then survived the landing, although the chicken was injured by the sheep in its rush to get to the exit door before the seatbelt light had gone off. It was a great success, and the Montgolfier brothers were granted permission by the king to go ahead and risk human necks. There was an awkward silence when it seemed like it might be the brothers’ necks, until they quickly suggested that prisoners might be volunteered. This was countered by the argument of ‘Who will then make all those mail bags?’ It was a good point, said the brothers, running fingers under their by-now sweaty collars. But who would fly on this historic flight?

The two siblings prepared their historic aeronautical object. Their ballon was painted all fancy in blue and red with gold motifs of the sun and fleurs-de-lys* and eagles. They also included depictions of the king’s face. As noted before, they weren’t daft.

And on a day that will live long in the annals of aviation history, amazed crowds watched agog. Up, up and away went the first aviators in their beautiful ballon. The newly formed Parisian Planespotters’ Group excitedly opened their newly bought notebooks and wrote ‘Ballon’ alongside the date. Undertakers watched expectantly. This new aviation phenomenon looked promising.

The first humans to properly fly rose into the air. The first aeronauts! The Montgolfiers had done it! Ah but wait, that’s not the Montgolfiers in the thing. (We did say they weren’t daft, didn’t we?) Jean-François ‘Pilâtre’ de Rozier and the Marquis ‘François’ d’Arlandes were the two who made the first flight and earned their place in the Côtes de Rhône Book of Records.** It was they who had climbed into the ballon and watched as the restraining ropes were cut before they could change their minds.

Once up, de Rozier kept the ballon going by stoking the brazier fire. This wasn’t a euphemism but how they kept hot air going up into the ballon above by putting straw into the fire. He huffed and he puffed and kept the thing flying.

The ballon floated through the Parisian skies, affording the two flyers a view of the airport R***air would use, far in the distance. They drifted for several miles before coming in for a landing. Part of the ballon had caught fire and it was thought prudent to land before it all burnt through and they fell to their untimely deaths. Undertakers were naturally delighted that these things could catch fire and, although disappointed on the day, resolved to follow the new aeronautical adventures with a keen interest.

They didn’t have long to wait. Two years later de Rozier was attempting to cross the English Channel by air. His ballon was part-hydrogen, part-fire source. The ballon’s fabric was treated with oil, glue and honey, ensuring pre-flight preparations were constantly interrupted by hungry bears. Once they had been shoo’d off, the flight could commence. Sadly, de Rozier’s ballon caught fire and he and his unnamed* companion plummeted to their demise.

A SCOTS AIR

Scotland is the home of many inventions such as television, tarmac and the cloning of sheep. It cannot claim to have invented balloons (although the performance of the national football team at Euro 2020 may give lie to this). However, Scotland does have one claim to fame in the history of ballooning, for on a famous date in 1784 a certain James ‘Balloon’ Tytler rose aloft over the city of Edinburgh. Citizens stood in the streets, mouths agape. He wasn’t going to ‘drop in’ for tea, was he?

After a short hop Tytler landed safely and, although he duly earned his place in the Whisky Tome of World Recoryds as the first person to successfully fly in Britain, riches and fame were not forthcoming. He etched his place in history in another way. Tytler was the editor of the Encyclopaedia Britannica and when you looked up ‘aviator’ he had written ‘Me’. Sadly, the intrepid Scot crashed on another flight. He felt deflated and gave up the ballooning for good. Jamesie didn’t receive much attention or cash for his endeavours and, after calling the government of the day ‘a bunch of eejits’, he was charged with sedition. He soon left for America where, eventually, he died.

THE ITALIAN JOB DONE

As we’ve seen, flying has always had associated dangers, mostly in the area involving descending too quickly to the ground. Other perils of flight were shown in London in 1784 when Frenchperson Chevalier ‘De’ Moret had his balloon destroyed by an angry crowd when it failed to lift off. Previous to that, in Bordeaux, another failed ascent led to a riot, with two people being killed and then another two being hanged for their riotous ways. You don’t get that at Bristol balloon festival these days. Thankfully.

An ascent that was free of violence took place on a famous date also in 1784, with the first ascent in England. In his balloon, Italian Vincento ‘Balloon’ Lunardi went off like a shot from London’s Artillery Ground. He wasn’t alone. His passenger list read like the start of a nursery rhyme as he took a cat, a pigeon and a dog. One had nine lives, one had wings and the other a nervous look on its chops.

The initial part of the flight wasn’t without incident. When an oar fell out the balloon’s basket, a female onlooker thought it was Lunardi and had a heart attack. The flight continued safely, although the cat, which was male, almost had kittens when the ground rushed up at the end. Balloon landings are rarely as graceful as their take-offs.

Other countries didn’t want to be left behind and there were even flights in America, though they hadn’t invented it. The Frenchperson Jean ‘Pierre’ Blanchard demonstrated his aerial prowess in front of the US President, who at the time was George Washington. If Jean had done it later, it would have been a different one.

IT’S A GAS

Hot-air balloons and ballons were all well and good but they suffered from a handicap, which was the actual air inside them. It had to be heated all the time or the whole shebang would simply descend and bump along the ground – if they were lucky. Another gas was required.

This gas was hydrogen, which, as any keen gas student will know, is lighter than air. Not lighter in colour – they’re both see-through – but in weight. This means that if you fill a child’s balloon with normal air at the temperature of your room, it will just fall to the ground and bump along there as we just mentioned. However, if you take out the air (making sure to produce a noisy ‘fart’ noise to the guaranteed amusement of all within earshot) and replace it with hydrogen, it will then float upwards and get stuck on the ceiling until Daddy has to risk his neck standing on a chair to retrieve it or face another hour of kid-derived wailing.

Hydrogen was the new ‘it’ gas – the gas du jour. The first hydrogen ballon* was built by a man called Jacques ‘Gas’ Charles and two brothers, Monsieur Robert and his brother Monsieur Robert. Confusingly, that was their surname. The brothers had created a new-fangled material of rubberised silk. They used it to make contraceptives and we will leave you to make your own jokes.

The Roberts’ design looked more like the balloons we’re used to seeing in our skies, with a round gas bag and a basket slung underneath. Like other French ballonists, they weren’t daft as their first flight was unpersonned. Their hydrogen-filled creation took to the air and flew for 15 miles before rupturing and falling to the ground, where it was set upon by peasants scared of this aerial monster and who gave it a sound thrashing it wouldn’t forget. Or remember, as it was an inanimate object.

The government had to issue a proclamation reassuring the public that not all ballons would fall to the ground and scare them and that, statistically, they were more likely to be hit by a meteorite. This failed to reassure a populace who were now worried about these new-fangled meteorites they’d never heard of before.

Undaunted, les bold aviateurs drew lots. Monsieur Robert was chosen and, along with Jacques Charles, took his place in the ballon for The Big One. It duly rose skywards in front of almost half a million people on a famous date in 1783 that would echo down the aeronautical history decades. The undertakers in the crowd went home unhappy, as the gas-filled ballon did not crash. Instead, it disappointingly flew in the sky for a couple of hours. As they passed over the countryside the ballonists could hear the cries of simple country folk below: ‘Keep off my land!’, ‘Off you go, you fancy city types’** and ‘Is that a meteorite?’

Among the crowd was a certain Benjamin ‘Yes, it’s me’ Franklin. When he heard another onlooker ask, ‘What use is a balloon?’ Benji replied, ‘Of what use is a new-born baby?’ To which the onlooker replied, ‘You could win a bonnie baby competition with one.’ Benjamin just nodded. You know when someone says something to you and you can’t think of a suitable response at the time, but hours later a pithy witticism pops into your head? Benjamin wished that had happened to him, as he walked home feeling outwitted and then couldn’t get to sleep for ages.

The ballon travelled 36km and landed safely. Not content with this fine achievement, Monsieur Charles decided to fly off on his own. The ballon’s first flight had ended at sunset, but so high did he now ascend that he was able to see the sun again. The brave (or daft) aviator got about 3,000m up but decided to call it a day when his ears got sore. He had jammed his fingers in them to stop having to listen to a loud screaming noise that seemed to be coming from his mouth. Three thousand metres is really high, especially if you’re on your own. Charles never flew again.

Showing it was no flash in the pan, Charles and the Roberts designed a ballon that had a rudder for propulsion and steering, but it didn’t work. It was not a complete dud though and La Caroline went on to fly over 100km, the first ballon to do so. Well done them!

This was a time dubbed ‘Balloonmania’, a bit like the later ‘Beatlemania’ but without damp theatre seats. Balloons were all the rage: the beaded car-seat covers and Thunderbirds Tracy Islands of their day. The ballooning triumphs of those mentioned above inspired others to take to the air all over Europe, with some not going down the gaseous bag route. One such person in Belgium, whose name is lost to history and our paltry research, measured dead birds to gauge the wingspan required for his aeronautical device. If that sounds yucky, it is. He built a set of wings and flew a distance of 100m. During the flight it was reported that a blast of wind sent him hurtling towards a well. He was perturbed by this as he wasn’t carrying a coin to throw down for good luck. Luckily, the brave Belgian was prevented from falling down it by the breadth of his wings. Lucky duck.

LADIES WHO LAUNCH

On another notable date in 1784 a woman achieved a notable first by being the first woman to fly. The woman was Elizabeth ‘No, Not Thimble’ Thible and she rose in a ballon made by Jean ‘Pierre’ Blanchard, who keen-eyed readers will notice appeared back there a bit and will appear in the next bit too. Ms Thible may also have achieved another first by singing opera tunes while in the air. Dressed as a Roman goddess, she rattled off many famous aerial arias – something we are yet to see from Katherine Jenkins.

Another great woman of the air was Jeanne Geneviève ‘No, Not Lacrosse’ Labrosse, who was married to the celebrated French male balloonist André ‘Jacques’ Garnerin. André had been the first person to jump out of a balloon and survive using a parachute. There must have been something in the Garnerin water, as Jeanne Genie tried her luck to become the first woman to parachute from a balloon. On her descent from a height of 900m she had time to ponder the meaning of life, and whether her husband had put up those shelves like he said he would. She didn’t have long to ponder as she soon came into contact with the ground, the first woman to have made a parachute jump. She’d done it! Jeanne-G also found fame as the first solo woman balloonist, making many ascents and the same number of descents around Europe.

Two other women who flew around this time were Elisa ‘Niece’ Garnerin (yup, Garnerin’s niece) and Sophie ‘wife of Jean Pierre’ Blanchard. They were rivals in providing entertainment, with night flights featuring fireworks being part of their shtick. Elisa also jumped out of the balloon, an activity that enthralled the crowds agog below, but she didn’t die from a too-fast descent – unlike the brave Blanchard, who ruptured her gas bag with a firework and fell to her death, etching her place in the Pernod Book of Records by becoming the first woman to die in an aviation accident. It’s an achievement you don’t really want.

Another notable woman of the air was Mme Poitevin, who made over 570 ascents.* Her party trick was to lift off sitting on a bull or a horse. When she came to London her planned flight with an equine companion was stopped by the police after complaints from the … ahem … ‘Neigh’-bourhood Watch. You’re welcome.

MORE BALLOONS

As keen-eyed geography students will know, the English Channel separates Britain from Europe. To fly over it would be a very notable achievement and Jean ‘Pierre’ Blanchard (him again) and John ‘Jim’ Jeffries (first-time appearance) aimed to be those achievers. On a famous date in 1785 that would echo down the decades of aviation history, they left Dover and with the wind in their metaphorical sails they drifted over the coast and beyond. Several times they started descending to the cold, grey, unforgiving water. Thinking quickly, the two bold aviators threw stuff over the side to lighten the load: bags of ballast, packs of leaflets, a barometer, a telescope, oars, a kitchen sink unit, their hobnailed boots, two large bar bells, an anvil, Blanchard’s collection of horse brasses, a diving helmet and two slabs of marble they hoped to have engraved as souvenirs. Still going down, Jeffries volunteered himself as disposable ballast. Blanchard rubbed his chin: Jeffries was quite a big chap and he was still clutching his complete set of Encyclopædia Britannica. But no, it wouldn’t be right. Luckily he didn’t have time to reconsider the offer as their balloon began to rise. They made it over the coast to the beautiful and solid dry land. Unlike their gas bag, they were not deflated. They were elated. They had done it! Another feather in the French aeronautical cap. Now to find a marble engraver.

Flights like these were very much weather dependent and all these balloons had an issue with steering. They didn’t have any. Whatever way the wind was blowing, that’s where they were heading. To be proper aero machines they would need to be directed. This led to the development of what are known as ‘dirigibles’, which means something that is able to be diriged.* And in the nineteenth century they certainly were that, with dirigibles flying hither and thither about the skies.