THE AEROPLANE IN AUSTRALIA.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2550, 10 July 1909, Page 3

THE AEROPLANE IN AUSTRALIA.

PUBLIC EXHIBITIONS. (Melbourne “Argus.”) Those who picture an aeroplane as a silent, stealthy, swooping thing, gliding noiselessly through the air. have no idea what an aeroplane is like. “It’s about the noisiest thing on earth,” said Mr. De Fries, t ( > our representative. Mr De Fries has come out under engagepient to - Messrs. J. and N. Tait, to give public exhibitions of flying. Ho went on:—“There is a fifty hoise-power engine. It has no silencer, and no exhaust. and it makes a deafening noise. The propellers—two great whirling fans—are driven by chain belts from the engine, and they just about double the noise when they start. You, can hear an aeroplane coming half a mile away. There is no such thing as silence about it. There is no vibration _ after you start, though while the engine is being tuned up, and the machine is standing on the skids, every particle of it rattles and jumps. The aeroplane lias to be held down, or it would jump off the rail.

“I use one of Wilbur Wright’s aeroplanes. It is about 6Uij>. from tip to tip of its wings. It is started along the rail by means of a powerful spring and a weight of 15cwt., which is so ai'ranged that as it drops it pulls the aeroplane along a rail. The propellers are going 500 revolutions a minute, the engine is roaring away, and, if you are skilful and lucky, at the end _of about ITK) yards of rail the machine gracefully soars into the air at a speed of about 30 miles an hour. You have to travel at 30 miles an hour. ; The engine has only oiie speed. When you want to stop you pull a spring and the engine stops. Then you drop to the ground,, down a gradient of about 10 degrees, and, if you are still lucky, you land on both skids, and pull up without breaking anything. Generally you break something. I am telling you no secret when T tell you that we have set •aside a very large sum per week for repairs. We will keep the boatbuilders busy. Aeroplane repairing is like boatbuilders’ work. “What does it feel like to fly? It is the finest sensation there is. It is better than motor-car racing—a lot better. It is also a little more dangerous. It is a single man’s game. If 1 were married I’d never go up in an aeroplane again—unless I was unhapoily married. I used to be an enthusiastic motor-racer. I have raced three times in the Diernie circuit, and I overturned going at 70 miles an hour once, and had a chauffeur killed. In an aeroplane you aTe only going at 30 miles an hour, but there is more risk of accident. In a motor you always have a chance to strike a soft spot, or fall on your chauffeur. When tlio smash comes in an aeroplane you’ve got to drop 40 or 50 feet probably, and then you hit the ground at 30 miles an hour. “It is like motor-racing in this, too, that the' night before, when you get into bed, you start to worry, and ask yourself why you are such a fool as to risk your neck, and In tlie morning you are nervous and strung up. Just before you start you feel in a real funk. Everybody is the same. But once the actual start takes place all that is forgotten. You delight 'in the. sensation of danger and risk. Of course, in an aeroplane—especially if ’~ou have a few accidents during the last few days, you are hoping all the time that you’ll get back to earth safely. “I learnt at tlie aerial school at Cannes, in France. Comte de Lambert taught me. I bought an aeroplane from the company which is making Mr. Wilbur Wright’s machines. M. Clemenceau, son of the French Premier, is the managing director of the company. Prince Radziwill is one of the directors, and when my machine came down to Cannes five of the directors and their . wives came out with it in their motor cars, and watched its first flight. I was five weeks learning. During that time I spent four or five hours in the air. You can’t fly every day. Of course some people learn more quickly than others, ns they do to ride a bicycle or drive a motor. It lias become instinctive. The best time to fly is about five in the afternoon, after the sun has gone down. While the sun is up there are eddies in the air, and these are dangerous. If an aeroplane tilts with you if comes down with a run. You can’t fall out, but the whole thing falls to the earth. It is only kept up by its resistance to the air, and, as soon as the wings get sideways ou, there is going to bo a smash. The wings are provided with chains for bending them in a parabolic curve at the tips to escape the effect of the eddies. If you watcli an albatross flying you will see it doing the same tiling. The whole business is a question of skill in managing the aeroplane. You must know intuitively what is the right thing to do, and do it. You can’t sit and look up what to do in a book of directions. “The best nlace to fly in is in an open space, with trees around it. It is probable that I shall fly on the racecourses. I am rushing round Australia now selecting sites. I will not fly in public until well on in the spring. It is no use flying one day when the weather may ke- p v »u from going up again for a fortnight. “People will be terribly keen on coming up as passengers. You can announce that I will be n leased to take up with me anyone who wants to come. I can only take one at a time, of course. I shall be glad to teach anyone who wants to buy- an aeroplane how to use it and work it.' It is an entrancing game, and there are sure to he a number of Australians tvlio will want aeroplanes of their own. A Wilbur Wright machine costs about £i.Boo to £2000.”