The Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines
By Don Hale
Published by Coast & Country at Smashwords
Copyright 2010 Don Hale. ISBN No 978-1-907163-51-7
THE MAGNIFICENT MEN IN THEIR FLYING MACHINES
The true drama behind the 1906 Daily Mail Air Race By Don Hale
I can still recall on several occasions many years ago, my grandmother Minnie, and my own mother Doreen (Minnie’s only daughter) telling me slightly different versions of the same story.
It concerned a major event in the spring of 1910, when the pilot of the first long-distance flying machine landed in Burnage, Manchester, after making a hazardous journey from London to win the Daily Mail Air Race - and collect a cheque for £10,000.
My grandmother’s memory naturally became a little bit hazy as the years rolled by and later the story was perhaps enhanced, and may even have been unintentionally exaggerated in parts by ‘mum.’ However, the essential nucleus of the story remained valid and encouraged further investigation. My later findings supported many of their claims and added credibility to decades of family uncertainty.
My notes therefore, have not just been based on family paperwork and newspaper cuttings kept by my great grandfather, but include the results of further research from many other reliable archive sources.
In April 1910, and after more than four years of prompting by the public and press; two intrepid flyers, an Englishman Claude Grahame-White, and a French rival, Louis Paulhan, fuelled the country’s enthusiasm for aviation racing, by taking part in an exciting challenge, flying from London to Manchester in an attempt to win an incredible £10,000 prize offered by Daily Mail newspaper proprietor Lord Northcliffe.
My grandmother, Minnie, who was then just sixteen years of age when the race took place, explained that she had once been taken by a policeman during the early hours of the morning, to a wet and soggy field on the outskirts of Manchester to witness the arrival of a small biplane piloted by a young Frenchman.
‘Grannie’ recalled that despite the early hour, thousands of spectators packed the field, and described a vast sea of faces and cheering people present to witness this momentous occasion. She also told me that at first she thought the pilot had been Bleriot, the recent champion of the Channel Crossing, and that the location might have been Platt Fields, before confirming her other knowledge of this remarkable landing.
Platt Fields had certainly been the centre for numerous public events and a host of other activities involving Manchester City Police; therefore, I can quite understand her slight confusion. Following further inquiries though, I was able to confirm the exact time, date, venue and details of her amazing sighting.
The landing site was not Platt Fields but a grassy field close to Mr Bracegirdle’s Farm at Burnage. And the pilot was not Louis Bleriot, but a Louis Paulhan, another notable young French pilot, who had just completed the 185-mile journey from London via Lichfield, to win this extraordinary competition.
The memorable date in question was Thursday, April 28th 1910, and the early hours start, vividly remembered by her, was due to Paulhan’s unorthodox arrival at 5.30am.
My own recollections of her precise story as a child, and at the time of later discussion on this same issue, are also a bit fuzzy now, therefore I was delighted to be able to clarify matters and confirm the details from additional sources.
I certainly remember my grandmother claiming that her father, James, who was then Chief Inspector of police with the City force, had arranged a special treat for her at the landing site, but remained uncertain as to the precise time of arrival.
Due to his rank, he had managed to secure Minnie a ‘bird’s eye’ view of the landing strip from the top of a police cart, where apparently she remained quite close to the plane.
From later conversations over the years, I seriously doubt whether James’s wife (my great grandmother), was aware of her daughter’s presence in that muddy field; and I am equally certain she would not have approved. In addition, I remain convinced Minnie would have also prevented her from attending had she realised the other potential dangers involved with this bizarre episode.
Minnie was a very bright, attractive, and popular young student, who spoke a little French. She may even have conversed with Paulhan. I cannot remember that part. She certainly claimed she heard him speak briefly to the crowd and to his assistants, amidst a great roar and the sound of constant cheering from the thousands of spectators.
The plane of course by then, was surrounded for public safety, by a vast cordon of police officers, keeping the public at bay. ‘Grannie’ meanwhile enjoyed the magical moment and said, she waved to the flyer in sheer delight from her privileged position, perched high above the ground.
She certainly explained that within minutes of the pilot departing under police escort towards the railway station, the heaven’s opened and everyone was thoroughly drenched to the skin. The field became a quagmire and she said they experienced great difficulty in removing the machine to a place of safety.
In later years, my mother believed this soaking eventually led to my great grandfather’s bout of pneumonia and forced a rapid deterioration of his health. She also suggested other VIP guests suffered a similar fate.
Louis Paulhan and Claude Grahame-White were in direct competition in this particular race. The previous afternoon, and very late in the day, they had begun a mad-dash attempt to reach Manchester, flying high over the exposed tracks of the London & North Western Railway Company, closely following the route to the North West.
Although a 24-hour race, the flyers were forced to land due to the darkness of the hour, and both had arisen early the next day, determined to be the first to reach their magnificent goal.
Huge crowds greeted the pilots at the beginning and throughout their journeys. The constant publicity and a remarkable sense of achievement soon fired the imagination of the general public, with constant news of their progress quickly forwarded along the telegraph wires and via railway signal boxes en-route.
Paulhan even had his own special train, which followed the plane. Amongst the passengers were his wife, together with invited guests, railway officials and his own maintenance crew. The train also carried aviation fuel and spare parts.
I wonder how much of this dangerous equipment and sheer haste would have been allowed by today’s standards?
The whole debacle proved a great worry for Manchester police, who had no real idea of what to expect. It was certainly an occasion that had never happened before; although some City officials had been given a brief taste of the dangers of aeroplanes, following a series of trials in the suburbs a year or so before.
This however, was now the very first time that two flying machines competed in an exciting head to head cross-country endurance event for a major cash prize. Whatever the outcome, the public realised this race was certain to break all national and international records - and a great crowd was guaranteed at the designated landing site.
EARLY TRIALS IN HEATON PARK.
Some trials by early pioneers were staged in Heaton Park, with others held on Salford Racecourse during 1909. Here, the actions of the participants were monitored and controlled, and yet despite the tranquil settings at secluded sites, several trials resulted in damage and severe personal injury.
This latest race escapade was a huge risk, especially with potentially thousands of spectators present, and coupled with the obvious dangers of transporting highly inflammable fuel by both air and rail. It also presented an uncertainty of the great unknown.
‘Flying Machines,’ as these early aeroplanes were called, were noisy, smelly, dirty, unreliable and highly unpredictable. This is all the more reason I wonder why my grandmother was permitted to attend. Personal knowledge however, suggests she had both a strong desire and an absolute determination to be present on this grand occasion.
Details of the challenge were first published in 1906. At that time, very few flying machines were available and Lord Northcliffe, formerly Alfred Harmsworth, and a former associate of James, who probably thought it was a safe bet, offering a staggering sum of money, £10,000 to the winner. This of course represented an absolute fortune at that time, with average wages for white-collar workers around £100 per year, and general tradesmen only earning about half that amount.
Manchester Police had been on standby several times over recent years in case of any other attempts and remained concerned with problems such a cash prize might attract. Many officers also remained on alert from Englishman Grahame-White’s aborted solo attempt just five days earlier. They quickly realised that his failure had sparked at least one other pilot into action and eagerly awaited confirmation from their London based colleagues of any other attempts.
What could the police expect? How many people were likely to attend the landing site? Would the landing site be where they envisaged? What emergency procedures were in hand? These were just some of the many imponderables worrying James and his police colleagues in the days immediately prior to this latest race.
They knew Grahame-White would go again quite soon, and had made preparations for his departure, the following day, Thursday. Yet, the sudden and unexpected ascent of his French rival the night before, and again very early that morning, kept every available policeman on his toes throughout the night. It also ensured the duties of senior colleagues remained flexible in order to cope with any possible contingency.
The only definite fact known about these new machines – which did little to settle the nerves - was that they were definitely unpredictable, with both the pilot and engines exposed to the elements, and were consequently extremely vulnerable.
There were numerous basic problems to consider and James in his capacity as the City’s appointed explosives and regulations expert, constantly found his guidance sought and tested by a desperately worried Watch Committee.
The air race posed many unique problems, not just by the thought of a potentially flying bomb, with gallons of petrol strapped to the fuselage in straddle tanks; but also by trying to maintain law and order, and public safety from an excitable crowd within a confined and untested area.
For my great-grandfather, I am sure he relished this exceptional challenge and was thrilled at the prospect of helping to supervise the safe landing and celebration of Manchester’s first ever flying-machine in some muddy field.
Perhaps he thought that in later years, it might be something he could even tell his great or even grandchildren about!
LAUNCH OF THE AIR-RACE COMPETITION IN 1906.
It was on November 17th 1906, that newspaper chief, Lord Northcliffe, first announced details of a substantial cash prize to the first flyer to travel from a distance of five miles from the London headquarters of the Daily Mail, to alight within a similar distance from their Manchester office.
The rules insisted that not more than two landings were permitted within a 24-hour journey and that the prize would be allocated for journeys in either direction.
An additional incentive was offered by Adams Manufacturing Company, who proposed an extra sum of £2,000 to the successful winner, if they flew an all-British machine. An additional sponsor, Autocar, also suggested a prize of £400 to the maker of the winning engine – provided again, that it was of a British manufacture.
At the time of launching this prize challenge, the majority of people claimed it was ‘mission impossible’ and ‘totally unobtainable.’ It meant a flight of nearly two hundred miles cross-country between two great cities by inexperienced pilots in rather primitive, untried and unreliable machines.
Nothing of note had been achieved at that particular time by early flyers and aviation development was still slow, risky and badly under-funded.
To support this astonishing theory, and to highlight the magnitude of the undertaking, Punch Magazine offered the exact same prize money to the first man to swim the Atlantic – and also to the first person to reach Mars and back within a week!
Such was the agreed scepticism of the time that even intrepid novice flyers Alberto Santos Dumont, Henri Farman and Wilbur Wright were struggling to reach any great height or distance with their own delicate contraptions.
Indeed, in 1909, three years after the race launch, Wilbur Wright established a remarkable feat in flying for just over two hours in the United States, shortly before a daring Frenchman Louis Bleriot, crossed the English Channel to claim a £1,000 prize.
Bleriot went on to claim other additional cash prizes with a series of daredevil performances at both home and abroad.
Manchester was fast developing as an industrial and commercial centre with many national newspapers now opening offices in the city. This race was seen as a perfect opportunity to promote the area and enhance the pioneering spirit of the North West.
Despite the publicity of a London to Manchester race, Doncaster and Blackpool also tried to muscle in on the aviation act with specific meetings and attractions, offering large cash prizes to other prospective young flyers.
Many machines were now being designed and developed by motor engineers based in Manchester. Charles Fletcher of Rusholme, who used his Stockport Road factory to produce cars and the first motor ambulance for Salford, began to take a keen interest in flying. He joined forces with Norman Crosland and William Arnold and encouraged a talented young apprentice John Alcock (later of Alcock & Brown fame), to share his enthusiasm for aviation matters.
Fletcher built a single seat monoplane, and utilised his own manufacturing facilities to develop new ideas based on French designs and powered by five-cylinder rotary engines. His trial flights though, were not without mishap and confirmed several obvious dangers.
On October 20th 1909, Fletcher travelled about thirty yards in Heaton Park. He managed a few more similar attempts before coming to grief with the park’s bandstand. Much of his progress was featured in the ‘Aero’ magazine and highlighted the fact he made numerous seventy-five to one-hundred yard long jumps, and confirmed that in January 1910, a strong wind caused his plane collide heavily with a clump of trees.
A couple of months later, and shortly before the London to Manchester race, Fletcher built another monoplane using parts from the wreck of his earlier plane, and exhibited his machine at White City.