THE SUN OR THE MOON OR THE STARS
“We scarcely saw the sun, or the moon, or the stars. For hours we saw none of them. The fog was very dense, and at times we had to descend to within 300 feet of the sea.” — 23-year old Sir Arthur Whitten Brown
This past weekend marked 100 years since the Atlantic Ocean was crossed non-stop from one side to the other for the first time. That 16-hour flight, flown by John Alcock and Arthur Brown, two First World War pilots and recent prisoners of war, was just 16 years after Orville Wright's first 120-foot, 12-second powered flight. In 1919, the science of powered flight had come an astonishingly long way in a very short period of time, but it was still a very crude science with underpowered aircraft made of wood and fabric and held together by wires. Yet, it had come to a point where two young adventurers would stake their lives on its dependability in an attempt to cross an immense ocean at night with no support whatsoever.
There are those of us, the ones with over-active imaginations, who can sense the vastness and empty black, cold depths of the North Atlantic 40,000 feet below us when we fly to Europe on a Boeing Dreamliner. As we sip our Cabernet Sauvignon in Business Class, the hairs on the backs of our necks rise if we contemplate the chances of survival if the unthinkable happened. Best to ask for another glass and get back into that Jack Reacher novel.
Imagine the courage it took to lift a creaking, two-ton fabric and wood behemoth, powered by just two 360 hp engines, from a rough farmer's field and then deliberately head out over the ocean towards its other shore, nearly 2,000 miles away. Despite knowing very little about the weather they would encounter, having primitive instruments and running into serious trouble about one third the way (their radio and intercom ceased functioning six hours into the flight), they risked it all for the chance to be first, for the adventure, for the accomplishment and for the prize money.
Alcock and Brown will forever be mentioned together as if they were one person, but they had just met prior to the attempt. Their accomplishment was indeed extraordinary, only eclipsed by their courage—the kind of courage found in people like Amelia Earhart, Yuri Gagarin, Neil Armstrong, and Felix Baumgartner; the kind of courage that is paired with an extraordinary trust in an untried technology.
I won't go into the whole story of their harrowing flight which hung on the edge of disaster almost the entire time, but offer up Wikipedia's synopsis of the event, followed by a portfolio of photographs that tell their story at either end of the flight. There is evidence that both men had cameras with them in Newfoundland, but there are no known photographs taken during the flight.
“Several teams had entered the competition and, when Alcock and Brown arrived in St. John's, Newfoundland, the Handley Page team were in the final stages of testing their aircraft for the flight, but their leader, Admiral Mark Kerr, was determined not to take off until the plane was in perfect condition. The Vickers team quickly assembled their plane and, at around 1:45 p.m. on 14 June, whilst the Handley Page team were conducting yet another test, the Vickers plane took off from Lester's Field. Alcock and Brown flew the modified Vickers Vimy, powered by two Rolls-Royce Eagle 360 hp engines which were supported by an on-site Rolls-Royce team led by engineer Eric Platford. The pair brought toy cat mascots with them for the flight – Alcock had 'Lucky Jim' while Brown had 'Twinkletoes'.
It was not an easy flight. The overloaded aircraft had difficulty taking off the rough field and only barely missed the tops of the trees. At 17:20 the wind-driven electrical generator failed, depriving them of radio contact, their intercom and heating. An exhaust pipe burst shortly afterwards, causing a frightening noise which made conversation impossible without the failed intercom.
At 5.00 p.m., they had to fly through thick fog. This was serious because it prevented Brown from being able to navigate using his sextant. Blind flying in fog or cloud should only be undertaken with gyroscopic instruments, which they did not have. Alcock twice lost control of the aircraft and nearly hit the sea after a spiral dive. He also had to deal with a broken trim control that made the plane become very nose-heavy as fuel was consumed.
At 12:15 a.m., Brown got a glimpse of the stars and could use his sextant, and found that they were on course. Their electric heating suits had failed, making them very cold in the open cockpit.
Then at 3:00am they flew into a large snowstorm. They were drenched by rain, their instruments iced up, and the plane was in danger of icing and becoming unflyable. The carburettors also iced up; it has been said that Brown had to climb out onto the wings to clear the engines, although he made no mention of that.
They made landfall in County Galway, crash-landing at 8:40 a.m. on 15 June 1919, not far from their intended landing place, after less than sixteen hours' flying time. The aircraft was damaged upon arrival because of an attempt to land on what appeared from the air to be a suitable green field, but which turned out to be Derrygimlagh Bog, near Clifden in County Galway in Ireland, although neither of the airmen was hurt. Brown said that if the weather had been good they could have pressed on to London.
Their altitude varied between sea level and 12,000 ft (3,700 m). They took off with 865 imperial gallons (3,900 L) of fuel. They had spent around fourteen-and-a-half hours over the North Atlantic crossing the coast at 4:28 p.m., having flown 1,890 miles (3,040 km) in 15 hours 57 minutes at an average speed of 115 mph (185 km/h; 100 knots). Their first interview was given to Tom 'Cork' Kenny of The Connacht Tribune.
Alcock and Brown were treated as heroes on the completion of their flight. In addition to a share of the Daily Mail award of £10,000, Alcock received 2,000 guineas (£2,100) from the State Express Cigarette Company and £1,000 from Laurence R Philipps for being the first Briton to fly the Atlantic Ocean. Both men were knighted a few days later by King George V.
Alcock and Brown flew to Manchester on 17 July 1919, where they were given a civic reception by the Lord Mayor and Corporation, and awards to mark their achievement.
For an outstanding and colourful recounting of the various attempts at the crossing and Alcock and Brown's harrowing and ultimately successful crossing, I highly recommend this story by Graham Wallace in Macleans magazine from September, 1955, just 36 years after the event.