This edited article about ballooning originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 706 published on 26 July 1975.

A Californian hot air balloonist discovered he had lifted off with an unwanted passenger by Wilf Hardy

Matt Wiedertehr sailed high above the towns and countryside of Minnesota, U.S.A. Cornfields and lakes passed beneath him as he manipulated the controls of his hot air balloon.

Higher and higher and farther and farther he flew as the wind bore him along as freely as the tumbleweed of the prairies of his native country.

When he drifted to earth at Bankston, Iowa, Matt had covered 255 miles (410 km.) and set up a distance record for hot air ballooning, this having been achieved on 29th March, 1972.

Matt did not set out to break any altitude records. That task was taken on by Julian Richard Prothro Not, who soared to 35,971 ft. (10,963 metres) over Hereford on 14th July, 1972. And for endurance in a balloon’s basket the record went to Bob Sparks of the U.S.A. who stayed aloft for 11 hours 14 minutes on 12th December, 1972.

But the champion record holder of them all is Ray Munro who spent four hours 52 minutes flying across the Irish Sea over a distance of 158.34 miles (approx. 253 km.) in 1970. He has gained 34 hot air ballooning records.

The activities of these sportsmen take us back to the early days of man-made flight, which began in the 18th century with the hot air balloon. And despite all the tremendous advances which have been made in aviation since that time the hot air balloon is still with us, for it gives men a wonderful feeling of freedom.

This edited article about tea-clippers originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 705 published on 19 July 1975.

The Cutty Sark by John S Smith

Protesting creaks came from the Ariel’s three masts as the wind billowed the sails and whistled through the rigging of the tea clipper tied up at the jetty in China’s Foochow harbour in 1866.

In his cabin, the skipper looked up from his charts and turned to his mate. “Are we ready to sail?” he asked.

The mate nodded. “Cargo’s all stowed,” he said. “What do you reckon of the other clippers, sir?”

“They’re fine vessels,” mused the skipper. “But we’ll show ‘em a clean pair of heels, all the way to England.”

Opening the door of his cabin, the skipper stepped on to the deck to look at his competitors. There were four other sailing ships, either tied up at the jetty or anchored midstream. All were waiting for the right moment to set sail for England and each wanted to get there first.

These were tea clippers, fine vessels of the mid-nineteenth century with sleek lines for fast speed. If their freight space was small, this did not matter for the cargo they carried was worth a good deal in London. But it had to be got there quickly to fetch the best price and to keep its quality. Consequently, there was always keen competition among the clipper captains to be the first to arrive in London.

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This edited article about the Graf Zeppelin originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 705 published on 19 July 1975.

The Graf Zeppelin by Alberto Salinas

Mountains to the left, mountains to the right and, far worse, mountains straight ahead. They surrounded a twisting valley in eastern Siberia through which Dr. Hugo Eckener was piloting his huge airship, the Graf Zeppelin. The jagged peaks were the Stanovoi mountains, and the pass below the airship, now forcing it to the limit of its altitude, was over 1,500 metres high. The winding canyon grew narrower. While the passengers in their luxurious lounge felt that they could have leaned out to touch the rocks, the crew knew that any sudden gust of wind could blow them to certain destruction on the mountains.

Then they saw the summit of the pass ahead, but still above them. Time seemed to stand still as Eckener squeezed a few more metres out of the silver Zeppelin until, with only a metre or so to spare, they were over the peak. Before them lay the welcoming Sea of Okhotsk, sparkling in the sunlight.

The historic flight had begun on August 8, 1929, from Lakehurst, just south of New York. From there the huge airship, named after its inventor, Count Zeppelin, had travelled across the Atlantic to Germany and thence across Europe to Russia.

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This edited article about motor racing originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 704 published on 12 July 1975.

There were many casualties in the Paris to Madrid road race of 1903, by Graham Coton

As His car crossed the finishing line at Bordeaux at the end of the first stage of the 1903 Paris to Madrid road race, racing driver Louis Renault slumped unconscious over the steering wheel, shocked by a massacre he had just driven through.

Fernand, his brother, dragged him white-faced from the cockpit, and heard Louis blurt out a disjointed account of the carnage he had witnessed.

He told of the chaos that reigned on the road behind him after the fast cars had crashed on 16th century humpbacked bridges or broke their axles on bumps in the road that were all right for a dog cart but calamitous for a car.

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This edited article about airmail in wartime originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 703 published on 5 July 1975.

French balloonists defied the Prussian blockade and delivered airmail during the Siege of Paris by Pat Nicolle

Parisians besieged in their city for 142 days by the Prussians from 1870 to 1871 were not denied contact with the outside world. They enjoyed the first airmail in the history of flight – by balloon.

The first flight out of Paris was made by Jules Durouf, a professional balloonist. He took off with his leaky old balloon, Le Neptune, at 11 a.m. on 23rd September, 1870, and sailed high over the Prussain lines at 1,800 metres. With him he carried mail from people in the besieged city to their friends outside.

Shells whined through the air around him when the Prussians opened fire with a special mobile gun built by the arms firm of Krupp. This was the first known anti-aircraft gun in history.

The shells missed Durouf, who replied by showering the Prussians with visiting cards that advertised his services as a balloonist.

A few letters had earlier been lifted out of the French fortress town of Metz, which was besieged in 1870. But these went by unmanned balloon and most were shot down by German sharpshooters.

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This edited article about the great Railway Derby of 1895 originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 703 published on 5 July 1975.

A GNR express drawn by one of the famous Sterling “singles” which took part in the 1895  railway derby, as did the a Precendnt Class locomotive (top left inset) on the East Coast line. Pictures by Harry Green

Two trains thundered through the night from London to see which could reach Scotland first. It was towards the end of the last century and Britain was gripped almost in a Derby Day fever by the great rail race to the north.

Rivalry between the companies operating competing routes, one along the east coast and the other along the west, first came to a head in 1888.

The east coast route opened the battle by admitting third class passengers to the 10 a.m. train which took nine hours to do the run from King’s Cross to Edinburgh. The rival west coast route, operating from Euston, already took third class passengers, but its journey was one hour longer.

Naturally, the third class passengers began to crowd the east coast trains and the west coast lost revenue.

Then the west coast cut an hour off their time, so it was a dead heat. The east coast replied by knocking half-an-hour off their time and reducing the journey to eight-and-a-half hours.

The war was on. West coast again went into the attack and announced that they, too, would do the eight-and-a-half hour run. But on the very day they achieved it, they received a severe shock from the east coast, who cut the time to eight hours.

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This edited article about Kay Petre originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 701 published on 21 June 1975.

Kay Petre was the probably the only woman to drive an Auto-Union car (model no 6, as illustrated above), which she did in South Africa. Picture by Wilf Hardy

The quiet, still figure of a young woman lay upon a bed in a London hospital. Her eyes were closed and her face looked pale against the white sheets.

A nurse opened the door and looked at the woman cautiously. Beside her stood Bernd Rosemeyer, a German racing motorist who had just won the British Grand Prix at Donington Park, Leicestershire.

“She’s still unconscious,” said the nurse. “You won’t be able to talk to her.”

Rosemeyer looked disappointed. He was carrying a bouquet of flowers and the laurel wreath he had just been given for his racing victory.

With a smile towards the girl in the bed, Rosemeyer put his wreath and the flowers on a table and quietly left the room. It was his tribute from one racing driver to another, for the girl who lay unconscious was Kay Petre, a pre-war racing enthusiast, who had crashed while practising at the Brooklands track in Surrey.

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This edited article about Amy Johnson originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 700 published on 14 June 1975.

James Mollison and Amy Johnson by James E McConnell

Shortly before breakfast on the morning of 5th May, 1930, a small green-and-silver Gypsy Moth biplane took off from Croydon Aerodrome. There were no big crowds to watch the event. The pilot, a young Yorkshire typist named Amy Johnson, was unknown to the public, and only her father and a few members of the London Aeroplane Club were there to wish her well on a daring trans-world flight.

As the heavily-laden little plane roared into the air at its second attempt, the men on the ground gave a ragged cheer.

Amy was hoping to fly her plane, Jason, across the globe to Australia and so become the first woman in the world to achieve such a feat. This was at a time when aviation was just struggling out of its infancy.

Since she had been a young girl, Amy had been keen on flying. She paid for lessons out of her small wage as a solicitor’s typist. After 16 hours flying, she qualified as an amateur pilot with an ‘A’ certificate. She then trained for and gained a ‘B’ certificate which entitled her to carry passengers. And she became the first woman to sit for and gain a certificate as a ground engineer.

Somehow, she managed to scrape together £600 to buy Jason, and her big adventure began.

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This edited article about aviation pioneers  originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 700 published on 14 June 1975.

Louis Bleriot, aviation pioneer

Although ballooning was great fun the men who soared ever higher and higher were still at the mercy of the winds; ballooning was a long way from the controlled flight of the birds. But another 70 years were to pass before the next successful stage in the conquest of the air was reached.

By the middle of the 19th century more and more aviators were taking another look at the birds – not attempting to fly by flapping wings but by gliding.

One name that stands out above all others among those glider designers is Sir George Cayley, who has been rightly called “The Father of Aviation”. A Yorkshire baronet, he spent most of his life experimenting and writing about the problems of flight, showing remarkable foresight in defining the basic requirements.

And in 1853 he became a member of the elite Flying Firsts by making the first successful glider flight. To be strictly accurate, it was Sir George’s terrified coachman who actually made the flight at his master’s instructions. Alas, the coachman’s comments on the experiments have not been recorded!

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This edited article about Mississippi steamboats originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 700 published on 14 June 1975.

The Robert E. Lee and behind it, the Natchez, rival riverboats in the great Mississippi boat race

Everyone agreed that it was going to be the race of the century. After years of rivalry, the captains of the river steamers Robert E. Lee and Natchez were going to fight it out over the 1,218 miles of the Mississippi River that lay between New Orleans, Louisiana’s biggest city, and distant St. Louis.

It had all the makings of an epic contest, because both men and vessels were well matched. John W. Cannon was captain and owner of the Robert E. Lee, a steamer 285 feet (86 metres) long, 48 feet (14 metres) wide and with a draught of only nine feet (2.7 metres). The Lee was driven by paddle wheels 38 feet (11.5 metres) in diameter and powered by steam generated in eight boilers.

Rivalling it was the 303 feet (92 metres) long Natchez, with paddle wheels almost 43 feet (13 metres) across, commanded by Captain Thomas P. Leathers.

The date was 30th June, 1870, and it was soon to be decided which of these two vessels would reach St. Louis first in a straight race.

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