Subject: ‘Aviation’

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The best pictures of Nagasaki in Japan

Posted in Aviation, Best pictures, Famous news stories, Historical articles, History, Inventions, Weapons, World War 2 on Wednesday, 19 August 2015

The best pictures of Nagasaki show various ironic views of the city doomed to destruction in the Second World War.
The first picture shows the city with from a hill overlooking a Japanese cemetery and funeral.

Nagasaki, picture, image, illustration

Un convoi funebre a Nagasaki

The second picture shows the port harbour which was could be used by the Americans as a military base after 1900.

Nagasaki, picture, image, illustration

Nagasaki, which the Japanese Government has permitted the United States to use as a Military Base

The third picture shows the journalist Bill Laurence witnessing the destruction of Nagasaki after the plutonium-fusion bomb ‘Fat Man’ had been dropped on the city.

Nagasaki, picture, image, illustration

Bill Laurence witnessing the atom bomb explode on Nagasaki. "A giant ball of fire rose as though from the bowels of the earth, belching forth enormous white smoke rings …"

Many more pictures of Japan can be found at the Look and Learn picture library.

The best pictures of the aviator Louis Paulhan

Posted in Aviation, Engineering, Famous news stories, Historical articles, History, Railways, Transport, Travel on Monday, 10 August 2015

The best pictures of Louis Paulhan show him and his pioneering exploits in the air.
The first picture shows him flying over Manchester suburbs when he won the Daily Mail London-to-Manchester aviation prize in 1910.

Louis Paulhan, picture, image, illustration

The First Flight from London to Manchester

The second picture shows his biplane above Cologne.

Louis Paulhan, picture, image, illustration

Louis Paulhan in a Voisin biplane at Cologne

The third picture is a portrait of Paulhan.

Louis Paulhan, picture, image, illustration

Louis Paulhan, French aviator who in 1910 flew 'Le Canard', the world's first seaplane.

Many more pictures of aviation pioneers can be found at the Look and Learn picture library.

The best pictures of the Hindenburg

Posted in America, Aviation, Best pictures, Disasters, Famous news stories, Historical articles, History, Transport, Travel on Friday, 7 August 2015

The best pictures of the famous German airship Hindenburg show it on display for the Fuhrer and in
flames at its destruction.
The first picture is a photograph of the Hindenburg at Hitler’s notorious Nuremberg Rally of 1936.

Hindenburg, picture, image, illustration

The airship Hindenburg flying over the Zeppelinfeld, Nuremberg Rally, 1936

The second picture shows the massive zeppelin in flames.

Hindenburg, picture, image, illustration

The destruction of the Hindenburg

The third picture shows the total combustion of the Hindenburg.

Hindenburg, picture, image, illustration

The Hindenburg disaster by Wilf Hardy

Many more pictures of zeppelins can be found at the Look and Learn picture library.

The best pictures of the first parachutes

Posted in Aviation, Best pictures, Famous Inventors, Historical articles, History, Inventions, Transport on Wednesday, 5 August 2015

The best pictures of the first parachute descents show the brave attempts of three Frenchmen in the late eighteenth century.
The first picture shows the first parachute made and successfully demonstrated by Louis-Sebastien Lenormand.

Sebastien Lenormand, picture, image, illustration

Sebastien Lenormand making the first parachute descent, Montpellier, 1783

The second picture shows both the balloon from which Jean-Pierre Blanchard jumped and his elaborate parachute.

Blanchard, picture, image, illustration

Jean-Pierre Blanchard making the first descent from a balloon by parachute, 1785

The third picture shows Andre Garnerin parachuting above the Parc Monceau in Paris in 1797.

Garnerin, picture, image, illustration

Andre Garnerin's parachute drop in the Parc Monceau, Paris,1797

Many more pictures of aviation pioneers can be found at the Look and Learn picture library.

The first airmail service began during the Siege of Paris

Posted in Aviation, Communications, Historical articles, History, Transport, War on Tuesday, 18 March 2014

This edited article about communications first appeared in Look and Learn issue number 594 published on 2 June 1973.

First airmail service 1870,  picture, image, illustration

The world's first regular airmail service was established in 1870 when manned balloons were used to carry sacks of letters from the besieged city of Paris to the outside world

Air-mail letters led a somewhat adventurous life in the pioneer days of flight. Balloons tended to get blown off course and land in out of the way places and the early aircraft, even if they took-off safely, could never be relied upon to land in one piece.

In the besieged city of Paris in 1870 it seemed as though the struggle against the encircling Prussian armies was hopeless. The tight ring of steel around the sprawling capital of France was complete and the sound of gunfire could be heard throughout the city. The last trickle of refugees had stopped and food supplies were already running short.

Yet for all their mastery of the land the Prussians could not cut off Paris completely from the rest of the world. Every two or three days a huge manned balloon would rise up from the centre of the city, rapidly gaining height until the stronger air currents could carry it safely over the Prussian lines. With the pilots in the gondola of these frail machines were bags of letters, keeping the world informed of their plight and maintaining the morale of defenders by linking them with their relatives in the safety of provincial France.

This was the world’s first regular air-mail letter service and despite the apparent calm and peace once the balloon was airborne, it was a dangerous and exciting business. First came the breathtaking view of Paris with the Seine running through it like a silver ribbon. There was little time to admire the view, however, for any loss of height might put them within range of the enemy sharpshooters below. Then, for all their skill, the pilots were likely to be at the mercy of the winds.

One balloon had the misfortune to strike some very contrary winds and landed in Bavaria, 470 miles away and in the heart of the enemy’s territory. Another had an incredible 14 hour journey during which hurricane force winds swept it over 1,000 miles to Lifjeld in Norway and at speeds exceeding 100 mph.

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Following a jungle stream saved Juliane Koepcke’s life

Posted in Aviation, Disasters, Historical articles on Thursday, 13 March 2014

This edited article about aviation disasters first appeared in Look and Learn issue number 588 published on 21 April 1973.

Lost in the jungle, picture, image, illustration

Juliane had the will to survive this ordeal by Graham Coton

Flight 508 from Lima, the capital of Peru, to Pucallpa, 475 miles away in the heart of the Peruvian jungle, was on schedule. Everything appeared to be normal. Half an hour after take off ground control received the routine message from the captain, “We will land at Pucallpa in thirty-eight minutes.” Then, suddenly, radio contact was lost. The plane had vanished.

After ten days of fruitless searching all hope was lost. The dense jungle refused to reveal what had happened to the aircraft and the ninety-two people on board. There was no sign of wreckage or survivors. Missionary Clyde Peters parachuted into the area but he found nothing and eventually had to be rescued himself.

And then, on January 4th, 1972, eleven days after the aeroplane’s mysterious disappearance, a blonde, seventeen-year-old girl staggered out of the jungle – the only survivor from that ill-fated flight. Juliane Koepcke, her body racked with pain, her clothes torn to shreds, had somehow walked twenty-five kilometres through a jungle of danger to safety.

Thirty minutes after take off the plane hit a patch of turbulence, a not uncommon occurrence over jungle terrain. Rain beat against the windows. The skies darkened. Lightning flashed. Luggage fell from the racks on to the passengers. A woman screamed. Juliane looked at her mother. “This is the end of everything,” she said.

Seconds later Juliane realised she was no longer in the aircraft. She was being hurtled through the air, still strapped in her seat. At 10,000 feet the plane had disintegrated. Then Juliane lost consciousness – everything went black.

As she came to she became aware of the splashing of the rain on her body and the ceaseless croaking of frogs all around her. Her foot was bleeding and there were bumps on her head and face. She tried to look around but her vision was blurred and no matter how hard she tried she could not summon sufficient energy to move. That night she slept where she had fallen, her seat over her, lost in the middle of the jungle. The frogs continued their croaking.

In the morning, although still a little dizzy, she managed to get up. Her seat, was all she could find of the plane. A short distance away she found a small parcel inside which there were some toys and a piece of Christmas cake. It was Christmas day. She tried eating the cake but it was saturated with the dampness of the jungle and the taste was not very pleasant. Juliane’s first thought was for her mother. She searched the area in vain. Although Juliane did not know it at the time, her mother was already dead.

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Stranded on the Greenland ice cap after a plane crash

Posted in Aviation, Disasters, Historical articles, History on Thursday, 13 March 2014

This edited article about aviation disasters first appeared in Look and Learn issue number 587 published on 14 April 1973.

Few flyers can have faced such daunting prospects as did the captain and crew of the four-engined Hastings aircraft which crashed on the Greenland ice cap on September 16, 1952.

They were marooned far from civilisation. The ice cap, covering most of Greenland, the world’s largest island, is a frozen waste of snow and ice. The Hastings, which belonged to R.A.F. Transport Command, Topcliffe, Yorkshire, was ferrying supplies for the British North Greenland Expedition. Engine trouble developed suddenly as the pilot, Flight Lieutenant Michael Clancy, from Limerick, was making a second run-in.

The crash followed so swiftly that one of the crew, Lance-Corporal B. Hussey, said afterwards that the first he knew about it was that “a thousand ice-cold needles” stabbed his cheeks. They were snow particles. Then he saw the radio operator, Flight Sergeant Burke, with blood streaming down his face. Their machine was on the Ice Cap, with a broken port wing.

Appalling danger threatened as fire broke out, but the disciplined crew put the flames out so quickly that they averted what could easily have been complete disaster.

They were a mixed crew of twelve – seven from the R.A.F., four from the Army, one from the U.S. Air Force. All were shaken and bruised and three had bad injuries. Flight Sergeant Burke had been hurled against his radio panel and cut about the head; the American, Captain Charles Stovey, had two ribs broken; an Army representative, Major D. S. Barker-Simpson, had a fractured ankle.

While some rendered first-aid, others curtained off a part of the aircraft as a sick bay. The intense cold was crippling and a biting wind was sweeping across the ice cap. The point where they had crashed was 8,000 feet up.

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A Soviet air rescue saved the passengers of S.S. Chelyuskin

Posted in Aviation, Disasters, Historical articles, History, Ships on Saturday, 8 March 2014

This edited article about the S S Chelyuskin disaster first appeared in Look and Learn issue number 586 published on 7 April 1973.

Slowly, painfully, its screws whirring frantically, the S.S. Chelyuskin fought its way through the ice floes of the Arctic Ocean. On her deck, her captain, Julius Schmidt, worriedly watched the ice pack inexorably closing in on his vessel. He had good cause for concern. In this area, more sturdy ships than his had disappeared without a trace, crushed to death by the terrible ice-floes. Of course, these were the chances that sailors took when they travelled in this area. But the S.S. Chelyuskin was no ordinary ship, inasmuch as she carried no less than 103 people aboard, including ten women and two children. It was a grave responsibility for a captain to carry on his shoulders.

The S.S. Chelyuskin was a Soviet ship which had set off from Russia in the August of 1933, with the express purpose of proving that an ordinary cargo vessel could voyage through the north-east passage and back within a single season. In the previous year, a Soviet ice-breaker under the command of Julius Schmidt had managed to make the journey. But unlike the Chelyuskin, she had been specially built to withstand the enormous pressure of the ice-floes.

Even so, the Chelyuskin had so far come through magnificently. After collecting a party of Russian scientists and their families from Wrangel Island, she had weathered blizzards and storms and had so far sailed through hundreds of miles of pack-ice without misadventure.

But now was the true testing time. Some way ahead of the vessel lay the open Pacific. But to reach it there were still some miles of water to be navigated, water that was filled with drifting gigantic ice-floes which could smash in the sides of the vessel like matchwood.

Desperately, the vessel twisted and turned, its bows throwing up a steady shower of ice splinters. Every now and then the vessel would halt abruptly, trapped between two walls of ice. Whenever this happened, the crew would jump overboard with cans of explosive which they planted on the ice. Numbed with the cold and breathless from their exertions, they scrambled back on the ship each time, only seconds before the explosives went up.

Then suddenly, miraculously, the Chelyuskin was only six miles from the open seas of the Pacific Ocean. Surely now, after going through so much, they would reach their goal without misadventure? The sunshine that came out at this point, softening the bleak outlines of the ice, certainly seemed to indicate that the worst was over.

Then, without warning, and as if from nowhere, a raging blizzard descended on the Chelyuskin, driving the ice floes forward until they formed a solid barrier in front of the vessel. Now it began to move forward, grinding remorselessly against the ship’s sides, until it had broken her ribs at the bows, torn a hole in her forward, and snapped off her rudder.

It was at this point that Julius Schmidt went to the radio to inform the world of their desperate plight. But even after that the ship still continued to survive for another three and a half weeks before the ice forced the occupants of the beleaguered ship to abandon her.

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Balloonists braved the skies long before pilots and aeroplanes

Posted in Aviation, Historical articles, History, Transport, Travel on Wednesday, 5 March 2014

This edited article about pioneering balloon flight first appeared in Look and Learn issue number 579 published on 17 February 1973.

de Rozier and D'Arlandes,  picture, image, illustration

Pilatre de Rozier and the Marquis d'Arlandes flew over Paris for 25 minutes in a hot-air balloon made by the Montgolfier brothers, by Wilf Hardy

They were only a few miles from the French coast, but it seemed certain that their historic trip was destined to end, not in a blaze of glory but in the waters of the English Channel. They had hoped to be the first men to cross the Channel by air, but their leaking balloon was lowering them steadily towards the waves.

The two men were Jean-Pierre Blanchard, a famous French balloonist, and an American doctor called John Jeffries, and the extraordinary thing about their adventure was that it happened as far back as 1785. We tend to think of flying as very much a 20th century achievement, and that only in our own times have men been able to look down on the Earth from above. Yet the balloon age began on November 21, 1783.

On that great day, Pilatre de Rozier and the Marquis d’Arlandes flew over Paris for 25 minutes in a hot-air balloon. It had been made by the Montgolfier brothers, Joseph and Etienne, who were French paper-makers by trade. They got their idea after noticing how open paper bags floated into the air after being thrown on a fire.

They made a balloon of linen and paper and lit a fire under it, and its pull was so strong that it needed eight men to hold it. Suddenly, it shot up to 6,000 feet and came down a mile away.

The first passengers were a chicken, a duck and a sheep. Then came the first manned flight.

It was a dangerous one, because a brazier was fixed to the neck of a new balloon and the two “aeronauts” were ordered to keep the fire stoked after the balloon had been “blasted off” by a fire under the launching platform. During the five mile flight, the two had to keep putting out fires that started in the inflammable painted cloth of the balloon, but they survived.

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An RAF raid which broke open the jail at Amiens

Posted in Aviation, Historical articles, History, World War 2 on Saturday, 1 March 2014

This edited article about World War Two first appeared in Look and Learn issue number 575 published on 20 January 1973.

Raid on Amiens jail,  picture, image, illustration

Group Captain Charles Pickard led the raid to free many imprisoned members of the Resistance, by Wilf Hardy

A blanket of snow covered northern France. Behind the grim walls of Amiens jail, 700 or so prisoners were trying unsuccessfully to keep themselves warm.

Many of the prisoners were under sentence of death, for they were men and women of the French Resistance, the secret civilian army which had refused to surrender to the Germans when they conquered and occupied France in 1940. Ever since then, their numbers had grown steadily and they had waged a deadly guerrilla war of ambush and sabotage against their conquerors. But, inevitably, many Resistance heroes and heroines had been caught, which was why the jail at Amiens was so full.

The Allied invasion to liberate France and the rest of Nazi-occupied Europe was now only a few months away, for this bleak, snowy day was 18th February, 1944, but the chances of the prisoners’ survival seemed slim. Many of them had been tortured by the Gestapo, the hated German secret police, and some were due to die within 48 hours. Others were destined for the horrors of concentration camps and a later, even more terrible death in a gas chamber.

Yet on that dismal February morning an incredible piece of news was circulating through the jail – the Royal Air Force was going to make a low-level attack on the prison walls and blast a hole in them. Then, in the ensuing confusion, the prisoners could escape. Yet even if this rumour was true, could any planes get through a snowstorm which showed no sign of letting up? Surely it would be sheer suicide to attempt it?

Back in Britain the weather was also bad, so bad that there was talk of the raid being called off. Nineteen de Havilland Mosquitoes were standing by for the raid, which was to be led by one of the R.A.F.’s finest pilots, Group Captain Pickard, D.S.O. and two bars, D.F.C. Under him were six Mosquitoes from 21 Squadron, R.A.F., six from 487 Squadron, Royal New Zealand Air Force, and six from 464 Squadron, Royal Australian Air Force, also a photographic reconnaissance plane.

The Mosquito was one of the wonder planes of the Second World War. It had originally been designed as a light bomber, but had become famous as a first-rate fighter-bomber, a long-range fighter, a reconnaissance aircraft, and as a “Pathfinder,” flying daringly low to drop flares to guide oncoming heavy bombers.

It carried a bomb load of 4,000 lbs., and a crew of two, a pilot and a navigator / bomb-aimer. It had a top speed of around 400 mph and could outstrip most German planes, and it was built of wood, which not only made it easier to manufacture, but also saved valuable metal. Added to this, it was a beautiful plane and – more important – very successful indeed!

Pickard’s men knew their target well, for they had all studied it from a plaster of Paris model which showed what the jail would look like to them from four miles away and at a height of 1,500 feet. The 500 lb. delayed action bombs which they would be carrying had to be dropped from a very low altitude, so timing was absolutely vital. The jail walls were three feet thick and 20 feet high, and some of the bombs were destined for the barracks where the German guards lived.

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