How the forgotten British pilots who became the first to fly across the Atlantic survived 1,900-mile journey and haphazard landing... in a plane with a broken radio and burst exhaust

Daily Mail​

5 days ago

Today, if you ask most people, they will tell you that it was American aviator Charles Lindbergh who first flew non-stop across the Atlantic.
And it is true that, in 1927, he became the first man to make the trip solo.
But eight years before his feat, when technology was a generation behind and the risks were even greater, it was two now-forgotten British men who ended up being the true pioneers.
Fuelled by the lure of a £10,000 prize put up by the Daily Mail - the equivalent of around half a million pounds now - First World War veterans John Alcock and Arthur Brown became the first human beings to cross The Pond in a single flight.
The pair made the perilous trip from Newfoundland on the tip of Canada to the coastal town of Clifden in Ireland in just under 16 hours, arriving on June 15, 1919.
The achievement came a decade after Frenchman Louis Bleriot had become the first pilot to fly from continental Europe to England.
The Mail's founder and proprietor, Lord Northcliffe, opted to offer prizes for aviation achievements in the hope of boosting British airmanship at a time when the technology was flourishing.
He had been frustrated by the British government 's seeming inability to see the military threat posed by ever-improving flying machines.
The pair made the perilous trip from Newfoundland on the tip of Canada to the coastal town of Clifden in Ireland in just under 16 hours, arriving on June 15, 1919. Above: The plane departing Newfoundland
And so in 1913, after awarding Bleriot £10,000, he offered the same financial reward to the first team to cross the Atlantic.
Although the First World War put a pause on preparations, the race continued after hostilities came to an end in November 1918.
Alcock and Brown were far from the only team to pitch up in Newfoundland with flying machines.
As well as their Vickers plane, there were rival teams from Martinsyde, Handley Page, and Sopwith.
Besides Alcock and Brown's effort, only the Sopwith team among the rivals successfully left Newfoundland.
But after departing in May 1919, the plane developed engine trouble and the pilots had to ditch in the Atlantic. They were rescued by a Danish steamer.
Newfoundland had been chosen so that the crossing would be as short as possible.
But, at that time of year, it was bitterly cold and fierce winds would buffet the open cockpit.
As for the landscape that they would be taking off from, it was covered with bogs, dotted with ditches and peppered with rocks and fences.
Time and money had to be spent on preparing a stretch of land for take-off.
Following a successful test flight of their aircraft, Alcock told journalists: 'I am perfectly satisfied with the machine.
'She behaved splendidly, and I shall be off to England as quickly as I can. I hope to be in London before the week end.'
And the pilot also sent a cable to Vickers bosses, telling them: 'Machine absolutely top-hole'.
In the cockpit they had flasks of coffee, hot chocolate and Horlick's.
And in their pockets were the sandwiches that would give them much-needed energy during the bitterly cold journey.
They also had a small flask of brandy each. There was more food and drink in a cupboard in the aircraft's tail, should they end up coming down on water.
With them too was a bag of what would become the first transatlantic airmail.
Among the letters were several written by the two airmen. Alcock wrote to his mother telling her not to worry.
And he said to his sister: 'My Dear Elsie. Just a hurried line before I start. Th is letter will travel with me in the official mail bag, the first mail to be carried over the Atlantic.
'Love to all. Your Loving Brother, Jack.'
For good luck, they also had their black cat toy mascots. Alcock named his Lucky Jim; whilst Brown's was called Twinkletoe.
Both men, as airman veterans of the First World War, were convinced that black cats were a good omen.
The flight is now remembered for the fact that it succeeded where rival attempts failed. But those 16 hours in the air were hellish.
The radio failed, meaning Alcock and Brown's plan to update operators on the ground with their position at 20 minutes past each hour was dead.
A working radio would also have meant that, should the men have to ditch into the Atlantic, they would be rescued in good time.
Instead, they had to contend with the knowledge very soon into the flight that no one knew where they were.
Mr Rooney writes: 'Whatever happened now, whatever challenges they faced, nobody would hear them.
'Jack Alcock and Ted Brown were entirely alone.'
Next, the pilots were met with a sound that Mr Rooney describes as having sounded 'like machine-gun fire'.
The Vickers' exhaust pipe had burst and a large section of it was now hanging loose. It got so hot that it turned white, before being blown away.
Alcock and Brown now feared that the fire they saw emerging from the now-open exhaust pipe would engulf their aircraft.
Although the plane did not burst into flames, the weather did not look kindly on the pilots.
The men were flying at 3,500 feet when the plane was engulfed in thick fog that left them totally blind.
'There was no horizon, no sky, no sea,' Mr Rooney writes. All around them was total blackness.
And then disaster. The plane went into a steep dive.
By the time the aircraft left the cloud it had been stuck in, the aneroid - the device that gave a measure of their altitude - read 50 feet.
The pilots had been just moments away from slamming into the Atlantic.
Thankfully though, the aircraft recovered its height and the perilous journey continued.
The rest of the trip was, by comparison, uneventful - until the landing. Above Clifden in Ireland, Alcock circled as he searched for a touch-down spot.
Having found an open space, he turned off the Vimy's engines and glided down to the ground.
But when the wheels touched the ground at around 8.40am on June 15, they dug into the soil. It turned out that Alcock had landed on a bog.
The nose of the Vimy tilted forward and the tail lifted into the air as the plane sank into the soft ground.
The nose buckled but did not totally break, meaning the cockpit stayed protected.
Although Brown bumped his face, he and Alcock escaped otherwise unhurt.
Brown then fired two flares into the sky and within minutes soldiers and officers from the nearby wireless station had appeared.
Daily Mail reporter James Hodson arrived to interview the pair.
Captain Alcock said in the Mail: 'We have had a terrible journey.
'The wonder is we are here at all. 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.
'For four hours the machine was covered in sheet ice caused by frozen sleet; at another time the sleet was so dense that my speed indicator did not work, and for a few seconds it was very alarming.
'We looped the loop, I do believe, and did a very steep spiral. We did some very comic "stunts", for I have had no sense of horizon.'
He added: 'The only thing that upset me was to see the machine at the end get damaged.
'From above, the bog looked like a lovely field, but the machine sank into it up to the axle and fell over on to her nose.'
The Mail's report announcing Alcock's death
King George V sent his congratulations. An official message read: 'The King was delighted to receive your welcome announcement that Capt. Alcock and Lieut. Brown have safely landed in Ireland after their Transatlantic flight.
'His Majesty wishes you to communicate at once with these officers and to convey to them the King's warmest congratulations on the success of their splendid achievement.'
The victory party was thrown by the Mail at The Savoy. More than 300 guests attended.
Winston Churchill, then secretary of state for war and air, gave Alcock and Brown their prize and announced that they would be knighted.
But then tragedy struck. On December 18, 1919, Brown was killed in a crash while flying the all-new Vickers Viking amphibian to the Paris Airshow.
The Daily Mail announced Alcock's death on December 20.
The news report read: 'We deeply regret to announce the death of Sir John Alcock, D.F.C., winner of the Daily Mail £10,000 prize for the first transatlantic flight and the first airman to be knighted.
'His death followed a crash due to a heavy storm while flying a new machine to the Paris Exhibition.'
The report added: 'Sir John Alcock breathed his last in an old four-poster bed of a small Normandy farmhouse at Cottevrard at 4pm yesterday.
'His fatal injuries were received when he crashed into a field three hours earlier while flying the new Vickers combination aeroplane and flying-boat to Paris for the Air Show.'
Despite the loss, Alcock's exploits with Brown did achieve the recognition they deserved from fellow pilots.
Charles Lindbergh reportedly gave the two men apt recognition when he landed in Paris after his solo crossing from New York in 1927.
He allegedly said to rapturous onlookers: 'Why all this fuss? Alcock and Brown showed us the way.'
Lindbergh's fellow aviator, Amelia Earhart, described Alcock and Brown's flight as 'an amazing feat, and the least appreciated'.
She became the first woman to fly the Atlantic solo in 1932, before disappearing over the Pacific in 1937.
And Amy Johnson, who flew from England to Australia in 1930, described Alcock and Brown's feat as 'the greatest in the history of aviation'.