First Flight
Sitting in my first class seat sipping champagne at some unearthly hour of the morning, the first flight we could get for a hastily called business conference in New York. Myself and two colleagues who were looking tired and strained as we took off into the dark starless sky. The crew also seemed strained and when service started 20 minutes later they were not very attentive and did not smile much, in fact their attitude to us passengers bordered on rudeness. I guess they had already done the trip from New York to London and were on their return leg and it showed. The nine hour flight seemed endless, my mind going over and over the business we had to discuss when we arrived. Unable to sleep and starting to feel a little nausea from the turbulence we were experiencing I looked around at the rest of my fellow passengers who with the exception of a few who were sleeping, seemed to be unable to relax like me. My mind suddenly took a flight of fancy, how could the Wright brothers have flown that flimsy contraption of a flying machine across part of America, open to the elements and with no facilities at all and the tiny machine that flew across the English channel all that time ago. Imagine the stress and emotions the pilots must have felt, elation and fear no doubt but determination to make history certainly. Were they egotistical or just adventurous or just plain crazy. Even in my fanciful thoughts I just could not get my head around those flights all those years ago.
I also thought about the young pilots in the First world war, English and German flying fragile killing machines. The Second World war pilots were no doubt romanticized a little as the machines like the Spitfire were more powerful and faster and they flew in closed cockpits but the stresses were no less. Lots of young women wanted to marry the pilots who to them seemed brave and cavalier but underneath the emotions were much the same.
I came out of my reverie and I decided to look at the in-flight movies and low and behold I found in the old classics the film the “Memphis belle” which I watched with my mind disapearing in the clouds every now and then and returning to my previous thoughts. Flying became even more glamorous when the Americans entered the war and even more young women fell for these men who were like modern day Knights with no fear but underneath the facades they portrayed must have been mental wrecks. Aircraft got bigger and carried more bomb loads. The B52 bomber was a classic example, cramped, uncomfortable and slow with many of the young crews never returning. By now my mind was filled with the images I was watching and my emotions were in turmoil thinking about all the young lives lost in the skies around the world.
We arrived in New York and after retrieving our bags got a taxi to the meeting venue where I managed to get my head together enough to do a great deal for our company. We left the meeting feeling very elated and when we arrived at our hotel we found a message from our CEO congratulating us on our successful completion and telling us that we would be returning First class on an Emerites flight as a thank you. It was like a self contained bubble in an aircraft, with a proper bed and a shower. A full size TV screen and a small bar. Sadly those early pioneers of flying machines will never know how far they have brought us with hundreds of planes flying thousands of people around the world to far flung exotic places for business and pleasure. Thank you for that First flight.
Annemarie's story:
First
Flight
He pushed the ramshackle, paint-peeled
little rowboat down the slope and clambered in as it slid into the gently
lapping water; he grabbed the old gnarled oars and rowed to the tiny
tree-covered island. A long thin loch studded with minute islands this one was
his special place. He had been coming here for years, initially with his
father, quietly observing the natural life. In their notebooks the two of them
had written down details of diving birds, dates when they sat on their nests
incubating eggs, they had seen the deers swim across the narrow slip of water
but best of all were the sea eagles which had built their haphazard twiggy
eyrie in the lofty height of a fir tree. Several years on the notebooks had
become bigger and they hugged in their pages pencil sketches and wild life
details from hours of quiet observation during forays to the tiny island.
But today he had left his notebook behind and slung, instead, the binoculars around his neck. Grabbing hold of the old knotted boatsman's rope that hung from a lower branch he scrambled his way up the Douglas fir tree. Once near the top he settled into the crook of some branches from where he could see the sea eagles' nest in the neighbouring tree. He had last been several months ago in Spring and had just been able to see the chicks, .they had appeared furry, their inadequate wings more fluff than feather. Their beaks ever-gaping, ever demanding food, constantly refilled with tasty titbits from the parent eagles, great hooked beak pushing food into the gaping smaller hooked beaks.
Now the two enormous chicks overflowed the nest; he watched as one chick raised itself up on its tumbled, twiggy platform, wobbling at first, large yellow claws still gripping the nest, feathered pantaloons hanging down over strong-muscled legs; slowly it unfolded fully feathered wings, stretched them, then started bouncing up and down all the time furiously flapping those wings. The boy decided to stay longer in his own uncomfortable eyrie in his own tree, leaning his back against the rough bark and wedging himself between two spiky branches. Below and around him a feast of green, clumps of pine needles and lapping on the island shore the cool dark water of the loch. Above him, after the winter's icy north winds, the trees were rugged, bare and black against summer' azure skies. The wind was gentler now and the sun warmed his face and arms as he kept watch. Time rewarded him when the hungry eagle chick once again bounced up and down with outstretched wings until suddenly it launched itself into midair on a gust of wind, wavering drunkenly at first, then settling serenely into an elegant glide. Through the binoculars the boy could see the fan of the now-white tail feathers spread neatly behind, tilting from side to side like a rudder. He saw the yellow claws and feathered legs drawn backwards stretched beneath the tail fan , the bird's smooth dark head thrust forward but best of all its wings stretched to their full extension, the leading feathers like mini castellations with a hint of fluttering and the long outer feathers spread wide open, curving upwards under the wind draught like an elegant Balinese dancer's hands.
But today he had left his notebook behind and slung, instead, the binoculars around his neck. Grabbing hold of the old knotted boatsman's rope that hung from a lower branch he scrambled his way up the Douglas fir tree. Once near the top he settled into the crook of some branches from where he could see the sea eagles' nest in the neighbouring tree. He had last been several months ago in Spring and had just been able to see the chicks, .they had appeared furry, their inadequate wings more fluff than feather. Their beaks ever-gaping, ever demanding food, constantly refilled with tasty titbits from the parent eagles, great hooked beak pushing food into the gaping smaller hooked beaks.
Now the two enormous chicks overflowed the nest; he watched as one chick raised itself up on its tumbled, twiggy platform, wobbling at first, large yellow claws still gripping the nest, feathered pantaloons hanging down over strong-muscled legs; slowly it unfolded fully feathered wings, stretched them, then started bouncing up and down all the time furiously flapping those wings. The boy decided to stay longer in his own uncomfortable eyrie in his own tree, leaning his back against the rough bark and wedging himself between two spiky branches. Below and around him a feast of green, clumps of pine needles and lapping on the island shore the cool dark water of the loch. Above him, after the winter's icy north winds, the trees were rugged, bare and black against summer' azure skies. The wind was gentler now and the sun warmed his face and arms as he kept watch. Time rewarded him when the hungry eagle chick once again bounced up and down with outstretched wings until suddenly it launched itself into midair on a gust of wind, wavering drunkenly at first, then settling serenely into an elegant glide. Through the binoculars the boy could see the fan of the now-white tail feathers spread neatly behind, tilting from side to side like a rudder. He saw the yellow claws and feathered legs drawn backwards stretched beneath the tail fan , the bird's smooth dark head thrust forward but best of all its wings stretched to their full extension, the leading feathers like mini castellations with a hint of fluttering and the long outer feathers spread wide open, curving upwards under the wind draught like an elegant Balinese dancer's hands.
He watched the fledgling swooping and gliding, mastering the skies until eventually it came to a bumpy, clumsy landing on a branch in its home tree. Thrilled to have seen the eagle's inaugural flight he shinned down the tree, pushed the boat into the water and against the incoming tide rowed as fast as he could to the far bank, dragged the boat onshore and puffing and panting clambered up the hill, bounding over purple heather, stumbling and falling over boulders in his rush to tell his parents.
Back in the crofter's cottage his father watched while his bird-crazy boy made adjustments to their winter's project. They had poured over yellowed pages of an old, cracked leather, Victorian naturalist book of engraved drawings of bird anatomy. Between them they had constructed a bamboo skeleton, hinged mid-section of each wing. The feathers, harvested from neighbouring farms, had been glued in place, then each one carefully tied with wire to the bamboo, row upon row of black feathers, brown feathers, striped and speckled feathers, all carefully preened and smoothed. Finally leather straps had been added at intervals down the length of both wings. Now the boy threaded more wire through the wingtip feathers, spread them a little apart and gently tip-tilted them to replicate the wings in flight as he had seen them. He looked with pride at his achievement and his father looked with love at his son.
Early the next morning the boy climbed up to the top of the boulder strewn hill, high up to where it descended steeply into the loch. He placed the wings behind his back and awkwardly struggled his arms through the leather straps. He gently flapped his arms up and down, hearing the rasping of the feathers. Then he stood up and on the open ground he began to run. This way and that bouncing as the eagle had done, then stretching and flapping his arms, exultant, whooping with joy. He only wished he could see himself and he wondered why he had not thought to make a white tail fan. Drunk with delight, he laughed out loud, his head thrown back and he ran ever faster, then launched himself into midair, this his first flight, over the loch, the sun glinting on the gently rippling water.
Angela's story:
Megan would not have called herself a dishonest person, just
simply one who was blessed with an active and creative imagination. As a
child when asked, for example. what she had had for breakfast, she
felt it beholden on her to embellish the piece
of toast and glass of milk into something which would capture the
interest of the enquirer. So, without missing a beat, she would find
herself describing fresh orange juice squeezed by her mum, soft poached
eggs on muffins and a chocolate milk shake.
Sylvie paced back and forth across the waiting lounge for the fourth time. Her flight had been delayed and there she was, stuck at San Francisco airport. She had been there for a few hours, and had done a fair bit of window shopping, spray tested expensive perfumes, tested hand creams and imagined herself in ‘that’ dress or carrying ‘that’ pocketbook or wearing ‘that’ designer coat. She was dressed in her comfies ; black sports pants a loose top and carried her flight necessities in a large bag - books phone water and notebook. The lady back at the counter informed her that the flight could be delayed further. Feeling jittery as always before a long air trip, she parked herself on a cosy couch at the coffee bar. It was a busy Sunday morning and Sylvie enjoyed watching the crowd - she was particularly observant and scribbled in her notebook small details of what she considered were interesting people and noted how they wore their clothes and matched their colour schemes.
Sylvie sipped her 3rd coffee and aimlessly scanned the airport, sometimes tears in her eyes and throat choked up at the emotions the place held - the joys of arrival, the tears of departure and the excitement of a vacation. Amidst the crowd, an old man in a sloppy t-shirt was seen wandering around the public area. As she watched him, he was mooching about muttering to people, shopkeepers and even to a group of airport authorities biding their time at the bar. He appeared to be in distress and was dragging a canvas bag by its handle over the highly polished airport floor; twisting his airline ticket or rather wringing it as you would the washing before you put it out to dry, he appeared disorientated and in discomfort. Sylvie was a people-person and generally went out of her way to offer help. She finished her coffee and headed out to the counter to ask about him. “This man has been wandering around aimlessly in the airport for hours maybe days and appears to be lost.” The desk steward replied with unmistakable lethargy in his voice. “He has not caused any disturbance to anyone, so the airport officials cannot take any action.”
It took a few seconds for the gravity of his words to sink in: There was no attempt made to help an old man obviously lost in the airport.
Sylvie went up to him and tried to strike up a conversation. His eyes were forget-me-not blue, his lips dry and voice cracked as she took his arm. His body shook as he explained that he was a citizen of the United States and losing his memory due to old age. Apparently he was supposed to join his daughter and her husband in London but was so worried and nervous about boarding a plane that he had wandered around the airport not really knowing what to do. When they announced his flight he said “I trembled so much and was so scared that I locked myself in the men’s room…I must have been there for some time as when I came out the flight had gone”. You see, he said “I have never flown before”. I am 78 years old and this was to be my first flight - I guess I’m being a little silly.
She offered to call his daughter and inform them about his whereabouts, but he just couldn’t remember their contact numbers. So with a little kindness and help from google she contacted and reassured the UK family who were frantic having come to meet the plane and found Dad was missing, she found out his name was Ted, next she managed to change his ticket to her flight with a seat next to her own. Sylvie spoke to the head stewardess when boarding the plane - told Ted’s story and was upgraded to Business class then proceeded to be served champagne, steak, caviar, lobster and the best wine on board plus a full English breakfast as they neared England. Sylvie learned all about Ted’s life, how he had come to the USA with his family in the 50’s hoping to make money - how his wife had become ill and died and he had lived the past 20 years alone - his daughter had moved to England but as times were hard he had only just managed to scrape together the money to buy the air ticket.
The 10 hour flight just whizzed by and Sylvie forgot her pre-flight butterflies. The relieved faces of Ted’s daughter and son in law at Heathrow airport and the hug they gave her was thanks indeed for a memorable trip for Ted and also for herself.
This story goes to show that by helping others we forget our own small problems.
To her it was as natural as breathing, although she took pains only to 'embellish the truth' when there was no one present who knew otherwise and might challenge her words.
On the whole this was a harmless exercise which was rarely remarked on and if noticed was dismissed as childish prevarication.
Later, in teenage years her imagination meant that she shone in the school plays and developed a passion for amateur dramatics.
On leaving school she joined the local Amdram society in her town and soon became good friends with several of the members in her age group.
Infact, perhaps more than good friends with one boy in particular,Rob, to whom she found herself cast opposite, in a one act play. While they provided the love interest, ( much to Megan's delight) Judy, a fairly new member, was cast as the 'other woman'.
It was unfortunate that this rather mirrored real life in that Judy had very quickly made it obvious that she too had designs on Rob.
It was during a break in rehearsals that Megan started on her 'first flight of fancy' as she had always thought her embellishments to be.
Judy had been telling Rob about the flat she was in the process of buying. He was listening politely and asking the right sorts of questions.
'How funny' said Megan, joining in.
'I've just moved into a new flat.It's a bit of a dream actually, on the river, spacious, with two bedrooms and huge French windows that open onto a balcony overlooking the water'.
As she spoke she realised she was describing her Aunt's flat who was single, and with a very good job which enabled her to have a pied de terre in the country not far from Megan's parents.
Rob seemed interested and said he'd like to see it sometime at which Judy's face fell since he'd not expressed the same desire to see hers.
Megan found herself saying that would be fine and they should make a date for him to see it and perhaps stay for a bite of lunch.
As with all prevaricators, after the flight of fancy comes the reality check. For Megan, it was how to conjure a non existent flat into existence.
Sometimes though, fate plays a hand. Back at home that night she heard her mother complaining mildly to her Father about that sister of hers who lives a life of Reilly.
'Off to the States this time! A week in California and then a road trip going off the beaten track. All right for some isn't it.
Of course I don't begrudge having had a family but by gum it puts paid to a lot of other life choices doesn't it!'
Megan's father, who'd heard it all before, muttered something about contentment and wandered off to spray his roses.
Megan however was very interested in this latest trip of her Aunt's and ascertained the impending date which was infact the next day.
So, she found herself at the next rehearsal, casually inviting
Rob to come and see the flat anytime that suited him. Just give her time to tidy up. This was infact shorthand for hiding any incriminating evidence that might give the game away - and that's how Megan thought of it - just a game.
Her mother always had a set of keys to the flat for emergencies and it was so easy just to borrow them, to let herself in and pop away some things while draping a few of her own about the place.
So it was, that a few days later, Rob was knocking on the door of Megan's aunt's flat and Megan was answering that door looking for all the world as if she'd done it many times before.
Rob's jaw dropped a little as he walked inside.
'Gosh Meg. This is something else! Really cool. I'd no idea you had such a great pad. Have you christened it with a housewarming yet?
Somehow Megan found herself saying.
'No, but funnily enough I was thinking of asking round this week and maybe having a do at the weekend'
When she got home her mind was in overdrive. This was the most complicated flight of fancy ever! Could she possibly get away with fooling people. She may have to confess to one or two who knew her that it was borrowed and ask them to keep it quiet.
For the rest of that week the party was all she could think of, doing a massive shop for buffet type food and drink.All ready made and easy to put out with no preparation involving using her Aunt's equipment.
She treated herself to a new rather flattering and low cut dress and had her hair done after work.
She came and went from home as she pleased so being out and possibly very late was no problem.
She got to her Aunt's flat well ahead of the first guests and set everything out on the kitchen surfaces with drinks and hired glasses.
By nine o clock things were in full swing and a very appreciative Rob was spending a lot of time chatting to Megan and asking her much more about herself which Megan found a little difficult now that she was a high flyer with a fancy flat.
She was even rather wishing she had never embarked on this crazy subterfuge. Where did these flights of fancy come from and what would it lead to.
She had excused herself and gone into the kitchen on the pretext of finding more bottles but in fact to take a breather and think just what had she done.
The noise level was rising as the alcohol was going down literally and in terms of bottles. Would she need to go out and get more she wondered. Then her musings were interrupted by a clinking of spoon on glass and her name being called.
To her horror they were wanting to congratulate her on her new abode.
She went reluctantly through to the main room where Rob had got everyone's attention and all eyes were focused on her.
To her horror, a large wrapped parcel was being produced along with a big bouquet of flowers. She opened her mouth to protest that she did not in any way deserve this generosity and as she did so a new figure appeared in the doorway behind her.
A cold voice interrupted her protestations.
'No you're damn right you don't deserve them since this my flat and not yours and just what the hell do you think you're doing in it with all these people?'
Megan spun round to see her Aunt standing there, her face twisted in anger and still holding her suitcase along with some groceries bought on her way home.
Megan felt exactly like an animal caught in car headlights. No way to turn and run, nothing to do but stare in horror at her Aunt. What flight of fancy could she conjure now to get her out of this. In a split second several scenarios went through her mind but even she knew none were convincing.
She was forced to tell the truth, to confront her Aunt head on and admit what had led to this. The worst part was having to do it in front of these acquaintances, some of whom she barely knew.
She was about to open her mouth when a scream came from the balcony. A girl had been smoking out there and not heard the call for quiet. Now, as they rushed to see, the girl was staring at the water and pointing.
They could see in the fading light the murky outline of a body floating face down in the water.
At once all was pandemonium. Calls for police, ambulance, men to help perhaps with retrieving the body and Megan and her Aunt forgotten in the excitement.
People rushed outside down to the river bank either to try to help or just out of curiosity.
Suddenly it was just Megan and her aunt still waiting for an explanation and largely ignoring the panic around them.
' I'm so so sorry' Megan said, with genuine tears in her eyes.
'It's not enough' her aunt replied, what you have done is totally unacceptable on any level.
'I started off just pretending I had a nice flat to talk about and it went from there but I never expected you to come back'
'I bet you didn't! Your mum hadn't mentioned there was just an outside chance I might be called back by my work then? No, obviously not'
They were interrupted by more noise as some of the guests came back in.
' Have you not seen?' said one. '
Real drama out there. Someone dived in before the ambulance got here and dragged the guy out. Seems he was still alive and then the paramedics did the rest.
He's on his way to the hospital now but they reckon he was saved just in time. They said if he hadn't been spotted from that balcony he'd have been a gonner. Weird eh!
Maybe not a bad thing you threw that party Megan!
Jackie's Story:
Sylvie paced back and forth across the waiting lounge for the fourth time. Her flight had been delayed and there she was, stuck at San Francisco airport. She had been there for a few hours, and had done a fair bit of window shopping, spray tested expensive perfumes, tested hand creams and imagined herself in ‘that’ dress or carrying ‘that’ pocketbook or wearing ‘that’ designer coat. She was dressed in her comfies ; black sports pants a loose top and carried her flight necessities in a large bag - books phone water and notebook. The lady back at the counter informed her that the flight could be delayed further. Feeling jittery as always before a long air trip, she parked herself on a cosy couch at the coffee bar. It was a busy Sunday morning and Sylvie enjoyed watching the crowd - she was particularly observant and scribbled in her notebook small details of what she considered were interesting people and noted how they wore their clothes and matched their colour schemes.
Sylvie sipped her 3rd coffee and aimlessly scanned the airport, sometimes tears in her eyes and throat choked up at the emotions the place held - the joys of arrival, the tears of departure and the excitement of a vacation. Amidst the crowd, an old man in a sloppy t-shirt was seen wandering around the public area. As she watched him, he was mooching about muttering to people, shopkeepers and even to a group of airport authorities biding their time at the bar. He appeared to be in distress and was dragging a canvas bag by its handle over the highly polished airport floor; twisting his airline ticket or rather wringing it as you would the washing before you put it out to dry, he appeared disorientated and in discomfort. Sylvie was a people-person and generally went out of her way to offer help. She finished her coffee and headed out to the counter to ask about him. “This man has been wandering around aimlessly in the airport for hours maybe days and appears to be lost.” The desk steward replied with unmistakable lethargy in his voice. “He has not caused any disturbance to anyone, so the airport officials cannot take any action.”
It took a few seconds for the gravity of his words to sink in: There was no attempt made to help an old man obviously lost in the airport.
Sylvie went up to him and tried to strike up a conversation. His eyes were forget-me-not blue, his lips dry and voice cracked as she took his arm. His body shook as he explained that he was a citizen of the United States and losing his memory due to old age. Apparently he was supposed to join his daughter and her husband in London but was so worried and nervous about boarding a plane that he had wandered around the airport not really knowing what to do. When they announced his flight he said “I trembled so much and was so scared that I locked myself in the men’s room…I must have been there for some time as when I came out the flight had gone”. You see, he said “I have never flown before”. I am 78 years old and this was to be my first flight - I guess I’m being a little silly.
She offered to call his daughter and inform them about his whereabouts, but he just couldn’t remember their contact numbers. So with a little kindness and help from google she contacted and reassured the UK family who were frantic having come to meet the plane and found Dad was missing, she found out his name was Ted, next she managed to change his ticket to her flight with a seat next to her own. Sylvie spoke to the head stewardess when boarding the plane - told Ted’s story and was upgraded to Business class then proceeded to be served champagne, steak, caviar, lobster and the best wine on board plus a full English breakfast as they neared England. Sylvie learned all about Ted’s life, how he had come to the USA with his family in the 50’s hoping to make money - how his wife had become ill and died and he had lived the past 20 years alone - his daughter had moved to England but as times were hard he had only just managed to scrape together the money to buy the air ticket.
The 10 hour flight just whizzed by and Sylvie forgot her pre-flight butterflies. The relieved faces of Ted’s daughter and son in law at Heathrow airport and the hug they gave her was thanks indeed for a memorable trip for Ted and also for herself.
This story goes to show that by helping others we forget our own small problems.
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