Paper Airplanes, part 3

 

It's useful to have a good friend
join you when taking a trip.

A buddy riding shotgun
helps with navigating
through unfamiliar places.

And, of course, conversation with a companion
breaks up the monotony of a long journey. 

And when in heavy traffic
a second pair of eyes
reduces the chances of a nasty accident.

Today I feature four photos of good pals 

who once bravely took to the air
undeterred by the rickety framework
of their aircraft.

My first intrepid duo sit just aft of the wing of a monoplane, apparently balanced by the little inline motor at the front. There is no propellor but I suppose that is because it is spinning too fast for the camera. A sizeable crowd of people are lined up on the airfield below them. The landing gear with its shopping cart wheels does not inspire confidence. But maybe the airplane never flew very fast.

 This postcard was mailed in France to a young woman in Rennes, the capital city of Brittany. Though the postmark is unclear the sender helpfully wrote a date of 4-10-1910 above their message. 

4-10-1910 
Voulant profiter du beau
temps ce nouvel aviateur
a pris  la voie dis airs pour
venir dire mille chosis aima.
bles anx amis de Rennes
De plus les amities du
tant la famille.

~

Wanting to take advantage
of the good weather,
this new aviator took
to the skies to say a thousand
kind things to his friends in Rennes.

Furthermore, to the friendships
of both the family.

The Wright brothers first demonstrated their Wright Flyer on 8 August 1908 at a horseracing course near Le Mans. In the following two years other aviation inventors had demonstrated their flying machines. So in 1910 when the "nouvel aviateur" (I think it is the younger man riding behind the pilot at the front) had a faux photo made of himself and his older companion, the idea of flight in a powered machine had clearly taken hold of the French public's imagination. However, due to the popularity of novelty photo postcards, I think it likely that most people then had seen more pretend aviators than real ones. 

In the case of this postcard the aeroplane was imitating one developed by a celebrated Frenchman, Louis Blériot (1872–1936) one of the great pioneers of aviation. He is credited with designing the first successful single-wing monoplane which he flew across the English Channel on 25 July 1909. Here is a video of a replica of the famous Blériot XI, built and flown by Mikael Carlson at the 2019 Hahnweide Oldtimer Fliegertreffen, a major aviation event that brings together enthusiasts of historic aircraft at the Hahnweide airfield near Kirchheim unter Teck in Germany. This airplane is powered with an original 7-cylinder Gnôme-Omega rotary, 50 hp engine. 

* * *

This second paper airplane photo shows two gallant German army officers in a biplane not unlike the Wright brothers machine, though with questionable construction. They seem to be lost among the clouds with two other aeroplanes, a similar biplane and a monoplane. So it's a good thing one officer has a map and can point out the direction they need to go.

The postcard was sent on 19 June 1913 from Darmstadt, Germany to Fräulein Luise Krimmel of Kostheim, a district of the city of Wiesbaden on the Rhine River. 

Hanging off the frame of the airplane's cockpit
is a chalkboard with the message:  

Beim Höhenweltrekord
auf dem Griesheimer Sand
~

At the altitude world record
on the Griesheimer Sand

The reference is to a place, the German military base of Griesheim, which was near Darmstadt and was the site of the Imperial German Army's first airfield. It was a built on a sandy grassland area, previously used as an artillery firing range, called the "Griesheimer Sand." In 1908 a German aviation pioneer, August Euler (1868–1957), conducted glider flights there and recognized the land as suitable for an airfield. In 1909 he secured a lease on a portion of the site (380 acres) to use as an airfield.

On 31 December 1909, Euler earned the first civil pilot's license in Germany and began a pilot training program. By 1911 he had trained 74 pilots including Prince Henry of Prussia, the brother of the German Kaiser, Wilhelm II. In 1913 the airfield was designated "Flying station Darmstadt-Griesheim" so it's very likely that these two officers were student pilots from the first official class of German military aviators. 

I couldn't find any reference to an actual altitude record set at Griesheim, so it's probably a joke made by the two men. However Wikipedia does provide a list of altitude records and under fixed-wing aircraft records. Orville and Wilbur Wright's first powered flight in December 1903 only flew to a height of 10 ft (3 m), but by January 1910, the French aviator Louis Paulhan set a new record of 4,603 ft (1,403 m). 

That was surpassed in June 1910 by an American pilot, Walter Brookins, who reached 4,603 ft (1,403 m) flying a Wright biplane. Two months later, at an event in Scotland, another American aviator, John Armstrong Drexel, pushed the record to 6,621 ft (2,018 m) in a Blériot monoplane. By Boxing Day at the end of that year the new altitude record was 11,474 ft (3,497 m) set in Los Angeles by Archibald Hoxsey in another Wright brothers' biplane. Tragically Hoxsey died five days later in a plane crash while trying to set a new record.

In 1913 the high altitude record stood at 18,410 ft (5,610 m) set in September 1912 in a Blériot monoplane by the French aviator Roland Garros (1888–1918).  His heroic legacy is commemorated by the annual French Open tennis tournament held at the Roland Garros Stadium in Paris. 

* * *

 

My third flying duo are high above a military encampment dotted with white tents like so many macaroons. On the lower left is an airfield with a small airplane and hanger.  However the two men are civilians seated in a French monoplane very similar to Blériot's monoplane. On the tail is the number 8 so it may be an imitation of a Blériot VIII which was built in 1908. It won a prize for a flight reaching an altitude of 660 ft (200 m) and a few days later a record for long distance cross country loop flight of 8.7 miles (14 km). Here is a real photo of a Blériot VIII courtesy of Wikimedia. 

 

Blériot VIII, September 19080
Source: Wikimedia

My postcard of the aeroplane and the two fellows in it certainly look French to me. The words along the fuselage are French, "Ruet Frères  déposè ~ Ruet Brothers deposited", and may refer to the photographer. The printing on the back, CARTE POSTALE, is French, too. 

But the message on the back is very German. It was sent via German military post on 16 October 1914. This was not quite three months since the beginning of the Great War. At that time aircraft were still primarily used for observation, but the next four years would stimulate many great and terrible innovations for aircraft and aviation technology.

Here is another short video of a similar monplane.
It is a replica of a Kvasz II built by
the Hungarian aviation pioneer
Andras Kvasz (1883-1974) in the 1910's.
Though the video doesn't show it in flight
it has closeups that show how
these early airplanes were constructed.

* * *

My last pair of aviators are definitely Imperial German soldiers who seem to be waving a white flag of surrender as they fly above a grand city. The sky behind their monoplane has some lighter and heavier-than-air traffic with a zeppelin, a biplane, and another monoplane soaring along with them. 

The single-wing aircraft they are seated in was called a Taube, the German word for dove or pigeon. It was designed in 1909 by Igo Etrich, an Austrian aviation pioneer. His first monoplane flew in 1910 and was soon licensed for  production by several manufacturers, Here is a drawing of one from 1911 which better shows the curved wings which account for its name.

 

Rumpler Taube, 1911
Source: Wikipedia

The two soldiers have a chalkboard attached to their Taube which has a message. Presumably in the decades before radio this was how aviators communicated with each other and the airfield crew. Their note reads:

Mit Donner, Hagel
und Blitz schuf
Gott die Wüste
Döberitz

~

With thunder, hail
and lightning,
God created the
Döberitz desert

Döberitz was a huge military training area west of Berlin, where in 1910, the Döberitz Airfield and Imperial Army flying school was established. It is considered the birthplace of what would later be known as the German Air Force. The two soldiers then are flying above the city of Berlin. 

Google view Berlin, Germany
Source: Google Earth

Here is a bird-eye-view of the city, courtesy of Google Earth's 3-D imagery, that is close match for what the Döberitz soldiers saw. The large dome on the right is the Berliner Dom, the monumental German Protestant church and dynastic tomb of the House of Hohenzollern. The smaller dome on the left is the Humboldt Forum, a museum dedicated to human history, art and culture. In the foreground right is a park plaza which, I think, must be the former site of the gigantic Royal Prussian Garden Chair which was still in place when these two soldiers flew over the city.

Their postcard was sent as an attachment to a package as there is no address or postmark, only a very long letter. I think the writer is the soldier in front driving the Taube since there is a signature scrawled next to him. Unfortunately the handwriting is too squiggly for my limited German translating skills and there is no date, but I guess the photo dates from the war years 1914-1918.

I finish with a beautiful video of a 1909 Bleriot XI,
described as the oldest flying airplane in the United States.
In August 2023, after a complete restoration,
Chief Pilot Clay Hammond made some
practice flights (hops really) in the airplane
at the Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome, 
a living museum in Red Hook, New York,
near the town of Rhinebeck. 

 

I think my title of Paper Airplanes
was not too much of an exaggeration.
For more, check out
Paper Airplanes
and
Paper Airplanes, part 2

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday

where weather may have grounded all flights.

Flying High in Iowa

 

At first glance people might have
mistaken it for a giant box kite.
But this contraption could change direction
and move as easily into the wind as with it.

It also soared up and down 
almost like a bird
though it wings did not flap
and its engine was noisier than a flock of geese.

It was the new era of flying machines.
Some zipped across the sky like a hawk.
Others drifted along as sedately as a cloud.

Aeroplanes and airships
seemed to be everywhere now.
Not just in France, or Germany, or England,

but even in Iowa. 

A biplane flying above State Street in Blakesburg, Iowa did not seem to attract much attention from its townsfolk. You'd think people would wave or point. Maybe they were concerned about distracting the pilot as takeoff and landing an aeroplane on such a muddy unpaved road must have been pretty challenging. He appears to be sharply ascending perhaps to avoid the telephone and electric wires. 

Blakesburg is a town in Wapello County in southeast Iowa. In 1910 it had 344 citizens while its current population was 274 at the 2020 census. 

This dramatic picture of an aeroplane was published as a "Real Photo" by the Des Moines Post Card Co. of Des Moines, Iowa. In the 1910s the company's photographer documented quite an impressive number of flying machines over other parts of the state. 

By coincidence, just north of Blakesburg is the Airpower Museum, a 20,000-square-foot (1,900 m2) aviation museum founded in 1965 by Robert L. Taylor and the Antique Airplane Association. It has approximately 25 vintage aircraft on display and features a collection of aviation models, engines, propellers, photos and original art including some fighter planes from World War II.

In this next postcard another aeroplane very similar to the one over Blakesburg is making a dive over the entrance to the U. S. Fish Hatchery at Manchester, Iowa. You'd think this would startle the fish to jump out of the ponds. But unless that pilot pulls up quickly he will be startled too and  find himself hung in the trees around the hatchery.

Manchester is a city about 150 miles northeast of Blakesburg and 45 miles west of Dubuque, Iowa. In 1910 its population was 2,758 and 110 years later can boast of 5,065 residents. The Manchester Fish Hatchery is situated 4 miles southeast of Manchester and was first stocked with fish in the 1890s when it was operated by the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service. In 1976 the hatchery was turned over to the State of Iowa as part of a land trade. Every year it produces 600,000 fish stock, primarily trout, that are then dispersed in Iowa waters.

The aeroplane is similar to the Wright brother's Wright Flyer Model A which was first flown at public demonstrations in Le Mans, France in August 1908. This was also the same model that the brothers contracted to build for the United States War Department in February 1908. The Wright brother's Model A design was licensed for production in Europe with the largest number produced in Germany. 

Evidently one enterprising fellow in Iowa found the means to buy one too. On 10 February 1913 he wrote a message on the back of this postcard to explain his new wings to his sister, Miss Olive Des Antels of Northville, Michigan. 

Sunday

Hello Sis,                                     

                  How are you all?

I'm fine.  This picture shows

me just coming back from   

town in my aeroplane.        

What do you know about   

       that?  No news out here.  Write

        me Sis.  Have subscribed for the

    Record.  So you won't have to

       trouble sending them any more.

            Love to all, Your loving Bro. Gene.

            Write soon.                          

Seventy miles northwest of Manchester is the town of Shell Rock, Iowa. It's much smaller than Manchester and in 1910 it had only 741 citizens. But amazingly the little town of Shell Rock could brag that flying over its sky were two aeroplanes and a sizeable airship too. Presumably the airfield was not on the main street. Those utility poles look very prickly. I wonder how they produced hydrogen for the airship.

It seems Shell Rock must have been the site for one of the first international airports as this postcard was addressed to a someone in Eibergen, Netherlands. It has a postmark of 6 October 1910, 4 PM from Shell Rock and a second postmark from Eibergen of 18 October. That's a very impressive delivery time considering that the maximum speed for Count Ferdinand Zeppelin's airships was around 48 km/h (30 mph). His dirigibles were designed to carry mail and passengers though I don't know how successful his competitors in Iowa were. Even the Wright Flyer could only manage 42 mph and still lacked sufficient power and fuel capacity for trans-Atlantic flight. I suppose the postcard more likely went by train. I believe there was once a railway bridge from Boston to Amsterdam.

Uit verre vorde
zend ik u ga me
er hartelghe goet
Shellrock Iowa
2 Oct 1910
            U** behende (?)
H. G.

From far away I
send you my
best wishes
Shellrock Iowa

During the 1910 decade of the first era of flying machines the people of Iowa were not going to be left behind. It seems nearly every town in the state had a visit from an airship or an airplane. I suppose it is part of that Iowan tradition of taking pride in what their state can produce.  Photo postcards of their gigantic Iowa corn cobs were very popular as well as pictures of 10 foot long Iowa carrots, rabbits the size of hippopotamus, and monstrous long pike fish (presumably well-fed on trout). I don't believe many people today know how important Iowa was to the development of airships and aeroplanes, but I have enough "Real Photos" to prove it. This is only the beginning of a series of stories I plan to tell about the early aviation craze in Iowa. So readers can expect to see more. No joke. It's all true, I'm sure.  

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday

where combing the seashore can get pretty messy.

The View from Above

 

It's basic human nature.
When you find yourself
in an unfamiliar locale,
you stop, take a look around,
and consider the scenery.

Sometimes your curiosity is rewarded
when you see something
unexpected or novel.

Often it's just the satisfaction
of gaining a new perspective
on a familiar place.

But generally after one look
most folk just keep moving.
Life's too short to waste time
looking around.
There's too much to do.

Once upon a time
the proverbial birds-eye-view
was something people only observed
from atop a tall tree or a high roof,
or if they were lucky enough
to live in a mountainous region,
from a steep hillside or precipitous cliff.

Then in around 1900
reports began to circulate
of incredible new inventions
called flying machines.

The first ones were strangely lighter than air
and capable of floating amongst the clouds.

Then others came that were
heavy mechanical marvels
that flew on wings like a bird.

These new exciting wonders
quickly captured the imagination
of the public.

And they also caught the eye
of enterprising photographers
who came up with a clever way
for anyone to reach astonishing altitudes

and get a clear view from above the ground.
It was surprisingly easy, cheap,
and without any risk at all. 

So safe even your mother
could take a ride in one. 

My first photo postcard is a picture of a young man with his parents floating in a wicker basket high above Lake Geneva gazing down at the resort town of Montreux, Switzerland. They have a splendid view of the picturesque lake and Switzerland's majestic alps shining in the distance.

The family appear to be quite high, about 2,400 ft according to what I found at the modern viewpoint from Google Earth. Oddly the photographer is either hanging from a rope off the edge of the balloon, which we can't actually see, or they have a camera on a primitive selfie-stick. Junior looks like he is proudly wearing a new suit and bowler hat. He also seems to be in control of their balloon, holding onto the gas release line. Father and mother seem unconcerned and full of  trust that their son knows how to use the sandbags and anchor attached to the balloon's gondola. I hope they brought some snacks to eat. 

The postcard was sent from Montreux on 20 March 1909. The postmarks are a bit unclear, but the writer left a date and year in the upper left corner. It is addressed to someone, Madame Repelaer(?), of La Haye, Holland, i.e. The Hague, Netherlands, which, as far as I know, has no vistas as grand as this.  

* * *

My second photo shows two gentlemen flying a monoplane high above some place on the French coastline. They are maybe a few hundred feet above the shoreline as we can see a person running along the beach towards a small tent. In the mid-distance is a long pier with maybe a large casino or pavilion at the end. There is quite a crowd flying this day as there are three other planes in the sky. 

We know it must be in France because there is a French stamp and postmark. Unfortunately it is smudged but the letters: OUVILLE MER are clear and the only commune in France that matches is Trouville-sur-Mer on the Normandy coast about 8 miles (13 km), as a seagull flies, south from the port of Le Havre on the English Channel.  

These fellows are also piloting a single wing aeroplane supposedly built by the French aviation pioneer, Louis Blériot (1872–1936). His name is on the side of the fuselage, but I have a feeling this aeroplane's rigging and engine would not pass his quality standards. I'm not sure the meaning of the numbers 107 next to his name or the 12 on the tail rudder. Here is what one of his first twin-seat aeroplanes looked like. 

This was a Blériot XI-2 manufactured in 1910 with "côte-à-côte" ~ side-by-side seats. This one had a 50 hp engine and was built for a company in Rotterdam. Louis Blériot was a very talented engineer and is credited with developing the first successful monoplane design, the Blériot VII, which first flew on 16 November 1907 for a distance of 500 m (1,600 ft). Two years later on 25 July 1909 Blériot became the first aviator to fly across the English Channel, winning a prize of £1,000 offered by the Daily Mail newspaper.

 Between 1909 and the start of war in August 1914, Blériot's manufacturing company produced around 900 aircraft. He would go on to contribute many important advances in aviation design during the war and beyond into the post-war years. In 1927 Blériot was among those who welcomed Charles Lindbergh when he landed at Le Bourget field completing his transatlantic flight. 

On the back of this postcard is a short note, presumably from one of the men, that reads: Trouville, Souvenir de Ballade(sic), 14 Juillet.  I believe the writer has misspelled "ballade ~ song" and instead meant "balade ~ ride."

* * *

This poor guy is flying high above a city in an weird aircraft that could have come from one of  Jules Verne's adventure novels. It's sort of a biplane but the design with a chariot fuselage, tiny propellor, and short angled wings does not look very airworthy. At least he has a good view of another mountain. However it's not in the alps but in the Cascade Range of Oregon. He is above Portland, Oregon with Mount Hood, one of North America's major volcanoes looming on the skyline. On the tail is the name "Portland" and a flag next to his steering wheel reads "The Rose City", its nickname. 

Evidently this man thought his picture needed no explanation as he left no message. It was sent from Portland on 20 December 1912 to Mrs. Gorhnak (?) of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. I hope she was not too alarmed by his risky stunt. The other postmark advertises the World's Panama-Pacific Exposition to be held in San Francisco in 1915. The photographer was the City Park Gallery on Washington St. in Portland. It offered postcards made in 10 minutes. That's a pretty fast time for both takeoff and landing. 

* * *

My last fellow getting a view from above also sits in a biplane that is flying over a city and a river. However this aircraft looks like it is missing a lot of crucial parts, like an engine, fuel tank, tail rudder, and tires for the wheels. He does have a good grip on the big steering wheel, though what it is controlling is not clear. The aeroplane has a vague resemblance to the Wright brothers' flyer but their design was much more sensible. 

The scene of this riverside city might be familiar if you ever been to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I didn't recognize it at first but the photographer left a printed note on the back. Novelty Oiti Studio, 13 Federal St., N. S. Pittsburgh, PA. The postmark date is obscured, maybe December, but the year is clear, 1913. It was sent to Reynolds Borringer of Altoona, Pennsylvania.

I em hier      
and I Didnt
get my  job  
yet              
F. B.

When I was 13 years old my dad arranged for me to join him for a weekend in New York City where he was taking an army training course. For this trip I was given a special treat to fly by myself from Newport News, Virginia to New York while my mom stayed home. The flight went to La Guardia airport, I think, but I don't remember anything about that except that you boarded by walking outdoors onto the tarmac and up movable stairs into the airplane. The airline might have been TWA or Piedmont, both long gone now, with passenger planes powered by prop engines. 

From the outside the plane was not particularly large, about the size of a couple of Greyhound buses, but from the inside it seemed to have a generous amount of room. Prior to this trip my dad had given me a camera for my birthday, a little Minolta 16mm spy camera. As I had a window seat I instantly became glued to the view from takeoff to landing. The clouds above and landscape below were unlike anything I'd ever seen before. It was so amazing that I took at least three spools of film snapping pictures. Unfortunately the tiny color slides didn't really do justice to my first view from above.

It was a feeling of wonder that I have rarely experienced so vividly. But only two years later I felt that awesome feeling again when Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin on the Apollo 11 mission took mankind's first steps on the moon. Yet I didn't watch it on TV but instead listened to it happen on a transistor radio while at a campsite on a vacation to Minnesota. 

In the early years of the 20th century no one really knew what to expect from any kind of aircraft. Flying, either in a balloon or in an airplane, had previously been just a silly daydream or an absurd  fictional story. But when the first aviators like Graf Zeppelin, Orville and Wilbur Wright, Louis Blériot, and many others  began to have success with their inventions of airships and aeroplanes, suddenly a new inspiring idea was released to the world. Soon everyone could fly like a bird. Human flight was no longer a fantasy. 

When the people in these novelty postcards posed for the camera they were having a good time, enjoying a new place, and having fun by pretending to fly. They didn't care that they were standing inside a painted contraption on a photographer's studio stage. It all seemed plausible. No one could know of how aviation would progress in the future. All they knew was that they looked like they were flying in an aircraft. How thrilling was that? The power of imagination has no limits. It took us to the moon and back.

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday

where the table is spread

and everyone is ready to dig in.

Taking a Ride in a Flying Machine

 

Imagination is a powerful force of nature.
It drives ambition, enterprise,
passion and love.

In the early 20th century
a new mechanical marvel inspired people
to imagine themselves doing something
that previously had seemed impossible.

This invention opened up a new dimension
to human experience that was no longer limited
to just traveling on the flat plane of Earth.
For the first time people could visualize themselves
sweeping along with the clouds
and defying the laws of gravity. 

It was called an aeroplane,
a flying machine not unlike a carriage with wings.
Once people had seen this fantastic vehicle in action
everyone began to dream of taking to the air
and soaring through the sky like bird.

Today I present a few postcard examples
of how this romantic wonder once captivated people
to picture themselves flying. 

Safety was not a big concern.

Yet.

My first card shows a happy couple "seated" in a ridiculously tiny single-wing aeroplane flying high through a bank of clouds. The young woman wears a very large hat tied securely on her head by a long scarf and waves a handkerchief in salute. Her husband, who presumably has both hands on the controls, wears a stylish bowler hat and a three piece suit. The aircraft has a fabric covering, a single prop, and a pair of wings stoutly reinforced with diagonal rigging. Obviously the couple are posed behind a fanciful painted backdrop for this novelty photo. 

It's a charming portrait but what's more intriguing is on the back of the postcard. It was sent to Herren J. Haas in Berlin but can you identify where it was sent from? 

The postage paid was a Russian 4 kopeck carmine-red stamp displaying the Tsar's imperial emblem of a black double-headed eagle in the center. The postmark is dated "–8 1 12" which I interpret as 08 January 1912, but the letters around the circular mark are in the Cyrillic alphabet. It took some effort to decipher this, but the letters are Гапсаль, a Russian placename which translates to Gapsal in Latin letters. This place is now known as Haapsalu, a seaside resort town on the west coast of Estonia which was once part of the Russian Empire. 

The name translates as "Aspen grove", though it was the local sea mud that transformed this small town into a popular spa in the early 19th century. The supposed "curative" powers of Haapsalu's mud attracted many wealthy visitors from Russia's major cities, including members of the imperial Romanov family, who sought relief from a variety of ailments. Apparently several of Haapsalu's mud spas are still in operation today.

Not surprisingly, the message is written in Estonian. The first line translates as:

Thank you very much for
Raarseit(?) and I wish you
a happy New Year
and that all your wishes
come true this year.
The side of Kaaroli(?) is dark.
Is it fat? (?) Wishing you all the best 

In January 1908 the first Russian Aeroclub was established in St. Petersburg and by 1910 the Imperial Russian Army sent several officers to France for pilot training. Their instructors were French pilots who had trained under Wilbur and Orville Wright, the two American brothers who first introduced a functional airplane to Europeans in August 1908. The Russian military soon joined the international race to develop its own air force, initially under army command. 

The Sikorsky Russky Vityaz, 1913
Source: Wikipedia

By May 1913 Russians successfully flew the Russky Vityaz, the first four-engine passenger biplane designed by the Russian-American aviation pioneer, Igor Sikorsky (1898–1972). It was 20 m (65 ft 7 in) long with an upper wingspan of 28 m (91 ft 10 in). It required a crew of three but could carry seven passengers in its surprising large fuselage shaped like a tram car. The Russky Vityaz was capable of reaching a maximum speed of 90 km/h (56 mph) for a range of 170 km (110 mi) and a service ceiling of 600m (2,000 ft). However, I don't think it ever achieved these limits more than once, if at all, as this airplane had a very short life.

A month after its first flight in June 1913 it was severely damaged when another airplane lost an engine in a landing accident that struck the Russky Vityaz while it was parked next to the airstrip. Sikorsky built several other notable airplanes for the Imperial Russian army but in 1919, following the Russian Revolution and the end of WW1, he immigrated to America. There he would go on to develop flying boats and the first successful American helicopters.

* * *

My second image of a happy couple in the air comes from this postcard which shows an improbable flying boat that appears to be powered by a steam engine. The young couple seem unperturbed that their Jules Verne water/air vehicle is thousands of feet above the ground, higher than the birds. The machine has no propeller so perhaps it is made airborne by the flapping of its "wings" which strangely resemble fish fins. It even comes with an anchor.

This card was sent from Lausanne, Switzerland on 6 February 1905. That is four months before the Wright brothers made their first successful powered flight at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina and 3½ years before they debuted their Wright Flyer in France. Notice that the word "Post Card" is translated for 17 languages. Since Lausanne is situated on Lake Geneva, the notion of a flying boat probably seemed a practical and low-risk vessel.

 Ernest Failloubaz and his Blériot aircraft,
René Grandjean to the right, at the first flight meeting in Avenches, Switzerland
Source: Wikipedia

Switzerland has a list of its own aviation pioneers and Ernest Failloubaz (1892–1919) and René Grandjean (1884–1965) were the first. In early 1909 Failloubaz, at age 17 a motorcyclist and sel-trained mechanic met Grandjean, age 24, a former chauffer. Grandjean had a wild dream to build his own aircraft, "copying" a design from a single photograph of the French aviator Louis Blériot's single-wing aeroplane. The two young men collaborated in its construction which they completed in October 1909 and then started ground tests in February 1910 at a field in Avenches, Switzerland. As the plane's engine was not very powerful they decided that Failloubaz, who was the lightest in weight, should make the first flight. So on 10 May 1910 with Failloubaz at the controls their little aeroplane took off, flew straight for 150 meters, and then landed smoothly. A few days later Grandjean flew the aeroplane himself but crashed the plane. Nonetheless their accomplishment established their place in Swiss aviation history.

Ernest Failloubaz went on to participate in the first Swiss airplane events held later in 1910, using an airplane built by another aviator and set several Swiss records. He established the first flight school in Switzerland which opened in May 1911 and also helped start the Swiss Army Flying Corps. Sadly Failloubaz died of tuberculosis in May 1919 at age 26.

René Grandjean also became involved in air shows and in the early development of aircraft innovations. It was his idea to replace the wheels of an aeroplane with skis in order to land on snow, and he became the first pilot to land on glaciers. He then exchanged the skis for floats and made the first successful Swiss hydroplane or seaplane, winning several prizes. During the war he moved to Paris where he made a career in aircraft engineering with over 200 patents in his name. He did not return to Switzerland until 1956. Both Failloubaz and Grandjean were honored by their nation with monuments in Switzerland for their important achievements in aviation.

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My third postcard depicts two young women and a gentleman flying high above a town in a biplane. It is not unlike the Wright Flyer as it has a pair of smaller elevators in front and a pusher prop in back. It's snowing and the trio are dressed warmly as a layer of frosty white snow has coated the wings and struts. They don't seem too bothered as they are enjoying the onboard drink service offering us a toast of some bubbly.  At the bottom of the illustration is a caption in Hungarian:

Boldog új évet! ~ Happy New Year!

The card has a postmark of (1)911 DEC 31 over a green Hungarian 5 fillér stamp which coincidently has an eagle soaring over the Hungarian crown, which at the time was held by the Austrian Emperor Franz Joseph. It was sent to someone in Budapest with a short message that was another alphabet puzzle to decipher.  I believe the Hungarian translates to "Please accept my wishes on the occasion of the wedding. Kiss me countless times." or something like that.

Hungary, which prior to the end of World War One was part of the larger Austrian-Hungarian Empire, had its own aviator pioneers. One of the first to fly was Guido Prodam (1882–1948) who flew a monoplane over the City of Budapest in 1911. Prodam originally trained as a pharmacist in Torontál County but tragically his wife died in 1910 after three years of marriage. He  quit his profession and moved to Budapest where he partnered with Ernő Horváth, a high school mathematics and physics teacher who was building a single-wing aeroplane. Horváth's eyesight was so poor that he had abandoned trying to be a pilot after a crash, so Prodam took over learning to operate his flying machine. 

Hungarian aviator Guido Prodam
with Hungarian aeroplane designer Ernő Horváth, circa 1911
Source: PestBuda

At noon on 4 November 1911 Prodam's aeroplane set off from a field near central Budapest. The aircraft was powered by a 35-horsepower engine and flew a circuitous route over the city to the Danube River and back, mostly at an altitude of 100m. The flight was successful but only lasted 12 minutes. Even so, many people in the city considered it a reckless stunt that rashly put the public in danger should there have been an accident. 

Yet Prodam did not stop with this feat. A few days later he set a new record for distance by flying 20 kilometers out from Budapest. This flight took 16 minutes, despite getting lost in fog and not landing at his original destination, Pécel, but in Maglód.

Then on 10 November, Guido Prodam attempted to fly over the Adriatic Sea in Rijeka. The flight went well but during the landing he lost control of the plane and crashed into the water.  Though he fortunately survived with only minor injuries, his aeroplane sank and was not recovered until several months later.  Finally in January 1912 Prodam passed the pilot's exam and received the country's third pilot's license.

During the First World War, Prodam served in the army but initially was deemed unfit to be a pilot as he was recovering from serious injuries sustained in a crash. However by 1917 he was able to join the Austrian-Hungarian flying corps. In February 1918 his plane was shot down over the Italian frontlines at an altitude of 4,800 meters. He survive but was taken prisoner. The injury was so severe that he became an invalid after the war and later lost his right arm. He died in 1948 but his exploits are still remembered in Hungary. 

I've added the extra aeronautical histories of these early aviation pioneers in order to show that the fascination of human flight was a universal dream. Orville and Wilbur Wright were certainly not the only inventors tinkering with making a flying machine as there were hundreds more from dozens of countries around the globe. Their Wright Flyer merely demonstrated the first practical possibility of powered flight. But more important was how it released a sudden torrent of  imaginative and creative energy that quickly inspired competition and collaboration from many other aviators. 

It also inspired song writers, too.

Come Josephine In My Flying Machine, published 1910
music by Fred Fisher and lyrics by Alfred Bryan
Source: Wikipedia

The illustration on this sheet music cover shows another young couple flying a Wright Flyer through the clouds. It's titled: Come Josephine In My Flying Machine (Up She Goes) and was composed by Fred Fisher with lyrics by Alfred Bryan. It was first published in 1910 and released as a gramophone recording by Blanche Ring who made it her signature song. The song was supposedly written about Josephine Sarah Magner (1883–1966), who in 1905 became the first American woman to make a parachute jump from a balloon. She married Leslie Burt Haddock (1878–1919), another early aviation pioneer, and became a fairground entertainer making hundreds of jumps. She also assisted Haddock in the design and construction of the first U.S. Army dirigible.

Here is a recording of "Come Josephine In My Flying Machine"
performed by Ada Jones and Billy Murray & Chorus.
It was recorded on November 1910, and released in 1911
on an Edison Blue Amberol cylinder.
The video includes lots of similar illustrations
of early airplanes and aviation pictures.

But for the best fun here is
"A Dash Through the Clouds"
a short silent comedy film produced
and directed by Mack Sennett.
It was written by Dell Henderson 
and starred Mabel Normand. 
Mabel gets to ride in a flying machine
at markers 1:25 and 8:30.
Not surprisingly the piano accompanist quotes
"Come Josephine In My Flying Machine" several times.  

The film maker used the services of a true aviation pioneer, Philip Parmelee, as Slim the pilot. Parmelee was a former pilot for the Wright Brothers and by 1912 held many aviation records. He is credited with making the first commercial flight of an airplane carrying a cargo of silk fabric; establishing a cross-country speed record in an airplane; setting a flying endurance record; piloting the first aircraft to drop a bomb; conducting the first military reconnaissance flight; and piloting the airplane used in the world's first parachute jump. I'm not sure if that was with Josephine Magner. Probably not.

Tragically Philip Parmelee died in an airplane crash at an air show in Yakima, Washington, on 1 June, 1912 shortly after working on this film. 

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday

where some people prefer to keep their feet
firmly on the ground.