June 15, 1919: First Nonstop Flight Crosses Atlantic | WIRED June 15, 1919: First Nonstop Flight Crosses Atlantic subscribe 6 months for $5 - plus a FREE Portable Phone Charger. Author: Jason Paur. Jason Paur Date of Publication: 06.15.10. Time of Publication: 12:00 am. 12:00 am June 15, 1919: First Nonstop Flight Crosses Atlantic 1919: John Alcock and Arthur Brown land their Vickers Vimy airplane in a bog in Clifden, Ireland, marking the end of the first nonstop flight across the Atlantic. It’s a good bet to win a drink at a bar: “Do you know who was the first person to fly across the Atlantic in an airplane, nonstop?” Most takers think it’s Charles Lindbergh. But the true answer is the kind of knowledge only the most die-hard aviation geeks would know: Alcock and Brown.

In 1913, the British newspaper the Daily Mail offered a prize of 10,000 pounds sterling (about $1.1 million in today’s money) to the first aviator to cross the Atlantic. But World War I intervened the following year before anybody could make an attempt, and the competition was suspended. In reality, it was unlikely anybody could have made the crossing in 1913. But by the end of the war, aviation technology had improved significantly. In late 1918, the competition to fly across the Atlantic resumed and stipulated the flight must be made in less than 72 hours. With fighting still fresh in the minds of the British, a new rule prevented teams of “enemy origin” to enter. By the spring of 1919, several teams had gathered in St. Johns, Newfoundland, vying to be the first to cross the Atlantic and collect the prize. There were so many teams that Alcock and Brown had a difficult time finding a suitable field they could use as a runway for their flight. There were no airports in the area.

The Vickers Vimy airplane they had prepared for the attempt back in England was still en route by steamship, and other teams had already set up camp at the best locations. The Vickers Vimy was a large airplane for the time. The twin engine bomber was developed for use in World War I, but it wasn’t ready until after the war had ended, and it never saw combat over Europe. With a wingspan of more than 67 feet, the biplane was powered by a pair of 12-cylinder Rolls-Royce engines producing 360 horsepower each. The airplane used for the record-setting attempt was modified by removing the bomb racks and adding extra fuel tanks, so it could carry 865 gallons for the flight. The pilot and navigator sat in an open cockpit at the front of the airplane. By mid-May, one of the rival teams had flown nearly 20 hours east across the ocean before engine troubles forced the crew to ditch at sea. Fortunately, the plane crashed near a ship that was able to rescue the two-man crew. Another attempt at the prize ended in a crash before the airplane was even able to get airborne. The Vickers Vimy arrived in Newfoundland on May 26.

Two teams had failed to make the crossing, and the prize was still up for grabs, as was some good real estate for a suitable runway. The team was allowed to use a small field to assemble the airplane, but it was not long enough for the heavily fuel-laden airplane to take off. The Vimy arrived in 13 crates and was assembled in a large canvas tent in just two weeks. At the same time the airplane was being assembled, Alcock had found a suitable takeoff field. Groups of people worked to clear rocks and fill ditches to make it smooth enough for use as a runway. After a few days waiting out bad weather, the decision was made to fuel the airplane at its new field and make an attempt for the first nonstop crossing of the Atlantic. (A U.S. Navy Curtiss seaplane had flown from Newfoundland to Portugal in May, after a 10-day stop in the Azores.) After a few last-minute repairs to fix a broken landing gear that failed under the weight of the fuel, Alcock and Brown lifted off from Lester’s Field on the afternoon of June 14. Brown radioed the message, “All well and started,” to announce they had begun their journey.

Unfortunately, it would be the first and last radio message the crew would make. The wind-powered generator failed shortly after, and the duo was left without a radio for the remainder of the flight. Using a sextant and a drift-bearing plate, Brown was able to determine their position as they flew. Shortly after the radio went out, fog covered the sea, so he could not determine their drift. A haze developed, and he was unable to use the sextant to determine their location. At night approached, Brown urged Alcock to climb above the clouds so he could use the stars to get a fix on their position. It was good news: He calculated they were averaging 106 miles per hour, faster than they had planned. But soon they flew into another bank of clouds, and Alcock became disoriented and lost control of the aircraft. The airspeed indicator had been stuck and Alcock didn’t realize the airplane was slowing down. Eventually it stalled and entered a spin . They lost more than 4,000 feet as they spiraled toward the North Atlantic.

Breaking out of the clouds at around 100 feet, Alcock was able to recover from the spin and with very little room to spare, leveled off and continued flying east toward Ireland. The weather did not improve, and rain turned to snow as they flew farther east. Ice covered the airplane, and Brown had to frequently stand up in the open cockpit and clear ice and snow from the instrument sensors which were outside the cockpit. Eventually, the ice covered the air intake of one of the engines. Alcock decided to shut the engine down before the backfiring could destroy it. Descending into warmer air, the duo hoped the ice would melt before they hit the water. At around 500 feet, they broke into clear skies and were able to restart the engine. It seemed nothing more could go wrong with their flight, and sure enough less than half an hour after restarting the engine, Alcock and Brown spotted solid land. They had reached Ireland. In a less-than-ceremonious landing, Alcock put the plane down in a bog he had mistaken for a smooth field. The wheels dug in, and the plane tipped onto its nose.

With a gentle crash at 8:40 a.m., they completed the first nonstop flight across the Atlantic. Accounts vary, but the flight of approximately 1,890 miles across the shortest part of the Atlantic had taken around 16 hours, averaging roughly 118 mph. They were awarded the prize money in London by the British Secretary of State for War and Air, Winston Churchill. They were later knighted by King George V. Over the course of the next several years, many more pilots would fly airplanes across the Atlantic, and even more would cross in airships . Different teams flew different routes between North America and Europe. Eventually in 1927, Charles Lindbergh would make his historic flight between New York and Paris to win the Orteig Prize. It was the first solo nonstop flight across the Atlantic and the first to link the two major cities. Lindbergh was, however, the 19th person to cross the Atlantic in an airplane. Pilots Steve Fossett and Mark Rebholz recreated the flight of Alcock and Brown in a replica Vickers Vimy in 2005.

Source: Various First Transatlantic Flight | Flight History | DK Find Out Shock-absorbing landing gear used elastic cords to cushion the wheels from bumps on uneven airfields. Rudder Rudder Used for steering, the rudder was pulled left or right by wires running through the airframe. The wires were operated by Blériot from the cockpit. Monoplane wing Monoplane wing Early planes had one, two, three, or even more sets of wings. Blériot’s Type XI proved just how successful monoplanes (single-wingers) could be. Blériot made and sold over 100 of his Type XI plane. Engine Engine The plane’s Anzani engine had originally been designed for motorcycle races. It barely had enough power to carry Blériot across the Channel. Vickers Vimy The Vickers Vimy biplane (two-winger) was a British bomber plane of World War I. The Vimy used by Alcock and Brown to cross the Atlantic was converted to hold extra fuel instead of weapons. The men set off from Newfoundland, Canada. They crash-landed 16 hours later in a bog in western Ireland. Neither man was hurt.

Alcock and Brown - Great Britain Alcock and Brown Great Britain The First Non-stop Aerial Crossing of the Atlantic Captain John Alcock and Lieutenant Arthur Whitten Brown, in a modified Vimy IV they made the first non-stop aerial crossing of the Atlantic. They took off from Lester's Field, near St. Johns, Newfoundland on June 14,1919. They landed June 15,1919 at Clifden in Ireland. The time for the crossing was sixteen hours, and twenty seven minutes. The news of the adventure spead like wildfire and the two men were received as heroes in London. For their accomplishment they were presented with Lord Northcliffe's Daily Mail prize of £10,000 by Winston Churchill who was then Britain's Secretary of State. A few days later both men were knighted at Buckingham Palace by King George V for recognition of their pioneering achievment. John Alcock and Arthur Whitten-Brown pushed their way through an excited crowd which had gathered at the entrance of the London Royal Aero Club. Alcock carried a small linen bag in his hand, and after greeting General Holden, Vice-President of the Club, he handed over the bundle of 197 letters that Dr.

Robinson, Postmaster in Newfoundland, had entrusted to the fliers. These were then rushed to the nearest post office, where they were franked and forwarded (airmail stamps not yet having been invented). The letters had made the long journey from Lester's Field near St. John's, Newfoundland, to London in record time. At Lester's Field, Alcock and Brown had climbed into their "Vimy" flying crate to prove, as Alcock put it, that "there are possibilities of flying non-stop from the New World to the Old." Like Kohl, Fitzmaurice, and von Hunefeld, who were to fly in the opposite direction nine years later, Alcock and Brown had wanted to take off on a Friday the 13th. But the two Englishmen actually set out in their converted World War I Vickers bomber on June 14. After three weeks of exhaustive preparation, they had finally made their start. Some of their efforts had been spent in attempting to find a smoother takeoff point than Lester's Field, but after a week of combing the rough terrain, they gave up the search.

The sky was overcast, even though the latest meteorological report from United States Lieutenant Clements had forecast good weather conditions. It was 1:40 p.m. as the "Vimy," with the throttle wide open, and both engines at full power, taxied over the bumpy ground at Lester's Field. Alcock headed his aircraft into the west wind. "Depressingly slowly the 'Vimy' taxied toward a dark pine forest at the end of the airfield," Brown reported. "The echo of the roaring motors must have struck quite hard against the hills around St. John's. Almost at the last second Alcock gained height. We were only inches above the top of the trees." Alcock's recollections were rather more brief: "At 1:45 PM we were airborne," he said. 1,890 nautical miles of open sea and sixteen hours of flying time lay ahead of the Englishmen. Only fifteen and a half years after the Wright brothers powered flight, they had now set off on what turned out to be one of the most breathtaking flights in the history of aviation. The sirens of vessels in St.

John's Harbor blew a final farewell as the "Vimy" passed overhead at a height of 1,083 ft. Alcock turned the aircraft eastwards, in the direction of Ireland. The biplane gained height, and the coast of Newfoundland was left behind. The altimeter soon read 1,300 ft. For four hours, the "Vimy" flew peacefully in the open sky, and the difficult takeoff was forgotten. For Alcock and Brown it was just one more of the 1,001 takeoffs they had made as Flying Corps pilots. Already anticipating his arrival in England, Brown remarked, "Great Scott, what a banquet we'll have in London. Roast duck, I can just imagine it, green peas. . ." Few people were even aware of Alcock and Brown's plans. England was enjoying her first post-war summer, and the newspapers were filled with reports of Germany's reaction to President Wilson's Fourteen-Point program. Special editions also carried stories of Bela Kun's revolution in Hungary and the Allies' successes against the Bolsheviks on the Archangel Front.

However, there was a five-line story on the back page of one newspaper which mentioned the preparations being made for the "Vimy" in Newfoundland. But no one paid much attention to it. As the "Vimy" flew over the Atlantic, the conversation of the two men seated in the open cockpit turned to the friends who had helped them at Lester's Field: Bob Lyon, Maxwell Muller, Montague and Harry Couch. And they recalled the various attempts that others had made to cross the waste of water between the old and new worlds. Five years earlier a British company, Martin and Handasyde Ltd., had set about building a transatlantic aircraft. The scheme had been financed by Edgar MacKay. As with the "White Bird," in which Nungesser and Coli later undertook their ill-fated attempt to fly the Atlantic, the undercarriage of the aircraft was to be released shortly after takeoff. The fuselage was built like a boat. Misfortune seemed to hang over the undertaking. Shortly before the aircraft's completion, Gustav Hamel, the appointed pilot, failed to return from a routine flight in his Morane-Saulnier over the English Channel.

Alcock and Brown's ambition was to fly the Atlantic non-stop. Although they would not be the first to make the crossing, they aimed at being the first to do so without intermediate stops. At 5 p.m. fog banks suddenly appeared on the horizon, stretching without a break from north to south. "We've got no choice," Alcock said. "We've got to go in!" Brown made another calculation of their position and recorded the wind speed as zero. The "Vimy" disappeared into the fog. It was so thick that neither man could make out the blades of the propellers. Even the comforting roar of the Rolls-Royce "Eagle" engines was muffled, and Alcock and Brown continued to fly virtually soundless and blind. Time went slowly. Brown glanced at his wristwatch. It was six o'clock. "Won't this ruddy fog ever end?" he grumbled. Instead of replying, Alcock slowly took the "Vimy" higher, hoping to find good visibility above the fog bank. Before dark Brown might once more be able to take his position by the sun; but after nightfall it was questionable whether the stars would be bright enough to guide the fliers reliably on their course.

Suddenly a terrifying noise broke the silence; the right-hand engine sounded like a machine gun blazing. The two men were scared stiff. The exhaust pipe of the cylinder facing inwards had split, and the engine was shooting naked flames into the slip-stream. Alcock and Brown remained helpless as the metal turned red hot, melted away and finally started striking the controls in white-hot globules. On top of this nerve-shattering clatter, a further discomfort developed. The heating in the men's leather flying suits stopped working. The batteries had run out. "We froze like young puppies," Alcock said later, "and in the narrow cockpit we had no room to move about. At any rate," he added somewhat ruefully, "Brown did manage to get some movement later . . . " Flying above the fog brought them no luck. They had barely broken through the upper level of the bank when they discovered clouds above them, and not a sign of the hoped-for sun. And directly ahead lay mountains of cloud which were too near to be avoided. The "Vimy" plunged straight into them, and was thrown like a leaf.

The experience that today's supersonic pilots, astronauts and acrobatic and fighter pilots with their advanced equipment and controls barely notice represented severe physical discomfort to Alcock and Brown: the up and down of their stomachs caused by the plane's bucking response to controls and gusts of wind. Again and again they had the feeling that the "Vimy" stood motionless before plunging down. Alcock, who had been pressed down into his seat by the violent movement of the plane, glanced at the altimeter. The reading was 4,000 ft. The pointer began to jump about as the instrument recorded 3,200 ft., then 2,900 and down to 1,000 ft. The plane was descending in a spiral. But it occurred to neither pilot nor navigator that their end might have come. Their one thought, according to Alcock, was "However shall we get back on our original course and avoid being lost in the endless waste of the Atlantic?" The altimeter, at that moment the most important instrument, showed 100 ft. Their chances of survival narrowed, when suddenly, at a mere 65 ft.

above the waves, Alcock managed miraculously to regain control of the "Vimy." The weather had begun to change. When Brown was later asked how he and his captain reacted to their worst ordeal, he replied, "We grinned!" Alcock had opened the throttle to the full. He swung the plane through 180 deg. onto its old course, pulled back the joy stick and climbed slowly to a height of 7,200 ft. There was now more to it than just grinning: both men suddenly realized that they felt very hungry. Alcock made his feelings known by pointing his left hand at his mouth while he closed and opened it. Brown got the message. He reached behind him for their frugal meal of sandwiches which had been prepared for them by Miss Agnes Dooley at St. John's. They had also brought some whisky on board as well as a bottle of beer which they emptied and finally threw overboard. The long-distance flight routine continued. Checks were made regularly on the revolution rate of both engines, on the cooling system temperature, on the oil pressure, and on the fuel consumption as they switched from an empty tank to the next full one.

This gave Brown a task for which he was thankful: it made him warm. Before the tanks which directly fed the engines were empty, they had to be refilled by vigorous pumping from the main tank in the fuselage. All these experiences and five hours of flying were behind them when they again saw the sun. It was now directly behind them. Brown knelt on his seat, grasped the sextant and calculated their position. It was a small triumph for them that they were only a few miles south of their planned route. Then once again they were swallowed up by cloud. They continued to fly with no visibility, chilled and deafened by the noise of the right-hand engine, until 9 p.m. Then Brown wrote on a page in the log book: "Can you get above the clouds by 9:30? We need stars as soon as possible." He held up the scribbled lines and focused a pocket flashlight on the page. Alcock nodded his head rather indecisively. They were now flying at 5,400 ft., and climbed even higher, but found no way through the cloud. Midnight came and went. It was now June 15, but there was no relief for the fliers.

At 12:05 a.m. Brown wrote to Alcock: "Must see stars now." Their altitude was 6,500 ft. and they were surrounded by clouds and darkness. The only illumination was the green glow of the control panel lighting and the bursts of flame from the starboard engine. Alcock pulled the joy stick back lightly and opened the throttle. The clouds went on without end. At 12:15 a.m. Alcock dug his fingers into Brown's shoulder, and pointed above his head. There was the moon, Vega, and the Pole Star, Polaris! Like a shot Brown was up on his seat, operating the sextant with his numbed fingers. In the frozen cockpit, Brown placed the open log book on his knee, spread out the navigation tables on the right-hand side, held them with his elbow and calculated the "Vimy's" position by the dim light of the flashlight which he held in his left hand. At 12:25 a.m. their position was 50 deg 7' latitude north, 31 deg longitude west. They were already nearly half way across, but were still flying a little too far to the south.

Brown made further calculations. They had already flown 850 nautical miles, which meant that about 1,000 more still lay ahead. Their average speed had been 106 knots. At 12:30 a.m. the two optimists enjoyed some more sandwiches and coffee. Brown laced his coffee with whisky. "I looked towards Brown, and saw that he was singing," Alcock said, "but I couldn't understand a word." Brown's song about the swallow that flies so high and the river that never dries up was lost on the wind. Meanwhile, in the newsroom of London's "Daily Mail" discussions about the "Vimy" and its crew were gloomy. A cable from St. John's had announced the takeoff; since then there had been no news either from Newfoundland or from the fliers. The newspaper staff knew that the "Vimy" carried a radio transmitter, but after three hours' flight it had gone dead, a fact neither Alcock nor Brown knew at the time. If all went well, the competitors for the £10,000.

prize should reach the Irish coast at 9 a.m., but there was no sign of life from the "Vimy." Dispatches piled up on the news editor's table, but not one of them was from Alcock and Brown. At 3 A.M. the fliers thought they saw the first signs of dawn. Suddenly they also saw something else: a new mountain of cumulus cloud ahead, again too close to circumvent. A sudden turbulence seized the machine and flung it out of control. Alcock and Brown felt themselves being pressed down into their seats. They were drenched by rain, which turned into hail. The swirling journey went on and on. At 90 knots the speedometer jammed. Alcock struggled to regain control and ended up more by luck than by good judgment in the safety of a nose dive. He cut off the gas and relied heavily on his experience as a night bomber pilot. The plane plummeted from 4,000 ft. to 1000 ft.

and, just above the surface of the water, Alcock gained control of the "Vimy." For a fraction of a second he could not believe his eyes--he saw the sea lying vertically, and then with a quick automatic reflex action he straightened out the "Vimy" and opened the throttles to the full. "The salty taste we noted later on our tongues was foam," Alcock reported. "In any case the altimeter wasn't working at that low height and I think that we were not more than 16 to 20 ft. above the water." Brown's only comment was: "I kept thinking about Lieutenant Clement's weather report." Specifically, he had failed to forecast the snowstorm into which they had flown immediately after their recent narrow escape. Like a shroud, snow covered the wings, fuselage, the struts, even the engines. Ice formed on the engine parts and Alcock needed all his strength to move the rudder. Unless something drastic was done, the men knew that the engine would stop and all the controls would go out of action. once again, at an altitude of 8,500 ft., the non-stop fliers fought their way forward.

Snow piled up in the cockpit, and both men crouched behind the windshield for protection from the icy wind. Snow on the carburetor air filters made both the engines run irregularly. Brown knelt on his seat and took off his goggles so that he could see more clearly. Ice now began to form on the engine intake connection; at the same time a layer of it was spreading over the inspection windows through which the fuel supply could be observed. As far as Brown was concerned, the only possible way of avoiding a crash was to make a trip out onto the wings. He grabbed a knife and swung his legs out onto the nose. Seeing what he had in mind, Alcock stood up from his seat and tried to hold his companion back. Brown jerked himself free, and, in the blinding snow, he wriggled forward from strut to strut and from cable to cable, holding on with one hand. His left leg caused him difficulty because it was still stiff from wounds he had received in the war. The limping lieutenant gradually removed the ice from the inlet connections and cautiously cleaned the inspection window of the fuel intake. The slip-stream tugged at him, and frost nibbled at the flesh on his hands.

Brown cleared the air filters of snow--then he had to go back again, back and over the nose to the other wing and the other engine. Meanwhile, Alcock had more than enough to do to keep the plane as steady as he could--flying at 8,000 ft. over the Atlantic in a snowstorm! One false move and Brown would have been plunged to his death, and his own number would undoubtedly have been up soon afterwards. With astonishing bravery, Brown repeated his acrobatics, not once, but four times. Not a single step or a single movement of the hand was free from risk. At 6:20 as day broke, the lateral controls were not operating. They too had iced up. An hour later the "Vimy" was flying approximately 3,800 ft. higher (at 11,800 ft.) when the sun appeared. For the last time the navigator stripped the gloves from his aching fingers and took up the sextant. His calculations showed that they were still on course. But it was obvious that the plane had to be lowered into warmer air if the elevator and other controls were to be prevented from freezing.

Alcock moved the joy stick forward; the plane descended and was engulfed in cloud. Again the fliers had no visibility. Icing presented a problem for which, in those days, there was virtually no practical answer. Even during this latest descent of the "Vimy" there was a distinct danger of the elevator's icing up. They were now only 30 minutes away from their longed-for goal. Alcock kept his eyes glued to the altimeter as the plane descended from 9,800 ft. to 6,800 ft. With the reduced throttle settings, the cutout engines were running perceptibly quieter. Then at 3,200 ft. Brown suddenly shouted: "It's melting! The ice is breaking up!" Both men were soon sitting in a puddle; in the cockpit, too, the snow was melting. At 1,000 ft. above the ominously rough ocean, Alcock reopened the throttles, and the engines responded; both ran smoothly. Twenty minutes later the men were triumphant: they had sighted land. Brown searched on his map. It was not Galway, for which they had been heading, yet Brown knew that the land must be Ireland.

Then he saw the top of Connemara, identified the town of Clifden, and scribbled his observations into the log book which he held up for Alcock to read. After flying toward the small town at a low height, Alcock circled over the streets and looked for an outlying meadow on which to land. He made a slow curve, found nothing suitable, then headed towards the Clifden radio-station and circled round it. Beyond the transmitter's tower he noticed an invitingly green meadow. The men in the transmitter building waved and gesticulated in vain. Below the deceptive green covering lay the extremely dangerous swamp, Derrygimla Moor. Alcock thought that the people in the tower were waving a welcome, and he brought the "Vimy" down--into the swamp. The plane ploughed a short, deep four-track furrow and buried its nose far into the mud. After 1,890 miles and 15 hours 57 minutes of flying time the heroes had landed in a bog. They had to remain seated, held fast by their safety belts.

The men who had watched the "Vimy" land rushed toward the plane, jumping from one grass tuft to another through the swamp. A man by the name of Taylor was the first to reach the fliers and he asked breathlessly: "Anybody hurt?" "Where are you from?" "America." The news of the adventure spread like wildfire, and there followed for Captain John Alcock and Lieutenant Arthur Whitten-Brown a hectic round of greetings, receptions, speeches, galas, and banquets. Brown made his shortest speech in Clifford Street, London. When he appeared with Alcock on the Aero Club balcony he stopped the cheering and said: "No speech now. You wanted us. Here we are!" At the banquet which followed the officers were greeted with an unforgettable menu unlikely to be found anywhere else. It consisted of: Oeufs Poches Alcock, Supreme de Sole a la Brown, Poulet de Printemps a la Vickers Vimy, Salade Clifden, Surprise Britannia, Gateau Grand Success. After the fliers received Lord Northcliffe's £10,000.

prize from Winston Churchill, they insisted that the Vickers and Rolls-Royce mechanics who had helped them should receive a £2,000 share of it. Official recognition of their pioneering achievement came a few days later from King George V. Captain Alcock and Lieutenant Whitten-Brown were received at Buckingham Palace. They left the Palace as Sir John and Sir Arthur. After the trans-Atlantic flight, Teddy Brown(by now Sir Arthur Whitten-Brown) got married and headed for the U.S. on his honeymoon in October 1919. Meanwhile...... "Alcock was working full-time again at Brooklands, testing planes. On Saturdays he returned to competitive flying. On December 15 he was present at the Science Museum in London when the Vimy, was hauled from the Irish bog, and when presented to the nation. Three days later, he had to deliver a new Vickers plane, the Viking, to Paris, for the first aeronautical exhibition there since the war. Low cloud, rain, and strong wind made the morning miserable. Alcock's colleagues suggested he delay the flight, but he left - with no navigator.

Over the English Channel, the weather was blustery; when he reached the Normandy coast, the plane was in fog. Alcock must have taken it low in an attempt to see a town or a railway line he could identify. About one o'clock that afternoon, a farmer named Pelletier was in his fields at Cote d'Everard, near Rouen. He saw a big plane 'become unsteady, make a big sway and fall to earth.' Although it didn't catch fire, the Viking was wrecked. Pelletier found Alcock, 'a terrible mess', unconscious in the cabin. From papers in a pocket of Alcock's civilian suit, and from an engraving on his diamond-studded wristwatch, the farmer identified him. The farmer and another worker carried Alcock to the farmhouse. The other man was sent to the road, where British Army vehicles often passed, to flag one down. A priest was called. No Army truck went by that afternoon, but eventually contact was made with No. 6 British General Hospital at Rouen, which sent doctors. By then Sir John Alcock was dead. Alcock's parents were notified, as was the world. Brown heard about it in San Francisco.

His statement was a cliche: 'Alcock's death was a true sacrifice for humanity.' The coffin, with a military escort, crossed the Channel from Le Havre, was received at London's Waterloo Station by Alcock's parents and representatives of the Vickers company. The procession reached Manchester on Christmas Day and the coffin was taken to the parish church of the parents in Fallowfield. Then a service was held in Manchester Cathederal. Among those present were representatives of all the companies which sent planes to Newfoundland. Notes: This page adapted from: 1. Heiner Emde and Carlo Demand Conquerors of the Air New York: The Viking Press, Inc., 1968. transatlantic flight - 必应 Sign in Transatlantic flight Several teams had also entered the competition. The Handley Page team were in the final stages of testing their aircraft for the flight but their leader, Admiral Mark Kerr, was determined not to take off until the plane was in perfect condition. The Vickers team quickly assembled their plane and at around 1:45 p.m. on 14 June, whilst the Handley Page team were conducting yet another test, the Vickers plane took off from Lester's Field, in St.

John's, Newfoundland. Alcock and Brown flew the modified Vickers Vimy, powered by two Rolls-Royce Eagle 36 ... (展开) 0 hp engines. Their altitude varied between sea level and 12,000 ft (3,700 m) and upon take-off they carried 865 imperial gallons (3,900 L) of fuel. They made landfall in Galway at 8:40 a.m. on 15 June 1919, not far from their intended landing place, after less than sixteen hours' flying time. They had spent around fourteen-and-a-half hours over the North Atlantic crossing the coast at 4:28 p.m., having flown 1890 miles (3040 km) in 15 hours 57 minutes at an average speed of 115 mph (185 km/h). Their first interview was given to Tom 'Cork' Kenny of The Connacht Tribune. The Secretary of State for Air, Winston Churchill, presented them with the Daily Mail prize for the first crossing of the Atlantic Ocean in 'less than 72 consecutive hours'.

There was also a small amount of mail carried on the flight making it the first transatlantic airmail flight. The two aviators were awarded the honour of Knight Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (KBE) a week later by King George V at Windsor Castle. Charles Lindbergh with the Spirit of St. Louis – 1927. The first transatlantic flight by rigid airship, and the first return transatlantic flight, was made just a couple of weeks after the transatlantic flight of Alcock and Brown, on 2 July 1919. Major George Herbert Scott of the Royal Air Force flew the airship R34 with his crew and passengers from RAF East Fortune, Scotland to Mineola, New York (on Long Island) covering a distance of about 3,000 statute miles (4,800 km) in about four and a half days. The flight was intended as a testing ground for postwar commercial services by airship (see Imperial Airship Scheme) and was the first flight to transport paying passengers. R34 wasn't initially built as a passenger carrier and extra accommodation was arranged by slinging hammocks in the keel walkway.

The return journey to Pulham in Norfolk was from 10 to 13 July and took 75 hours. The first night-time crossing of the Atlantic was accomplished 16–17 April 1927 by Portuguese aviator José Manuel Sarmento de Beires, flying from Portuguese Guinea to Brazil. In the early morning of Friday, 20 May 1927, Charles Lindbergh took off from Roosevelt Field, New York, on his successful attempt to fly nonstop from New York City to the European continental land mass. Over the next 33.5 hours, Lindbergh and the "Spirit of St. Louis" encountered many challenges before landing at Le Bourget Airport near Paris, France, at 10:22 PM on Saturday, 21 May 1927, completing the first solo crossing of the Atlantic. The first east-west non-stop transatlantic crossing by an aeroplane was made in 1928 by the Bremen, a German Junkers W33 type aircraft, from Baldonnel Airfield in County Dublin, Ireland.

On 18 August 1932 Jim Mollison made the first east-to-west solo trans-Atlantic flight; flying from Portmarnock in Ireland to Pennfield, New Brunswick, Canada in a de Havilland Puss Moth. Commercial airship flights[edit] Flown picture postcard from the "First North American Flight" of the D-LZ127 (1928) On 11 October 1928, Hugo Eckener, commanding the Graf Zeppelin airship as part of DELAG's operations, began the first non-stop transatlantic passenger flights, leaving Friedrichshafen, Germany, at 07:54 on 11 October 1928, and arriving at NAS Lakehurst, New Jersey, on 15 October. Thereafter, DELAG used the Graf Zeppelin on regular scheduled passenger flights across the North Atlantic, from Frankfurt-am-Main to Lakehurst. In the summer of 1931 a South Atlantic route was introduced, from Frankfurt and Friedrichshafen to Recife and Rio de Janeiro. Between 1931 and 1937 the Graf Zeppelin crossed the South Atlantic 136 times.

DELAG introduced the Hindenburg, which began passenger flights in 1936 and made 36 Atlantic crossings (North and South). The first passenger trip across the North Atlantic left Friedrichshafen on 6 May with 56 crew and 50 passengers, arriving Lakehurst on 9 May. Fare was $400 one way; the ten westward trips that season took 53 to 78 hours and eastward took 43 to 61 hours. The last eastward trip of the year left Lakehurst on 10 October; the first North Atlantic trip of 1937 ended in the Hindenburg disaster. The British rigid airship R100 also made a successful return trip from Cardington to Montreal in July–August 1930, in what was intended to be a proving flight for regularly scheduled passenger services. Following the R101 disaster in October 1930, the British rigid airship program was abandoned and the R100 scrapped, leaving DELAG as the sole remaining operator of transatlantic passenger airship flights.

Commercial aeroplane service attempts[edit] Seaplanes were used for transatlantic flights in the 1930s Although Alcock and Brown first flew across the Atlantic in 1919, it took two more decades before commercial flights could become practical. The North Atlantic presented severe challenges for aviators due to weather and the long distances involved, with few stopping points. Initial transatlantic services, therefore, focused on the South Atlantic, where a number of French, German, and Italian airlines offered seaplane service for mail between South America and West Africa in the 1930s. From February 1934 to August 1939 Deutsche Lufthansa operated a regular airmail service between Natal, Brazil, and Bathurst, Gambia, continuing via the Canary Islands and Spain to Stuttgart, Germany. From December 1935, Air France opened a regular weekly airmail route between South America and Africa. German airlines, such as Deutsche Luft Hansa, experimented with mail routes over the North Atlantic in the early 1930s, with seaplanes and dirigibles.

Foynes, Ireland was the European terminus for all transatlantic seaplane flights in the 1930s. In the 1930s, a seaplane route was the only practical means of transatlantic travel, as land-based planes lacked sufficient flying range for the crossing. An agreement between the governments of the US, Britain, Canada and the Irish Free State in 1935 set aside the Irish town of Foynes, the most westerly port in Ireland, as the terminal for all such services to be established. Imperial Airways had bought the Short Empire seaplane, primarily for use along the empire routes in Africa and Asia, but began to explore the possibility of using it for transatlantic flights from 1937. The range of the Short Empire was less than that of the equivalent US Sikorsky "Clipper" flying boats and as such was initially unable to provide a true trans-Atlantic service. Two boats (Caledonia and Cambria) were lightened and given long range tanks to increase the aircraft's range to 3,300 miles.

Meanwhile, in the US, attention was initially focused on transatlantic flight for a faster postal service between Europe and America. In 1931 W. Irving Glover, the second assistant postmaster, wrote an article for Popular Mechanics on the challenges and the need for a regular service. In the 1930s, under the direction of Juan Trippe, Pan American World Airways began to get interested in the feasibility of a transatlantic passenger service using seaplanes. The captain Wilcockson signing an autograph for one of his admirers, in July 1937, near of Montreal. On 5 July 1937, A.S. Wilcockson flew a Short Empire for Imperial Airways from Foynes to Botwood, Newfoundland and Harold Gray piloted a Sikorsky S-42 for Pan American in the opposite direction. Both flights were a success and both airlines made a series of subsequent proving flights that same year to test out a variety of different weather conditions. France's Air France also became interested and began experimental flights in 1938. Short Mayo Composite was a piggy-back configuration for transatlantic flights in the 1930s.

As the Short Empire only had enough range with enlarged fuel tanks at the expense of passenger room, a number of pioneering experiments were done with the aircraft to work around the problem. It was known that aircraft could maintain flight with a greater load than is possible to take off with, so Major Robert H. Mayo, Technical General Manager at Imperial Airways proposed mounting a small, long-range seaplane on top of a larger carrier aircraft, using the combined power of both to bring the smaller aircraft to operational height, at which time the two aircraft would separate, the carrier aircraft returning to base while the other flew on to its destination. The Short Mayo Composite project, co-designed by Mayo and Shorts chief designer Arthur Gouge, comprised the Short S.21 Maia, (G-ADHK) which was a variant of the Short "C-Class" Empire flying-boat fitted with a trestle or pylon on the top of the fuselage to support the Short S.20 Mercury(G-ADHJ). The first successful in-flight separation of the Composite was carried out on 6 February 1938, and the first transatlantic flight was made on 21 July 1938 from Foynes to Boucherville.

Mercury, piloted by Captain Don Bennett, separated from her carrier at 8 pm to continue what was to become the first commercial non-stop East-to-West transatlantic flight by a heavier-than-air machine. This initial journey took 20 hrs 21 min at an average ground speed of 144 mph (232 km/h). Another technology developed for the purpose of transatlantic commercial flight, was aerial refuelling . Sir Alan Cobham developed the Grappled-line looped-hose system to stimulate the possibility for long-range transoceanic commercial aircraft flights, and publicly demonstrated it for the first time in 1935. In the system the receiver aircraft trailed a steel cable which was then grappled by a line shot from the tanker. The line was then drawn back into the tanker where the receiver's cable was connected to the refueling hose. The receiver could then haul back in its cable bringing the hose to it. Once the hose was connected, the tanker climbed sufficiently above the receiver aircraft to allow the fuel to flow under gravity.

Cobham founded Flight Refuelling Ltd in 1934 and by 1938 had demonstrated the FRL's looped-hose system to refuel the Short Empire flying boat Cambria from an Armstrong Whitworth AW.23. Handley Page Harrows were used in the 1939 trials to aerial refuel the Empire flying boats for regular transatlantic crossings. From August 5 to October 1, 1939, sixteen crossings of the Atlantic were made by Empire flying boats, with fifteen crossings using FRL's aerial refueling system. After the sixteen crossings further trials were suspended due to the outbreak of World War II. The Short S.26 was built in 1939 as an enlarged Short Empire, powered by four 1,400 hp (1,044 kW) Bristol Hercules sleeve valve radial engines and designed with the capability of crossing the Atlantic without refuelling . It was intended to form the backbone of Imperial Airways' Empire services. It could fly 6,000 miles unburdened, or 150 passengers for a "short hop".

On 21 July 1939, the first aircraft, (G-AFCI "Golden Hind"), was first flown at Rochester by Shorts' chief test pilot, John Lankester Parker. Although two aircraft were handed over to Imperial Airways for crew training, all three were impressed (along with their crews) into the RAF before they could start civilian operation with the onset of WWII. The Yankee Clipper in 1939. Meanwhile, Pan Am purchased nine Boeing 314 Clippers in 1939, a long-range flying boat capable of flying the Atlantic. The "Clippers" were built for "one-class" luxury air travel, a necessity given the long duration of transoceanic flights. The seats could be converted into 36 bunks for overnight accommodation; with a cruising speed of only 188 miles per hour (303 km/h). The 314s had a lounge and dining area, and the galleys were crewed by chefs from four-star hotels. Men and women were provided with separate dressing rooms, and white-coated stewards served five and six-course meals with gleaming silver service.

The Yankee Clipper's inaugural trip across the Atlantic was on June 24, 1939. Its route was from Southampton to Port Washington, New York with intermediate stops at Foynes, Ireland, Botwood, Newfoundland, and Shediac, New Brunswick. Its first passenger flight was on 9 July, and this continued until the onset of the Second World War. The Clipper fleet was then pressed into military service and the flying boats were used for ferrying personnel and equipment to the European and Pacific fronts. In 1938 a Lufthansa Focke-Wulf Fw 200 Condor long range airliner flew non-stop from Berlin to New York and returned non-stop as a proving flight for the development of passenger carryng services. This was the first landplane to fulfil this function and marked a departure from the British and American reliance on seaplanes for long over-water routes. A regular Lufthansa Transatlantic service was planned but didn't start before World War II. Maturation[edit] RAF Darrell's Island during World War II. This base was used throughout the war for trans-Atlantic ferrying of aircraft.

It was from the emergency exigencies of World War II that the crossing of the Atlantic by landplane became a practical and commonplace possibility. With the Fall of France in June 1940, and the loss of much war materiel on the continent, the need for the British to purchase replacement materiel from the United States was urgent. The aircraft purchased in the United States by Britain were flown to airports in Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, partially dis-assembled and loaded on ships and transported to England where they were unloaded and re-assembled, a process that could take several weeks, not counting repairing any damage to the aircraft incurred in the shipment. In addition, German U-boats operating in the North Atlantic Ocean were a constant menace to shipping routes in the North Atlantic making it very hazardous for merchant shipping between Newfoundland and Britain. However, larger aircraft could be flown directly to the UK and an organization was set up to manage this using civilian pilots. The program was begun by the Ministry of Aircraft Production. Its minister, Lord Beaverbrook a Canadian by origin, reached an agreement with Sir Edward Beatty, a friend and chairman of the Canadian Pacific Railway Company to provide ground facilities and support.

Ministry of Aircraft Production would provide civilian crews and management and former RAF officer Don Bennett, a specialist in long distance flying and later Air Vice Marshal and commander of the Pathfinder Force, led the first delivery flight in November 1940. In 1941, MAP took the operation off CPR to put the whole operation under the Atlantic Ferry Organization ("Atfero") was set up by Morris W. Wilson, a banker in Montreal. Wilson hired civilian pilots to fly the aircraft to the UK. The pilots were then ferried back in converted RAF Liberators. "Atfero hired the pilots, planned the routes, selected the airports [and] set up weather and radiocommunication stations." Major trunk air routes of AAF Ferrying Command, June 1942. The organization was passed to Air Ministry administration though retaining civilian pilots, some of which were Americans, alongside RAF navigators and British radio operators. After completing delivery, crews were flown back to Canada for the next run. RAF Ferry Command was formed on 20 July 1941, by the raising of the RAF Atlantic Ferry Service to Command status. Its commander for its whole existence was Air Chief Marshal Sir Frederick Bowhill.

As its name suggests, the main function of Ferry Command was the ferrying of new aircraft from factory to operational unit. Ferry Command did this over only one area of the world, rather than the more general routes that Transport Command later developed. The Command's operational area was the north Atlantic, and its responsibility was to bring the larger aircraft that had the range to do the trip over the ocean from American and Canadian factories to the RAF home Commands. With the entry of the United States into the War, the Atlantic Division of the United States Army Air Forces Air Transport Command began similar ferrying services to transport aircraft, supplies and passengers to the British Isles. After World War II long runways were available, and North American and European carriers such as Pan Am, TWA, Trans Canada Airlines (TCA), BOAC (successor of Imperial Airways), and Air France acquired larger piston airliners that could cross the North Atlantic with stops (usually in Gander, Newfoundland and/or Shannon, Ireland).

In January 1946 Pan Am's DC -4 was scheduled New York (La Guardia) to London (Hurn) in 17 hours 40 minutes, five days a week; in June 1946 Lockheed 049s had brought the eastward time to Heathrow down to 15 hr 15 min. To aid aircraft crossing the Atlantic, six nations grouped to divide the Atlantic into ten zones. Each zone had a letter and a vessels station in that zone, providing radio relay, radio navigation beacons, weather reports and rescues if an aircraft went down. The six nations of the group split the cost of these vessels. The September 1947 ABC Guide shows 27 passenger flights a week west across the North Atlantic to the US and Canada on BOAC and other European airlines and 151 flights every two weeks on Pan Am, AOA, TWA and TCA. 15 flights a week to the Caribbean and South America, plus three a month on Iberia and a Latecoere 631 six-engine flying boat every two weeks to Fort de France.

BOAC Comet 1 at Heathrow in 1953 In May 1952 BOAC was the first airline to introduce a passenger jet, the de Havilland Comet, into airline service. All Comet 1 aircraft were grounded in April 1954 after four Comets crashed, the last two being BOAC aircraft at altitude. Later jet airliners including the revised Comet 4 were designed to be fail-safe: in the event of for example a skin-failure due to cracking the damage would be localized and not catastrophic. In October 1958 BOAC operated the first transatlantic Jet service with the larger and longer-range Comet 4. Supersonic flights on the Concorde were offered from 1976 to 2003. Since the loosening of regulations in the 1970s and 1980s, many airlines now compete across the Atlantic. Present day[edit] In 2015, 44 million seats were offered on the transatlantic routes, an increase of 6% over the previous year.

Of the 67 European airports with links to North America, the busiest was London Heathrow Airport with 231,532 weekly seats, followed by Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport with 129,831, Frankfurt Airport with 115,420, and Amsterdam Airport Schiphol with 79,611. Of the 45 airports in North America, the busiest linked to Europe was New York John F. Kennedy International Airport with 198,442 seats, followed by Toronto Pearson International Airport with 90,982, New York Newark Liberty International Airport with 79,107, and Chicago O'Hare International Airport with 75,391 seats.

Million seats offered Airline 2005 2015 ∆ Delta Air Lines 2.79 5.33 91% British Airways 4.93 4.85 -2% United Airlines 2.37 4.78 102% Lufthansa 2.99 3.80 27% American Airlines 2.87 2.84 -1% Air Canada 1.78 2.76 55% Air France 2.23 2.49 12% Virgin Atlantic Airways 1.84 2.38 29% US Airways 1.13 1.75 55% KLM 1.12 1.45 29% 21st May 1927 & 1932: First solo transatlantic flights - YouTube 21st May 1927 & 1932: First solo transatlantic flights Want to watch this again later? Sign in to add this video to a playlist. Need to report the video?

Sign in to report inappropriate content. The interactive transcript could not be loaded. Loading... Rating is available when the video has been rented. This feature is not available right now. Please try again later. Published on May 20, 2015 On the 21st May 1927, Charles Lindbergh became the first person to make a solo non-stop flight across the Atlantic when he flew 3,600 miles from New York to Paris. On exactly the same date five years later, Amelia Earhart became the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic when she landed in Northern Ireland, having been forced to abandon her intended destination of Paris due to technical difficulties. Lindbergh’s flight in The Spirit of St Louis earned him not only enormous fame but also the $25,000 Orteig Prize that had been offered by a French-born New York hotelier to the first person to make a non-stop flight between New York and Paris. Earhart, meanwhile, did not fly in the hope of receiving prize money.

She later said that she aimed to prove that women were just as good as men in "jobs requiring intelligence, coordination, speed, coolness, and willpower." Interestingly, she already held the record as the first woman to fly across the Atlantic, but she did that as a passenger in 1928. It’s worth noting that the very first non-stop transatlantic flight occurred in 1919. Two British aviators, John Alcock and Arthur Whiten Brown, flew a modified Vickers Vimy bomber aircraft from Newfoundland to Ireland in just under 16 hours. Their achievement won them the £10,000 Daily Mail aviation prize for the first non-stop flight across the Atlantic. They received their prize from the then Secretary of State for Air, and future World War 2 Prime Minister, Winston Churchill.

Category Buckingham Covers | Alcock & Brown 90th Anniversary Stamp Presentation Sheet Alcock & Brown 90th Anniversary Stamp Presentation Sheet < > Code - BCSHEET3590th Anniversary First non-stop Transatlantic Flight by Alcock & Brown stamp sheet presentation pack £30.00 Code - BCSHEET35S90th Anniversary First non-stop Transatlantic Flight by Alcock & Brown, signed Capt Les Scott £40.00 Code - BCSHEET35M90th Anniversary First non-stop Transatlantic Flight, signed Les Scott & Tim Orchard £45.00 Commemorating the 90th anniversary of the first translantic flights Limited edition of just 600 sheets Available signed by Captain Les Scott and Tim Orchard Issue Date: 01/07/2009 Issue Name: Alcock and Brown 90th Anniversary Stamp Presentation Sheet Producer: Buckingham Covers The official definition of a Transatlantic flight is: "The flight of an aircraft, whether fixed-wing aircraft, balloon or other device, which involves crossing the Atlantic Ocean — with a starting point in North America or South America and ending in Europe or Africa, or vice versa." Between 1

907 and 1925 the Daily Mail newspaper awarded numerous prizes for achievements in aviation and the Daily Mail Air Race became a famous institution.

It started in the early years of flight and in 1919 the prize on offer was £10,000 for the first aircraft to cross the Atlantic non-stop in less than 72hrs. The first crossing was achieved by a US Navy Pilot, AC Read, however he did make several stops on the way. It wasn’t until June 14th-15th 1919 that British aviators Capt John Alcock and Lieut. Arthur Whitten Brown made the historic flight non-stop from St John’s in Newfoundland to Clifden in Ireland. This Sheet was automatically reserved for anyone in our Stamp Sheet Club (signed and unsigned) at the lowest possible price. Click here to find out more about our clubs Commemorating the 90th anniversary of the first translantic flights Limited edition of just 600 sheets Available signed by Captain Les Scott and Tim Orchard Aviation Heroes John Alcock was born in Old Trafford, England, in 1892 and his interest in flying was sparked in his late teens. In November 1912 he qualified as a pilot and regularly took part in competitions at Hendon throughout 1913/14.

He served as a military pilot during WWI, during which he was shot down and taken prisoner in Turkey. After the war he took up the challenge of the Transatlantic Crossing. Arthur Whitten Brown was born in Glasgow in 1886 and his career began in engineering just before WWI. He was shot down over Germany during the war too and also spent time as a prisoner of war. Once back home however, he continued to hone his navigational skills and was asked to act as navigator on the proposed Transatlantic Flight with John Alcock. Facts & Figures The aircraft in which Alcock & Brown made their historic flight was a modified WWI Vickers Vimy bomber, which they flew at an average speed of 115 mph. The altitude varied between sea level and 12,000 ft (3,700m) and 865 gallons of fuel were on board. The length of time it took to complete the 1960 nautical mile (3630km) journey is, after all this time, still a matter of debate but it appears to be quoted at somewhere between a remarkable 16hrs 12mins – 16hrs 27mins.

Their £10,000 prize was presented to them by Winston Churchill and they were both knighted by King George V a few days after the flight. Perilous Flight The main problem that faced early aviators included engine unreliability, navigation, unpredictable weather and of course, limited range of the aircraft itself. Although it’s something we take for granted these days, Transatlantic flight at the turn of the 20th Century was a very dangerous undertaking to say the least! The flight was fraught with danger and nearly came to an abrupt end several times. Engine trouble, fog, snow and ice were all problems they faced during the perilous journey and it was only Brown’s continual climbing out on the wings to remove ice from the engine air intakes, plus Alcock’s excellent piloting skills, that saved them. Alcock came to a tragic end when the new Vickers Viking aircraft in which he was flying to the Paris Airshow on December 18th 1919 crashed in fog. Brown passed away on October 4, 1948. A monument to their staggering achievement in the form of a statue of Alcock and Brown stands at London's Heathrow Airport.

Our 90th Anniversary Tribute To celebrate this momentous anniversary in Aviation history, we have created this dramatic stamp sheet, featuring an image of Alcock & Brown making their incredible journey. Signed by two Modern Day Transatlantic Record-Breakers! We're very excited to be able to offer a small number of our sheets signed by Captain Les Scott and Senior First Officer Tim Orchard who between them, jointly hold the Concorde World Record time for the journey between New York and London - 2hrs 52mins. We also have a single-signed version on offer, signed by Captain Les Scott. Bleriot 100th Anniversary Stamp Presentation Sheet Request to be put on the Waiting List If you are interested in buying/reserving an out of stock product. Please fill in the form below to send us a message. You will not be charged and if it becomes available we will contact you to find out if you are still interested. Please add me to the waiting list. I understand that you will let me know if the product becomes available! Request! ×Close Items Added To basket You have successfully added this item to your shopping basket. Please choose an option from below.

Continue Shopping ×Close Wish-list Your wish-list is a selection of items chosen by you that you can refer to at a later date, maybe to purchase. Please choose items to add to your wish list below and click on the add or remove buttons. Product Code

Question: In what type of aircraft did Alcock and Brown make the first non-stop transatlantic crossing?
Answer: VICKERS VIMY