Bleriot's Cross Channel Flight Available in Franï¿½aise, Espaï¿½ol, Portuguï¿½s, Deutsch, Россию, 中文, 日本, and others. Old News he following account of Louis Bleriot's flight across the English Channel appeared in the 31 July 1909 edition of Flight, an English magazine devoted to the new field of aviation. It includes information from several eyewitnesses to the historic event. M. Bleriot's great success is a fitting sequel to Mr. Latham's splendid failure; there should be no jealousy in comparison, both are working in the cause of flight. M. Bleriot reflects glory on his defeated rival at the same time that he is crowned with the laurels of victory himself. And M. Bleriot deserves his success; how much, none save those who have followed his history in flight know. There were days not long since when M. Bleriot used to tumble with his machine with almost monotonous persistency; yet he kept on, in spite of criticisms.

In those days, too, he was still trying to fly a monoplane, and monoplanes were not very popular just then, for there were not wanting critics who almost went as far as saying that they would not fly at all. M. Bleriot is the champion of the monoplane, and he has done more than anyone else to develop it. Moreover, he is engineer and pilot combined, and the machine with which he has crossed the Channel, and thereby traced his name indelibly on the pages of history, is his own machine, the work of his own brain, and if the truth were known, contains, we dare say, a good deal of his own handicraft as well. He is not only a worker, he is a sportsman, is M. Bleriot, and most thoroughly deserves every prize he has won. It is rather apt to be forgotten how very early M. Bleriot commenced his aviation experiences. As long ago as 1906 an illustration appeared in The Auto-motor Journal of May 26th, of an aeroplane which MM. Bleriot and Voisin had constructed for experimental work on Lake Enghien.

It was a curious machine that, but it has this much of especial interest, that it was designed for use over water. In the following year, 1907, M. Bleriot had built and was trying at Issy, near Paris, a monoplane which does not differ in essentials from the machine which is on view this week at Selfridge's. What mishaps he used to have in those days! Almost every other time that he succeeded in getting off the ground he returned to earth with a crash; he always broke something, but it was never himself, always did this persevering pilot seem to bear a charmed life. As a matter of fact, he used to take what precautions he could, and he himself, as we mentioned last week, attributes many of his escapes to a little trick which he had of throwing himself on to one of the wings of his flyer when he saw that a catastrophe was imminent. M. Bleriot worked on the principle that it was impossible to save both man and machine. When M.

Bleriot had advanced in the art of flight until he was easily among the two or three genuine pilots of the day, he conceived the idea of making quite a small machine, which type has since been known as his short-span flyer "No. 11." It was shown first of all at the Paris Salon at the end of last year, and attracted a very great deal of attention on account of its compact appearance. It was such a flyer as many had set their hearts upon, but as many more had deemed impracticable. No one foresaw then that this was to be the epoch-making machine with which he should fly 25 miles across country on July 17th and 31 miles across the sea on July 25th. True, the dimensions of the span are somewhat larger as the result of alterations which followed various preliminary experiments, but that it is still to all intents and purposes the same compact machine must have been apparent to all who took the unique opportunity of seeing it at Dover or during the past few days in London at the Selfridge showrooms. By his two great flights across country and across the Channel M. Bleriot has set the seal of success upon the monoplane principle.

His achievements are another huge step in the ''coming of the monoplane," about which we had occasion to speak at some length in our issue of June 12th, when Mr. Latham had been making some record flights with a machine of the same class. It is an advance, but it does not alter the problem; the monoplane is still by way of being the racer of the air. M. Bleriot took roughly 40 minutes to cross the Channel, his speed being in the region of 45 miles an hour average, and according to his own account was nearer 50 miles an hour shortly after the start. That is a speed which only a limited number of pilots can be expected to feel safe at in their early experiments. Safety lies in speed, there is much reason to believe, but that is a different kind of safety, and is hardly in the reckoning if the pilot himself is not at home in the air under such conditions. M.

Bleriot is now a master of the upper element, but he worked hard for his degree; on no occasion has his knowledge and skill stood him in better stead than during his Channel flight, for there he met with difficulties which must surely have brought a less experienced pilot to sad grief. Even at the start there was, according to M. Bleriot's own estimate, a 10-knot wind; while, off Dover, the breeze was double this velocity, and the cliff currents particularly strong. In mid-Channel the wind had dropped, but at the moment of landing it was blowing in all directions. The Story of the Flight It was almost without warning, but nevertheless with a send-off on the French shore from an enthusiastic crowd, that M. Bleriot flew across the Straits of Dover from Les Baraques, near Calais, to Northfall Meadow at Dover on Sunday, July 25th, thereby incidentally winning the Daily Mall ï¿½1,000 prize. Taking the week-end as a whole, it has been one of the windiest periods of a particularly unsettled summer, and the previous day had in particular seemed hopeless for any cross-Channel flight.

Half a gale had indeed been blowing and a heavy sea running only a few hours before, and hence it is hardly to be wondered at that the feat was as totally unexpected as it was. When this greatest of all great events in the annals of modern history was taking place the world and his wife were mostly abed, especially this side of the Channel. But M. Bleriot had got up at half-past two in the morning, not feeling very well, had taken a short motor run just to blow the cobwebs away, and that was why he was able to snatch the one brief fine moment that presented itself between the daytime storms of Saturday and Sunday. Seeing that the fates were propitious, he then lost little time in bringing out the flyer, and in spite of his injured foot he quickly carried out a practice flight over the sand-hills between Les Baraques and Sangatte. A little earlier, too, he had notified his intention to start to the destroyer "Escopette," which was consequently at that time standing out to sea, with Madame Bleriot and others already aboardï¿½all anxiously on the look-out for him.

Finding everything working properly with his machine, he speedily effected a fresh start, this time flying straight away over the cliffs and heading towards England. That was at about twenty minutes to five (French time) and it was about twenty minutes past five (also French time) that he landed at Dover. Accounts differ as to the exact moment of departure and descent, and as a matter of fact it is doubtful if any reliable timing was made since M. Bleriot started without a watch as well as without a compass. The distance of the flight was about 31 miles, and hence the speed was in the region of 45 miles an hour. During the crossing he flew at an altitude of 150 ft. to 300 ft., and thus kept much nearer the water than Mr. Latham did on his attempt. M. Bleriot's monoplane quickly outstripped the torpedo-beat destroyer "Escopette," with which the French Government replaced the "Harpon," that was on duty during Mr. Latham's attempt. In mid-Channel M.

Bleriot lost sight of land and of his escort for a very uncomfortably long periodï¿½estimated by him to have been ten minutesï¿½and was entirely without means of ascertaining his proper direction. In the circumstances he did the only thing possible, which was to keep straight on, and fortune favouring him, he sighted the English shore off Deal while heading for St. Margaret's Bay. Turning along the coast M. Bleriot flew towards Dover, and put in at a gap in the cliffs where a representative of Le Matin, M. Fontaine, was signaling to him with a tricolour flag. The site on which the landing was accomplished was the Northfall Meadow. Although the arrival was noticed from afar by several, and M. Fontaine was on the chosen part of the cliff at Dover, yet even he failed to see the real landing, and P.C. Stanford was the only eye-witness of this great historic event, the landing on British soil of the first flyer to cross the Channel. The actual contact with terra-firma was rather abrupt; in fact, not only was the propeller broken, but that part of the framework which carries the engine was also damaged.

Mishaps of this sort, however, are absolutely negligible by comparison with the success of the main issue. Bleriot had crossed the Channel, had won the Daily Mail prize, and was none the worse for it, nor in all probability would his machine have been damaged had he been familiar with the site on which he was forced to alight. Heard Afar Off One of the most interesting minor points associated with M. Bleriot's cross-Channel flight, is the manner in which at Dover he was heard afar off by the very few people who happened to be about at the time. The whirring of the motor (doubtless chiefly due to the open exhaust) was quite distinctly audible, according to more than one eye-witness, even while the flyer itself was a mere speck in the distance. The night watchman on the Promenade Pier, in relating his account of the proceedings to the Daily Telegraph, says : " I suddenly saw a peculiar object away to the eastward, moving very rapidly across the sky.

As it came closer I could hear the whirring of the motor, and I judged that it was one of the flying men who had made a start and had practically got across." The chief officer of the Coastguard Station similarly relates that he could hear "a continual buzzing when the machine was several miles away." Looked Like a Bird Next to the noise of the engine it was the high speed and bird-like appearance of the flyer which principally attracted the attention of those few who were privileged to witness its arrival in England. "The speed was almost incredible," said the chief officer of the Coastguard Station, and certainly the sight of a monoplane coming out of the distance through the air at forty miles an hour or so might be well calculated to appeal to the imagination even of one who's life duty it is to watch all that goes on in the Channel. M. Bleriot's Last Flight According to several reports M. Bleriot has definitely stated that he will give up flying after he has taken part in the Rheims races. Cherchez la femme of course, but who shall grudge Madame Bleriot her voice in the matter, now that her husband has done so much.

Besides, although only 36, he has five children to think of, and there is after all some risk attached to the game which even M. Bleriot's phenomenal good luck might not for ever tide over. Let us, at least, wish him every success and all good fortune inï¿½if it should prove to beï¿½ his last flight. It is nevertheless now said that, upon more mature thought, Madame Bleriot has since then withdrawn her embargo, so we may still hope to see M. Bleriot soar to even greater achievements. Lost in Mid-Channel It must have been a unique experience when M. Bleriot lost himself in mid-Channel, and it can hardly have been without a tremor that he realized himself absolutely "at sea,ï¿½ although only 10 minutes, as to which way to go. It was a phase of the Channel flight which a good many people had anticipated and against which the more or less elaborate precautions that were proposed in the way of motor boats, &c, were in part to guard.

That the first pilot should actually find himself in this predicament, no one of course expected, for most people naturally believed that no one would make the attempt without taking many precautions. To this extent M. Bleriot's flight may possibly be regarded as somewhat foolhardy, and the fact that he so quickly outpaced his convoy the destroyer, certainly rendered his position extremely hazardous had any accident happened; M. Bleriot himself admits as much. But fortune favoured him so that he kept his course. Speaking about his experience, M. Bleriot makes the curious remark that during the time when he was out of sight of land and other definite objects he "felt as if he was not moving." The Commercial Side Naturally enough M. Bleriot's success will give a trememdous impetus to his own aeroplane business, quite apart from the enormous lift which the entire industry, at home as abroad, will receive from his epoch-making exploit. Even as it is he has sold 15 of his machines since he started to take orders for them only a short time ago. He has also secured the monopoly of the Anzani engine which performed so well, and upon which so much of the success of the flight depended that, next to M.

Bleriot, M. Anzani has naturally come in for much of the credit attached to this great historic flight. Chevalier Bleriot M. Bleriot arrived in Dover clothed in a cork jacket and overalls, and the more orthodox garments in which he subsequently appeared were on loan from Mr. Hart O. Bergï¿½the European concessionaire of the Wright aeroplane, who happened to be staying at the Lord Warden Hotel. Mr. Hart O. Berg is a Chevalier of the Legion of Honour and his coat was decorated with the ribbon, which M. Bleriot desired to remove. Mr. Hart O. Berg remonstrated with him, however, saying that he was sure to have the right to the ribbon himself before long, and sure enough during breakfast came a telegram from France saying the Government had already conferred the honour. Half Share with Latham With sportmanlike generosity M. Bleriot offered to share the ï¿½1,000 Daily Mail prize with Mr. Latham if his rival should succeed in making the crossing during Sunday. But as Mr. Latham remained on the French coast M.

Bleriot was not called upon to put his offer into effect. The Flyer in London Motoring in the vicinity of Dover, Mr. Gordon Selfridge, one of the heads of the great Oxford Street emporium, heard of the successful flight, and making his way to where the machine was surrounded by a crowd of spectators, he there and then arranged with the Daily Mail to have the flyer on view in his own showrooms in Oxford Street for the London public to see, and agreed to pay the sum of ï¿½200 to the London Hospitalï¿½an institution selected by the Dally Mailï¿½for the privilege accorded. By this smart action on the part of a businesslike man, M. Bleriot's aeroplane was not only brought to London, but was actually on view by 10 o'clock on Monday morning, huge crowds flocking in from the earliest moment to avail themselves of the unique opportunity of inspecting its details. During the first three days of the week the stream of sightseers was constant, so much so that Messrs.

Selfridge arranged to keep the monoplane for a further twenty-four hours, and, to enable as many as possible to see it, kept the part of their premises in which the machine was housed open until midnight on Thursday. Bleriot and the Customs The Customs officers, who were among the very few actual spectators of the arrival of M. Bleriot on the English coast, were very properly among the first to accost the pilot after his unconventional descent on British soil. With fitting forbearance, however, they recognized that it was only "one of those flying-men," and therefore made no attempt at an inspection for contraband. Sixpence Admission After the initial excitement had somewhat abated, a tent was erected as a temporary housing for Bleriot's flyer, and, in aid of local charity, a fee of sixpence was charged for the admission of the public, who hastened up in numbers to see the machine which had thus come so strangely in their midst. The Prize and its Presentation By crossing the Channel M.

Bleriot had gained the ï¿½1,000 which the Daily Mall put up for this event, and the presentation of the cheque took place in the Savoy Hotel on Monday afternoon of this week. The gathering at the luncheon which preceded the formality was as notable as the occasion itself; among those present who supported Lord Northcliffe at the reception being the Right Hon. R. B. Haldane, Sir Edward Ward, Sir Thomas Lipton, Bart., Sir Horace Regnart, Bart., Sir Arthur Paget, Sir John Barker, Sir Francis Trippel, Sir Vezey Strong, Sir Thomas Dewa1-, Major Baden-Powell, Col. Capper, Capt. Jessel, Lieut. Shackleton, Hon. C. S. Rolls, Hon. Charles Russell, Mr. Roger Wallace, Mr. Frank Butler, Dr. R. T. Glazebrook, Mr. Moberly Bell, Mr. St. John Hornby, Mr. Kennedy Jones, Mr. Hugh Spottiswoode, Mr. Harold Perrin, Mr. H. Gordon Selfridge and Mr. George R. Sims.

Altogether there must have been nearly 150 people present, and there were certainly as many more outside waking for an opportunity to cheer Mons. and Madame Bleriot, who were both happily able to be present. Lord Northcliffe first of all made the announcement that the Aero Club of the United Kingdom had decided to present M. Bleriot with its Gold Medal, and then he presented M. Bleriot with a large silver rose-bowl on behalf of the British representatives of the Bleriot firm. The final proceeding was to present the Daily Mail prize of ï¿½1,000 in two ï¿½500 notes which were contained in a letter-case enclosed in a handsome silver cup. In his speech Lord Northcliffe paid very proper tribute to M. Bleriot's achievement, and incidentally took the opportunity of drawing attention to Lieut. Shackleton's presence among the guests, saying how pleasant it was that they were thus able to entertain at one and the same time such typical heroes of the respective countries. According to Lord Northcliffe, almost all good things had, like M.

Bleriot, first "come out of France,"for so many of the leading modern inventions had been due to the work of Frenchmen.ï¿½ In making the actual presentation, Lord Northcliffe concluded his remarks with a short speech of congratulation in French. M. Bleriot, in reply, spoke a few sentences characteristic of his modest personality, in which he attempted to belittle his successful effort. But in that, needless to say, his words carried no conviction to the enthusiastic assembly. The Wireless Story Although less exhaustive in its detail as compared with the wireless messages exchanged between Sangatte and Dover on the occasion of Mr. Latham's attempt, the following brief record is of historic interest:ï¿½ Calais, by Marconi Wireless, via Dover. 4.36.ï¿½Bleriot has started; look out for him. We saw him at 4.35. He started from Les Baraques. 4.40.ï¿½He is nearly half way across. 4 47.ï¿½He has outdistanced the boat. 4.50.ï¿½He is out of sight of French coast.

4.56.ï¿½Destroyers are now out of sight and far behind. 4.59.ï¿½Bleriot flew with perfect steadiness till out of our sight, not very high above the water. 5:00.ï¿½Let us know as soon as you see him. From the Dover side, unfortunately, the wireless operators entirely failed to locate Bleriot during his flight, although the torpedo boat was first sighted by them at 5.06 a.m., and its movements recorded every few minutes. Not until 5.31 a.m. had the rumour of Bleriot's landing at 5.20 a.m. reached them, to be finally confirmed by wireless to Calais at 5.52 a.m. Celebrating the Occasion Other more or less important and pleasing functions which have marked the greatness of M.

Bleriot's feat have included a civic reception at Dover on Monday morning, when the hero of the hour was on his way to be lionized in London, a dinner given in his honour that evening by the well-known Bleriot Lamp Company of London, a reception by the management at the Empire Theatre later the same evening when animated pictures were shown typical of the aerial trip across the Channel, and, by no means least, the dinner given by the Aero Club at the Ritz Hotel on Tuesday, when their Gold Medal was presented. Also it is significant to observe that a moveï¿½ment is already on foot to erect a commemoration column at Dover on the spot where M. Bleriot alighted. M. Bleriot in Paris When M. Bleriot and his wife arrived in Paris on Wednesday afternoon, they were greeted by a surging crowd of people who simply swamped the extra force of police which had been detailed to keep the road clear. As soon as the train steamed into the station the crowd surrounded the carriage in which M. Bleriot and his party were, and they had great difficulty in fighting their way to the spot where M.

Barthou and the deputation of the members of the Aero Club of France were waiting to receive them. All along the four miles which separates the North Station from the Aero Club house, the streets were lined with cheering people, and every vantage point had its occupant who waved a flag or a handkerchief. On arrival at the Aero Club, the guests were welcomed by the President, Comte de la Vaulx, who presented M. Bleriot with the Club's special Gold Medal. Later in the day, M. Bleriot was presented by his workmen with an objet d'art, entitled Le Cri de la Victoire, executed by M. D. Grisand. Bleriot Monoplane Fabric and Fittings It is of interest to notice that the material of which the planes of M. Bleriot's monoplanes were made was Continental aeroplane sheeting, which is used on many of the most successful flying machines of to-day. Another point of interest is that the Bowden wire mechanism was used by M. Bleriot for the control of the Anzani motor on his flyer.

Faked Cross-Channel Photos In the interests of historic accuracy it is very important to publish a warning against many of the extremely clever but totally imaginative photographs of M. Bleriot's cross-Channel flight that have appeared in various papers during the week. For our own part we have exercised the greatest care in accepting any of the dozens of photographs that have been offered to us, and have studiously rejected all those which are obviously "fakes." In days to come, those looking back upon the present records may well be misled by some of the photographs in question, and even their absence from our own columns may fail to afford the necessary clue. As a matter of fact, no known photographs were obtained of M. Bleriot's flight while he was still in mid-air, in any case, subsequent to the time that he passed above the French torpedo boat. Attempt to recreate Louis Bleriot's Channel crossing grounded - Telegraph UK News Attempt to recreate Louis Bleriot's Channel crossing grounded It was a cruel blow that killed a pilot’s dream.

At 5.30pm on Saturday, Mikael Carlson was waiting near Calais to fly to Dover in an original aeroplane of the type used in the first cross-Channel flight exactly 100 years ago. Image 1 of 2 French pilot Edmond Salis pulls his restored original Bleriot XI ahead of his attempt to cross the channel as part of festivities to mark the centenary of Louis Bleriot's English Channel crossing Photo: EPA Image 1 of 2 French pilot Edmond Salis pulls his restored original Bleriot XI ahead of his attempt to cross the channel as part of festivities to mark the centenary of Louis Bleriot's English Channel crossing Photo: EPA By David Harrison 10:46PM BST 25 Jul 2009 The 50-year-old Swede was looking forward to recreating the flight completed by Louis Bleriot on July 25, 1909. It was to be the highlight of a two-day celebration to mark the centenary of the pioneering Frenchman’s achievement.

But as thousands of spectators gathered to cheer Mr Carlson’s take-off and landing in the Bleriot XI that he had found in a barn on remote farmland 23 years ago, dismantled and lovingly restored, the flight was abruptly cancelled. The French authorities decided that, although it was a beautiful sunny evening, the winds were too strong and the centenery flight could not go ahead. Mr Carlson was grounded. He may be allowed to take off today. The decision was all the more painful for Mr Carlson because, while his was the nominated centenery flight, two French pilots had earlier been allowed to fly their Bleriot XIs – one an original and one a replica – across the Channel. The Swede was livid at the decision and felt he had been “stitched up” by the French, according to one source at Dover. Two other Bleriot XIs – piloted by a Dutchman and a Luxembourger – were also grounded by the strong winds. David Walton, a flying display director, said: “Mikael was keen to go but the French authorities said it would be too dangerous. He’s very unhappy that the French pilots were allowed to fly and then the French authorities told him that he couldn’t.

But the winds are strong.” Mr Carlson was all set to fly from Les Barraques - now renamed Bleriot-Plage - to the Duke of York’s Royal Military School. The flight was expected to take about 35 minutes. His wife Gunilla, a pilot and former wing-walker, was due to fly behind him in a helicopter. “I was really looking forward to it,” Mr Carlson said. “It would have been a privilege to fly on this special day.” The pilot, who flies a Boeing 737 for a private airline and is a keen aviation historian, said he wanted to fly to help people to remember what Bleriot and the other aviation pioneers achieved 100 years ago. For Mr Carlson it had been a labour of love and remarkable dedication. He searched for more than 10 years for the aeroplane that had obsessed him. When he found the Bleriot XI, it had been dismantled and the parts left in boxes in a barn on remote farmland. Undeterred, he spent five years rebuilding it and restoring it to its former glory.

Mr Carlson does not come from an aviation family – “my father was scared of flying,” he said – but developed an early fascination with aeroplanes. As a child he was a skilful and world champion model aeroplane maker, and he went on to build display models for the Swedish air force museum. It was in 1986, after a 10-year search, that he finally found a dismantled Bleriot XI in a barn in Sweden. “It was a wonderful moment and, to my delight, all the parts, including spares, were there,” he said. It required a massive effort to check, clean and restore the parts – “every nut and bolt” – and replace any that had rusted. Patiently and painstakingly he rebuilt the aircraft and in 1991 he flew it for the first time. Since then he has flown it regularly at air shows all over the world. He had been confident that it would be able to complete the Channel crossing without any problems. “You never know, of course,” he said. “When an engine goes there is no advance warning. But the Bleriot has been flying well. It is much harder to fly than modern aircraft. You have to conquer the elements.

That is the big challenge.” The plane is a “Thulin A” model, built by Swedish firm AETA in 1914 under licence from Louis Bleriot. It is 25ft long, with a wing span of 30ft, and powered by a 50hp Gnome-Omega rotary engine. Mr Carlson found a second Bleriot XI in Sweden in the early Nineties. Some parts, including the engine, were missing and although he was able to copy parts from his first Bleriot, it took him 10 years to find the engine. The restoration work was finished in October, 2004. Louis Bleriot, a 37-year old French inventor, aircraft designer and self-trained pilot, designed the Bleriot XI and won a £1,000 prize, put up by Lord Northcliffe, the British newspaper magnate, when he became the first pilot to cross the Channel in either direction. Bleriot’s achievement, in bad weather, thrilled the public but shocked the British military and political establishment because it demonstrated that Britain, a formidable force at sea, was vulnerable to enemy attack in the air.

At the time British Customs officials did not have any provision for landings other than by ship: Bleriot was logged as a ship’s master and his aeroplane as a yacht. It was the first international flight over water by an aeroplane. Bleriot, a non-swimmer, had no compass but plenty of courage. The mustachioed pilot, who had injured his foot and walked to his plane on crutches, took off at 4.37am. As he turned towards Dover he was caught by strong winds and made a crash landing in Northfall Meadow, behind the castle. The journey took 37 minutes. The Bleriot XI was not only the first aeroplane to cross the Channel but the first to fly over the Alps, the first used for military service and the first to “loop the loop”. It became one of most popular aircraft of the time and was built in many countries. It was used by several air forces during the Great War. A stone silhouette memorial of the plane is set into the ground at the place where Bleriot landed.

BBC NEWS | UK | Pilot recreates Channel crossing Pilot recreates Channel crossing Advertisement French pilot recreates historic Bleriot flight A French pilot has successfully recreated the first flight across the English Channel, on the 100th anniversary of the achievement. At dawn on 25 July 1909, Frenchman Louis Bleriot created history by piloting his Bleriot XI from Sangatte, France, to Dover in England. French pilot Edmond Salis took off from Bleriot Beach on Saturday in an exact replica of his monoplane. The crossing was part of the Dover 2009 celebrations marking the centenary. Identical aeroplane Mr Salis landed on a grass airstrip just before 0900 GMT at the Duke of York's Royal Military School, close to where Mr Bleriot crash-landed after his 36-minute flight, in the shadow of Dover Castle.

Louis Bleriot was the first man to fly across the Channel Before the flight Mr Salis said: "Louis Bleriot surely asked himself the same questions as us before taking off, but there was more uncertainty then, since nobody had ever done it before him His cloth and wood monoplane, which dates from 1934, is identical to the one Bleriot flew. High winds forced the cancellation of a flight planned for later on Saturday where Swedish pilot Mikael Carlson was hoping to lead three replica Bleriot XIs across the Channel. Mr Bleriot's grandson, who is also called Louis, watched the aeroplane land. He said: "Today is a great day the anniversary of my grandfather's cross-channel flight of course -so for me, it's something that I've been waiting for for ages of course. "Not only to France, but for the world, his cross-channel flight was really the beginning of modern aviation." Mr Bleriot earned worldwide fame and a £1,000 cash prize, courtesy of the Daily Mail, for his 1909 achievement. His lightweight aircraft, with a 25 horsepower engine and made of ash, went into mass production.

The enterprising Gordon Selfridge had the Bleriot XI taken and displayed in his new department store in London. Bookmark with: Bleriot's Flight Across the English Channel | WYSO Bleriot's Flight Across the English Channel A photo of the actual flight, Louis Bleriot crossing the English Channel. From the Special Collections and Archives at the Wright State University Libraries At the Shuttleworth Collection in the UK, this Bleriot IX is nearly identical to the aeroplane Louis Bleriot flew across the Channel. The temperamental Anzani three-cylinder motor. Dan Patterson The frail nature of the aeroplane is apparent in how translucent the fabric and structure are seen in the Shuttleworth example. On very calm days this earliest of all existing early aeroplanes still flies. Dan Patterson At The Musée de l'Air et de l'Espace near Paris, two examples of the main competitors to cross the Channel first. At the top a Bleriot IX, built and flown by Louis Bleriot. Dan Patterson The stone marker at the base of Dover Castle, the outline of Bleriot's craft traced onto the ground exactly where he came to earth.

Dan Patterson On this day in 1909, a man named Louis Bleriot, a French engineer, was the first to fly across the English Channel, 21 miles from Calais in France to Dover, England. Dayton photographer Dan Patterson is an aviation historian, and he's traveled the world to photograph significant aviation history sites. A few years ago he went to see the places where Bleriot took off and landed. The stone marker at Bleriot Plage near Calais on the coast of France. Credit Dan Patterson Just outside Calais in Bleriot Place, which means Bleriot Beach, there's a small stone monument in a residential neighborhood commemorating the events of July 25, 1909. Near this spot, Bleriot made a short test flight in the dark at 4:15 am. He was flying a tiny frail monoplane with a three cylinder Anzani motorcycle engine that had a tendency to explode if it overheated - or after about 30 minutes, whichever came first. The flight across the channel would take about 40 minutes. It was a calculated risk.

Bleriot was not the only person trying to cross the channel in late July 1909. The Daily Mail, a London newspaper, had a put up a thousand pound prize to the first person who could do it. To be official, the flight had to happen in daylight, and at 4:41 when the sun was officially over the horizon, Bleriot took off. He had no instruments. The weather was blustery and misty. Visibility was not good. A French destroyer was positioned half way across the channel to help guide him, but legend as it - he got lost. Bleriot cut his engine and came to Earth pretty hard, breaking his propeller and landing gear, and proving again that any landing you can walk away from is a good one. The bad weather worked to his advantage, though. A rain shower cooled his engine. He had his way to the English coast, spotted someone waving a flag to signal the landing spot near Dover Castle. Bleriot cut his engine and came to Earth pretty hard, breaking his propeller and landing gear, and proving again that any landing you can walk away from is a good one.

Today the open grassy field where Bleriot landed is overgrown with dense shrubs. But as you walk through the thicket, suddenly you find yourself in a wonderful clearing, and you can stand where history happened. The outline of his plane has been set down and memorialized in marble. Like many small airplanes that made history, you are surprised at how small it is. Bleriot won the prize money and became the next great aviator to become world famous in an instant, but those were the days when flying records were made and broken quickly. Ten weeks later, our own Wilbur Wright flew up the Hudson River in New York more than 40 miles over open water, with a canoe attached to the undercarriage - just in case. That canoe, by the way? You can see it at Carillon Park. Tags: 1999 Crossing the English Channel How I Made My First Flight Across the English Channel... in the care of British private pilots by Giacinta Bradley Koontz You may appreciate this story more fully if you first read Harriet Quimby's account of her own cross-channel flight of 1912.

/gbk/ Click Here This year the Harriet Quimby Research Conference broke format and did not hold an annual Workshop with a public lecture. Instead, during the month of October which is usually set aside for the conference, I traveled to England and France for field research in the air and on the ground. The main focus of the trip was to commemorate Harriet's channel-crossing flight as closely as possible. Since I am not a pilot, I needed someone to fly the plane while I wore a replica of Harriet's flying costume. If you are familiar with this era of aviation you already know that Harriet's goal to be the first woman to cross the English Channel in an aeroplane was scooped by Miss Trehawke-Davis when she flew early in April as a passenger with Gustave Hamel piloting a two-seat Bleriot from Dover to Calais. Harriet was already in England preparing for her own flight at that time, and she must have been devastated by the loss of potential notoriety and financial backing due to this stunt. Weather and available aircraft delayed her efforts to be the first woman to pilot her own aeroplane across the channel, but in the end she triumphed.

I have always believed Harriet was exceedingly generous in her comments about the gallant Mr. Hamel as he tested her borrowed Bleriot and offered to fly across the channel disguised in her costume so that she could claim the honor without having to make the dangerous flight. Perhaps Hamel was trying to make up for stealing Harriet's thunder, but nevertheless she declined. The irony was not lost on me that my own flight across the English channel resembled more that of Miss Trehawke-Davis than Harriet. For Harriet's own account entitled "How I Made My First Big Flight Abroad" see the pages following this photo-journal of my own adventure. (From "Fly" Magazine, July 1912, page 8). I have included bits and pieces of her story within my own. I have included a web site list for the English museums and societies which I visited . If you are a pilot, you will also enjoy excerpts from our flight log which I have added at the end of my story. Harriet and her friends left the Lord Warden Hotel and headed for the "flying grounds" near Dover castle early on the morning of Tuesday, April 16, 1912.

Bundled in layers of clothing against the early morning chill of the English coast, Harriet drove her own automobile to the hanger where her Bleriot monoplane had been sheltered courtesy of Louis Bleriot himself. After waiting several days for the windy, foggy weather to clear, Harriet was eager to make her historic flight from England to France. "Time was flying," she complained, "even if I was not." And that's the way it is in England. Everything depends on the nasty weather. Private pilots jump into their planes eagerly and spontaneously (also with caution and preparedness) as soon as the sun shines. In my own quest to follow Harriet's flight plan I had about as much luck as she did. I was in England 13 days. Fortunately the first five were gloriously sunny, crisp and clear, during which time I hastened to cross the channel in a single engine aircraft. I had further plans to fly from the small grassy airfields south of London to Shuttleworth Air Museum (north) later in the week. However, "later" never materialized as drizzle, mist, fog, wind, and just plain soupy skies grounded me for the next 8 days.

During my stay I drove to Brooklands Museum south of London where they proudly display a Wellington Bomber. I took the train and tube twice to the The Royal Aeronautical Society for research, and I traveled on British Rail in a horrendous storm to the RAF Museum at Hendon (north of London) where Claude Graham-White first opened his flying school. However, I never got to see the Bleriot on display at Shuttleworth. Homeward bound from Hendon, I looked out the train window into the gray sky and I understood Harriet's frustration. Time was flying even if I was not! But, I shall never forget my introduction to British private pilots as I flew on four different types of aircraft during two sunny, clear days in England. MY FLIGHT ACROSS THE CHANNEL Early Preparations Months in advance I connected with a private pilot in England, Julian Berry, who agreed to fly me across the English Channel following Harriet's route as faithfully as possible. Before I arrived, my generous new partner in this adventure had e-mailed to me a picture of his low-wing, single engine aircraft - a Socata TB10, built in France. It was beautiful.

I thought it was appropriate to fly in a French built plane - just as Harriet did. Getting down to the details, Julian sent a warning which would have been familiar to Harriet. …"the weather in the UK can be changeable at this time of year," he confessed…"suggest we plan to go earlier in the week rather than later. That way if we are "rained off" we can re-schedule the trip." With that in mind, our trip was set for Monday, October 18, 1999 departing from Shoreham, England with a destination of Le Touquet (Paris-Plage), France. Julian carefully cleared the bureaucratic decks for me with the officials in both France and England by faxing a copy of my passport in advance. All hope of retaining my feminine mystique went flat as I detailed my date of birth and how much I weighed to total strangers. (Harriet never mentioned intercontinental paperwork in articles about her flight. There were no officials at her point of departure or landing as are required today). While my hosts were "on holiday" in Majorca, I was left alone at their home and handed the keys for their van to use as I needed. I never intended to drive in England.

I was terrified I wouldn't be able to adjust to their left-side arrangement. In six previous visits I had difficulty enough crossing the street as a pedestrian. I vowed to drive only if completely necessary. However, my temporary "home" was a mile from the train station, and taxis were expensive and not readily available. So, out of necessity I took a 15 minute driving lesson from my unbelievably patient host - both of us white-knuckled, How I dreaded that one mile drive! I became a good driver (I didn't hit anyone or anything) but I got lost at every "round-about." I never did get the hang of British road signs. In truth I was alert with fear every minute behind the wheel. It turned out I needed all my courage to overcome this fear plus some reinforcement from Harriet in order to make my own cross-channel flight. I was bunking with remarkably generous American friends in Windlesham, west of London, and I intended to use my Britrail pass to travel south to meet Julian near Brighton on the coast.

The two hour train ride was part of my plan and I was prepared to endure the silent, very polite British assessment by fellow passengers of my purple satin flying costume (at 7a.m.!) accessorized with hi-button shoes, gaudy jewelry and…oh, well - you get the picture. The English climate was cooperating and although the nights were frosty, by 8 a.m. the sun had melted the dewy crystals and ground mist rose to reveal clear blue skies. My host's garden still sported fat, fragrant roses and colorful geraniums. It was the perfect weather to be up in an aeroplane. The Duxford Air Show - Sunday October 17 On Sunday, October 17, I rode British Rail to Duxford (far north of London) for their last air show of the year, the century, the millennium. It was phenomenal. The aerial displays were breathtaking and included a memorial fly-over by the father of recently deceased Mark Hanna, killed while flying a WWII aircraft in Spain. I shall never forget it. I saw only one interior exhibit (the American Air Museum of Britain) and never met the curator I had corresponded with - there was so much more to see!

I must go back for another, longer visit. I spent my time outside and tried to track down the owner of a beautiful DC3 I saw parked at the end of the flight line beside two DeHavilland biplanes. The DeHavilland Dragon Rapide offered air tours which was a rare opportunity I didn't want to miss, so I signed up for a 15 minute flight at the end of the day. Luckily, the owner of the silver Dakota, Tony Holden, found me and at once I realized we had already met on-line the previous month. To my delight Tony insisted I allow him to fly me home rather than take the train. In our hasty conversation just before I jumped into the DeHavilland, I did not get the details of which plane, or how I would ultimately make it back to Windlesham. For some reason I instantly knew I could depend on Tony to have all that worked out. And of course - he did.

Within an hour I had a remarkable flight in the DeHavilland followed immediately by the thrilling experience of being escorted to the waiting DC3 (Dakota - N47FK)) which smoothly carried me to another grassy airfield (North Weald Aerodrome). There I was quickly transferred to a third plane (Tony's Saratoga) for the final leg of the journey to Blackbushe Airport (Surrey) very close to my temporary digs in Windlesham. I was still breathless from the experience as Tony drove me to the train station near Windlesham to collect my borrowed van for the dreaded one mile excursion home - now in the dark. Tony discovered my channel-crossing plan for the next morning depended once more on British Rail, but he would have none of that! He offered to fly me round-trip from Blackbushe to Shoreham so that I could hook up with Julian at the airfield rather than the train station. I was flabbergasted but couldn't resist the opportunity to see more patch-work-quilt fields of southern England from the air.

The plan was terrific but depended on me driving about 20 miles through busy morning commuter traffic to Blackbushe airfield, and then driving home in the dark that night. I really wanted to fly with Tony, and I certainly I did NOT want to miss out on more of the adventure. I accepted his remarkable offer, but my anxiety level rose a notch. I had so much on my mind - dressing in just the right costume, taking research notes, camera gear, presents for my pilot, all the while conscious that timing was everything. I could not afford to be late, get lost, or delay take-off at Shoreham. I knew all I had to do was show up at Blackbushe near 8am and I could depend on Tony to transport me to the awaiting Socata. The van keys looked like the baton in a relay race. I slept very little that night. From Windlesham to Shoreham I must have been a curious sight at dawn wiping the dew off the (multiple!) windows of the van dressed in purple satin. While I warmed up the engine, I opened my wallet for one more glimpse of Harriet's photograph I carried with me for inspiration.

Harriet is pictured driving her car to the Dover airfield on the morning of April 16, 1912. Incredibly she was in an open touring car - all bundled up against the morning chill just as I was in October. Harriet drove herself to the airfield facing a dangerous flight with unknown obstacles and possible death. (My flight was none of that!) Her image infused me with resolve. If Harriet could drive on English roads to the airfield - then so could I. And I did. When Tony first saw my vintage costume he may have been surprised but he did not visibly flinch. Instead, he proceeded with the plan, and soon we were amid clouds at 3,000 feet when he reminded me that his plane was identical to that in which John F. Kennedy made his last and fatal flight. He took the time to explain some simple flying rules and characteristics of his aircraft. The aeroplane views and interesting cockpit conversation were an unexpected addition to my prospect of lunch in France. Flying Across the Channel Soon we were at the tidy, grassy Shoreham airfield with its old art-deco terminal which was comfy but elegant and Tony delivered me into Julian's care.

We were meeting in person for the first time. Julian easily succeeded in making me feel comfortable, instilling confidence in his aircraft and his ability to fly it. Before we climbed into his Socata, he carefully explained the use of life vest, raft and aircraft doors. (They flip up on a Socata!) Julian was so accommodating and generous. My admiration for English private pilots increased with each new experience. "It was my turn at last. Everybody was expectant. I was eager to get into my seat and be off…I felt impatient to realize the project on which I was determined…for the first time I was to fly on the other side of the Atlantic. My anxiety was to get off quickly." "There was no wind. Scarcely a breath of air was stirring." (Harriet Quimby 1912) Julian offered me the option of grass or tarmac for our runway. I chose grass because that is what Harriet would have experienced. The taxi ride was bumpy but the landings were soft compared to tarmac. I loved it. We took off on runway "07," which Julian later informed me was 50 feet wide, but I honestly couldn't determine the boundaries.

"In a moment I was in the air, climbing steadily in a long circle. I was up fifteen hundred feet…From this high point of vantage my eyes lit at once on Dover Castle." "In an instant I was beyond the cliffs and over the channel." "There was only one thing for me to do and that was keep my eyes fixed on the compass." (Harriet Quimby 1912) In English and French air space, especially along the coast, there are all kinds of rules which did not apply in Harriet's day. Julian informed me part our route was determined by skirting traffic into London's Gatwick Airport. In Harriet's day she made several trips between England and France which necessitated precision timing based on the scheduled ferries. Today, she would have probably taken the train through the underwater tunnel (the "Chunnel") from Dover to Calais. As we approached Dover Julian pointed out the entrance to this modern marvel below us. To my delight we were able to fly at nearly the same altitude as Harriet flew when we passed over Dover Castle.

I searched the ground for the cement marker commemorating Louis Bleriot's flight of 1909 but could not see it due to the still-leafy trees which surrounded it. Julian pointed out a flat area quite close to the cliff-edge where he believed Harriet could have made her ascent. Today there are radio towers on the spot. "The sunlight struck upon my face and my eyes lit upon the white and sandy shores of France." (Harriet Quimby 1912) Past Dover Julian pointed the nose directly for Cap Gris Nez near Calais, and like Harriet, I could vaguely make out the coast of France in the distance. Below us, the rugged channel waters were remarkably blue and low whitecaps sparkled as an occasional small boat or channel ferry pushed through the cold water. The flight was flawless. Mid-channel Julian changed air traffic control from "London Information" (UK) to "Lille Approach" (France). I listened to the operator welcome us in French then switch to English. Within half an hour I saw the wide sandy beaches south of Bologne near Hardelot and Equihen.

The tide was very low and Julian remarked that it looked inviting enough to land - although take-off would be impossible. We flew as low as allowed over the glistening beach until we landed at our destination of Le Touquet, a resort just a few miles south of Equihen. We landed on runway "06," a tarmac strip. We had the small modern terminal almost entirely to ourselves. The French officials didn't bat an eye when I passed through the "alien" window in my costume. I requested a "souvenir" mark in my passport - causing the flustered clerk to reach into his vest pocket and produce a small stamp. Caught up in his "official" mode, he also wrote a note and initialed it - for which I uttered all I could remember in French…"merci." In France! Le Touquet is a charming town, although not far enough off the beaten track to have avoided the millennium madness and Christmas decorations already obvious in the narrow streets. We were joined by another English pilot who flew in to meet us for lunch at a small, exquisite restaurant where 3 to 5-course luncheons are de rigeur.

Although my pilot friends did not drink - I copied Harriet's luxury of a celebratory glass of French wine during my meal. Alas, there was no time for a cup of tea before we hired a taxi to drive us to the beach at Equihen. Small airports in both France and England close at sundown and we all raced to make the round-trip drive in order to get back across the channel. Radios and cell phones are very popular in Europe - more so even than in Los Angeles - therefore we were able to adjust our rendezvous with Tony at Shoreham and make it all happen. However, in the hour before our departure we raced through the French countryside like Keystone Cops. Leaving my pilots with the taxi, I ran down to the beach and stood on the hard, flat sand of Equihen envisioning Harriet's Bleriot and her encounter with the local "fisherfolk." No one actually knows for sure where Harriet landed - but for me - this was the place. The beach was deserted and the gusts of wind whipped at my costume and tossed back my hood. It smelled of sea salt with a hint of fish. I splashed my boot into the edge of the English Channel - it was glorious.

Respectfully, I was left alone with my thoughts - and a bag to collect some sand. My personal reflections were naturally supplemented with historic perspective. I had completed the journey as best I could, and, with lots of help, I was able to experience the sights and sensations which Harriet had also experienced. Eighty-seven years after her historic flight, I was the next American woman to stand in a purple satin flying costume on the shores of France. Later, Julian and I watched with heartfelt camaraderie as our lunch partner made a smooth take-off for home. We soon followed. I took a last long look as we taxied past another sparkling DC3 parked near a tall pole with the French flag flapping wildly in the coastal breeze. The Gooney-Bird looked like new. Time seemed frozen in 1940…and then we left the continent behind us. Our flight home took a more direct route across the channel and thanks to my excellent pilot - a perfectly delightful experience. We shared pleasant conversation on the way home, exceptionally pleased with ourselves and with the great weather. Below, the channel was now a different color in the late afternoon sun and the surface less choppy than I guessed it would be.

Ahead, the brilliant, tall white cliffs were stunning and my heart leapt back to stories of those with war-time memories in bombers, trainers, cargo planes and fighters - going home to England! Back at Shoreham After a warm cup of tea at Shoreham and equally warm farewells, I left Julian and headed north to Surrey once again in Tony's Saratoga. To say all went well (including my drive home) would be an understatement. My "Notice of Leave" from Her Majesty's Immigration clerk at Biggin Hill awaited me by fax in Windlesham. My trip was now entirely "official." That night, I carefully re-packed my purple satin flying costume, conscious that Harriet had done the same so long ago. I was flush with memories, and pleased that I had done what I set out to do. Above all else I learned new details about Harriet's flight which had never occurred to me before (or perhaps anyone else!). There is so much more than this brief summary can describe. But of course, it all will be part of my own book on Harriet….! That thought crossed my mind just before I slumped into bed that night - a very tired but a very happy woman.

Giacinta Bradley Koontz Panoramio - Photo of Louis Bleriot, 1909 First English Channel Flight, Dover Castle, Kent, England, UK This is how your name and profile photo will appear on Panoramio if you connect this Google+ account. You cannot switch to a different account later. Learn more . Louis Bleriot, 1909 First English Channel Flight, Dover Castle, Kent, England, UK Louis Bleriot on Sunday, 25th July, 1909, in Northfall Meadow behind Dover Castle after the first ever powered-flight across the English Channel from France. This is where Bleriot taxied to after touch-down (else Aero Club Bleriot Memorial is in the wrong place). Aeroplane is a Bleriot XI monoplane that the pioneer aviator designed himself. Earthwork at top-left is Horseshoe Bastion close to Avranches Crossbow Tower .

Show more Uploaded on November 16, 2012 © All Rights Reserved Crossing the Channel Crossing the Channel If this is your first visit, please stop by: Available in Franï¿½aise, Espaï¿½ol, Portuguï¿½s, Deutsch, Россию, 中文, 日本, and others. he purchase of the world's first military aircraft might have been big news, but it was overshadowed by news from Europe. Just five days before Orville flew the speed trial at Fort Meyer, Louis Bleriot had risen early in the morning at his seaside camp near Calais, France and decided it would be a good day to fly to England. In October of 1908, Lord Northcliffe, the publisher of London's Daily Mail, had announced a $5,000 (ï¿½1,000) prize to the first pilot to fly an airplane across the English Channel. He had expected Wilbur Wright to try for the prize, but Wilbur declined to risk his one and only airplane on a flight across water. The prize went unclaimed until July of 1909 when three European aviators showed up at Calais to attempt the crossing.

Hubert Latham was first off the ground, taking off in his Antoinette monoplane on July 19. But seven miles out, the engine quit and Latham had to be fished out of the sea. Count Charles De Lambert never got a start. He wrecked his Wright biplane on a test flight and withdrew from the race. By rights, Louis Bleriot shouldn't have been there at all. He could barely walk, having burned his foot on the exhaust pipe of the Anzani engine that powered his latest flying machine, the Bleriot XI. And he was out of money. He had spent his own fortune and his wife's dowry ï¿½ some 780,000 francs ï¿½ on aerial experiments and he was bankrupt. But on July 1, his wife was visiting well-to-do friends in Paris and happened to save their child from a fatal fall. In gratitude, the friends offered to finance Bleriot's channel flight. On the night of July 24, the high winds that usually scoured the channel began to slacken. Latham sent word to his crew chief to wake him at 3:30 a.m.

if the weather continued to improve. By 2:00 a.m. the air was calm and the sky clear. The Bleriot camp came alive ï¿½ the mechanic ran around firing his revolver to wake everyone. The plane was wheeled out, the engine warmed up, and Bleriot made a test flight ï¿½ everything was in perfect order. He studied the Latham camp through his binoculars ï¿½ no one was stirring. At 4:41, Louis Bleriot took off and steered his airplane toward England. The weather remained clear and calm, the aircraft engine continued to turn faithfully. After twenty minutes, Bleriout could see the thin dark line that was the coast of England, but there were no white cliffs! Without any instruments aboard ï¿½ not even a compass ï¿½ Bleriot had drifted too far to the north, past Dover. He spied three small ships that seemed to be making for a port and decided to follow them. They pointed him towards his destination and before long he was skirting the towering chalk white cliffs, looking for an opening and a landing field.

As he flew, the wind began to freshen and tossed his airplane like a child's toy. "The wind was fighting me now worse then ever," Bleriot later recalled. "Suddenly at the edge of an opening the suddenly appeared in the cliff, I saw a man desperately waving a tricolor flag, out along in the middle of a field, shouting 'Bravo! Bravo!' I flung myself toward the ground." It was a hard landing, damaging the landing gear and the propeller. But Bleriot alighted unscathed. The man who had signaled him from the ground, French newsman Charles Fontaine, wrapped Bleriot in the French flag and kissed him soundly on both cheeks. "And Latham?" Bleriot asked Fontaine. Latham was still in France. No one had roused him until the sound of Bleriot's plane brought his camp to life. There was a furry of activity as he struggled to catch Bleriot, but by the time the Antoinette was ready, strong winds and dangerous gusts had sprung up. It was too late. When word came of Bleriot's safe landing, Latham sent a short telegram, "Cordial Congratulations.

Hope to follow you soon." The effect of Bleriot's flight was out of proportion for the distance traversed. Europe seemed to go wild, and Bleriot was front page news for days afterwards. The Wrights and other pilots had flown much further than the 24 miles that Bleriot had covered, and had remained aloft far longer than the 37 minutes it took him to fly that distance. But none of them had crossed a natural boundary with such profound implications as the English Channel. As author H.G. Wells put it, "England is no longer, from a military point of view, an inaccessible island." It was as if that single flight had suddenly redrawn the map of the world. Old News Bleriot's Cross-Channel Flight -- This account of Bleriot's accomplishment appeared in Flight magazine just six days after the flight. Louis Bleriot in his Bleriot XI. Paul Latham over the channel on July 19, 1909. Latham afloat after ditching in the channel. Bleriot getting ready to fly. Bleriot takes off fro Calais, France on July 24, 1909. Bleriot departing France for England.

Bleriot's wife watches his progress from a French warship. Bleriot greeting his wife after landing in Dover, England. Bleriot greeting cheering crowds at Dover station. Bleriot's landing spot marked near Dover Castle.

Question: Who piloted the first aeroplane to cross the English Channel from Calais to Dover in 1909?
Answer: Louis Bleriot