Stories of aerial disasters of tragic mystery and hidden fate
HAMEL: VANISHED VICTIM OF THE SKY. One of the most accomplished pilots of the earlier flying days was Gustav Hamel, who, by his skill and intense daring, became a national idol during 1910-1914. In May, 1914, he left France in a monoplane en route for England. He was never seen again and his end remains a mystery to this day. His aeroplane in this photograph is a Morane-Saulnier specially rigged and braced for stunt flying.
THE air, like the sea, has its tales of tragic mystery and hidden fate. Many a flyer has set out on a journey and then some sudden accident has swept him out of mortal ken. This chapter covers some stories of aerial disaster which by their unfathomable nature deny answers to the questions which they stimulate — When? and Where? and Why?
The air is beginning to claim its unsolved mysteries as the sea has done for so many ages in the past. To many of these mysteries some solution may often be guessed, as for instance, in the case of those many flyers who have left England or America to fly the Atlantic and who have never been heard of again. But others have been as queer and as baffling as any sea mystery or any story in fiction.
What happened to Gustav Hamel on Saturday May 23, 1914? It is a mystery which is still talked about by old pilots. Hamel was one of the best-known flyers of his day, a man of very wide experience, who had learnt to fly in 1910, had won the Aerial Derby race round London in 1913, and had flown many thousands of miles across England and Europe. He was, moreover, extremely careful, and never took any unnecessary risks.
On Saturday May 23, 1914, he left Villacoublay in France with the intention of flying to Hendon to take part in the 1914 Aerial Derby. He landed at Le Crotoy, where the Caudron aeroplane works were, then flew on to Hardelot, near Boulogne, landed, and left again just after midday. He was seen flying high over Boulogne, and it was afterwards reported that he had been seen half-way across the Channel.
GUSTAV HAMEL, a national idol during 1910-1914.
The time needed to cross the Channel in the kind of machine he was flying would be only a quarter oi an hour. Hamel was carrying enough petrol for a two hours’ flight, or some hundred and twenty miles. From the moment he left Boulogne, save for that momentary and uncertain glimpse of him in mid-Channel, he disappeared. Wild rumours flew about, for it appeared inconceivable that he could have missed his way. He had had plenty of experience of flying the Channel. There was certainly a mist, but the pilot had proper instruments to guide him and it was not thick.
Immediately it was realized that he was missing, warships patrolled the Channel and seaplanes flew overhead searching for the missing aeroplane. But from that day to this nothing has been seen of the machine and Hamel’s body was never found. Whether he actually did lose his way and flew out to sea till his petrol gave out, or whether his engine failed and he fell into the English Channel, will remain one of the early unsolved air mysteries.
When the Great War ended, the German Government handed over to the French Government the Zeppelin L72. It was renamed the “Dixmude”. She was to become the centre of one of the most extraordinary air mysteries. Following a world’s record endurance flight of 118 hours in September, 1923, the “Dixmude” left Cuers-Pierrefeu, near Toulon, on December 18, for an extended flight over Algeria and a portion of the Sahara. She had on board 52 officers and men, including five staff officers.
On December 20 she was wirelessed to, when she was about 50 miles south of Biskra, and warned that a bad storm was approaching. Her commanding officer immediately changed his course in order to try to avoid it. At two o’clock on the morning of December 21, the “Dixmude” wirelessed that her petrol had nearly run out and she was battling against a furious gale. At 3.30 in the afternoon she again sent out a message that she was trying to land — and then complete silence. Rumour came that she had been seen in various inaccessible places in Africa and aircraft were sent out to search for her.
FRENCHMEN LOST IN A GERMAN ZEPPELIN. One of the numerous airship disasters of the post-War years was the mysterious loss, in December, 1923, of the “Dixmude”, France’s reparations Zeppelin. What happened to the great dirigible during its last flight over North Africa? What caused her fall? These are questions to which there are no certain answers, for of her crew, some of whom are seen here in the Zeppelin’s hangar, none survived to tell of the tragedy.
The first news came from some Italian fishermen, who found in their nets, while fishing off Sicily, the body of the “Dixmude’s” commander. Villagers declared afterwards that the sea and sky had suddenly been lit up by a great glare in the early hours of the morning. But nothing was found of the huge ship, and whether she was dashed to pieces in the gale that was raging, 01 whether she was struck by lightning and caught fire and exploded, will never be known. There were no survivors of all those on board to tell the tale.
In March, 1933, there occurred a disaster to the great air liner The “City of Liverpool” which baffled all the experts to account for. The Imperial Airways liner left Brussels for London on Tuesday, March 28, 1933, at 3.36 p.m, carrying 12 passengers and a crew of three. Shortly afterwards she was seen to be on fire in the air while over the village of Clercken, and she crashed in flames with the loss of all on board. The machine was of the Armstrong-Whitworth “Argosy” type and, fitted with three engines, had been proved over thousands of miles as a reliable commercial aeroplane. Inquiries were made by the Belgian and British authorities into the cause of the disaster.
THE RECORD OF RELIABILITY for which Imperial Airways are world famous, was marred in 1933 by the tragic end of the “Argosy” air liner “City of Liverpool” shown here.
As is always done in the case of a fatal air accident, the debris of the great machine was sifted for clues, and eyewitnesses were interviewed in an attempt to glean any information which might help in solving the problem. Often people, especially those without technical knowledge of flying, obtain erroneous impressions as to what occurs lust prior to disaster. The noise made by an engine when throttled down, for instance, is sometimes described as an “explosion” or a flame from the exhaust, which is quite a normal! characteristic, is thought to be a “fire”. These various points were borne in mind by the examiners engaged on the tragedy of the “City of Liverpool”. And it was established that fire broke out in the central part of the aeroplane, between the forward and after luggage compartments. Both official inquiries reported that the possibility of the fire being started from the engines, or from a petrol leak, was practically untenable. “The evidence does not admit of any definite cause being ascribed”, in the words of the Belgian report.
The precautions against fire in the air in British air liners are so strict that the chance of them catching fire in flight may be ruled out. Everything, indeed, pointed to the aeroplane having been deliberately set on fire by one of the passengers; but, of course, no proof can ever be given ot this suggestion, which was widely held at the time. Had he gone mad suddenly, or was it a deliberate and cold-blooded act with some unknown fanatical reason behind it? It is another unsolved mystery of the air.
THE “CITY OF LIVERPOOL” fell in flames in Belgium and nothing found in the charred wreckage could aid investigations as to the cause. The crash is another enigma of the air.
A month later there came another air story which had no known end. On April 11, 1933, at 5.30 in the morning, Captain William N. Lancaster left Lympne aerodrome in an attempt to beat Mrs. J. A. Mollison’s record flight to the Cape. Captain Lancaster had had a brilliant flying career, but having been mixed up in an unfortunate shooting affray in America, he then found that he had lost much of his popularity in this country. He regarded this flight as his one great chance to regain the good opinion of his friends. He reached Oran the same day that he left Lympne and, continuing before dawn next day, arrived at Adrar, where he proceeded, after a brief halt, to fly on to Gao. He was following the trans-Saharan motor track. A severe sandstorm was raging over the desert, and it is known that the pilot landed near a place called In Salah in order to ask his way for a further flight. He took off again almost immediately and vanished.
An extensive search was made, for it was thought that if he had made a forced landing he might have fallen into the hands of unfriendly tribes. But despite every inquiry and a widespread search nothing further was ever heard of him.
TO WHAT DARK BOURNE? Poignant interest attaches to this photograph of Captain William Lancaster, which shows him with his mother at Lympne aerodrome before his attempted flight to the Cape in 1933. It was the last time she saw him, for after reaching the Sahara all trace of him was lost and an extensive search proved of no avail in clearing up the mystery.
Did he fly deliberately to his death, thinking that the world held little prospects for him after what had happened to him in America ? Or was he captured by some tribe and ruthlessly robbed and murdered ? Or is he still held captive among them? Again the air holds the secret of the mystery.
Of all the remarkable characters who have flashed across the world of finance during the past ten years, no one was more spectacular than Captain Alfred Loewenstein. His life reads almost like fiction. At one time he was certainly living at the rate of £1,000,000 a year. An international financier dealing in huge sums, he made use of special trains, high-speed yachts and racing motor cars to take him from one part of Europe to another from his magnificent headquarters in Biarritz. But soon he found that all these means of transport were far too slow for a man of his dynamic energy. He became crazy for speed, more speed and still more speed.
He arranged with Imperial Airways to have at his immediate disposal a fleet of eight aeroplanes, and Captain Olley, one of the Imperial Airways pilots, was put in special charge of the Loewenstein air fleet. From his headquarters at Biarritz, the financier would telephone to those with whom he was dealing in various parts of Europe, fix an appointment, and immediately send off an aeroplane to bring his fellow-financier to him. He literally spread an aerial network over Europe, so that he could push his schemes through at top speed.
DOOR OF DESTINY. From this cabin door Captain Alfred Loewenstein, millionaire mystery man of Europe, fell to his death in mid-Channel. The machine, a Fokker, was his own property and was being flown at the time by his personal pilot. No evidence could point to the reason for the tragedy, which has puzzled all who have tried to solve it.
And then there came that day when he himself was being flown over the Channel in one of his luxury liners. From that machine, while half-way over the English Channel, he fell out. The mystery of his death was a mystery then, and it still remains a mystery to this day. His affairs were not in such a state that he need have committed suicide. He had a habit of sleeping at odd moments and then waking up suddenly, full of energy. Did he fall asleep, then wake up suddenly and open the cabin door and overbalance before he realized where he was? It seems difficult to believe, for he would have had to force the door open against the high wind caused by the flight of the aeroplane. On the other hand, if he deliberately jumped, why? Had his vast network become at last so large that he could no longer control it, and was caught in the meshes himself and driven temporarily insane?
