Two Stories About Flying His First Flight · The Black Aeroplane

The young seagull was alone on his ledge. His two brothers and sister had already flown away. He was afraid to fly - when he ran to the brink and tried to flap his wings, the long drop to the sea frightened him and he ran back to his hole. His parents had scolded and threatened to let him starve unless he flew, but he could not move.

The young seagull was alone on his ledge. His two brothers and his sister had already flown away the day before. He had been afraid to fly with them. When he had taken a little run forward to the brink of the ledge and attempted to flap his wings he became afraid. The great expanse of sea stretched down beneath, and it was such a long way down. He felt certain his wings would never support him, so he bent his head and ran back to the little hole under the ledge where he slept at night. Even when his brothers and sister flew away, he failed to muster up courage to take that plunge. His father and mother had come around calling to him shrilly, upbraiding him, threatening to let him starve on his ledge unless he flew away, but for the life of him he could not move.

For twenty-four hours nobody came near the seagull. The sun blazed on his ledge and he had not eaten since the previous night. He saw his mother with a piece of fish but she halted in mid-air with the food almost within his reach. Maddened by hunger, he dived at the fish - and fell outward into space. Terror seized him for a minute; then his wings spread and the wind supported him. He was flying.

That was twenty-four hours ago. Since then nobody had come near him. The sun was now ascending the sky, blazing on his ledge. He felt the heat because he had not eaten since the previous nightfall. He saw his mother standing on a hump on the plateau, tearing at a piece of fish. The sight of the food maddened him. She picked up a piece of fish and flew across to him, but when she was just opposite to him she halted, her wings motionless, the fish almost within reach of his beak. Maddened by hunger, he dived at the fish. With a loud scream he fell outwards and downwards into space. Monstrous terror seized him and his heart stood still - but only for a minute. The next moment he felt his wings spread outwards. The wind rushed against his breast feathers and wings. He was soaring gradually downwards and outwards. He was no longer afraid.

The young seagull flapped his wings and soared upwards. His mother, father, brothers, and sister flew around him, curveting, banking, soaring, and diving. He flew straight over the vast green sea. When he tried to land, his legs sank into the water but his belly touched the surface and he floated. His family screamed praise and offered him scraps of dog-fish. He had made his first flight.

Then he flapped his wings once and he soared upwards. His mother swooped past him; his father flew over him screaming; his two brothers and his sister flew around him curveting and banking and soaring and diving. He completely forgot that he had not always been able to fly. He was near the sea now, flying straight over it. He saw a vast green sea beneath him with little ridges moving over it. His parents and brothers and sister had landed ahead of him and were beckoning to him, calling shrilly. He dropped his legs to stand on the green sea; his legs sank into it, but his belly touched it and he sank no farther. He was floating, and around him his family was screaming, praising him, offering him scraps of dog-fish. He had made his first flight.

The moon was coming up and stars were shining. The narrator was happy to be alone, flying his old Dakota aeroplane over France back to England at half past one in the morning. He called Paris Control; they told him to turn twelve degrees west. He switched to his last fuel tank and thought he would be in time for a good English breakfast. Everything was going well.

The moon was coming up in the east and stars were shining in the clear sky. There was not a cloud in the sky. The narrator was happy to be alone high up above the sleeping countryside, flying his old Dakota aeroplane over France back to England. He was dreaming of his holiday and looking forward to being with his family. He looked at his watch: one thirty in the morning. He switched on the radio and contacted Paris Control. The voice answered immediately and told him to turn twelve degrees west. He checked the map and compass, switched over to his second and last fuel tank, and turned towards England. Everything was going well - it was an easy flight.

About 150 kilometres past Paris the narrator saw huge storm clouds like black mountains. He could not fly over them and did not have enough fuel to go around. He thought of turning back but wanted to get home. 'I'll take the risk,' he thought, and flew straight into the storm. Inside, everything was black; the aeroplane jumped and twisted. The compass spun uselessly; the radio and other instruments were dead. He was lost.

Paris was about 150 kilometres behind him when he saw the clouds - storm clouds, huge, like black mountains standing across the sky. He knew he could not fly up and over them, and he did not have enough fuel to fly around them to the north or south. He thought he ought to go back to Paris, but he wanted to get home. 'I'll take the risk,' he thought, and flew that old Dakota straight into the storm. Inside the clouds everything was suddenly black. It was impossible to see anything outside the aeroplane. The old aeroplane jumped and twisted in the air. He looked at the compass - it was turning round and round. It was dead. The other instruments were suddenly dead too. The radio was dead. He had no radio, no compass, and he could not see where he was. He was lost in the storm.

In the black clouds the narrator saw another aeroplane without lights on its wings. He could see the pilot's face turned towards him. The pilot lifted one hand and waved, signalling 'Follow me.' The narrator was glad and followed like an obedient child. After half an hour there was only enough fuel for five or ten minutes more. Then the strange aeroplane started to go down and the narrator followed through the storm.

Then, in the black clouds quite near him, he saw another aeroplane. It had no lights on its wings, but he could see it flying next to him through the storm. He could see the pilot's face turned towards him. He was very glad to see another person. The pilot lifted one hand and waved. 'Follow me,' he was saying. The narrator thought he knew he was lost and was trying to help him. The strange aeroplane turned slowly to the north in front of the Dakota so it would be easier to follow. After half an hour the strange black aeroplane was still there in front of him in the clouds. Now there was only enough fuel in the old Dakota's last tank to fly for five or ten minutes more. The narrator was starting to feel frightened again. But then the strange aeroplane started to go down and he followed through the storm.

Suddenly the narrator came out of the clouds and saw a runway - an airport. He was safe. He turned to look for his friend in the black aeroplane, but the sky was empty. At the control centre a woman laughed strangely when he asked who the other pilot was. She said no other aeroplanes were flying that night; his was the only one on the radar. Who helped him arrive safely without a compass, radio, or fuel?

Suddenly he came out of the clouds and saw two long straight lines of lights in front of him. It was a runway - an airport. He was safe. He turned to look for his friend in the black aeroplane, but the sky was empty. There was nothing there. The black aeroplane was gone. He landed and was not sorry to walk away from the old Dakota near the control tower. He went and asked a woman in the control centre where he was and who the other pilot was. He wanted to say 'Thank you'. She looked at him very strangely, and then laughed. 'Another aeroplane? Up there in this storm? No other aeroplanes were flying tonight. Yours was the only one I could see on the radar.' So who helped him to arrive there safely without a compass or a radio, and without any more fuel in his tanks? Who was the pilot on the strange black aeroplane, flying in the storm, without lights?