THE WHIR OF PROPELLERS-AVIATION MADNESS-ILLNESS AND WAR INJURIES-MY THREE WIVES-THE SEA DEVIL-EXILE-A CHANGED GERMANY.
The date of my birth was May 1st, 1892. A memorable day—less for the history of mankind than for myself. No matter how one may regard one's day of birth, it remains a decisive factor in the life of every human being. This sounds like philosophy. However, it is not even satirical, but a cold truth. Thirty-six years have elapsed between the 1st of May and to-day. What shall I relate and what shall I conceal?
The whir of propellers. It could be heard fifteen years ago. Always the same! Gasoline and rotating motors! Who thinks nowadays of the old Farman contrivance? What progress we have made. It is no longer an exciting question at every landing whether the propeller or motor will come crashing in upon the pilot. And so we go forward. Automobile accidents increase. Why not fly? Bleriot flew . . . across the Channel. There are many channels, but only one called The Channel. Times change.