tion
itself was matter for wonder, the pioneers who concerned themselves with
the possibilities of war flying made their headquarters at Rafborough.
An experimental factory, rich in theory, was established, and near it
was laid out an aerodrome for the more practical work. Thousands of
machines have since been tested on the rough-grassed aerodrome, while
the neighbouring Royal Aircraft Factory has continued to produce
designs, ideas, aeroplanes, engines, and aircraft accessories. Formerly
most types of new machines were put through their official paces at
Rafborough, and most types, including some captures from the Huns, were
to be seen in its sheds. Probably Rafborough has harboured a larger
variety of aircraft and aircraft experts than any other place in the
world.

My friend the ferry-pilot having announced that the carriage waited, I
strapped our baggage, some new gramophone records, and myself into the
observer's office. I also took--tell this not in Gath, for the transport
of dogs by aeroplane has been forbidden--a terrier pup sent to a
fellow-officer by his family. At first the puppy was on a cord attached
to some bracing-wires; but as he showed fright when the machine took off
from the ground, I kept him on my lap for a time. Here he remained
subdued and apparently uninterested. Later, becoming inured to the
engine's drone and the slight vibration, he roused himself and wanted to
explore the narrowing passage toward the tail-end of the fuselage. The
little chap was, however, distinctly pleased to be on land again at
Saint Gregoire, where he kept well away from the machine, as if
uncertain whether the strange giant of an animal were friendly or a
dog-eater.

It was a morning lovely enough to be that of the world's birthday. Not a
cloud flecked the sky, the flawless blue of which was made tenuous by
sunlight. The sun brightened the kaleidoscopic earthscape below us, so
that rivers and canals looked like quicksilver threads, and even the
railway lines glistened. The summer countryside, as viewed from an
aeroplane, is to my mind the finest scene in the world--an unexampled
scene, of which poets will sing in the coming days of universal flight.
The varying browns and greens of the field-pattern merge into one
another delicately; the woods, splashes of bottle-green, relieve the
patchwork of hedge from too ordered a scheme; rivers and roads
criss-cross in riotous manner over the vast tapestry; pleasant villages
and