7

From the unpublished diary of Antoine Brassac, (1876–1937).

Translated by his sister, Cecile, keeper of his papers.

Vendredi 18 Février 1910

Too much wind here. Too much heat. Too many rocks and trees. And always flies. Serpents also. I have seen them slide away when I find somewhere private to make water.

It is hard for a man to feel at peace. Not least a French gentleman accustomed to situations better than this.

My employer, the Magic Man, said this would be a field for flying.

It is a paddock. With slopes and not the open spaces I would like.

Still I have one crate of the Voisin to unpack. I must do this very slow, very careful, on a blanket so nothing is lost in the brown grass where serpents hide. If a part is lost or broken I have no replacements.

Monsieur Bleriot had little respect for the brothers Voisin and their flying machine. A chicken coop with wheels, he called it. And two pairs of wings. Unlike his own machine, first to cross the Channel seven months past. The machine I helped him build. With one set of wings, like the seabirds.

I saw M. Bleriot leave from Calais as the sky lightened. Then shed tears without shame when I hear he has reached Dover.

For this M. Bleriot won the newspaper prize of one thousand pounds

I was not forgotten. But a gentleman does not talk of money.

Now I am in this place. Too much sun. Too far to fly from Calais. Preparing the Voisin for a man who had never sat in a flying machine until Novembre.

This country is a clock wound backwards. M. Bleriot flew from France to England, but here nobody ever crossed over a paddock.

Mr H. has no moustaches, but he is like M. Bleriot. They both need to win. It is why Mr H. crashed in Hamburg after I gave him flying lessons. He tries too soon, before he is ready. I cannot teach patience.

In Paris I must rush to reach the train to Marseilles. I forgot a box of parts for the Voisin, already in crates on the ship. Spare nuts for the rudder, wrapped in pages of Le Monde. Left on back seat of taxi.

Mr H. is very angry when I tell him. M. Bleriot never spoke to me like that.

I almost left then. Leave Mr H. and petite Madame H. to board the Malwa and never see this place with too much wind.

Madame saw my mood and made me stay. Told me her husband always has too many things in his mind. Said he is like a child who needed my help. And she would see I am looked after.

She has a pretty smile and calls me Antoine.

To him I am always Brassac.

He will hurry to be up in his Voisin and I know why.

In this paddock I am not alone.

Another man is here to fly.