Brace for Impact. Peter Pigott

to satisfy his audience with mundane-level flights.

      The daredevils at Canadian aviation meets were almost always American, and it was no surprise that one would die in the first fatal aircraft accident in Canada. Stunt flyers on tour of the Pacific Northwest, the husband-and-wife team John and Alys Bryant had been trained at a Curtiss aviation school and flew only Curtiss aircraft. On July 31, 1913, at Minoru Park Racetrack, Alys Bryant became the first woman to fly in Canada. Not to be outdone, her husband, John, concluded his flying routine by shutting off his engine at 2,500 feet, then diving steeply. Within 100 feet of the ground, he levelled out and landed, still without using his engine. The pair then took their show to Victoria, British Columbia, where on August 6, despite a strong wind, John performed the same routine over the harbour. This time, as he dived, a wing collapsed and the aircraft fell, smashing onto the roof of a building near the waterfront. Bryant died instantly, and his wife never flew again.

      In Canada, as in the United States, anyone could build an aircraft and/or fly one. Licences, regulations, and safeguards were unheard of. As with today’s drones or unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs), aircraft had evolved so quickly that they outran the bureaucracy seeking to regulate them. There was no organization, government or private, to prevent an aviator from killing himself or others with an airplane. Nor were there procedures in place to earn a licence to fly one or requirements for a permit to build a safer flying machine or restrictions on where it could or couldn’t be flown.

      The policy-makers in Ottawa had barely grasped the effects of the increasing use of automobiles in cities — this was, after all, the heyday of the railway — and aircraft were little more than large motorized kites. The first and only Canadian until 1915 to earn an FAI pilot’s licence was J.A.D. McCurdy, awarded to him on August 23, 1910, by the Aero Club of America. By contrast, in France, licences for civilian pilots who met certain requirements were mandatory by 1909, to be followed by military licences in 1911. French pilots were also required to use seat belts and helmets; Germany and other European nations soon followed suit.

      Before the First World War, flying wasn’t so much for the brave as for the foolhardy. A culture of safety for the pilot, if it existed at all, was a distant second to actually taking off (instead of hopping) and maintaining a credible altitude. The more death-defying the flight promised to be, the larger the audience promoters could attract — the gate receipts dependent on the absence of any safety measures. If the aviator was fortunate to accomplish a semblance of flight, then there followed cautious turns and dives, sometimes both manoeuvres unplanned. Fighting the engine’s torque and freezing wind, praying that the wings didn’t fold on him, a pilot did all he could just to stay in the air. Since all exhibition flying had to take place as low as possible within sight of spectators and photographers, there was no chance to recover from a stall.[5] However, with so much free publicity from air shows, to paraphrase Curtiss, what better way to show off your aircraft than have it perform such daredevil feats?

      It was accepted among the more sensible that flying was a suicidal activity, which dissuaded many amateur pilots such as the young Fiorello La Guardia, Benito Mussolini, and Winston Churchill (fortunately) from killing themselves at an early age. The future British prime minister understood the perils of flying when he famously warned: “The air is an extremely dangerous, jealous, and exacting mistress. Once under the spell, most lovers are faithful to the end, which is not always old age.”

      If the Wrights dressed for flying as they would for church services, the earli­est personal safety equipment for aviators was as much for motorcar drivers of the day. Goggles, gloves, a heavy leather coat, and a cork-and-leather helmet were de rigueur. Seat belts weren’t the easy metal lift-lever ones used in cars and aircraft today and were thus viewed with suspicion because they hindered immediate escape in case of a fiery crash or if the aircraft hit the water. It is incredible that not one of the great innovators who dominated early flight thought to include an easy-to-operate seat belt for the pilot — a basic and obvious piece of safety equipment today.[6] Not strapped in, pilots fell out of their wicker seats when the aircraft tilted or turned over — or came apart in mid-air.

      Once they got airborne, the earliest pilots only had an engine thermometer and oil pressure gauge for instruments. Altimeters, airspeed indicators, tachometers, and even compasses were in the future. As he did when riding a bicycle, a pilot relied on his body, either the seat of his pants (i.e., his buttocks) or his shoulders, for balance. It was no wonder the Wrights were cyclists and Curtiss was a prize-winning motorcycle racer. Curtiss’s Model D Pusher, the first aircraft to be mass-produced, relied on ailerons operated via movement of a shoulder harness for lateral control.

      Parachutes, the original safety device, were familiar to both aviators and the public. Parachute jumps from stationary balloons had been a feature at carnivals for many years, sometimes featuring the risqué attraction of women in tights leaping from them. The first use of a parachute to exit an aircraft in Canada took place over Vancouver on May 24, 1912, when, wearing bright red tights and a leather helmet, Charles Saunders floated down. Not yet made of silk, the parachutes of the day were too bulky and heavy to carry aloft and fit in a tiny cockpit. In any case, the flimsy aircraft came apart too quickly or were too low to the ground for pilots to use parachutes.

      Nor could an aircraft’s construction be relied upon to withstand the aerobatic pressures put on it. The ash, bamboo, or spruce utilized to build the fuselage — all three chosen for their strength-to-weight ratios — were never durable enough for aerial manoeuvres. The first and for a long time only aviator to use lightweight aluminum in aircraft construction was St. Croix Johnstone’s former employer, Jean Moisant. Canada’s first aircraft, the Silver Dart, was made of bamboo, friction tape, steel tubes, wire, and silk that had been dyed silver for photographic and legal reasons. Steel was only used for the nuts, bolts, and joints that held the fuselage together. But unlike the Wright Flyer, which relied on wing warping for lateral movement, the Silver Dart featured hinged, controllable wing-tip flaps called ailerons. Better control of the aircraft meant increased safety.

      Baddeck No. 1 being prepared for trials at Petawawa, Ontario. It crashed on August 13, 1909, because of incorrect balance; i.e., placing the engine too far to the rear of the aircraft.

      Library and Archives Canada.

      What also killed many of the early pilots was irregular maintenance — their safety was only as good as their support team. Between exhibitions in various cities and countries, the whole contraption, sometimes with a spare aircraft, had to be disassembled and transported by train and horse carriage to be re-rigged at the new site, the wires and joints once more tightly wound. Only Curtiss’s Model D Pusher was designed for easy assembly and disassembly.

      By 1909 the military uses of aircraft were being considered in Europe and the United States and even in Canada. The AEA was dissolved on March 31 that year, but given Alexander Graham Bell’s prestige, the Canadian government expressed an interest in what his Silver Dart might do on the battlefield. J.A.D. McCurdy and Casey Baldwin were invited to demonstrate their aircraft at the militia camp at Petawawa, Ontario. The Canadian Department of Militia and Defence had only been in existence since 1906, when the last British forces left Canadian soil, so for Canada to extend such an invitation was bold, if a little impertinent. The Mother Country itself wouldn’t show such courage concerning aviation for another few years. The Canadian government even allotted the pair the sum of $5 for preparations, the first expenditure on aviation in the country’s history. Since both Baldwin and McCurdy had served in the Royal Canadian Engineers while at university, they were welcomed with much enthusiasm at the camp on July 1, 1909. They brought with them the historic Silver Dart and a second, newer aircraft, Baddeck No. 1. Army engineers helped assemble the Silver Dart, flatten the cavalry grounds into a rudimentary airstrip, and build a shelter out of logs — the first aircraft hangar in Canada.

      News arrived from Ottawa that Louis Blériot had flown across the English Channel on July 25, heightening everyone’s expectations as to what McCurdy and Baldwin would do. The precious 42-horsepower Kirkham engine was to be tested on the Silver Dart before being tried on the Baddeck No. 1. The older aircraft did four short flights on August 2 but then crashed and was deemed irreparable. Suffering