Down Africa by air

DAWN in
Johannesburg –
and a great sense
of adventure. Inside the
Carlton Hotel a few people
moving about, but a sense
of shuttered silence.
‘Airways car? Yes, just
outside, madam.” And in a
moment one is being shut
in and driven away.
In the office at Rand
Airport all is pleasant,
bustling activity. Piping
hot coffee stands on a
side table for anyone
who cares for it. One’s
luggage is weighed
and disappears. One
is directed through the
hangar to where outside
the gigantic Atalanta
airplane stands waiting.
Passengers enter the cabin
door and unconcernedly
take their seats. The pilot
climbs into the enclosed
cockpit. There is some
activity on the part of the
blue-uniformed officials.
The roar of the engines
increases, we move
forward with incredible
smoothness, gradually
gathering speed and
suddenly we were up
and the flight from
Johannesburg to the
Cape has begun.
It was just as easy as that,
and it was like that all the
way; perfect organisation,
perfect comfort and
courtesy. Nine hours from
Johannesburg to Cape
Town and never more
than four and a half
hours at a stretch in the
air. Breakfast at Kimberley,
lunch at Victoria West, and
afternoon tea at Cape
Town – a revolution in travel
and a completely altered
sense of space and time!
One’s first sensation after
the thrill of leaving the
ground was one of intense
surprise and, following
close upon that, of
confidence. I leaned back
in a comfortable armchair,
the latest periodicals on
the table before me, and
gazed out upon a rapidly
receding world. Everything
was so normal as to be
almost disappointing
– except for an intense
feeling of exhilaration.
But one could not be
deluded for long into
thinking that this was all
quite ordinary. Perhaps
those who make the
journey often become
indifferent to it in time.
Neither then, looking down
on fantastic patches
of green below me, on
mine dumps ludicrously
dwarfed, nor later when
for the first time in my life I
looked down on the tops
of mountains instead of up
at them, could I conceive
how it could ever be less
than thrilling.
The captain sent a little
note in to say that the
town on the left was Parys,
that our speed was
115 mph [184 kph] and
that we should arrive at
Kimberley at about 9h30.
Approaching Kimberley
the air grew bumpy as
we passed over the great
excavations in the earth,
but in a minute or two we
were dropping down to
an excellent breakfast at
the delightful little Imperial
Airways restaurant.
Modder River – Orange
River – two hours to Victoria
West. The outlook from the
plane about here was
glorious… There was no
vegetation within sight
and, from eleven thousand
feet up, the world below
looked like one of those
great regional geography
maps. The visibility was
marvellous. The first officer
passing through the cabin
of the ’plane told us we
were seeing for a hundred
miles.
Victoria West and lunch.
(There was a woman in
charge of the aerodrome
at Victoria West, probably
one of the few women in
the world to have a job
of this sort.) Here one was
motored into the town for
lunch at the hotel, and an
excellent lunch it was too.
Then off again – on the last
lap this time, and with the
most wonderful part of the
trip before us.
It was a strange sight
looking down on the Karoo
from the air. Unbelievably
barren and desolate and
yet amazingly interesting.
Then suddenly the scene
changed. The countryside
slipped away into green
fields and valleys with
winding roads and
picturesque farms dotted
about and an occasional
town.
It was no time after that
before we were circling
above the Wingfield
aerodrome. One minute,
hangars and cars and
people were tiny specks far
below, and the next, one
was stepping down onto
solid earth again – and
the flight was over