wanted to know when I returned. “Were you scared?”
“I sang”, confessed one pilot who was standing nearby, “as loud as I could.”
I felt silly. I hadn’t done anything special. My first solo had come and gone without anything to mark it but an exceptionally poor landing.
“You didn’t do anything right but land rottenly”, said another pilot. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to be so ground shy you stay up until the gas tank runs dry?”
After I had really flown alone. Mother was good sport enough to help me buy a small second hand plane. It happened to be the only one the builder had so he and I worked out a scheme to use it jointly. For free hangar space to me, he was privileged to demonstrate with it. As both of us were equally fond of the little contraption and equally impecunious, this arrangement worked very well. And I spent many hours in this and other planes I occasionally had a chance to fly.
If Mother was worried during this period, she did not show it. Possibly, except for backing me financially, she could have done nothing more helpful. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the cooperation of one’s family and close friends is one of the greatest safety factors a fledgling flyer can have. After a year had passed, I achieved the only type of license issued at that time, the Federation Aeronautique Internationale. And Mother was so interested by this time I am sure she would have
