1937: An eyewitness account
Posted on Jeudi 2 avril 2009 at 16 h 31 min and filed under Magazine.In the 1930s, five daily flights serviced the Paris-London route. Climb aboard the latest Bloch 220 aircraft, destination the Croydon airport. By Marc Branchu
A poster in the métro caught my eye: “Prague, 4 hours from Le Bourget.” Had air travel become so easy? The news during that winter of 1937 was timely, because a new airport, one of the world’s largest, had just been inaugurated at Le Bourget; the Universal Exhibition in Paris had just ended; and with the newly acquired two weeks’ paid vacation, the French were discovering the pleasures of travel—first by car and train. But soon, why not by airplane?
High ticket prices Several days later, I headed to the Air France agency, with my passport and a few personal items. It was raining, and Paris was miserable. I was longing for sun, for unknown lands. Posters on the agency’s walls tempted me: Algiers in 8 and a half hours, Bucharest in 13 hours and 45 minutes, Dakar in 28 hours. My gaze stopped on the France-Far East route: Paris, Naples, Tripoli, Calcutta, Hanoi. Nineteen stops for a one-week, one-way journey—at a cost of “12,230 francs round trip,” announced the Air France agent (the equivalent today of about €8,000), “but everything’s included; Air France takes care of your meals and stopovers.” In the end, I opted for a more reasonable Paris-London flight, which still cost 1,000 francs round trip. Air France offered five flights a day. The bus left from the Paris station at Place Lafayette. The blue Air France shuttle arrived 30 minutes later at Le Bourget airport. We were taken to the immense main terminal, which looked a lot like a major Paris train station, with newsstands, library, hair salons, shoeshine stands and more. After a short stop in the waiting room, an Air France agent led us to the departure lounge, where our tickets and passports were quickly checked. We then went through two check-in procedures. Our bags were weighed; only 15 kilograms were allowed for short trips. My light bag was loaded on a trolley, while I stepped onto the scales. “Our aircraft can only carry a maximum of 900 kg,” explained the agent. Every gram counts.
The pioneering days are over While we boarded, other aircraft were taking off in a deafening roar, while loudspeakers blared: “F-AOHH is leaving Le Bourget for Rome,” and the smell of fuel floated over the airport. On the runway, the starter waved a large red flag, signaling the pilot of the Rome plane to wait. A number of planes landed and took off: military aircraft, student pilots and tourism planes, along with the commercial flights: KLM, Imperial Airways, Sabena. “My” airplane, a Bloch 220, carried 16 passengers and an eclectic cargo: boxes of clothes, newspapers, birdcages, golf clubs, airmail sacks. We were greeted by a white-jacketed steward. I settled into a soft Pullman chair, with individual air vents and lighting, a folding tray on which the steward placed a map of our route and the Air France Revue. “It’s much different than the Farman Goliaths ten years ago!” said my neighbor in front, with a slight British accent. “They were something else! The cabins were narrow, the seats hard, with no heat, no toilets and a constant smell of castor oil. Most of the passengers were airsick. To avoid the clouds, we were hedge-hopping, just missing chimneys and trees. But we loved it! Taking a plane made you look like a hero. Today, planes are so stable they fly through hurricanes without barely changing flight plans.” I couldn’t say I minded all that much, I thought, buckling my seatbelt, although it wasn’t required.
Comfort a top priority The motors roared, the propellers ripped through the air. The Bloch 220 rolled and swayed down the runway, then took off at full throttle, straight into the wind. It circled over the airfield where “Le Bourget” was written in large white letters on the green grass. As we settled into the comfort of a heated cabin, the businessman attended to his mail, while two other passengers read their newspapers as comfortably as if they were sitting in front of a fire. Yet we were flying at 280 kph. The steward served hot drinks. We crossed the English Channel in 14 minutes, just enough time for a chat with my seatmate, the fashion designer Lucien Lelong, an avid convert to air travel. “Like all Paris couturiers, I have to travel to London often. The day before, I arrange a meeting with my secretary, who takes me to Le Bourget; along the way I dictate a few letters or leave instructions for the day. I have a comfortable lunch on the plane; I read or write—it’s much calmer than the train. A car awaits in Croydon with my London secretary.” And at this moment, Croydon appeared. We landed at the London airport 90 minutes after takeoff, a flight that left me with an unexpected sensation of ease. Only 89,000 people traveled on Air France flights in 1937. Once the price of tickets became more accessible, the number of passengers skyrocketed.
Translation: Elizabeth Ayre, Lisa Davidson et Alexandra Keens
