Peter Moore looks back at the first airborne crossing of the English Channel

It may seem like a small matter of an hour and a half and a languid stroll across the quarterdeck to cross the straits of Dover, but it hasn’t always been that simple.

In the early 1780s, the 22 mile stretch marked a great geographic challenge for the world’s very latest invention: the hot air balloon. Was it possible for man to drift over the treacherous seas, supported by nothing more than a globe of heated air?

It was a seductive puzzle. Since the very earliest times, humans had been captivated by the idea that one day they might fly. Throughout the Renaissance more and more outlandish designs appeared in art and literature: winged chariots, bird machines and flapping boxes, none of which were at all practical.

All of this changed in 1783 when a paper manufacturer from Lyon conducted an extraordinary experiment that involved flying paper bags. There were whispers in London of a French Flying Machine.

The rumours were true. Over the next eighteen months designs were tinkered, experiments were conducted and, on 21 November 1783, the first manned hot air balloon flight was launched from a hill, just outside Paris.

This first balloon was an enormous contraption that would be almost as unimaginable now as it was then. It rose 70 feet into the sky; it was an oceanic blue, adorned with mythical figures.

Crossing the Channel became an obvious aim for these new ‘balloonists’. In his book The Age of Wonder (2008) the biographer Richard Holmes noted that there were three main contenders for the prize. They were Jean-Pierre Blanchard, Jean-Francois Pilatre de Rozier (Boulogne) and James Sadler (Oxford) – each of which struggled to find financial support.

Eventually Blanchard secured the backing of a wealthy American physician, Dr. John Jefferies. Jefferies agreed to finance the flight for the fantastic amount of £700 and plans were put into place.

On 7 January, Jefferies and Blanchard lifted off on a cool winter’s day from the top of Dover’s cliff, the Channel between them and the Pas de Calais was at its coldest.

The men carried a barometer, a scientific compass, bags of publicity pamphlets and sand ballasts. From the start the relationship between the two was difficult. Blanchard was keen to steal all the glory for himself and he tried a number of tricks to hoodwink his co-pilot. One of them included manufacturing a lead filled belt. His plan was to convince Blanchard that the balloon was too heavy to take off, to ask him to step out of the basket, remove his belt and rise into the skies alone.

The perilous journey began. Soon the men were out above the sea: the waves cracked angrily beneath them as they drifted slowly towards France.

As they drifted, they lost height. First the ballast was thrown overboard, then their letters, technical equipment, food and all the drink except a bottle of brandy. Following Blanchard’s lead, Jefferies pulled off his clothes – one by one – until all that the two men were wearing were a pair of cork jackets and their underwear.

Richard Holmes takes up the narrative in his book:

‘With nothing remaining as ballast except the bottle of brandy, they were left standing in their underclothes, wearing only their cork jackets. But this made the crucial difference. Less than 120 yards above the sea, the balloon steadied and then began to rise again. As they caught the onshore wind, their ascent turned into a great triumphant arc, taking them high over the cliffs of Calais and twelve miles inland. Blanchard now revealed that he had conceal a small sack of publicity letters, and these were thrown out, to become the first ever airmail delivery. Jefferies calmly noted how the stream of fluttering paper seemed to race across the fields far below them, and took ‘exactly five minutes in reaching the surface of the earth.’

And so, for the first time in human history, the Channel was crossed from above. Another milestone was achieved in the age when everything was possible, Richard Holmes has dubbed this age – between Captain Cook’s first voyage to the Pacific in 1768 and Darwin’s voyage to the Galapagos in 1831 – ‘The Age of Wonder’.

It’s difficult to find that kind of adventure these days. So, as you watch the white cliffs disappear behind you on your trip to France – make sure you spare a thought for Monsieur Blanchard and Mr. Jefferies, floating perilously along in the hands of fate.

—————————————-

image credit: ronnie4452

More about Richard Holmes’ the Age of Wonder can be found here.

Tags: Britain, France, History // Add Comment »