But youth is ever cheerful and optimistic. In fulness of time there came a flight of a covey of seven “probationaries” in one taxicab to an examination centre for “wings,” a successful ending, followed shortly afterwards by final leave, an early-morning gathering of newly made flying officers at Charing Cross Station, the leave-taking, and the departure to the front. Training was over; the testing-time had come. Before his nineteenth birthday was reached “Theta” had been across the German lines. His letters may now be allowed to “carry on.” BOOK I _IN TRAINING_ (OCTOBER-APRIL) I FROM THEORY TO PRACTICE [Sidenote: Early Impressions.] Arrived here O.K. and reported. Spent the best part of the morning signing papers and books, and buzzing around. On the way across to the hangars discovered two R.F.C. men lying on the ground trying to look like a mole-hill, and fidgeting with a gadget resembling an intoxicated lawn-mower, the use of which I have not yet discovered. Am posted to “A” Flight (and wondering when I am going to get it, so to speak). You report at six o’clock if you are on the morning list; at nine o’clock if you are not. When you report possibly you go for a joy-ride, weather and number of pupils permitting. You spend some time in the shops, followed by a lecture and then drill. At four o’clock you report again. If it’s fine, and the officers don’t feel too bored with life, they may take you for a flight, but it is generally some one else they take and not you. Then you smoke till 5.30 p.m., when you go home. However, I’m enjoying myself, and the pupils seem a decent lot. I don’t think there will be anything doing for the next few days, as there is an abominable mist all over the place. The machines are the safest in the world. * * * * * Have had a ten minutes’ flight this evening. It was splendid, and felt perfectly safe. Machine seems quite simple to control. I had my hands on the dual set, and felt how the pilot did it. Don’t expect I shall get up again for a long time. I was quite warm, and felt happy, calm, and confident. * * * * * [Sidenote: My First Flying Lesson.] My first flying lesson was in the gathering dusk of a cold evening, but an extra leathern waistcoat and an overcoat and muffler kept me warm. I mounted to my seat behind the pilot in the nacelle of the huge biplane, fastened my safety belt, donned my helmet, and sat tight. A duologue ensued between the pilot and the mechanic who was about to swing the propeller and to start the great 70-h.p. Renault engine. “Switch off,” sang out the mechanic. “Switch off,” echoed the pilot as he complied with the request. “Suck in,” shouted the mechanic. The pilot moved a lever. “Suck in,” he echoed. The mechanic put forth his strength, and turned the propeller round half a dozen times or so to draw petrol into the cylinders. “Contact,” he shouted.