The first solo flight

‘There are some moments in life that cause a special thrill, such as the first solo flight. Zeumer, my teacher, said to me one evening: ‘So, now fly off on your own.’ I have to say that I would have liked to reply: ‘I'm too scared.’ But the defender of the fatherland should never use that word. So, for better or worse, I had to swallow my fear and sit down in the machine. He explained every move to me again in theory; I only listened with half an ear, because I was firmly convinced: You forget half of it. I taxied to take-off, stepped on the gas, the plane reached a certain speed and suddenly I couldn't help but realise that I was actually flying. It wasn't an anxious feeling after all, but a bold one. I didn't care about anything now. No matter what happened, I wouldn't have been frightened by anything. I made a huge left turn with contempt for death, switched off the accelerator at the precisely marked tree and waited for the things that were about to happen. Now came the hardest part, the landing. I remembered the necessary manoeuvres exactly. I copied them mechanically, but the machine reacted quite differently than usual when Zeumer was in it. I was thrown off balance, made a few wrong movements, stood on my head, and once again there was a ‘school machine’. I was very sad to see the damage, which fortunately was soon repaired, and I also had the ridicule on my side. Two days later, I returned to my aeroplane with a frenzied passion, and lo and behold, it worked wonderfully. After a fortnight I was able to take my first test. A Mr v. T. was the judge. I flew the prescribed figure eights and the landings I was ordered to do, after which I got out very proudly and then, to my great astonishment, heard that I had failed. I had no choice but to take my first test again later.’