Test flight

‘On 31 May, some gentlemen from Wroclaw came to Schweidnitz by plane to pick up Manfred. They had breakfast with me and went to the aircraft afterwards. A single-seater was waiting for Manfred, a type he didn't know. Before take-off, one of the gentlemen asked lightly: ‘You want to fasten your seatbelt first for this short flight - I never do that.’ - Manfred said: ‘I fasten my seatbelt for every cross-country flight.’ He put the belts round him and fastened the buckles. Now this happens en route: Manfred temporarily lets go of the elevator control, as he often does and has to do with his aircraft. It then flies on by itself, so to speak. But now he didn't know this single-seater. Before he can form a thought, he feels himself being torn around, feels the clutching pressure of the straps on his body, sees the earth beneath him like a plate. With his hands and feet, he fishes for the control stick - then with just a few grips, he has the aircraft back under control, in its normal position. What had happened? - As his blood rushed back to his heart and his thoughts came to order, he realised what had happened. The top-heavy aircraft had gone forwards the moment he let go of the controls until it continued to fly with its wheels upwards. At an altitude of 3,000 metres, Manfred was suspended between the sky and the ground, held up only by the harnesses. The winner of over fifty aerial duels almost fell victim to a peaceful flight. The flight continued from Wroclaw to Milicz, where the favour of providence proved itself once again. On take-off for the return flight, the engine failed. There was a lengthy delay. Then a sudden storm broke out, which had been lurking behind the clouds; thunderstorms, hail and hurricane raged together to form a terrible inferno. Woe betide the airman who got caught in this cauldron.’