Near the coast of Suffolk at a spot a little to the north of Harwich lies the village of Orford. There, from close to the ancient castle, Quay Street runs eastwards until it ends abruptly at the river, beyond which is the aerodrome and the stone and shingle banks stretching to Orfordness point and the sea. It was here in the winter of 1916–17 at the Aircraft Armament and Gunnery Experimental Establishment, that a handful of Boffins and pilots carried out a programme of research and development of gunsights and bombsights.

What, for that matter, is the meaning of Airworthiness? In the early years, aerodynamics and structural strength were the main preoccupations of those concerned with the safety of aircraft and their crews, and “airworthy” meant little more than that the aircraft was believed to be safe to fly. The wider range of safety requirements covered by the British Civil Airworthiness Requirements is the subject of another chaper. In the military field, the Joint Airworthiness Committee has introduced the concept of being “safe to meet the operational needs of the Service”.

This paper traces the development and administration of design requirements for military aircraft over the past 50 years. The period has been divided into three eras, the era leading up to the first issue of the universally known design handbook AP 970, the between-wars era, and finally the last 25 years which has been called the Joint Airworthiness Committee (JAC) era.

This account of the development of civil airworthiness comes from one who has been closely concerned. It is therefore a somewhat personal view. However, a tree in the heart of a wood must be forgiven if it knows best the trees in its immediate vicinity and if its perspective of the whole wood is restricted.

I have tended to relate the history of airworthiness to the development of airworthiness regulations, chiefly because these events are more clearly marked historically.

A chronicler of history can easily be carried away with enthusiasm for his chosen subject and as a consequence, lose impartiality. The more recent the history, the easier it is to err; and in no category of contemporary history is the danger more apparent than that of aviation. For no field of human activity has progressed so swiftly from primitive experiment and trial-by-error to a level of technical achievement surpassing that of all others.

At the end of the First World War, from a design point of view, aviation seemed to slow down compared with the tempo of progress during the war years. From the practical flying angle, there were brave efforts by a few to create flying records, such as the first crossing of the North Atlantic by air. Hawker and Grieve took off from Newfoundland and accomplished a remarkable feat of landing in mid-Atlantic and being picked up by a steamer. Alcock and Brown, in a war-time Vickers Vimy made a successful crossing, but unfortunately ended up in a bog in Northern Ireland.

Private flying dates from the earliest days of practical aviation. Indeed, for a time, it seemed that the development of aeroplanes would run parallel to that of motor cars and that these new vehicles would emerge primarily as a more rapid and flexible means of personal transport. Although the British military authorities rather belatedly became interested in aeroplanes in 1911–12 and increasingly thereafter involved themselves in their development, up to 1914 sporting, private and exhibition flying continued as a major part of aviation.

For the first several hundred years of the history of gliding, the design of motorless aircraft was attempted simply because these were, in the absence of any conceivable engine, the only possible devices through which the secrets of controlled flight by human beings might be discovered. In this short paper I do not propose to record any of the doings in this field. For as one of the most unexpected outcomes of the First World War, gliding was reborn in a shape which developed it as it is today, as the greatest sport of all time, involving the use of the energy stored in the atmosphere to maintain sustained flight.

The invitation to write, a short article on Martin-Baker ejection seats for this Centenary Souvenir issue was a real problem. Due to space limitation it will only be possible to write a sketchy outline of the vast amount of effort which has gone into 21 years of research and development in connection with this work, and so it will not be possible on this occasion to write a detailed technical paper. I think it would be more interesting to recall some of the outstanding achievements of a pioneering nature.

Although the roots of the British Aircraft Industry date back to the end of the last century—to 1898, when the brothers Horace, Eustace and Oswald Short began to manufacture balloons in makeshift premises beneath the railway arches at Battersea—it was not until the First World War that the Industry was securely founded. Thus the Royal Aeronautical Society, which this month celebrates its centenary, has existed for twice as long as the Industry.

In the first issue of the Journal for 1966, the Centenary Year of the Royal Aeronautical Society, an account of the history of the Rocket Propulsion Establishment, no matter how brief, may appear to some as an unwarrantable intrusion. It is in this year, 1966, that the Establishment will complete only its second decade of existence, but it may claim to have contributed to the advancement of aeronautics, in the broadest sense of this term.

The First hundred years of the Royal Aeronautical Society have seen nearly all of man's significant achievements in controlled flight by airships, aeroplanes and helicopters. This is hardly surprising, since the Society was formed in 1866, when the time was nearly ripe for such developments to begin. It is perhaps even more striking, however, to realise that throughout the second half of the same century, most of the early evolution of an even more ambitious form of flight has also taken place.

What has aviation meant to me?

It has meant being taken, as a boy of seven or eight (in 1913 or 1914) to Buc, a small airfield near Paris, to see the daring Pegoud “loop the loop”. I can still so well remember arriving at this small airfield, and this before daybreak—the air had to be very still for this daring feat!

Waiting for the sun to rise—the haze slowly clearing up—a few dim figures—a small boy clutching his father's hand. Then a dot on the horizon, a gentle hum, a graceful machine and then the “loop”, the breathless pause at the apex and the silence—then it vanishing away.

I am one of a dwindling band of old men who could fill in the then of Aeronautics’ Then and Now if only their memory would serve them. Aeronautically I am almost exactly half as old as our Society as it reaches its centenary: it is 50 years since I had my first job. The Editor has invited me to “write what you like”. The dangerous freedom of this invitation prompts me to exhibit myself as what I am, a survivor from another age—and to add a few reflections on the Now as I see it.

One Century's end is but the beginning of the next. The completion of the First Hundred Years of the life of the Royal Aeronautical Society—“posterity's tributes to its favoured children of fame“—heralds the start of a Second Hundred Years the promise of which is no less glittering than the first.

“Ring out the old, ring in the new“—our “cheerful yesterdays, our confident tomorrows”.