An Irishman's Diary

SOME TIME ago, this column played a small and entirely accidental role in the campaign to honour Ireland’s first aviator, balloonist Richard Crosbie, with a statue. It was subsequently erected at the scene of his inaugural flight, Ranelagh Gardens in Dublin; and when the diarist was asked to help unveil it, he was of course humbled by the undeserved privilege.

But the misplaced gratitude of the people of Ranelagh knows no bounds. Another e-mail arrived recently from statue campaigner Terry Connaughton, advising that the 225th anniversary of Crosbie’s take-off was now looming: and to mark the occasion on January 23rd, today, the event would be re-enacted with a balloon flight from the same spot. Would the diarist like to go up in it, wondered Terry?

A voice in the diarist's head attempted to intervene at this point, saying "no freaking way", or words to that effect. But flattery is a powerful thing. So is the romantic image of ballooning: colourful globes of nylon floating gently across the countryside to the soundtrack of Jimmy Webb's Up, Up, and Away, etc. So, without dwelling on the matter much, I said Yes.

It was Terry’s follow-up e-mail, in which he passed on pilot Tom McCormack’s practical advice, that silenced the soundtrack and introduced a note of reality. I should dress “as if for hill-walking”, the message said. And while it wouldn’t be “extra-cold up there”, a pair of good boots would be important, since the balloon “sometimes lands in a muddy field”.

Beginning to have doubts, and needing reassurance, I trawled a few ballooning websites and began to notice how tiny some of those baskets are. And how open. The smaller ones only come up to their passengers’ midriffs; with people just standing inside, unharnessed. And my! How high the balloons go, becoming little dots in the sky, until they all but vanish.

Panic started to well up within me. But as the event drew nearer, there was encouragement from an unexpected source, the weather. Ballooning is dependent on benign wind conditions. So with gales forecast for mid-week, it was looking bad for the Ranelagh event, and good for a nervous columnist in search of a face-saving way out.

I was even preparing to fake disappointment at the news of cancellation. Then the gales passed, the weekend was forecast to be calm, and panic started rising again.

On Thursday, the history of ballooning flashed before my eyes. I was reminded that, although the Montgolfiers made the balloon for the world’s first manned flight in 1783, they thought better of taking part in the actual trip. The brothers went down in history, as it were; but they didn’t go up.

Although King Louis XVI generously offered to provide them with a pair of condemned prisoners as passengers for the flight, two intrepid gentlemen called De Rozier and D’Arlandes volunteered instead. And no doubt it earned them glory. But the wisdom of the earth-bound Montgolfiers was underlined when De Rozier was killed two years later while trying to fly across the English channel.

An even more disquieting footnote from ballooning history was the world’s first air disaster, which happened in – guess where? – Ireland. “Disaster” might be overstating it: details are sketchy. But in May 1785, a balloon sent up in Tullamore crashed on a nearby thatched roof, set fire to it, and started a conflagration that consumed 100 houses.

Not that such misfortunes have much relevance to modern ballooning, with its safer materials, and 227 years of experience to draw on. But still, I feared I might enjoy the re-enactment of Crosbie’s flight about as much as the hapless cat he sent up with one of his earlier, experimental balloons, which was later spotted over Scotland and the Isle of Man before landing in the sea.

So I finally rang Tom McCormack to discuss my doubts. And I fully expected him – intoxicated by the joys of aviation – to be dismissive of them and say that anyone who backed out of the trip now was a big-girl’s-blouse. But on the contrary, he suggested that if I felt any reluctance at all, this might not the occasion for a ballooning debut.

What with the small take-off area, the urban setting, and the necessary involvement of Dublin airport, this would be a more technically demanding flight than usual. He would be going straight up to 1,500ft, and with predicted westerlies pushing him towards the nearby sea, he would then need to get the balloon down again quickly if he was to hit land.

His two or three passengers would include a co-pilot, but he would still be busy. So if I were having a crisis, such as throwing up over the side of the basket (my example, not his), he would be in no position to help. We agreed at length that my balloon debut might be best postponed until another place and time. And I’m not sure which of us was more relieved.

Today’s event remains subject to weather until the last moment. Take-off may not be possible, in which case the re-enactment will be confined to tethering the balloon. But if you’re anywhere near Ranelagh Gardens at 1pm, you should drop in for a look. And while you’re there, spare a thought for Crosbie and those other fearless aviators who, two-and-a-quarter centuries ago, took mankind’s first faltering steps into the wide blue yonder.