Farrel again – Farrel was a very cool customer. Another minister’s son, Art Summers from Saskatchewan, was also a pupil of Farrel’s. The coolness of Farrel nearly frightened Summers out of his breeches. Summers was doing spins by instruments for Farrel and they were beetling towards the ground when Farrel cut in, “I say, Summers old boy, you had better take a look at the altimeter as it is, probably, the last time that you and I will observe it.” Summers told me, also, that they came out of that particular spin whistling across the tree tops.
Poor Bob Boettger piddled in his trousers one morning when Farrel was teaching him the rudiments of low flying over a marshy area used for such purposes near Borden. The marshy area had trees sticking up in it like spaced pins in a pincushion. From the back cockpit of the Yale aircraft the instructor’s view was limited to a degree in the forward scope. Farrel and Bob were approaching a tree that was on-coming in a hurry and Bob wasn’t sure whether or not Farrel saw the damn tree. As they closed quickly on the tree, Bob, being a quick thinker, hit the control column at the last second and the mainplane just lifted over the top of the tree. Farrel in his droll tone said, “Thanks.”
(When I had been overseas for several months, I wished that I had never asked about Farrel from a pilot who knew him. Farrel was killed on a very routine take-off; not the way for this wonderful gentleman to go.)
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