The Day Gravity Took a Holiday

The Luckiest Man Alive

Imagine this: it’s 1918, the skies over Europe are a chaotic ballet of whirling biplanes, and our star, Captain John H. Hedley, is perched in the back of a Bristol F.2B, a two-seater fighter, with his pilot, Captain Reginald “Jimmy” Makepeace, at the controls. They’re in the thick of a dogfight, those frantic, swirling aerial duels that defined World War I. Suddenly, Makepeace throws their plane into a stomach-churning dive. Remember, these were the days before parachutes were standard issue for British airmen. The brass thought it would make them less likely to take risks. A bit like telling a tightrope walker, “Don’t worry, there’s no net, so you’ll definitely concentrate harder!” The sudden dive sends Hedley tumbling out of the plane like a rogue potato. He’s falling, the ground is rushing up, and it’s looking like curtains for our hero.

A Slipstream Serenade

Promotional material for John Hedley’s lecture titled “Rambling Through the Air.”

But here’s where things get truly bonkers. Hedley, somehow, gets caught in the slipstream of the diving plane. It’s like a bizarre, invisible hand keeps him company as he plummets. Then, just as suddenly, Makepeace pulls the plane out of its dive. And guess what? Hedley, still caught in that slipstream, is yanked right back towards the plane! When the plane pulled up, the ejected observer Hedley purportedly manages to grab onto the tail and, with the adrenaline pumping, clambers back into his seat. Can you imagine the conversation in the cockpit? “Did you see that?” “See what? Oh, you mean when I fell out of the plane and climbed back in? Yeah, just another Tuesday.
Floyd Gibbons, a war correspondent for the Chicago Tribune, heard about this incredible feat and dubbed Hedley “The Luckiest Man Alive.” And rightly so! Hedley went on to score 11 aerial victories, proving that luck and skill can go hand-in-hand. Hedley and Kirkman were finally shot down. For many years, it was thought that the two aviators had been taken down by none other than the Red Baron himself – Manfred von Richthofen. But this is probably not correct.
After the war, Hedley emigrated to the US, where he gave lectures about his incredible adventure.

Meanwhile, Over in Germany…

Now, let’s hop over to the German side of the trenches, where another aviator, 1st Lt. Otto Berla, was having his own close encounter with gravity. It’s May 24, 1917, and Berla is the observer aboard an Albatros C.V. This time, it’s not a dogfight, but a sudden bout of turbulence that sends their plane into a nosedive. Berla, unfortunately, wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. (Lesson learned: always wear your seatbelt, even in a biplane!) He’s tossed out of the cockpit like a cork from a champagne bottle. He and the plane are falling together, a bizarre aerial formation.

A Plywood Punchline

Just when it seems like Berla’s luck has run out, a sudden updraft sends the plane’s tail up, just in time to meet the rapidly descending Berla. He crashes feet-first through the plywood-skinned turtledeck, landing back in his cockpit, albeit with a slightly rearranged posterior. Imagine the paperwork: “Reason for delay: Observer spontaneously ejected and re-entered through fuselage.” Berla, like Hedley, returned to base, probably with a few new gray hairs and a story to tell.

The Moral of the Story?

These tales are a testament to the sheer unpredictability of early aviation. They’re also a reminder that sometimes, just sometimes, luck really is on your side. And if you ever find yourself falling out of a biplane, just remember: cling on, and hope for a slipstream serenade or a fortuitous updraft!

Below is a 2011 video about “The Luckiest Man Alive” from the channel Strange as it seems.