Joyrider steals Moth from Brooklands

I just came across this article from 1932, what a classic tale. I wonder what happened to this chap, did he ever go on to gain a flying licence or join the RAF? He sounds like a natural.

Via National Library of New Zealand’s Papers Past website:
Ellesmere Guardian, Volume LIII, Issue 14, 19 February 1932, Page 3

BOY HUSSAR’S FLIGHT

FRENCH-LEAVE USE OF MOTH

WANTS TO BE A PILOT.

AN EXCITING ADVENTURE

Because he wanted to travel in or on something faster than a horse—to quote the solicitor who defended him in the police court—a young Hussar still in his teens “commandeered” a Moth aeroplane when no one was looking and went off for a joy ride on his own. It was his first air trip solo—his total flying experience was no more than eight hours—but he managed it beautifully.

When he came down because petrol was running short, he rang up the aerodrome and told them all about it. Naturally the authorities had to do something drastic, and the amateur airman was hauled before the magistrates. Interesting as the court story certainly was, it remains commonplace beside the young Hussar’s own narrative of the great adventure.

Charles G. Hale, trooper in His Majesty’s 11th Hussars, has one ambition in life. He wants to be an airman, not a soldier. He made that confession quite frankly to the magistrates at Woking when he was called to account for his unauthorised use of the aeroplane. Actually, he was charged with flying and piloting the machine without a certificate and licence; a more seriout allegation of stealing the aeroplane, petrol and oil being abandoned by the Brooklands Aeroplane Club.

Trooper Hale is 19. The circumstances in which he took off in the machine and covered a good slice of Hampshire before coming to earth again are best told by himself. It was an amazing achievement by a youth who had not been in a cockpit for two years and whose flying experience was limited to eight hours under the eye of an instructor in 1929. Defending counsel asked Hale: “Are aeroplanes your one idea in life?” and the youth answered unhesitatingly, “Yes, I want to be a pilot.” “But you know this was a foolish thing to do,” counsel reminded him. “I realise that,” said Hale, “and I am very sorry now.” The adjutant of the 11th Hussars assured the magistrate that Hale had an exemplary military character, and only once was guilty of a minor breach of discipline. He took French leave to see the race for the Schneider Trophy. Satisfied that Hale’s little-escapade was nothing more serious than a youthful prank, the Bench bound him over and ordered him to pay three guineas costs.

Hale Tells His Story.
Here is Hale’s own story as he told it to the News of the World:—

“Brooklands had an irresistible call for me that afternoon. I wanted to see the Moths again and the Bristol Bulldog, fighters of the R.A.F. At lunch time a Gipsy Moth landed and taxied up to the rest of the machines. I helped to pull it into line as the pilot and passengers got out. Everybody went away, and there was I alone with all those machines. “I looked at the Moth again. It was fatal. I felt I should never rest until I had flown her on my own. So, on with the engine switch and round and round with the propeller. She I started first time. Then into the pilot’s cockpit, a touch to the throttle, and the Moth was away—a ‘bumpy’ take-off they said in the police court. That was because I went across the wind a bit. “For a few minutes I flew dead straight, until the machine had made 1000 ft. Then I turned and circled the railway running by the race track, and decided to follow it to Andover and Tidworth. Fog obscured the horizon. I throttled down to 1900 revolutions, strapped myself in, and closed the small door on my right. This was the life.

“The haze increased in density, and caution prompted me to shut off the engine and drop to 500 ft. At this height I spotted two or three express trains southward bound. They seemed to be at a standstill, because my own speed was round about 95 miles an hour. Eiiveloped in a Cloud. “As the Moth turned for Basingstoke the sun came through, and I went up and up to 2500 ft. Ah, Basingstoke down there. I knew it instantly. Over the town, and everything became a grey blank again. I had bundled into a cloud. Off with the engine once more and into another glide by the aid of the airspeed and inclinometer. Even as I looked at the altimeter she had on, the dial came loose and dropped off. That was one gadget out of commission.

“Again the mist cleared and I reopened the throttle. There was a railway to the left now, and I commenced to follow it. For the first time I became apprehensive of pursuit, but no machines were scorching up behind me. Far off to the left was another town, which I guessed must be Andover. I guessed wrong. The I prominent buildings were all unfamiliar to me. “Two R.A.F. bombing planes came racing up, and scared of a collision I steered clear. Three miles away I could see an R.A.F. aerodrome quite distinctly. It suggested Salisbury and the Old Sarum aerodrome, but the absence of a cathedral proved me in error again. Definitely it was not Salisbury.

“So I swung back to the railway, picked up the Andover line, and followed it. A Bristol Bulldog singleseater fighter went tearing by. The pilot turned and had a look at me, and then was lost in the mist. It was hopeless to follow him. His speed was over 170 miles an hour. Feet Nearly Frozen. “Presently I realised that both my feet were nearly frozen. I had on a flimsy pair of slippers, admirable for the seaside, but foolhardy things for the air. The, fact that I had no gloves, helmet, or goggles, however, did not disturb me; I was perfectly comfortable except for my chilled feet. And then the Moth and I came to Andover, unmistakable because of the stalls in the market place.

“Over the aerodrome at 800 ft, and now a sharp look-out for other aircraft. Anxious not to get lost again, I followed the railway to Ludgershall, picked up the barracks at Tidworth, and flew straight for them. As I circled I noticed a fall in the petrol gauge, and that decided me to lane] and look at the tank. “Smoke columns gave me the direction of the wind, and shutting off the engine I was thrilled by a perfect landing on Dunch Hill, a mile from the barracks.

Exactly two gallons of petrol remained, so I taxied the Moth to a sheltered spot, covered her jup and telephoned from the barracks, to the Brooklands School of Flying to tell them all about it. I “After tea in the barracks two friends walked back with me to my landing place and we folded the wings of the Moth and put everything in order for the night. “Then I went to a cinema in Tidworth and saw a picture called ‘Gaol Birds.’ Three hours later I saw something like it again—but not on .the screen. The rest you know.”