Sadler James - The man with his head in the clouds : James Sadler : the first Englishman to fly

Title Page

The Man with His Head in the Clouds

James Sadler: The First Englishman to Fly

Richard O. Smith

Publisher Information

First published in 2014 by

Signal Books Limited

36 Minster Road

Oxford OX4 1LY

www.signalbooks.co.uk

Digital edition converted and distributed by

Andrews UK Limited

www.andrewsuk.com

Richard O. Smith, 2014

The right of Richard O. Smith to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988.

All rights reserved. The whole of this work, including all text and illustrations, is protected by copyright. No parts of this work may be loaded, stored, manipulated, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information, storage and retrieval system without prior written permission from the publisher, on behalf of the copyright owner.

Cover Design: Baseline Arts, Oxford

Cover Images: Baseline Arts, Oxford; Wikimedia Commons

Prologue: The End?

They say being on death row clarifies the mind. They also say that the footsteps of a dead man walking emit no sound - although that could be because theyve just had death row carpeted.

60 seconds and counting...

I am facing death in public and no one is offering me a blindfold, cigarette or last meal. Usually when a firing squad ties you to a pole, it is probably a good time to start thinking about life insurance. I havent got life insurance. Maybe I should ring a call centre and spend my last few seconds on earth listening to someone with a Geordie accent read through the small print of an insurance policy that I - or rather my widow - will be able to claim on within sixty seconds of taking out the cover.

50 seconds...

This is the most terrifying thing I have ever encountered. Forget screeching dentists drills, imagined monsters stalking my childhood bedroom or that occasion when I was slightly too slow in reassuring my wife that she is still just as beautiful now as when we married.

40 seconds...

I am a clich whirling into life. My whole existence is flashing before me. I never thought this literally happens when you are about to die. Yet there I am, the only cinema-goer in a big screen multiplex watching an edited compilation package of my own, admittedly rather average it transpires, life. That time I wet myself at Amanda Jones fifth birthday party. (Why did that scene make the cut? Who edited this?) I can see myself, asking my mother for a pound in order to buy her a birthday present - and then spending it on an action man accessory. There is a parade of characters and suddenly recalled experiences competing for airtime. All represent the cluttered colours of my life.

30 seconds...

Hang on, my life has actually been alright, pretty good even, on this quickly flicked highlights package. What an inconvenient time to make that discovery, when Im just about to die pointlessly in an Oxfordshire field. The worst possible time to make that breakthrough, I can tell you - as its all too late now.

20 seconds...

Admittedly, I may have worried about a lot of stuff that never happened, carried the imagined weight of irrelevant burdens. Why did I worry so much? Waste such precious time-on-earth anxious about petty imagined dangers, ruminated fears, when I could have saved it up for this? A situation that really needs worrying about.

15 seconds...

Look, I know I have been quite rude about the world in the past. But Ive just discovered that I really, really do want to live now. Please can I live? I promise to be good.

10 seconds...

Hi God. Yes, Im aware its been several decades since we last spoke. I have been busy though - well, youd probably know that, what with the omnipotence. No, dont make that face. Anyway, in the statistically unlikely occurrence that a supernatural deity exists outside human comprehension, rather than an inevitable artificial construct of a guilt-induced afterlife expectation to offset nihilism, please save me from my upcoming certain death. Amen. Cheers.

9 seconds...

It was worth praying. After all, thats the potent appeal of religion. Join most organisations or societies and theyll present you with an introductory free pen, windscreen de-icer or Amazon gift voucher. Join a religion and youre offered everlasting eternal life. Thats a hard sell to compete with.

8 seconds...

Just in case you didnt catch that last sentiment, God: I REALLY WANT TO LIVE NOW, OK?

7 seconds...

Memories. Theres space on my hard drive to download a lot more from life. So stop the countdown. Please stop. It seems to have stopped. Flooded with relief, I feel like a soldier surviving a war. Theyll be no more...

6 seconds...

Oh B*^&*%$*&! How could I think that? The countdown is appearing slower as an illusion. Like a car crash, everything appears to slow down before the moment of impact.

5 seconds...

Of course there were girls I kissed whom I shouldnt have, and girls I didnt kiss whom I definitely should have. Emotion rises within, swelling up like the hot air inflating a balloon, causing a geezer burst of tears. I try and shape words out of these emotions, wanting to reveal my love for my partner. Without a blindfold I am able to see my wife is playing with her phone, smirking at a text message from a friend. I call out my wifes name with honest affection. Er... can it wait a minute... texting, she replies. Insensitively.

4 seconds...

Time for some profound words. Final words, simply by an accident of time, can become gilded with an undeserved poignancy. Rendered significant merely by being the last words you ever drew breath to orate. There is also that tense expectancy to make ones final words profound. And then, once youve uttered them, you are forced to remain silent. Theres no point in superseding profound grandiloquence as your chosen final utterance, only to remark ten minutes later: Could I have another glass of water?

3 seconds...

I wish I hadnt got so attached to the world as Im not ready to leave it yet. The world is like a pet that dies too young. Oh God, Im actually leaving the world. So long, world - thanks for the good times, and frankly your bad times werent that bad. I know that now. Its my sort of world, the earth, and Im sure I can be happy here. If Im given another chance, I promise to be reformed, better with my time. I wont leave toilet rolls unchanged or expect someone else to clear up the crumbs near the toaster. I wont stare at my wifes younger sister anymore, even if we go on holiday again and she insists on wearing that tiny bikini (which, you have to admit, was odd for a Helsinki city break). Ill get a direct debit done for Oxfam. No, I will.

2 seconds...

Allow me to share, as my final words, a thought on humanity. My observation is a positive one. Being this close to death has provided me with some good news to share: the compulsion to tell someone in your final moments that you love them is far stronger than the instinct to tell someone you hate them. Thats why passengers on doomed hijacked planes leave messages of love on answer phones. No one rings up that bloke they work with in HR called Dave to inform him: I just called to say I always thought you were a twat.

1 second...

Trying to compose myself now in order to step out of the world and disappear for ever. Were all admitted into the world with that same pre-determined plot ending hanging over us. The agreement is, that by accepting life you simultaneously hereby accept to one day leave it, to disappear for ever, as the waters close quickly about you. Well, I never signed anything agreeing to that.