The Canadian Falcon
If you are no younger than twenty-five, you must remember the craze for collecting cigarette cards — those colourful vignettes the tobacco companies used to pack with their coffin nails. If you smoked enough and managed to escape cancer and emphysema long enough, you could end up exchanging these premium cards for anything from a fancy ashtray to a grand piano. You will remember the cards showed pretty pictures of vintage cars, or dogs, or flowers or aircraft.
In the early 1900’s, the Macdonald Tobacco Company whimsically announced they ere prepared to give a deHaviland “Moth” to any group which would bring them umpteen thousand packs of their cigarette cards. The figure was so outlandishly high naturally enough that there were no takers. but some folks really tried.
At that time, I was happily ensconced as president of the McGill University Gliding Club, which was the successor to the McGill Light Aeroplane Club. The parent club had already owned a “Moth”, CF-CDA, but this craft had met a tragic end. Sadly, she crashed in September, 1932, killing one of my favourite instructors, Blaise Leboeuf, and his pupil. I believe the Aeroplane Club died a natural death following this accident.
Well, ours was a club of gliding enthusiasts, but we were certainly intrigued by the possibility of getting our hands on another Moth. So we set up a scheme to collect the appropriate cigarette cards on a big scale. The majordomo of the Arts Building at the university, Mr. Harry Grimsdale, offered to take on the task of accepting and storing the cards for us. It was a big job, but he stuck to it loyally for quite a few years. After a year or so of this effort, we reviewed our progress. It was already clear that no Moth was in the cards for us. Although a respectable number of packs of the cards had been collected, the number called for was so high that by the time we reached it, the Moth would be obsolete, and we would all be much too old to fly. It was suggested that we and the tobacco company both lower our sights, and I approached them with the suggestion that they accept a much smaller number of cards, and swap them for a sailplane.
I hadn't enough sense to preserve many news clippings from those days, but I do have one dated 18 February 1936, in which it was announced that the Macdonald Company and our club had struck a deal, and they had specifically promised us a sailplane in exchange for a number of card packs which seemed within possibility. We redoubled our collecting efforts, and the walls of the Arts Building began to bulge. Something had to give!
Up until that time, our club had been operating with a single aircraft. This was a “Zögling” primary which we had built from scratch in the Engineering Building at the university in 1933. It gave yeoman service, training a considerable number of aspiring bird-men, all without significant injury, despite
a number of prangs. But in January, 1937, it was rather thoroughly demolished in another crash. By this time, it had performed over 1,000 flights, but so far as I am aware, it was written off after this misadventure. Unfortunately, I have not kept a record of the dates of our later developments, but I believe it was in July or August of that year that the tobacco company finally came across. They had graciously consulted us about the type of aircraft we wanted, and one fine day, they delivered to us a glorious, glistening, graceful intermediate sailplane — a Slingsby “Falcon”. We had not been able to afford a two-seater, but here was a single-seater, as large as life and twice as lovely!
During half-time of a rugby game at Molson Stadium, the Falcon was towed on to the field and a little group gathered for the handing-over ceremony. There was a charming lady, the representative of the tobacco company, ready to make the presentation. There was Principal Douglas of the university, ready to accept the craft on our behalf. There was Harry Grimsdale, who had laboured so hard and long to gather the cigarette cards for us. I was due to join them, to
accept the sailplane on behalf of the club, but I was outside the gates, with no ticket to get in. I had some very anxious moments while I searched for a way to get into the stadium, and finally climbed over a chain-link fence. That aircraft, with her racy, swept-back wing, looked impressively beautiful. She had been worth all the effort, and then some! The ceremony was mercifully brief. There was a happy shaking of hands all round, and then a group of willing helpers joined me to shove the craft off the field, safe from charging footballers.
Now the club found itself in the embarrassing position of owning an intermediate sailplane, but no primary trainer. Also, we didn't have a single member qualified at that time to fly the Falcon. Eventually, she was test flown by a visitor from Germany, Wolf von Wernsdorff, and she performed beautifully
To my everlasting regret, I had to leave the McGill club at that time, due to the pressure of medical studies, and I have little knowledge of its later fortunes. Before long, a public-spirited benefactor, Mr. Norman Holland, came to the club’s aid by donating a new primary trainer - a Dagling.
Some members of the club eventually qualified, and flew the Falcon over several years, mostly, I believe, at St. Hubert Airport. In the fall of 1939, it was flown briefly at St. Sauveur in the Laurentians. Then, under the spur of the war, the club members began to disperse. One Paul Laricheliere became a Spitfire pilot. Several others graduated as engineers, and joined the National Research Council at Ottawa. I believe these men worked out an agreement with the Gatineau Gliding Club for the Falcon to be seconded to them, and that it operated in the Gatineau area for some time.
Adapted from an Article in Freeflight 87_ 01 p4/5 'Wanna swap for a set of wings' by Ted Hill
In the early 1900’s, the Macdonald Tobacco Company whimsically announced they ere prepared to give a deHaviland “Moth” to any group which would bring them umpteen thousand packs of their cigarette cards. The figure was so outlandishly high naturally enough that there were no takers. but some folks really tried.
At that time, I was happily ensconced as president of the McGill University Gliding Club, which was the successor to the McGill Light Aeroplane Club. The parent club had already owned a “Moth”, CF-CDA, but this craft had met a tragic end. Sadly, she crashed in September, 1932, killing one of my favourite instructors, Blaise Leboeuf, and his pupil. I believe the Aeroplane Club died a natural death following this accident.
Well, ours was a club of gliding enthusiasts, but we were certainly intrigued by the possibility of getting our hands on another Moth. So we set up a scheme to collect the appropriate cigarette cards on a big scale. The majordomo of the Arts Building at the university, Mr. Harry Grimsdale, offered to take on the task of accepting and storing the cards for us. It was a big job, but he stuck to it loyally for quite a few years. After a year or so of this effort, we reviewed our progress. It was already clear that no Moth was in the cards for us. Although a respectable number of packs of the cards had been collected, the number called for was so high that by the time we reached it, the Moth would be obsolete, and we would all be much too old to fly. It was suggested that we and the tobacco company both lower our sights, and I approached them with the suggestion that they accept a much smaller number of cards, and swap them for a sailplane.
I hadn't enough sense to preserve many news clippings from those days, but I do have one dated 18 February 1936, in which it was announced that the Macdonald Company and our club had struck a deal, and they had specifically promised us a sailplane in exchange for a number of card packs which seemed within possibility. We redoubled our collecting efforts, and the walls of the Arts Building began to bulge. Something had to give!
Up until that time, our club had been operating with a single aircraft. This was a “Zögling” primary which we had built from scratch in the Engineering Building at the university in 1933. It gave yeoman service, training a considerable number of aspiring bird-men, all without significant injury, despite
a number of prangs. But in January, 1937, it was rather thoroughly demolished in another crash. By this time, it had performed over 1,000 flights, but so far as I am aware, it was written off after this misadventure. Unfortunately, I have not kept a record of the dates of our later developments, but I believe it was in July or August of that year that the tobacco company finally came across. They had graciously consulted us about the type of aircraft we wanted, and one fine day, they delivered to us a glorious, glistening, graceful intermediate sailplane — a Slingsby “Falcon”. We had not been able to afford a two-seater, but here was a single-seater, as large as life and twice as lovely!
During half-time of a rugby game at Molson Stadium, the Falcon was towed on to the field and a little group gathered for the handing-over ceremony. There was a charming lady, the representative of the tobacco company, ready to make the presentation. There was Principal Douglas of the university, ready to accept the craft on our behalf. There was Harry Grimsdale, who had laboured so hard and long to gather the cigarette cards for us. I was due to join them, to
accept the sailplane on behalf of the club, but I was outside the gates, with no ticket to get in. I had some very anxious moments while I searched for a way to get into the stadium, and finally climbed over a chain-link fence. That aircraft, with her racy, swept-back wing, looked impressively beautiful. She had been worth all the effort, and then some! The ceremony was mercifully brief. There was a happy shaking of hands all round, and then a group of willing helpers joined me to shove the craft off the field, safe from charging footballers.
Now the club found itself in the embarrassing position of owning an intermediate sailplane, but no primary trainer. Also, we didn't have a single member qualified at that time to fly the Falcon. Eventually, she was test flown by a visitor from Germany, Wolf von Wernsdorff, and she performed beautifully
To my everlasting regret, I had to leave the McGill club at that time, due to the pressure of medical studies, and I have little knowledge of its later fortunes. Before long, a public-spirited benefactor, Mr. Norman Holland, came to the club’s aid by donating a new primary trainer - a Dagling.
Some members of the club eventually qualified, and flew the Falcon over several years, mostly, I believe, at St. Hubert Airport. In the fall of 1939, it was flown briefly at St. Sauveur in the Laurentians. Then, under the spur of the war, the club members began to disperse. One Paul Laricheliere became a Spitfire pilot. Several others graduated as engineers, and joined the National Research Council at Ottawa. I believe these men worked out an agreement with the Gatineau Gliding Club for the Falcon to be seconded to them, and that it operated in the Gatineau area for some time.
Adapted from an Article in Freeflight 87_ 01 p4/5 'Wanna swap for a set of wings' by Ted Hill
I have found out a little more information about this glider - it did indeed fly with the Gatineau Gliding Club at its Mulvihill Farm site at the base of the Gatineau Hills. The caption below wrongly identifies the glider as a 'Dagling'. Another article in Freeflight about Shorty Bouldreat, shown in the photo, describes him obtaining his C badge in a 'nacelled' Dagling- I wonder if this was the Falcon?
However, although it appears this glider continued to fly after the 2nd World War - history then seems to draw a blank. p.s. 'Shorty' later gained Canada's first Silver C badge.