Opinion Editorial

Tragic aviation history


While walking through Holy Cross cemetery my father pointed out a small headstone.

Barely 12 inches high, its weathered surface mottled with mossy growth, the inscription was still discernible: "Elsie Storrow -- Died as a result of a parachute descent -- May 27, 1933." My father recalled that fateful day, now 78 years ago, on the occasion of the grand opening of the original Welland- Crowland Airport in the area which is now St. George's Park in Welland's southwest corner.

The following is my father's eyewitness account.

It was a Saturday, a really grand day for an airfield opening. It seemed that everyone who owned and flew an airplane was there. Undoubtedly the greatest concentration of aircraft the people of Welland had seen to that day -- 1933, not far removed from Lindberg's epic Atlantic crossing and at a time when those historic flights were still being made. The likes of Wiley Post and Amelia Earhart were still to be heard from. It was the age of romantic daring aviation.

The aircraft of the day were all there. The TravelAirs (the pride of Walter Beech of Beechcraft fame), the Alexander Eaglerocks, Curtiss JN-4 (Jenny's),

Dehavilland Gypsy Moths and Consolidated Fleets. The famous Leavens Brothers Air Circus was there with their Long-wing Eaglerock, so named because the lower wing span was longer than the upper. They also had their Waco 9 and 10 as well as their Kinner-powered Pitcairn Autogyro CF-ASQ. Along with them was their little Ford panel truck on the sides of which was painted "See your town from the air in an aeroplane -- special rate -- one cent per pound."

Midway along the edge of the field was a truck with a huge loudspeaker mounted on top, blaring. Nearby was a big brown Dodge jitney van from the Electro-Metals Co., pressed into service for the day as an ambulance.

The grand finale was parachute jumping. Two jumpers prepared for a feat few had seen. One of them, a 25-year-old waitress from Toronto, Elsie Storrow.

They could barely be seen from our vantage point, suiting up and being helped into the Fairchild bi-plane. They took off and climbed slowly to their jumping altitude of 1,500 feet. All eyes were upon them as the airplane made a final turn.

A large gasp from the crowd as the first jumper left the plane. 1-2-3-4-5 and the big white canopy blossomed open and he floated gently downward. A few seconds later, another gasp as Elsie left the craft, 1-2-3-4- 5-8-10-15. Something must be wrong. She hurtled down at a terrifying rate until the 'chute streamed out behind her but the life-saving canopy did not appear. Elsie disappeared into the tree tops at the far end of the field. The Electro-Metals van roared to life, swung onto the airstrip and raced towards the woods followed by a huge mass of spectators, oblivious to the aircraft overhead on landing approach. The loudspeaker shouted appeals to clear the field, to no avail.

The van appeared from the edge of the woods, made its way to the road and disappeared in a dusty cloud toward town.

Const. T.E. Haun (provincial police) had discovered her body in swampy terrain. Elsie had made her last jump. Was she a thrill seeker or a thrill maker? I choose the latter. She probably wanted to leave Welland with the memory of a real thrill, a "delayed jump" they called it, but had left it a little too late. She did succeed in leaving a memory, albeit a tragic one, to those who remember that fateful day. I was just 13 years old then but remember it quite vividly.

Apart from an occasional "barnstormer" and use by the old Welland Aeromodelers flying models, the airfield blended back into its surroundings and became overgrown with scrub. A victim of the times. After all it was the early '30s, the height of the Great Depression.

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