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165
The Aeroplane Speaks. Fifth Edition
·
H. Barber
50
Another
minute
and
he
can
see
this
little
town,
a
fairy
place
it
appears,
nestling
down
between
the
hills
and
its
red
roofs
and
picturesque
shape,
a
glowing
and
lovely
contrast
with
the
dark
green
of
the
surrounding
moors.
So
extraordinarily
clean
and
tidy
it
looks
from
such
a
height,
and
laid
out
in
such
orderly
fashion
with
perfectly
defined
squares,
parks,
avenues,
and
public
buildings,
it
indeed
appears
hardly
real,
but
rather
as
if
it
has
this
very
day
materialized
from
some
delightful
children's
book!
Every
city
and
town
you
must
know
has
its
distinct
individuality
to
the
Pilot's
eye.
Some
are
not
fairy
places
at
all,
but
great
dark
ugly
blots
upon
the
fair
countryside,
and
with
tall
shafts
belching
forth
murky
columns
of
smoke
to
defile
clean
space.
Others,
melancholy-looking
masses
of
grey,
slate-roofed
houses,
are
always
sad
and
dispirited;
never
welcoming
the
glad
sunshine,
but
ever
calling
for
leaden
skies
and
a
weeping
Heaven.
Others
again,
little
coquettes
with
village
green,
white
palings
everywhere,
bright
gravel
roads,
and
an
irrepressible
air
of
brightness
and
gaiety.
Then
there
are
the
rivers,
silvery
streaks
peacefully
winding
far,
far
away
to
the
distant
horizon;
they
and
the
lakes
the
finest
landmarks
the
Pilot
can
have.
And
the
forests.
How
can
I
describe
them?
The
trees
cannot
be
seen
separately,
but
merge
altogether
into
enormous
irregular
dark
green
masses
sprawling
over
the
country,
and
sometimes
with
great
ungainly
arms
half
encircling
some
town
or
village;
and
the
wind
passing
over
the
foliage
at
times
gives
the
forest
an
almost
living
appearance,
as
of
some
great
dragon
of
olden
times
rousing
itself
from
slumber
to
devour
the
peaceful
villages
its
arms
encircle.
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