The Barnstorm Flyers

The average American G.I. who showed up in Europe in 1942 was likely to be more mechanically inclined than his counterpart in the British armed forces. The automobile had spread rapidly throughout the United States during the preceding two decades, so that almost every city teenager knew how to tear down the motor of a car, and every farm kid had to know how to fix a tractor engine.

This motor-mania extended to airplanes as well. Maybe it was something about the instinctive drive within the American psyche that longs to break the chains and soar: The sky’s the limit!

Between Kitty Hawk and Pearl Harbor the number of airplanes in the United States grew enormously, and air shows sprouted up all across the country to provide a new form of entertainment.

My uncle Carter was a teenager during the period, and he was typical: he collected cars like stamps — in fact he still does. He took them apart, rebuilt them, and left the discarded remains all over the back yard, much to the dismay of his parents (and then later his wife).

He took an interest in airplanes, too. He had a friend who started an air show outside of town, and Uncle Carter was allowed to pilot the planes from time to time. To the end of her life our cousin Mary recounted with horror the story of the time Carter persuaded her against her better judgment to take a ride with him into the sky. He did loop-de-loops and other aerobatics and nearly frightened her to death.

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Uncle Carter and Cousin Mary and the Depression-era rural air shows of Virginia come to mind whenever I listen to this song by Al Stewart, from his recent album A Beach Full of Shells:
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Immelmann Turn
by Al Stewart

I always was the reckless kind; I do what I must do
I put the danger out of mind and go on
I joined the Barnstorm Flyers back in 1922
And above those dusty farms we put a show on

Fly, fly to the western skies
Where the fog bank shifts and the danger lies
Why, why would you never learn
That you won’t come back from the Immelmann Turn?
Fly, fly to the red sunrise
Where the cloudbanks drift under copper skies
Why, why would you never learn
That you won’t come back from the Immelmann Turn?

From aboard a Curtiss Jenny, oh, you see things differently
And the farm boys wait for joyrides in the clearing
I went out walking on the wing in 1923
And above the engine noise you’d hear them cheering

Fly, fly to the western skies
Where the fog bank shifts and the danger lies
Why, why would you never learn
That you won’t come back from the Immelmann Turn?
Fly, fly to the red sunrise
Where the cloudbanks drift under copper skies
Why, why would you never learn
That you won’t come back from the Immelmann Turn?



Oh, you won’t come back from the Immelmann Turn
Why, why, why?
You won’t come back from the Immelmann Turn
Why, why, why?
There never was a one like you
Who knew that way to fly
But you won’t come back from the Immelmann Turn
Why, why, why?

The frost was on your ailerons and the wind was in your hair
When you went into the climb I saw you laughing
When the engine stalls you start to spin
You won’t get out of there
And a hush comes on the crowd as you go falling

Fly, fly to the western skies
Where the fog bank shifts and the danger lies
Why, why would you never learn
That you won’t come back from the Immelmann Turn?
Fly, fly to the red sunrise
Where the cloudbanks drift under copper skies
Why, why would you never learn
That you won’t come back from the Immelmann Turn?

Oh, you won’t come back from the Immelmann Turn
Why, why, why?
You won’t come back from the Immelmann Turn
Why, why, why?
There never was a one like you
Who knew that way to fly
But you won’t come back from the Immelmann Turn
Why, why, why?

For more information on the Immelmann Turn, see this Wikipedia entry. At the bottom of the article you’ll see a mention of Al Stewart’s song.