The Concorde: an Icon of Our Time by John Weich

In the hierarchy of aspirations, crossing the Atlantic at supersonic speed ranks high. The choices, at least for the time being, are limited, with all sources pointing to the same svelte vehicle: the Concorde. But, not for much longer. From October 2003, the 20th century’s swiftest and most pervasive transportation icon has been yanked from the skies for good. Both British Airways and Air France, the sole operators of supersonic service, have decided to pull the plug, citing financial infeasibility as their motivation. You could say that grim global economic forecasts, the even grimmer state of the airline industry and the 15-month grounding following the July 25, 2000, Air France crash in the Parisian suburb Gonesse are equal accomplices in their decision.

Even 27 years after its inaugural voyage, a chance glimpse of this narrow, 100-seat in London, New York, Paris or Barbados (the only cities that permit the bird to land) still musters awe in a way unattainable by ‘subsonic’ carriers. Like most great technological gadgets, the Concorde appeals to both high and low culture, warranting cameo roles in spoof films like Airport 3 and gorgeous monographs like that shot by Turner Prize winner (2001) Wolfang Tillmans a few years back. But when it comes to first-hand tales, the Concorde is like a secret fraternal handshake; you’ve either flown it or you haven’t.

Bolstered by this history I walked down the gangplank at Heathrow grasping the sleek, grey Conran-designed boarding pass and giddy from the pre-10 a.m. glass of champagne I had quaffed in the lounge. The experience of boarding the Concorde is less like hopping on a Boeing 707 than it is taking a seat in a Gulfstream business jet; six-foot plussers can barely stand erect and the seats are small and a bit cramped. Another difference between super- and subsonic travel is turbulence. To his credit, the pilot was reassuring in his reiteration of the airline’s dedication to safety and walked us through the noises, bumps and sudden jerks, mainly during the 250 mph take-off and prior to accelerating to Mach 2 cruising speed.

On take-off the Concorde hangs frightening low, skimming the rooftops of the unfortunate neighbourhoods standing between the plane and the Atlantic Ocean. Because there is no in-flight entertainment (at the time of construction video equipment was deemed too heavy) everyone stares at the enormous speedometer mounted to a cabin wall, mesmerized and content. To calm nerves and properly punctuate a cabin full of celebrities and celebrations the stewardess hands out glasses of Lanson Blanc de Blancs (1990) and Mersault Premier Cru Poruzot (1996) like post-dessert mints. It may be four a.m. in New York, but I wasn’t about to turn down a glass of Dow’s 1978 Reserve Tawny Port. I perused the Concorde paraphernalia still-lifes in the duty-free magazine and purchased a set of tiny silver Concorde cufflinks. Similar to the other 20th century icons – i.e. train travel (Orient Express) and leisure (Disneyland) – it is hard to escape the experience empty-handed.

When first unveiled, the Concorde was the culmination of Jet Age optimism and as much a product of cold war rivalry as it was of international aviation antagonism. French president Charles de Gaulle left little room for misinterpretation; his goal was to counter America’s (read Boeing’s) colonization of the skies. Not having enough cash in his state coffers to go it alone, he joined forces with the British. Up until Chunnel, the Concorde cooperation was the most exorbitant Anglo-Franco project in history, accruing $3.5 billion in development costs. Of the three hundred Concorde’s earmarked for construction, only 20 were ever built.

The Concorde was not the only supersonic jet to fly, nor was it the first. That honour goes to the Russians, whose TU-144 – dubbed the Condordsky in the West – first flew on December 31, 1968. The Concorde – emphasis on the ‘e’, it was an Air France, and not a BA, prototype – was however the first to break the speed of sound less than a year later. A showdown between the two was of course inevitable, and during a head-to-head exhibition at the Paris Air Show in 1973 the Anglo-Franco Concorde manoeuvred grandly above French skies while the Concordsky crashed and burned, literally. From Paris the Concorde went on to international stardom. The Russian TU-144 was demoted to shuttling mail between Moscow and Alamty, Kazakhstan. There were 17 TU-144s built in all, but today the only one visible to public scrutiny is the crown jewel atop the Auto & Technik Museum in Sinsheim, Germany.

Meanwhile, an American Concorde failed to materialize. The Americans, original visionaries of commercial supersonic travel in early 1950s, never got around to building their SST despite millions of dollars of investment. The first Boeing SST prototype was pegged for 1965, but Congressional red tape and environmental lobbyists effectively killed the project, despite 122 orders by 26 airlines. At 318 feet, room for 234 passengers and a cruising speed of Mach 2.7, the SST would have been the largest and fastest supersonic jet in the sky.

There is a circus element involved in flying the Concorde, a certain buzz. My flight was half full, and half of that half had brought along handheld video cameras and were flashing Nikons in the direction of the speedometer/altimeter. I watched our speed increase from 900 to 950 to 1020 to 1140 to 1220 mph while nibbling on Lock Fyne salmon with crème fresch and Beluga caviar. The instruments steady at 1,350 mph and 55,000 feet and the stewardess presented me with corn-fed chicken wrapped in Parma ham. Let there be no doubt: the Concorde is an airborne Michelin restaurant with a wine cellar to match, anathema to low-cost carrier cuisine. The service is impeccable and the pilots polite, and no sooner have you survived touched down at JFK than your baggage is waiting for you at the exit. Because it is near sacrilege to hail a taxi after such an experience, most passengers crawl into the backseats of hovering limousines and Lincoln Town Cars.

When grounded after the Paris crash, British Airways invested £17 million on safety modifications to its fleet of seven (Air France operates the other five). The airline invested another £14 million to make the Concorde’s interiors sexy again. For this, the flagship carrier enlisted the services of English design icon Sir Terence Conran. In addition to the new galleys and stainless steel and aqua green lavatories, there were new curtains, carpets and comfy, ink-blue leather bucket seats. What the airline couldn’t change however was the height of the ceiling or the width of the seats – which, despite their exceptionally soft fabric, are only slightly larger than your average economy class seat. In other words, it is not a plane for the restless or corpulent. Which is the gist of the Concorde: speed, rather than comfort, is key. The interior revamp simply lessened the gap between the two.

The Concorde era as propagated by both BA and Air France is nearly over, but if Virgin Atlantic owner Richard Branson has his way, the Concorde will remain in the air. Backed by Airbus, BA says the costs involved in keeping the Concorde running make it unviable. Branson says that by adding routes to, for example, Dubai, Virgin Atlantic can make the Concord a profitable venture. BA, however, is headstrong, and says from October the Concord will never fly commercially again. Branson, whose initial offer to pay the ‘symbolic’ price of one pound per Concord has since been upped the one million per jet, notes that a Concord-less sky isn’t for BA to decide. His argument – his photogenic retorts includes ‘industrial vandalism’ – is not entirely unfounded; The British government, and hence British taxpayers, financed the Concorde, not British Airways. BA has brushed off Branson’s braggadocio as just another publicity stunt, which may be true, as Branson has a strong history of pestering his largest rival. (When British Airways experienced difficulties raising its London Millennium Wheel Branson chartered a hot air balloon to fly over the city with the message ‘BA can’t get it up’). It is a British soap-style melodrama between two rivals that will likely be decided in the final weeks of September.

When the Concorde was being developed estimates predicted there was a market for between 200 and 500 supersonic jets by 1975. Just to show that when it comes to air travel optimism refuses to wane over time, airline analysts recently predicted a similar-sized market for third-generation SSTs by 2020. With so much optimism in the air, the garaging of the Concorde in October and the launching of Airbus’s gargantuan A600 in 2006 – thereby proclaiming a new era of bulk over swiftness –doesn’t necessarily mean the end of supersonic travel. The Russians have drawn up plans for a TU-244, which will carry 300 passengers and use cryogenic fuel. The Japanese are currently building ‘a cleaner and quieter SST’ with twice the Concorde’s range and three times as many passengers (i.e. 300). Despite a disastrous trial in Australia, Japan aims to have its SST flying commercially by 2012. Even Boeing still harbours hope for a pragmatic and fuel-efficient Supersonic Cruiser, with a modest cruising speed of Mach o.98 that might not whisk you to the stars but it will cut down travel time by 20 percent.