Abstract
There are some members of the Society who will remember Claude the Condor with some affection, and not a few with a sense of apprehensive hope, as the great stuffed, sombre bird soared slowly and silently on a thin wire at No. 7 Albemarle Street. It hung above one end of the long table in the Library, directly over the chair in which the President sat in Council and Annual General Meetings, its raw red neck straight out and its eyes looking down in a gluttonous glare, for the taxidermist had done his job well.At most Annual General Meetings, and some Council Meetings, someone would be sure to question the suitability of Claude to preside over the affairs of such an august body as the Royal Aeronautical Society. Those with streamline minds asserted it was a drag on free discussion.
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