Nowadays, marketing and sales promotion are considered to be a specialised field, almost a discipline. But many years before such techniques of image building were generally recognised, Ferguson was using them; he had an extraordinary gift as a promoter and salesman, an innate understanding of how to set about building up an image for a business. This understanding led him to take part in motor sport as a means of publicising his brother’s business, and as early as 1904 he began riding motor-cycles in various events in Ireland. In these ventures he had the advantage of being fearless to an apparently foolhardy degree, and such unpleasant experiences as having a motor-cycle fuel-tank blow up under him left him undeterred. Ferguson was not mad or wild in the conventional sense, however; indeed at first sight he appeared the most sane of young men – fresh, perhaps, but well restrained. He was always neatly dressed, often with a flower or leaf in his buttonhole, and his abundant fair hair was tidily brushed from his high forehead. But below the straight eyebrows lay the clue to his character; his gaze was of an unwavering firmness, and the keenness of those azure eyes, as well as the set of the slightly downturned mouth, betrayed a determination to be defeated by nothing, least of all by his own fear. Hence his calculated physical courage that others considered irresponsible madness. He won races and trials one after the other and each victory was used as a means of publicising J. B. Ferguson and Co. He even persuaded the more cautious Joe to enter a few events, but Joe eventually ran into a yokel on a bicycle and lost all further interest.

One particular event, the Muratti Trophy of 1907, sheds an intriguing light on Ferguson’s character: at the end of the 200-mile motor-cycle trial it was found that he and another competitor called Stewart were exactly equal on points, even taking into account the secret controls. The committee suggested that the two riders should each hold the trophy for six months, or alternatively they should ride another 200-mile round to decide the winner. Ferguson refused both solutions, declaring bluntly that he had already won the event and lodging an official protest against Stewart for having tinkered with his motor-cycle while in the Belfast and Limavady controls. Stewart counter-protested against Ferguson, and the committee dismissed both protests. Yet again Ferguson was asked to re-ride the course, but he again refused; the trophy was therefore awarded to Stewart. The interesting aspect of the incident is that it gained a large amount of attention in the press, which doubtless suited Ferguson’s ends very well. Who can know whether his customary refusal to compromise might not, on that occasion, have been reinforced by the knowledge of the publicity it would gain?

In 1908, Harry Ferguson became seriously interested in the possibilities of the aviation industry. Accompanied by John Williams, he went to air meetings at Rheims and Blackpool and, with his enthusiasm aroused by what they had seen, decided to build his own aeroplane. A few others had by then been built in Ireland, but none had flown or looked much as though they could. Elsewhere flying machines were making quite good progress, but Britain, and particularly Ireland, was something of an aviation backwater.

Ferguson took some measurements of the aeroplanes at Rheims and Blackpool and once back in Belfast persuaded his brother that to build and fly one would be good for their business. The first engine to be acquired for the monoplane under construction was a Green, and when it arrived Ferguson was so impatient to bench test it that he substituted an old pulley bound with brass wire for the non-existent fly wheel. His impatience might have killed someone, for immediately the engine started this pulley disintegrated, blasting fragments in all directions. Before the monoplane, which was reminiscent of the Blériot, was finished it was fitted instead with an eight-cylinder air-cooled 35 hp J.A.P. engine.

With wings detached and tail resting in the back of a car, the aircraft was towed through the streets of Belfast and out to Hillsborough Park, the estate of Lord Downshire, not far from the Ferguson home at Growell. The first attempts to get it off the ground were beset by troubles, most of them apparently caused by the unsuitability of the propeller (or ‘tractor’ as it was then frequently called). Indeed, the first propeller fitted, a Beedle, was a strange affair with two scimitar-shaped blades more reminiscent of a design by Leonardo da Vinci than the relatively advanced state of aviation of 1909. Ferguson replaced this with a Cochrane propeller, and though there was an immediate improvement in performance, there were still endless adjustments to be made. Bad weather and propeller troubles limited his attempts at flying to unsatisfactory short hops, until the last day of December 1909. That day was still blustery and bleak, but after wind and rain had prevented him from making any attempt for almost a week, he became determined to make the first flight in Ireland before the year was out. He refused to listen to friends who said he should wait for better conditions.

A reporter from the Belfast Telegraph described the scene ‘… The roar of the eight cylinders was like the sound of a Gatling gun in action. The machine was set against the wind, and all force being developed, the splendid pull of the new propeller swept the big aeroplane along as Mr Ferguson advanced the lever. Presently, at the movement of the pedal, the aeroplane rose into the air at a height from nine to twelve feet, amidst the hearty cheers of the onlookers. The poise of the machine was perfect and Mr Ferguson made a splendid flight of 130 yards. Although fierce gusts of wind made the machine wobble a little, twice the navigator steadied her by bringing her head to the wind. Then he brought the machine to earth safely after having accomplished probably the most successful initial flight that has ever been attempted upon an aeroplane.’ On that bleak December day, as well as making the first flight in Ireland, Ferguson became the first Briton to build and fly his own aeroplane.

The January 8, 1910, issue of Flight magazine reported that Ferguson – who throughout his life suffered from neither false modesty nor a tendency to understatement when making declarations to the press – intended to be the first to fly the Irish Channel.

Correspondence in the columns of Flight magazine during the spring of 1910 reveals something of the self-assurance and aggressiveness of Ferguson as a young man. It also reveals the gauche literary style one would expect in view of his scanty education.

‘You may be interested to know,’ he wrote in a letter to the magazine, ‘that out of twelve different tractors (propellers) I have not been able to get one satisfactory. This has kept me back very badly but I have now one on order from Clarke and Co. of Kingston-on-Thames … and hope soon to be able to report more satisfactory progress to you. From what my machine has done with poor type propellers, I am quite certain of good results with properly designed ones.’

This provoked a sharp reaction – one can well imagine the English aviation pundits wondering how anyone sitting in the Irish bogs dared to be so bumptious. The next issue of Flight printed two sarcastic replies over the signatures ‘Propeller’ and ‘Humble Bee’. ‘Propeller’ wrote:

‘For the benefit of future builders of machines, it is worthy of note that, according to Mr Ferguson, all the above propellers are tarred with one brush, i.e. they are “poor type propellers”. In conclusion, may I respectfully ask Mr Ferguson if it would be necessary, in the event of my building a machine, to experiment with a dozen propellers and two pairs of wings as he has?’

‘Humble Bee’ wrote:

‘I see that Mr Ferguson has written about his monoplane that he has advertised so much…. The only performance of the machine so far has been a glide which was duly recorded as an historical flight. I have seen the machine and I doubt very much that it is the fault of the propellers that it does not fly.’

Cochrane, the maker of the propeller with which Ferguson had made his first flight, wrote to say he would be ‘sorry to suggest that Mr Ferguson’s contrariness is the outcome of anything more than pure Irish excitement’.

Ferguson, always ready to join battle, spoken or written, at once replied in Flight:

‘ “Propeller’s” letter – As he seems in need of a little advice and guidance I will do all I can to help him.

‘Firstly, I beg to inform him that it is always well to read a letter carefully before commenting on it. Did “Propeller” do this?

‘Secondly, I would strongly advise him to build not two pairs of wings but ten, because anyone so obviously devoid of common sense could not possibly make a successful machine inside that number.

‘… Humble Bee shows a lot of sense in hiding his name – that is if he knows as much about my machine or any other as I credit him with knowing. Nothing could give me greater pleasure than to have his opinion on why I have not flown as successfully as a machine could in that time. I am sure it would also interest all your readers, as all admit they have much to learn yet, and...