AVIATION: Doesn't Time Fly? Aer Lingus - Its History, By Mike Cronin, The Collins Press, 222pp. €25

THIS BOOK on Aer Lingus, timed to coincide with the airline’s 75th birthday, offers a useful insight not just into the development of the airline but also into the lives and culture that have existed within it. It is lavishly illustrated and not without its shortcomings, but the author’s research and many interviews with employees make for illuminating reading.

Take, for example, the matter of stewardesses, who were first hired in 1946. (Stewards weren't contemplated until the Equality Authority gave the airline a kick in 1978.) The Irish Timesreported that the airline had specified an age of 21 to 26 years old, a height between 5ft 2in and 5ft 6in and a weight of seven and a half to nine stone. (Despite the prospective stewardesses' being at least 21, The Irish Times referred to them as girls.)

They were not allowed to date customers (though they did), smoke (most of them did, as victims of duty-free inducements), cycle to work or chew gum. As was the custom at the time, they had to quit the job when they married.

There were no such restrictions for the (male-only) pilots. One stewardess recalled an instruction that they were not to talk to passengers about politics, religion or anything risqué, though “half of us didn’t know what risqué meant”. The job of stewardess was considered to be less than onerous, but, over time, not everyone agreed with that. A trade-union survey in 1979 revealed that stewardesses believed they should be allowed to retire on a pension at 45.

In 1946 Aer Lingus executives were agonising over what to call the aircraft, a measure of how aviation priorities have changed. The first plane was the Iolar(Eagle), and planes had subsequently been named after birds. This, though, did not reflect the right image, so birds went out and saints' names came in. This was followed shortly by the annual blessing of the fleet, and every new plane was blessed, preferably at the place of manufacture.

Aer Lingus was, in effect, born out of the Irish Air Corps, which came into existence in 1921 when an aeroplane was acquired and kept just outside London during the Treaty negotiations in case Michael Collins and the rest had to depart hurriedly. The plane, flying out of Beggar’s Bush Barracks, went on to see service during the Civil War, mainly dropping leaflets on anti-Treaty forces encouraging them to surrender. This, the author says curiously, in all likelihood had little impact. How he knows this is not recorded. (Minor quibble: the author refers to WT Cosgrave as taoiseach. No, he wasn’t.)

The fortunes of Aer Lingus were invariably tied up with money and the lack of it. The company did not get off the ground as early as it might have, because private investors didn’t want to know and the government of the day couldn’t take the financial risk. When it did start operations, on May 27th, 1936, pushed into existence by Seán Lemass, there was little interest from the public. But time changed that. Twelve years later, when the first Constellation aircraft were put on show at Dublin airport, a crowd of 12,000 travelled out to cast an eye over the future of aviation.

At this point, money was again an issue. The Constellations were bought to start a transatlantic service, but Fianna Fáil lost a snap election and Lemass was out. The new government was nervous. Aer Lingus was losing the considerable sum of £800,000 a year (about €35 million a year in today’s money), so a transatlantic service was ruled out. It was 1958 before it finally started.

It is difficult to conceive these days of the sheer size and influence of Aer Lingus in its heyday. The contribution it made, not just to aviation but to the State’s economic development and tourism growth, was exceptional. By the late 1970s Aer Lingus employed more than 6,000 people and was the State’s biggest export earner. It was a shining example of what the State could do in areas where the private sector feared to invest. Its senior executives were feted. Its directorships were fought over as much for the free-flights perk as for being associated with a glamorous winner.

The author Mike Cronin is to be commended for his achievement, but this book is a lot less analytical than it could be and often reads like an extended in-house magazine. This is not warts and all.

Aer Lingus was insufficiently prepared for the EU’s open-skies policy in 1985. It completely underestimated the appeal of low-fare airlines and the threat of Ryanair. Its diversification policy was successful at the start but very controversial at the end. Opinions strongly diverged about the splitting up of Aer Rianta and Aer Lingus. The airline was pushed by government into setting up the maintenance operation Team Aer Lingus – and, boy, did the company regret it. It mercilessly squeezed out small-fry opposition such as Avair. Its flotation has been a big disappointment for shareholders. None of this is in the book.

And while the author has done an exemplary job in tracking down former employees, there is little on the achievements of senior managers. The legendary JF Dempsey, the company’s first general manager, gets one tourism-related mention. Michael Dargan, a high-achieving chief executive and chairman, is not mentioned at all.

The book is, however, exceptionally well illustrated, the design is first class and it will be of great interest to all who have worked at the airline or fly with it regularly, especially its passengers of old.

Eoin McVey is a journalist with The Irish Times