Переведите на русский,но без онлайн переводчика,а то переводит на ломаном русском
The plane had taken off from the air-field in London, and the journey to South Africa, to Johannesburg to be exact, had started. 
It was just after the war, and it was not a jet, as is the case nowadays, but it was a big plane with four engines, and four propellers, of course. 
When a few minutes later we were crossing the Channel, one of the engines went wrong, but the stewardess left and the passengers were quite safe. 
However, when the plane reached the Mediterranean Sea, the second engine broke down, but the stewardess told us there was nothing to worry about because two engines were quite enough to keep us in the air. 
As we got near to the shores of Africa, the rumour spread that only one propeller was working. The stewardess kept her mouth shut, this time, but we came to the conclusion the plane must have developed engine trouble and so it had. 
Presently we were flying over the jungle in Central Africa and my fellow travellers were terribly upset. Women were holding their children tighter and tighter and men were drinking more and more heavily… There was also a person there who was saying a prayer in a loud voice. I too was terribly frustrated, and as I looked down at the bush, I could not help thinking of cannibalism, death and other pleasant things. 
At that moment, the loud-speaker was switched on, and the captain's voice was heard: "Ladies and gentlemen, I have tragic news for you". 
The faces of all the passengers turned pale. Some burst into tears, and the prayer stifled in the parson's mouth. My heart sank into my boots. 
The captain continued in a gloomy voice: "It is my sad duty to inform you that England has lost her last football match against Scotland!"