Navigator of the Southern Oceans (Jan 2022)
From his home in Australia his voyages spread across the map like the spokes of a wheel. Many were pioneering flights, some earned him awards and all were magnificent achievements which highlighted his proficiency as a skilled navigator in the days when aids were few or non-existent. On his later flights he was both Chief Pilot and Navigator.
1933 -Australia - New Zealand and return, with Charles Kingsford Smith
1933 - Australia – England – Australia, with Charles Ulm
1934 - Australia – Hawaii – USA, with Charles Kingsford Smith
1935 - Australia – Indian Ocean – Kenya, with Richard Archbold
1945 - Bermuda – Mexico – New Zealand, Chief pilot and navigator
1951 - Australia – Chile – and return, Chief pilot and navigator
He was Sir Patrick Gordon Taylor, MC, GC.
1933 -Australia - New Zealand and return, with Charles Kingsford Smith
1933 - Australia – England – Australia, with Charles Ulm
1934 - Australia – Hawaii – USA, with Charles Kingsford Smith
1935 - Australia – Indian Ocean – Kenya, with Richard Archbold
1945 - Bermuda – Mexico – New Zealand, Chief pilot and navigator
1951 - Australia – Chile – and return, Chief pilot and navigator
He was Sir Patrick Gordon Taylor, MC, GC.
Born in 1896 in Sydney, he was the fourth child of a successful businessman. He didn’t like being named Patrick after his father and didn’t care much for Gordon either. He insisted he should be called Bill, which all his friends, but not his family, did. When his name is written in any record it is usually Gordon.
He didn’t enjoy school, apart from the sport and athletics. His exam results were no better than reasonable and he did not excel in mathematics. His father wanted him to study medicine, or join the family business. Neither appealed to Bill and his future was decided by events. In August 1914 war broke out in Europe and Bill enlisted in the Australian army.
He was stamping his way through basic training at a camp when he saw a report and pictures in a newspaper of an RNAS attack on Zeppelin sheds. That drew his attention to the activities at a nearby airfield and he determined that he would learn to fly. Because of his age, he needed his father’s permission to enlist in the RFC or RNAS and that was not easily given. In the end, his father conceded and Bill resigned from the army and sailed on the SS Anchises for England. It was late in 1916.
His father had given him a number of letters of introduction to various Australian officials and Army officers in London and these, plus, it seemed, the fact that he could ride a horse were sufficient to get Bill into the uniform of an RFC subaltern.
He didn’t enjoy school, apart from the sport and athletics. His exam results were no better than reasonable and he did not excel in mathematics. His father wanted him to study medicine, or join the family business. Neither appealed to Bill and his future was decided by events. In August 1914 war broke out in Europe and Bill enlisted in the Australian army.
He was stamping his way through basic training at a camp when he saw a report and pictures in a newspaper of an RNAS attack on Zeppelin sheds. That drew his attention to the activities at a nearby airfield and he determined that he would learn to fly. Because of his age, he needed his father’s permission to enlist in the RFC or RNAS and that was not easily given. In the end, his father conceded and Bill resigned from the army and sailed on the SS Anchises for England. It was late in 1916.
His father had given him a number of letters of introduction to various Australian officials and Army officers in London and these, plus, it seemed, the fact that he could ride a horse were sufficient to get Bill into the uniform of an RFC subaltern.
He had the all-too-common experience in training – being told to go solo after only three flights with a nerve-shattered ex-combat pilot, Capt. Collins. He refused and asked for a change of instructor. (He had made a friend, another Australian, and he too was ‘trained’ by Capt. Collins. He was killed in the crash which ended his first solo flight). Bill was lucky in that his new instructor trained him properly to a safe solo in a Maurice Farman.
A posting to Upavon introduced him to the BE.2c, Avro 504 and Sopwith 1½ Strutter. On his first cross country flight from Upavon he got lost and had to land to find out where he was. This embarrassed and irritated him so he made a point on future flights of constantly checking his position and direction of flight – navigating. In another flight he blundered into a cloud and managed to regain control when he fell out of it. In November 1917 he was proud to sew wings onto his uniform jacket.
Gunnery school followed and he was pleased to be posted to a unit for ‘advanced’ training flying the Sopwith Pup. His next posting was to the newly reformed 66 Squadron. The Flight commander, Capt Andrews, tested every pilot in mock combat. Bill was surprised to find that he had been appointed deputy leader and would lead his own section of three, following Andrews’ section. They trained hard, and Bill was determined to justify his position.
Gunnery school followed and he was pleased to be posted to a unit for ‘advanced’ training flying the Sopwith Pup. His next posting was to the newly reformed 66 Squadron. The Flight commander, Capt Andrews, tested every pilot in mock combat. Bill was surprised to find that he had been appointed deputy leader and would lead his own section of three, following Andrews’ section. They trained hard, and Bill was determined to justify his position.
Down below him was the Clifton Suspension Bridge. The gorge looked awfully narrow. Positioning the Pup carefully Bill pulled up into a stall turn and plunged down into the gorge. The wing tips swept past the walls, the bridge flashed over his head and he was through, climbing away and cruising gently back to his airfield.
A few days later they were in France.
66 Squadron was based at Vert Galant Farm, north of Amiens and some 15 miles from the front line. They flew practice patrols to familiarise themselves with the countryside. Bill prepared a number of strip maps which he stuck onto plywood to prevent them blowing out of the cockpit. They practised gunnery, firing at a target on the ground. It was here that they had their first casualty. One of the pilots was overcome by target fixation and pulled out of his dive too late and too violently. The wings of the Pup broke off and the fuselage speared the ground, killing the pilot.
They practised dealing with their opponents. The Germans had recently introduced the Albatros D II with a powerful 185 hp engine. It was much faster than the Pup and had greater fire power, with twin 8mm machine guns. The lighter Pup had a 80 hp engine. It was more manoeuvrable and climbed faster than the Albatros. They planned to do their fighting at high altitude.
They settled into a routine of daily, often twice daily patrols, climbing to 14,000 ft, crossing the line and cruising north and south over their sector. Skirmishes with Albatri and attacks on two seaters were mostly inconclusive. All the time they were beset by problems with unreliable engines and breaking equipment. Every patrol ended with a list of jobs for the hard working mechanics, replacement or repair of something broken or damaged as well, of course, damage caused by enemy guns. Bill escaped from one fight by diving to ground level whilst the chasing Albatros poured bullets into his tail. After he landed everyone was amazed at how much damage had been caused to the Pup. Even the cables to the tail controls had been cut and were trailing behind on the grass. But Bill had still be able to control the Pup because, just a few days earlier, his mechanic had thought that the single cables were not robust enough and had fitted a duplicate set.
The squadron was ordered to move to a new airfield at Estrée Blanche, 40 miles north. The CO was on leave so Bill was in charge. A couple of days before the move he flew to Estrée Blanche, noting rivers, railways and other landmarks on the way. The route was well behind the lines so there should be no enemy interference. The only problem could be with the weather. Sure enough, on the day of the move, the cloud base was low and visibility poor. Mindful of his experiences in training, he briefed the pilots that they should not under any circumstances climb into cloud. If lost, they should land in a field and wait for the weather to clear. They had to go, because the squadron’s ground party had already left. In the event, despite the weather, all went well and when they reached Estrée Blanche they were greeted by the mechanics who had gone on ahead.
The squadron had been moved to support an offensive which became known as the Battle of Messines (which began with the detonation of nineteen huge mines). The fighting was intensive and Bill’s logbook is peppered with notes of aircraft ‘diving away in flames’, or ‘shedding pieces’. He never followed them to check on the crash, nor did he make any claims to ‘build up a score’. But his successes must have been noted in the squadron’s records for Bill was awarded the Military Cross ‘for showing exceptional dash and gallantry’. When Andrews left to go to England Bill was promoted to Captain and given command of the flight.
The squadron was ordered to move to a new airfield at Estrée Blanche, 40 miles north. The CO was on leave so Bill was in charge. A couple of days before the move he flew to Estrée Blanche, noting rivers, railways and other landmarks on the way. The route was well behind the lines so there should be no enemy interference. The only problem could be with the weather. Sure enough, on the day of the move, the cloud base was low and visibility poor. Mindful of his experiences in training, he briefed the pilots that they should not under any circumstances climb into cloud. If lost, they should land in a field and wait for the weather to clear. They had to go, because the squadron’s ground party had already left. In the event, despite the weather, all went well and when they reached Estrée Blanche they were greeted by the mechanics who had gone on ahead.
The squadron had been moved to support an offensive which became known as the Battle of Messines (which began with the detonation of nineteen huge mines). The fighting was intensive and Bill’s logbook is peppered with notes of aircraft ‘diving away in flames’, or ‘shedding pieces’. He never followed them to check on the crash, nor did he make any claims to ‘build up a score’. But his successes must have been noted in the squadron’s records for Bill was awarded the Military Cross ‘for showing exceptional dash and gallantry’. When Andrews left to go to England Bill was promoted to Captain and given command of the flight.
His reluctance to make claims for ‘victories’ was one indication of his attitude to the war. It was brought into dramatic focus by what happened when he last shot down one of the enemy. The Pups attacked a flight of Rumplers. Bill got close underneath one and began firing into its belly until the Pup stalled and fell away. The Rumpler flew on, apparently undamaged and Bill chased after it. Then he saw a little glow of flame and a thin trail of black smoke. The thickening of the smoke matched the rising glow of triumph Bill felt at shooting down a hated Hun.
Then something fell from the Rumpler. It was the gunner. He seemed to fall slowly and passed close to the Pup. Bill looked into his face and was overwhelmed with utter horror. He’d seen many planes shot down and crash but it had all been so impersonal. Destroying a weapon of war was a worthy thing to do. Now Bill felt that he had caused another human being deliberately to end his life. He wanted to get as far from the war as possible.
Fortunately, he was not tested in another action. After 77 offensive patrols it was time for a home posting and in September 1918 he returned to England to train new pilots on the SE 5a. In October, he went home to Australia for a brief spell at the Central Flying School, finally being discharged in March 1919.
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He was determined to make a career in civil aviation and an opportunity presented itself almost at once. The Aerial Company of Sydney had bought two war surplus DH 6s and needed pilots to fly them from Melbourne to Sydney. Bill immediately had a job.
Fortunately, he was not tested in another action. After 77 offensive patrols it was time for a home posting and in September 1918 he returned to England to train new pilots on the SE 5a. In October, he went home to Australia for a brief spell at the Central Flying School, finally being discharged in March 1919.
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He was determined to make a career in civil aviation and an opportunity presented itself almost at once. The Aerial Company of Sydney had bought two war surplus DH 6s and needed pilots to fly them from Melbourne to Sydney. Bill immediately had a job.
The Airco DH 6 had been designed by Geoffrey De Havilland as a trainer, easy to build and repair and safe to fly. It was an uninspiring machine and acquired a variety of nicknames, ‘crab’, ‘clockwork mouse’ and most popular ‘clutching hand’. Despite its 90 hp RAF 1a engine, its cruising speed was little more than 60 mph. The direct 400+ mile course to Sydney crossed a range of mountains, some rising to over 6000 ft. Bill and his fellow delivery pilot elected to follow a longer curving route over country where there were larger fields and help wherever they chose to land.
They were wise to do so. After several forced landings with engine problems Bill reached Sydney ten days later. He was greeted by a large crowd in a unexpected blaze of publicity. Such long cross-country flights were rare and the Aerial Company had promoted the reception. (The other machine suffered a series of breakdowns and gave up the flight. Its Aerial Company passenger finished the journey by train).
Bill’s next job was to ferry a politician round New South Wales on a two week electioneering tour. After that, apart from a few sight-seeing flights around Sydney, there were few further opportunities to fly.
On 29 December 1924, Bill got married. Yolande Bede Dalley, whom Bill called ‘Twee’, came from one of Australia’s eminent families. They had many shared interests and seemed entirely suited. But after a few months, they parted and Bill moved out for some reason which has never been discovered. Yet, they remained friends and Bill supported Twee financially, with advice and other ways of help until 1938 when they were finally divorced.
Bill’s family encouraged him to get involved in the family businesses. He was a shareholder and could have had a seat on the board but he had little interest in it and felt he could make no worthwhile contribution. He became involved with the Australian Aircraft and Engineering Company where he carried out a number of projects which required him to undertake theoretical studies of engineering subjects. During several visits to England he did similar unpaid work with the De Havilland Company.
Whilst in England, he topped up his wardrobe with suits from Savile Row and bought a prestigious English or Italian car which he shipped home. He maintained his cars himself and kept comprehensive records detailing every job done and every penny spent. This ensured he got a good price when he sold them before his next trip to Europe.
About this time, there was a number of long range flights which attracted Bill Taylor’s attention. He was particularly interested in how they navigated. The Smith brothers had flown their Vimy from England to Australia, largely by map-reading. The early trans-Atlantic fliers had maps which had were useless over the sea. It seemed they could not or did not try to plot their position. If they had done it would only have been by using mariners’ methods of navigation. Every flight from Australia involved an ocean crossing and if he wanted to be a ‘complete’ aviator he had to learn to use those mariners’ methods.
He enlisted the help of a man who had been Director of Studies at the Royal Australian Naval College. Although maths had been one of Bill’s weaker subjects at schools the interest he had in being able to work out his position by astro-navigation brought out an unexpected facility in understanding the complex formulae and calculations, even spherical trigonometry. He was introduced to the skipper of a ship based in Sydney harbour who, on a clear December night took him out onto the deck. There, without the confusion of cluttered constellation charts he was taught to identify the important stars he would need to use for navigation.
This study was spread over several months, interspersed with his other activities. Bill reached the stage when he wanted to put his new skill into practice. Ship’s instruments weren’t suitable for use in an aircraft so he sought the help of an instrument engineer. Together they designed a drift sight that could be used with a floating flare or a patch of dye to calculate the angle of drift compared with the heading of the aircraft. Then, he turned to the sextant which is used to measure angles in relation to the horizon. The horizon is invisible to anyone flying higher than cloud base or at night so Bill designed a sextant with its own horizon - a spirit level.
Now, all he needed to practise his navigational skills and instruments was an aeroplane. He could have hired one but he had been impressed with De Havilland’s Moth which he had flown on his last visit to England in 1926. He ordered one, asking it to have a 100 hp Gipsy engine rather than the standard 60 hp Cirrus. He needed the extra power because he wanted it to be fitted with floats. It was delivered to him with wheels and he bought a pair of surplus RAAF float that had been made by Shorts.
Bill’s next job was to ferry a politician round New South Wales on a two week electioneering tour. After that, apart from a few sight-seeing flights around Sydney, there were few further opportunities to fly.
On 29 December 1924, Bill got married. Yolande Bede Dalley, whom Bill called ‘Twee’, came from one of Australia’s eminent families. They had many shared interests and seemed entirely suited. But after a few months, they parted and Bill moved out for some reason which has never been discovered. Yet, they remained friends and Bill supported Twee financially, with advice and other ways of help until 1938 when they were finally divorced.
Bill’s family encouraged him to get involved in the family businesses. He was a shareholder and could have had a seat on the board but he had little interest in it and felt he could make no worthwhile contribution. He became involved with the Australian Aircraft and Engineering Company where he carried out a number of projects which required him to undertake theoretical studies of engineering subjects. During several visits to England he did similar unpaid work with the De Havilland Company.
Whilst in England, he topped up his wardrobe with suits from Savile Row and bought a prestigious English or Italian car which he shipped home. He maintained his cars himself and kept comprehensive records detailing every job done and every penny spent. This ensured he got a good price when he sold them before his next trip to Europe.
About this time, there was a number of long range flights which attracted Bill Taylor’s attention. He was particularly interested in how they navigated. The Smith brothers had flown their Vimy from England to Australia, largely by map-reading. The early trans-Atlantic fliers had maps which had were useless over the sea. It seemed they could not or did not try to plot their position. If they had done it would only have been by using mariners’ methods of navigation. Every flight from Australia involved an ocean crossing and if he wanted to be a ‘complete’ aviator he had to learn to use those mariners’ methods.
He enlisted the help of a man who had been Director of Studies at the Royal Australian Naval College. Although maths had been one of Bill’s weaker subjects at schools the interest he had in being able to work out his position by astro-navigation brought out an unexpected facility in understanding the complex formulae and calculations, even spherical trigonometry. He was introduced to the skipper of a ship based in Sydney harbour who, on a clear December night took him out onto the deck. There, without the confusion of cluttered constellation charts he was taught to identify the important stars he would need to use for navigation.
This study was spread over several months, interspersed with his other activities. Bill reached the stage when he wanted to put his new skill into practice. Ship’s instruments weren’t suitable for use in an aircraft so he sought the help of an instrument engineer. Together they designed a drift sight that could be used with a floating flare or a patch of dye to calculate the angle of drift compared with the heading of the aircraft. Then, he turned to the sextant which is used to measure angles in relation to the horizon. The horizon is invisible to anyone flying higher than cloud base or at night so Bill designed a sextant with its own horizon - a spirit level.
Now, all he needed to practise his navigational skills and instruments was an aeroplane. He could have hired one but he had been impressed with De Havilland’s Moth which he had flown on his last visit to England in 1926. He ordered one, asking it to have a 100 hp Gipsy engine rather than the standard 60 hp Cirrus. He needed the extra power because he wanted it to be fitted with floats. It was delivered to him with wheels and he bought a pair of surplus RAAF float that had been made by Shorts.
He had learned enough in his work with the Australian company and De Havilland to design the fittings and do the weight and balance calculations. On the concrete slipway that he had built at his house by the sea he united the Moth and the floats. The work was inspected and approved for certification.
A floated Gipsy Moth (Not Bill’s. That was VH-UIH)
He had never flown a seaplane before so everything was a new experience. Just starting the engine was very different. He had to swing the propeller himself, standing on the float behind it. As soon as the engine burst into life, the Moth started to move. Bill had to scramble back over the wing and into the cockpit to take control. He had the great advantage of having sailed these waters since he was a boy and knew the flow of the tides and the way the wind was affected by the hills and the land around the bay. He learned how to control the drift when taxying cross wind and how to keep the wing tips clear of the water whilst turning. He was gratified to find that fast taxying, a take off and a ‘landing’ all confirmed that he had fitted the floats at the correct angle. He found the whole experience challenging and exhilarating.
A greater challenge awaited him when he took his sextant into the air. He found it impossible to use it when he was flying solo and even with another pilot holding the aeroplane steady he couldn’t get the bubble and the sun to coincide for more than a second. He had to redesign the sextant. He made a new bubble chamber which effectively restricted the movement of the bubble. It worked so well that he was able to take a sun shot whilst holding the Moth steady with his knees.
He made another ‘instrument’. He knew he would be flying at night and when alighting it would be impossible to judge his height above the water if there were no lights to reflect off it. He fitted a spring loaded rod fore and aft to a pivot between the floats and normally latched to a hook under the tail. When needed, the rod would be released and pivot down so that it hung vertically below the Moth as it approached. When the rod touched the water it would swing back and a dial in the cockpit showed its angle. Bill would know when the floats were about to touch the water. He felt he was now completely equipped with a aircraft, admittedly a minimal seaplane, and more importantly, with the navigational instruments and skills for a flight, day or night, over the seas.
He offered charter, sight seeing and photographic flights in his Moth, operating from harbours and seaside towns where the tourists were. He organised a couple of holidays for himself. With his tent and fishing gear he flew south to Hobart in Tasmania. A second trip was the basis of an account ‘A Seaplane Cruise to North Queensland’ which was published in Flying magazine, the first words of Bill’s to appear in print.
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A greater challenge awaited him when he took his sextant into the air. He found it impossible to use it when he was flying solo and even with another pilot holding the aeroplane steady he couldn’t get the bubble and the sun to coincide for more than a second. He had to redesign the sextant. He made a new bubble chamber which effectively restricted the movement of the bubble. It worked so well that he was able to take a sun shot whilst holding the Moth steady with his knees.
He made another ‘instrument’. He knew he would be flying at night and when alighting it would be impossible to judge his height above the water if there were no lights to reflect off it. He fitted a spring loaded rod fore and aft to a pivot between the floats and normally latched to a hook under the tail. When needed, the rod would be released and pivot down so that it hung vertically below the Moth as it approached. When the rod touched the water it would swing back and a dial in the cockpit showed its angle. Bill would know when the floats were about to touch the water. He felt he was now completely equipped with a aircraft, admittedly a minimal seaplane, and more importantly, with the navigational instruments and skills for a flight, day or night, over the seas.
He offered charter, sight seeing and photographic flights in his Moth, operating from harbours and seaside towns where the tourists were. He organised a couple of holidays for himself. With his tent and fishing gear he flew south to Hobart in Tasmania. A second trip was the basis of an account ‘A Seaplane Cruise to North Queensland’ which was published in Flying magazine, the first words of Bill’s to appear in print.
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Airline Pilot
In 1928 Charles Kingsford Smith and Charles Ulm had made the first flight across the Pacific from the USA to Australia in a Fokker Trimotor Southern Cross. In the aftermath, they had formed an airline, Australian National Airlines, flying mail and passengers from Sydney to Brisbane and Melbourne. They used Avro 10s, licence-built versions of the Fokker Trimotor. (Strictly, this was the Avro 618. It was called the 10 because it carries ten people - 2 crew and 8 passengers).
Bill had seen these aeroplanes flying from Sydney and thought that being captain of an airliner would be a worthwhile job. Early in 1930, he applied to ANA for a job as a pilot. He had a brusque interview with Ulm who offered to take him as a second pilot, on probation. This was not what Bill had hoped for but he agreed to take it.
His first flight was to be from Sydney to Melbourne and he waited at the door of the Avro for the pilot to appear. At the last minute, he turned up, grunted a ‘hello’ and climbed aboard, ignoring the passengers. It was a young Scot, called Jimmy Mollison. Bill followed and they settled into the pilots’ seats. Mollison said nothing, started the engines and they took off, climbing slowly to 8000ft. This was the reverse of the route which Bill had followed all those years ago in the old DH 6. The direct course was over the mountains which were now covered by the building cloud. But Mollison didn’t change course. Soon they were flying in and out of the turbulent clouds. The Avros had no artificial horizon, just a basic turn and slip indicator.
Mollison skilfully maintained control with this limited instrument, made no comment to Bill and ignored the airsick passengers. Bill became increasingly concerned. For nearly five hours they had not been able to check their position and now Mollison casually closed the throttles and they began to descend. At 3000 ft a few patches of ground appeared and when they were clear of cloud they were perfectly positioned to approach Essendon Airport. Bill began to think that Ulm’s reluctance to employ him was justified. Maybe he wasn’t the right man to be an airliner captain.
He managed a conversation with Mollison before the return flight next day. Mollinson had seen a brief gap in the clouds an his side of the Avro and had recognised a landmark which he knew well allowing him to calculate exactly when to close the throttles. Bill’s flights with other ANA pilots reassured him that he was quite capable of living up to ANA’s slogan that they employed the ‘World’s Best and Safest Pilots’ and also that a press-on attitude like Mollison’s was not an essential requirement.
Within three months, he had been promoted to Captain. He took his responsibilities seriously and began making suggestions to improve efficiency or safety. One thing he couldn’t change was the 8.00 am starting time for the flights. The latest information the pilots had on the weather was from the morning newspaper which published the forecast for the day which had been prepared by the Bureau of Meteorology the night before. When the day’s forecast did emerge at 9.00 am all the pilots were well on their way and without radio, there was no way to update them. Unexpected bad weather caused many delays and diversions and worse, eventually contributed to the airline’s demise.
In March 1931 one of the Avros, Southern Cloud, ran into bad weather on the Melbourne run and disappeared. Every available aeroplane was used in the search for survivors. No wreckage was found and the search was eventually called off. The cost of the search and the loss of confidence of the customers was too much to bear and the company had to be wound up. (It wasn’t until 1958 that the wreckage was found in the Snowy Mountains midway between Sydney and Melbourne).
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Flying the Southern Cross
Bill Taylor was once again out of a job. However, in the last weeks of his time with ANA he had been asked to take an Avro up ‘for a test flight’. Unusually, he was to be accompanied by Kingsford Smith who didn’t normally fly with the airline. After they landed Smithy told Bill that he would now be allowed to fly the famous Southern Cross which was kept serviceable and used for special occasions. Smithy and Ulm (who had flown the Pacific together) were very different characters and were no longer working as a team. Smithy was planning a promotional tour of New Zealand with the Cross to raise funds. He needed a second pilot and a navigator and Bill was the man he chose. It was to be the beginning of a special partnership.
His first flight was to be from Sydney to Melbourne and he waited at the door of the Avro for the pilot to appear. At the last minute, he turned up, grunted a ‘hello’ and climbed aboard, ignoring the passengers. It was a young Scot, called Jimmy Mollison. Bill followed and they settled into the pilots’ seats. Mollison said nothing, started the engines and they took off, climbing slowly to 8000ft. This was the reverse of the route which Bill had followed all those years ago in the old DH 6. The direct course was over the mountains which were now covered by the building cloud. But Mollison didn’t change course. Soon they were flying in and out of the turbulent clouds. The Avros had no artificial horizon, just a basic turn and slip indicator.
Mollison skilfully maintained control with this limited instrument, made no comment to Bill and ignored the airsick passengers. Bill became increasingly concerned. For nearly five hours they had not been able to check their position and now Mollison casually closed the throttles and they began to descend. At 3000 ft a few patches of ground appeared and when they were clear of cloud they were perfectly positioned to approach Essendon Airport. Bill began to think that Ulm’s reluctance to employ him was justified. Maybe he wasn’t the right man to be an airliner captain.
He managed a conversation with Mollison before the return flight next day. Mollinson had seen a brief gap in the clouds an his side of the Avro and had recognised a landmark which he knew well allowing him to calculate exactly when to close the throttles. Bill’s flights with other ANA pilots reassured him that he was quite capable of living up to ANA’s slogan that they employed the ‘World’s Best and Safest Pilots’ and also that a press-on attitude like Mollison’s was not an essential requirement.
Within three months, he had been promoted to Captain. He took his responsibilities seriously and began making suggestions to improve efficiency or safety. One thing he couldn’t change was the 8.00 am starting time for the flights. The latest information the pilots had on the weather was from the morning newspaper which published the forecast for the day which had been prepared by the Bureau of Meteorology the night before. When the day’s forecast did emerge at 9.00 am all the pilots were well on their way and without radio, there was no way to update them. Unexpected bad weather caused many delays and diversions and worse, eventually contributed to the airline’s demise.
In March 1931 one of the Avros, Southern Cloud, ran into bad weather on the Melbourne run and disappeared. Every available aeroplane was used in the search for survivors. No wreckage was found and the search was eventually called off. The cost of the search and the loss of confidence of the customers was too much to bear and the company had to be wound up. (It wasn’t until 1958 that the wreckage was found in the Snowy Mountains midway between Sydney and Melbourne).
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Flying the Southern Cross
Bill Taylor was once again out of a job. However, in the last weeks of his time with ANA he had been asked to take an Avro up ‘for a test flight’. Unusually, he was to be accompanied by Kingsford Smith who didn’t normally fly with the airline. After they landed Smithy told Bill that he would now be allowed to fly the famous Southern Cross which was kept serviceable and used for special occasions. Smithy and Ulm (who had flown the Pacific together) were very different characters and were no longer working as a team. Smithy was planning a promotional tour of New Zealand with the Cross to raise funds. He needed a second pilot and a navigator and Bill was the man he chose. It was to be the beginning of a special partnership.
Bill prepared all his navigational equipment, charts, books of tables, his drift sight and bubble compass. The Cross was loaded with extra fuel and would need a longer take off run than was available at Sydney airport so was taken to Seven Mile Beach. Although take off was to be at 3.00 am (on 15 January 1933) there was a sizeable crowd to see them off.
Their destination was New Plymouth on New Zealand’s North Island, 1660 miles away.
Their destination was New Plymouth on New Zealand’s North Island, 1660 miles away.
Bill had worked out a course to steer based on the estimated wind. He had arranged for a fire to be lit at the departure point and when it was on the horizon behind them he took a bearing. He was surprised to find that the drift was as much as 12° to starboard. It was an overcast night with no star visible and they had no flare to drop on the sea to check the drift again. After a while he relieved Smithy who went back into the cabin where he and John Stannage, the radio operator, caught up with their sleep. Alone at the controls Bill followed the course he had worked out. Had he calculated correctly? New Zealand was a large target but on this heading they could miss it entirely and plough on into the wide Pacific.
Smithy was flying again when the eastern horizon lightened. Below them the waves were being whipped into foam by gale force winds. Bill’s drift sight showed that the drift to starboard was now an astonishing 30°. He needed a position line and had to wait until the sun came abeam. With a steady hand on his sextant he carefully took the shot and turned to his chart and tables. The position he worked out showed them to be more than 60 miles south of track. To make landfall at New Plymouth the change of course needed seemed too large to be credible. Bill kept his doubts to himself and halved it. At least they would reach New Zealand.
Of course, they did and when Bill checked his calculations he found no error. His instruments had all worked correctly and he had plotted exactly the course they had flown.
Smithy was flying again when the eastern horizon lightened. Below them the waves were being whipped into foam by gale force winds. Bill’s drift sight showed that the drift to starboard was now an astonishing 30°. He needed a position line and had to wait until the sun came abeam. With a steady hand on his sextant he carefully took the shot and turned to his chart and tables. The position he worked out showed them to be more than 60 miles south of track. To make landfall at New Plymouth the change of course needed seemed too large to be credible. Bill kept his doubts to himself and halved it. At least they would reach New Zealand.
Of course, they did and when Bill checked his calculations he found no error. His instruments had all worked correctly and he had plotted exactly the course they had flown.
They got a tremendous welcome at New Plymouth. Smithy embarked on a extended tour of the country, giving talks and some flights and raising lots of money for his next project. Bill and John Stannage went home by sea.
Gordon(Bill)Taylor, Charles Kingsford Smith
and John Stannage at New Plymouth NZ
Two months later they returned to fly the Southern Cross back to Australia. This time the flight was uncomplicated by weather and Bill’s navigation was precise and confident.
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To England and Beyond
Gordon Taylor’s last regular employment had been with Australia National Airlines flying passengers from Sydney to Melbourne and Brisbane. It went out of business at the end of 1931 and with it died the dream of Kingsford Smith and Ulm to operate an airmail service to England.
(Imperial Airways had a mail service between England and Calcutta. In April 1931 they sent one aeroplane on towards Australia. This crashed in Timor and Kingsford Smith flew the Southern Cross to collect the mail. He was hired by Imperial a second time to collect the mail from Burma. ANA (i.e. Kingsford Smith and Charles Ulm) decided to do the job properly and organised a Christmas Airmail flight all the way to England. The Avro 10 Southern Sun, loaded with 52,000 letters and packages set off from Sydney in November 1931. Unfortunately its journey ended in a bog in Malaya. Smithy took Southern Star to rescue the mail and take it to England. He returned to Australia with a full load of mail. When the Australian government announced that they would charter an airmail service to England it was too late for ANA. They were no longer a registered company and the business went to Imperial and Qantas).
Charles Ulm didn’t give up. He reasoned that if he did something spectacular it would build on the fame and reputation of his trans-Pacific flight and show that he was a serious contender to operate an airmail service. He would fly right around the world – and be the first person to do so – by flying via England to California and then across the Pacific, back to Australia. Other people liked his plan. He was able to raise sufficient money from sponsors to buy Southern Moon, another ex-ANA Avro 10, from the receivers. He had it extensively modified, strengthened the fuselage, added wingspan and fitted new Whirlwind engines, new propellers and ten aluminium tanks to extend the range. He hired Scotty Allan (ex-ANA) as pilot and radio operator, Bill Taylor as second pilot and navigator and he, Ulm, would fly as Commander and relief pilot. There was one small caveat. No-one would be paid, nor have their expenses reimbursed, until the flight reached ‘a successful conclusion’.
Ulm got busy organising fuel supplies and permissions to land at their planned stops along the route. Allan was a competent pilot and engineer but knew nothing about radio. He devised a self training course with much advice from other operators. Bill Taylor compiled charts and collected information about all the airfields they might use. The heavily laden Avro would need long runways for a safe take off. He was particularly concerned about the small airfield in Fiji. There were no alternatives in that area of the Pacific and Smithy had had problems there with Southern Cross on his trans-Pacific flight.
Bill Taylor took a ship to Fiji. He was warmly welcomed and the islanders willingly agreed to do the work necessary to clear obstructions on the approaches to the runway and to firm up any soft ground. This was Bill’s first visit to a Pacific island and he was much impressed by the beautiful surroundings and the friendliness of the inhabitants. It was to sow a seed which was to flower years later and become a significant part of his life.
The old Avro emerged from the hangar looking like new and with a new name - Faith in Australia. Painted overall silver, its upper surfaces were orange, intended to help searchers if they force landed in an unpopulated area. The commemorative stamp produced 50 years later reveals this.
Gordon Taylor’s last regular employment had been with Australia National Airlines flying passengers from Sydney to Melbourne and Brisbane. It went out of business at the end of 1931 and with it died the dream of Kingsford Smith and Ulm to operate an airmail service to England.
(Imperial Airways had a mail service between England and Calcutta. In April 1931 they sent one aeroplane on towards Australia. This crashed in Timor and Kingsford Smith flew the Southern Cross to collect the mail. He was hired by Imperial a second time to collect the mail from Burma. ANA (i.e. Kingsford Smith and Charles Ulm) decided to do the job properly and organised a Christmas Airmail flight all the way to England. The Avro 10 Southern Sun, loaded with 52,000 letters and packages set off from Sydney in November 1931. Unfortunately its journey ended in a bog in Malaya. Smithy took Southern Star to rescue the mail and take it to England. He returned to Australia with a full load of mail. When the Australian government announced that they would charter an airmail service to England it was too late for ANA. They were no longer a registered company and the business went to Imperial and Qantas).
Charles Ulm didn’t give up. He reasoned that if he did something spectacular it would build on the fame and reputation of his trans-Pacific flight and show that he was a serious contender to operate an airmail service. He would fly right around the world – and be the first person to do so – by flying via England to California and then across the Pacific, back to Australia. Other people liked his plan. He was able to raise sufficient money from sponsors to buy Southern Moon, another ex-ANA Avro 10, from the receivers. He had it extensively modified, strengthened the fuselage, added wingspan and fitted new Whirlwind engines, new propellers and ten aluminium tanks to extend the range. He hired Scotty Allan (ex-ANA) as pilot and radio operator, Bill Taylor as second pilot and navigator and he, Ulm, would fly as Commander and relief pilot. There was one small caveat. No-one would be paid, nor have their expenses reimbursed, until the flight reached ‘a successful conclusion’.
Ulm got busy organising fuel supplies and permissions to land at their planned stops along the route. Allan was a competent pilot and engineer but knew nothing about radio. He devised a self training course with much advice from other operators. Bill Taylor compiled charts and collected information about all the airfields they might use. The heavily laden Avro would need long runways for a safe take off. He was particularly concerned about the small airfield in Fiji. There were no alternatives in that area of the Pacific and Smithy had had problems there with Southern Cross on his trans-Pacific flight.
Bill Taylor took a ship to Fiji. He was warmly welcomed and the islanders willingly agreed to do the work necessary to clear obstructions on the approaches to the runway and to firm up any soft ground. This was Bill’s first visit to a Pacific island and he was much impressed by the beautiful surroundings and the friendliness of the inhabitants. It was to sow a seed which was to flower years later and become a significant part of his life.
The old Avro emerged from the hangar looking like new and with a new name - Faith in Australia. Painted overall silver, its upper surfaces were orange, intended to help searchers if they force landed in an unpopulated area. The commemorative stamp produced 50 years later reveals this.
Unknown, Charles Ulm, Bill Taylor, Scotty Allan
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Immediately, they hit a problem. The engines wouldn’t start. To save weight, the hand operated inertia starters had been removed. If the engines were turned to the top of the compression stroke and the ignition retarded an impulse from the magneto would make them fire. The engines thought otherwise. Allan climbed on a platform and swung the props. That meant they needed to take a platform with them on the flight. A platform that was not too heavy and which could be folded to get it through the doorway. They came to hate standing on the spindly marginally stable construction with the prop spinning inches from their faces but it worked and never caused any sudden alarm.
A number of test flights were made to establish how much runway would be needed for a safe take off. The maximum load of a standard Avro 10 was 10,000 lbs: the much modified Faith, fully fuelled, weighed 16,750 lbs. They went to ‘the largest paddock in New South Wales’ where the willing farmer knocked down a few fences and firmed up some patches of ground.
On the morning of 21 June, 1932 Scotty Allan opened the throttles to take off on the first leg of their epic round-the-world flight. After a run of 3,500 yards Faith left the ground. Their destination was the small town of Derby, on the coast of north western Australia. They flew steadily on all day across the desert of central Australia and into the night. Bill was at the controls when all three engines back fired – and stopped. It could only mean lack of fuel. The engines were fed from gravity tanks in the wings and they had run dry. Ulm rushed to the hand operated pump by the tanks in the cabin. Bill prepared for a forced landing in the dark. They ware saved from what would inevitably been a crash landing when, one by one, the engines coughed back to life.
Petrol fumes filled the cabin and they realised that there was a leak in the fuel lines. They had to pump continuously, taking 20 minute shifts, which was as long as they could stand in the noxious fumes. It was full daylight before Derby came into view. They landed and breathed clean air. It was just the first of the many problems they would suffer from in the course of their flight.
The leaking pump was replaced by an old, heavy but efficient rotary pump that had been used on a well and they set off on the next leg, an 1800 mile 16½ hour trouble free flight to Singapore. The journey to Rangoon was interrupted by a loose and vibrating cylinder on the starboard engine. They had to divert to an airfield in Malaya to fix it. At Rangoon, after a night of heavy rain, they were taxying out for take off and they ran into a patch of soft ground. The wheels sank in to the axle and Faith tipped forwards to almost 45º.
Luckily, the spinning propeller of the central engine stayed clear of the ground. The heavily loaded aeroplane crashed back, the tailskid drilled into the ground and Faith was sitting on its fuselage. Hours later, they were finally dug out and dragged to the end of the runway. They could no see no sign of any damage to the aeroplane so they left for the relatively short flight to Calcutta.
One of the aims of the flight had been to break the record for the Australia – England flight. The dismal progress so far was ruled this out. However they could make an impact on the Calcutta – London record with three long legs, stopping only in Karachi and Cairo.
Calcutta to Karachi went well. Over Persia, they flew into a tremendous dust storm. They tried to climb over it but the engines overheated. Allan reduced the throttles and Faith lost height. The port engine banged and misfired so Allan shut it down. They dumped fuel and headed for the nearest airfield. With the starboard engine showing signs of distress they landed at Jask. Ulm had not applied for permission to land in Persia so they were faced with a bureaucratic problem.
Using the spares he had brought, Allan replaced the piston in the port engine which had disintegrated. Several worn piston rings needed replacement. Four days later, Ulm was given permission for a ‘test flight’. They had enough fuel for the test flight to end in Basra in Iraq. They pressed on in short stages, nursing the engines until, over France, the starboard engine stopped and they landed at Orange, a military airfield. They gave up. Ulm cabled England and a Wright engine specialist arrived to rebuild the engines. He also fitted inertia starters and the hated platform was abandoned. They finally reached Heston on 9th July, 19 days since leaving Australia.
To their surprise they were warmly welcomed and given generous help in overhauling Faith and its troublesome engines. Bill was able to get a brand new RAF Mk VIII bubble sextant, much easier to operate than his own hand made prototype. He also had the compasses swung again.
The trans-Atlantic flight to Newfoundland, which would almost certainly be prolonged by headwinds, needed maximum fuel. There was no airfield in Ireland which had a sufficiently long runway for a take off with this load but there was a long beach at Porthmarnock, near Dublin, which they could use.
On the morning of 21 June, 1932 Scotty Allan opened the throttles to take off on the first leg of their epic round-the-world flight. After a run of 3,500 yards Faith left the ground. Their destination was the small town of Derby, on the coast of north western Australia. They flew steadily on all day across the desert of central Australia and into the night. Bill was at the controls when all three engines back fired – and stopped. It could only mean lack of fuel. The engines were fed from gravity tanks in the wings and they had run dry. Ulm rushed to the hand operated pump by the tanks in the cabin. Bill prepared for a forced landing in the dark. They ware saved from what would inevitably been a crash landing when, one by one, the engines coughed back to life.
Petrol fumes filled the cabin and they realised that there was a leak in the fuel lines. They had to pump continuously, taking 20 minute shifts, which was as long as they could stand in the noxious fumes. It was full daylight before Derby came into view. They landed and breathed clean air. It was just the first of the many problems they would suffer from in the course of their flight.
The leaking pump was replaced by an old, heavy but efficient rotary pump that had been used on a well and they set off on the next leg, an 1800 mile 16½ hour trouble free flight to Singapore. The journey to Rangoon was interrupted by a loose and vibrating cylinder on the starboard engine. They had to divert to an airfield in Malaya to fix it. At Rangoon, after a night of heavy rain, they were taxying out for take off and they ran into a patch of soft ground. The wheels sank in to the axle and Faith tipped forwards to almost 45º.
Luckily, the spinning propeller of the central engine stayed clear of the ground. The heavily loaded aeroplane crashed back, the tailskid drilled into the ground and Faith was sitting on its fuselage. Hours later, they were finally dug out and dragged to the end of the runway. They could no see no sign of any damage to the aeroplane so they left for the relatively short flight to Calcutta.
One of the aims of the flight had been to break the record for the Australia – England flight. The dismal progress so far was ruled this out. However they could make an impact on the Calcutta – London record with three long legs, stopping only in Karachi and Cairo.
Calcutta to Karachi went well. Over Persia, they flew into a tremendous dust storm. They tried to climb over it but the engines overheated. Allan reduced the throttles and Faith lost height. The port engine banged and misfired so Allan shut it down. They dumped fuel and headed for the nearest airfield. With the starboard engine showing signs of distress they landed at Jask. Ulm had not applied for permission to land in Persia so they were faced with a bureaucratic problem.
Using the spares he had brought, Allan replaced the piston in the port engine which had disintegrated. Several worn piston rings needed replacement. Four days later, Ulm was given permission for a ‘test flight’. They had enough fuel for the test flight to end in Basra in Iraq. They pressed on in short stages, nursing the engines until, over France, the starboard engine stopped and they landed at Orange, a military airfield. They gave up. Ulm cabled England and a Wright engine specialist arrived to rebuild the engines. He also fitted inertia starters and the hated platform was abandoned. They finally reached Heston on 9th July, 19 days since leaving Australia.
To their surprise they were warmly welcomed and given generous help in overhauling Faith and its troublesome engines. Bill was able to get a brand new RAF Mk VIII bubble sextant, much easier to operate than his own hand made prototype. He also had the compasses swung again.
The trans-Atlantic flight to Newfoundland, which would almost certainly be prolonged by headwinds, needed maximum fuel. There was no airfield in Ireland which had a sufficiently long runway for a take off with this load but there was a long beach at Porthmarnock, near Dublin, which they could use.
Drums were rolled up and fuel pumped into the tanks. Faith sank down on her shock absorbers. Refuelling completed, the empty drums were being rolled away when there was a loud cracking noise. The tie rod to the port undercarriage had broken, the wheel rolled forwards, and Faith crashed down. The wing tip was buried in the sand, the wing bent and fuel poured out of the broken tanks. The crowd rushed forward with a futile attempt to lift the wing. Nothing could be done and everyone had to retreat to allow the incoming tide to add its own measure of damage.
It all seemed to be over. Then, a telegram arrived from Lord Wakefield (of Castrol Motor Oil). He offered to pay for the extensive repairs to the aeroplane. The wreckage was shipped to Avro’s works in Manchester.
Bill was enjoying the break. He borrowed an Avro Tutor and was flying around England visiting old friends when he received two telegrams. The first told him that his brother Don, who was running the family business, had died. The second was from his mother, who insisted that he should carry on with the flight.
When the repairs were completed they flew Faith, in better condition than ever, to Brooklands to wait for suitable weather for the Atlantic leg. It didn’t turn up and as time passed, Ulm realised he couldn’t complete the flight before tenders had to be submitted for the air mail contract. To salvage something from the whole enterprise they left Brooklands on 12th October and flew back to Australia setting a new record of 7 days 17 hours, 20 minutes, despite having more engine problems on the way.
(Faith in Australia flew on for several years in Australia and New Zealand giving many people their first flying experience. In 1941 it evacuated many people from New Guinea in the face of the advancing Japanese).
Although Bill was a director and one of the owners of the family business and there was some pressure on him he was well aware that he was not competent or interested enough to take over from his brother, Don. One of the senior managers was appointed as Managing Director and Bill limited his contribution to attending the occasional board meeting. He joined forces with Kingsford Smith again.
Smithy had bought a Percival Gull in England and flew it to Australia in record time. His time of 7 days, 4 hours, 44 minutes was a solo record and even beat Faith’s record for multi-crewed aircraft.
Bill was enjoying the break. He borrowed an Avro Tutor and was flying around England visiting old friends when he received two telegrams. The first told him that his brother Don, who was running the family business, had died. The second was from his mother, who insisted that he should carry on with the flight.
When the repairs were completed they flew Faith, in better condition than ever, to Brooklands to wait for suitable weather for the Atlantic leg. It didn’t turn up and as time passed, Ulm realised he couldn’t complete the flight before tenders had to be submitted for the air mail contract. To salvage something from the whole enterprise they left Brooklands on 12th October and flew back to Australia setting a new record of 7 days 17 hours, 20 minutes, despite having more engine problems on the way.
(Faith in Australia flew on for several years in Australia and New Zealand giving many people their first flying experience. In 1941 it evacuated many people from New Guinea in the face of the advancing Japanese).
Although Bill was a director and one of the owners of the family business and there was some pressure on him he was well aware that he was not competent or interested enough to take over from his brother, Don. One of the senior managers was appointed as Managing Director and Bill limited his contribution to attending the occasional board meeting. He joined forces with Kingsford Smith again.
Smithy had bought a Percival Gull in England and flew it to Australia in record time. His time of 7 days, 4 hours, 44 minutes was a solo record and even beat Faith’s record for multi-crewed aircraft.
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The Gull before it was re-registered VH-CKS and christened Miss Southern Cross. Kingsford Smith
Bill flew the Gull and immediately liked it. With its 130 hp Gipsy Major it cruised at 125 mph. He saw a way of earning money with it. In the early 30s some newspapers were experimenting sending pictures by wire but the results were crude and unsatisfactory. Only properly printed photographs could be used and the quickest way for them to travel was by air. Bill was soon flying between Australia’s major cities delivering photographs for the morning editions. On one occasion he flew to Surubaya in the East Indies to collect picture of the Ashes Test Match which had been flown from England by KLM.
The announcement of the Centenary Air Race for the MacRobertson Trophy captivated Smithy. He asked Bill to join him as navigator and second pilot and to help him find a suitable aeroplane. He’d heard that the Americans were entering a Boeing 247 and a Douglas DC-2, both twin engined with variable pitch propellers and retractable undercarriages. Sir Macpherson Robertson offered to buy him an aeroplane (he wanted an Australian to win the race) but insisted that it must be British. The only option seemed to be the Comet, three of which De Havilland were building especially for the race. Smithy ordered a fourth Comet.
Then he was told that DH had only three sets of Ratier two-pitch props. Smithy could have a Comet, but it would have fixed pitch propellers. That ruled it out. Smithy took ship to the US to search for a competitive racer.
Bill flew the Gull and immediately liked it. With its 130 hp Gipsy Major it cruised at 125 mph. He saw a way of earning money with it. In the early 30s some newspapers were experimenting sending pictures by wire but the results were crude and unsatisfactory. Only properly printed photographs could be used and the quickest way for them to travel was by air. Bill was soon flying between Australia’s major cities delivering photographs for the morning editions. On one occasion he flew to Surubaya in the East Indies to collect picture of the Ashes Test Match which had been flown from England by KLM.
The announcement of the Centenary Air Race for the MacRobertson Trophy captivated Smithy. He asked Bill to join him as navigator and second pilot and to help him find a suitable aeroplane. He’d heard that the Americans were entering a Boeing 247 and a Douglas DC-2, both twin engined with variable pitch propellers and retractable undercarriages. Sir Macpherson Robertson offered to buy him an aeroplane (he wanted an Australian to win the race) but insisted that it must be British. The only option seemed to be the Comet, three of which De Havilland were building especially for the race. Smithy ordered a fourth Comet.
Then he was told that DH had only three sets of Ratier two-pitch props. Smithy could have a Comet, but it would have fixed pitch propellers. That ruled it out. Smithy took ship to the US to search for a competitive racer.
He found a second hand Lockheed Altair. Fitted with a 500 hp P&W Wasp, v.p. prop and retractable undercarriage it had a cruising speed of 175 mph. Smithy had it modified with extra tanks and flaps. Tied down onto the tennis court of a liner it was taken to Australia. It was already July (1934) and it was scheduled to take off in the race from England on 20 October.
In his haste, Smithy had overlooked all the paperwork. He had no certificate of airworthiness and no permit to import the Altair into Australia. After much negotiation – and the influence of some friends in high places – Smithy was allowed to offload the Altair onto a barge and take it to a large park near the harbour. Obstructions were removed, Smithy and Bill climbed aboard and the Altair flew the short hop to Sydney’s airport. There it was wheeled into a hangar to have its new registration painted on (Smithy had at least applied for that) VH-USB - and its name Lady Southern Cross.
Permission was given – for a limited period – to allow a number of test flights to establish fuel consumption at different speeds. When all the tanks were filled the Altair was dangerously overweight so they had to seal off some of the extra tanks. It reduced their maximum range and would required more refuelling stops in the race. Nevertheless, in the tests they set up several inter-city records. Smithy worked on getting all the other certificates and permissions needed to enter the race. It wasn’t until 29th September that they learned that their entry had been accepted by the race committee.
They set off for England immediately, landing at Cloncurry in Queensland for an overnight stop. At the pre-flight inspection the next morning Smithy found a small crack at one of the cowling attachment points. They took the cowling off and found hidden cracks at every point. It was all over. They flew back to Sydney at reduced revs and a splendid new cowling was spun.
Kingsford Smith had been the object of much hero worship in Australia but with his withdrawal from the race his reputation was in tatters. Without knowing the facts, many accused him of cowardice. He even received a number of white feathers in the mail. He had an expensive aeroplane, the fastest commercial aircraft in the Southern Hemisphere and it sat in a hangar, doing nothing.
Suddenly, he brightened up. He said to Bill ‘Let’s have a go at the Pacific’ (i.e. Australia to the USA).
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Crossing the Pacific - Australia to California
Unlike the MacRobertson race there were very few refuelling points for the flight, just Fiji and Hawaii with 3,150 miles between them. Smithy engaged Lawrence Wackett, a notable aeronautical engineer, to redesign the fuel tanks so they were better placed in relation to the centre of gravity. (One was added under Smithy’s seat). He also re-designed the oiling system to cope with that long leg.
Bill’s contribution would be crucial. He borrowed from Charles Ulm a Hughes P4 compass, in his opinion, the best in the world, and had it installed in the rear cockpit – Smithy would have a Sperry gyro compass. Lines for checking drift were painted on the tailplane and Bill had plenty of bags of aluminium powder to drop on the sea in daylight and flame floats for the night. His chronometer was mounted in rubber to counter any vibration. He had his essential sextant and every astronomical chart he might need. They did a final double run to check fuel consumption. It confirmed that at 1600 revs – 155 mph - at 5000 ft they would reach Hawaii with enough fuel for another 400 miles, provided, of course, that they were not hampered by headwinds.
It was 4 am on 20th October 1934 when they left Brisbane, aiming to arrive in Fiji in daylight. The coast was left behind almost immediately and there was only the sea below – nothing to check their position. At 0730, the sun was high enough for Bill to take his first shot. Smithy turned the Altair until the sun was abeam and Bill made sure everything was secure before opening his cockpit hood. The slipstream made his eyes water and he braced his elbow against the panel. When the bouncing bubble and the disc of the sun coincided Bill took a shot and noted the exact time on the chronometer. He took six more shots before closing the canopy. Smithy turned back on course and Bill began his calculations. They revealed that they were punching into a 25 mph headwind.
Hours later, they flew over some islands and recognised Noumea. Smithy radioed Fiji. They would be a little late in arriving, It could be dark.
They flew into a rain storm - heavy tropical rain. Suddenly, the engine erupted into a series of explosions. Smithy recognised the cause – the rain was shorting out some of the plugs. Bill worked out that they were almost exactly half way between Noumea and Fiji, 430 miles from safety. Smithy opened the throttle and dived. Once clear of the cloud the banging and vibration suddenly ceased. They flew on. Smithy often turned to avoid flying in heavy cloud and Bill struggled to keep track of the changes of course.
Permission was given – for a limited period – to allow a number of test flights to establish fuel consumption at different speeds. When all the tanks were filled the Altair was dangerously overweight so they had to seal off some of the extra tanks. It reduced their maximum range and would required more refuelling stops in the race. Nevertheless, in the tests they set up several inter-city records. Smithy worked on getting all the other certificates and permissions needed to enter the race. It wasn’t until 29th September that they learned that their entry had been accepted by the race committee.
They set off for England immediately, landing at Cloncurry in Queensland for an overnight stop. At the pre-flight inspection the next morning Smithy found a small crack at one of the cowling attachment points. They took the cowling off and found hidden cracks at every point. It was all over. They flew back to Sydney at reduced revs and a splendid new cowling was spun.
Kingsford Smith had been the object of much hero worship in Australia but with his withdrawal from the race his reputation was in tatters. Without knowing the facts, many accused him of cowardice. He even received a number of white feathers in the mail. He had an expensive aeroplane, the fastest commercial aircraft in the Southern Hemisphere and it sat in a hangar, doing nothing.
Suddenly, he brightened up. He said to Bill ‘Let’s have a go at the Pacific’ (i.e. Australia to the USA).
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Crossing the Pacific - Australia to California
Unlike the MacRobertson race there were very few refuelling points for the flight, just Fiji and Hawaii with 3,150 miles between them. Smithy engaged Lawrence Wackett, a notable aeronautical engineer, to redesign the fuel tanks so they were better placed in relation to the centre of gravity. (One was added under Smithy’s seat). He also re-designed the oiling system to cope with that long leg.
Bill’s contribution would be crucial. He borrowed from Charles Ulm a Hughes P4 compass, in his opinion, the best in the world, and had it installed in the rear cockpit – Smithy would have a Sperry gyro compass. Lines for checking drift were painted on the tailplane and Bill had plenty of bags of aluminium powder to drop on the sea in daylight and flame floats for the night. His chronometer was mounted in rubber to counter any vibration. He had his essential sextant and every astronomical chart he might need. They did a final double run to check fuel consumption. It confirmed that at 1600 revs – 155 mph - at 5000 ft they would reach Hawaii with enough fuel for another 400 miles, provided, of course, that they were not hampered by headwinds.
It was 4 am on 20th October 1934 when they left Brisbane, aiming to arrive in Fiji in daylight. The coast was left behind almost immediately and there was only the sea below – nothing to check their position. At 0730, the sun was high enough for Bill to take his first shot. Smithy turned the Altair until the sun was abeam and Bill made sure everything was secure before opening his cockpit hood. The slipstream made his eyes water and he braced his elbow against the panel. When the bouncing bubble and the disc of the sun coincided Bill took a shot and noted the exact time on the chronometer. He took six more shots before closing the canopy. Smithy turned back on course and Bill began his calculations. They revealed that they were punching into a 25 mph headwind.
Hours later, they flew over some islands and recognised Noumea. Smithy radioed Fiji. They would be a little late in arriving, It could be dark.
They flew into a rain storm - heavy tropical rain. Suddenly, the engine erupted into a series of explosions. Smithy recognised the cause – the rain was shorting out some of the plugs. Bill worked out that they were almost exactly half way between Noumea and Fiji, 430 miles from safety. Smithy opened the throttle and dived. Once clear of the cloud the banging and vibration suddenly ceased. They flew on. Smithy often turned to avoid flying in heavy cloud and Bill struggled to keep track of the changes of course.
The lights were on in the buildings in Suva when they swung in to land in the last of the daylight. As they touched down the crowd rushed forward to greet them and Smithy hurriedly switched off the engine. It started to rain, everyone was soaked but they pulled Lady Southern Cross to the side of the field. A canvas cover was placed over the engine and cockpit.
It rained for three days, during which they fitted a new set of plugs. Also they found that the rain had worn and lifted some fabric from the leading edges of the wing. That was patched and re-doped. Albert Park, where they had landed was too short for a safe take off so Smithy flew the Altair to a beach. The long process of fuelling began, the petrol being hand-pumped from drums. There was some pressure because the tide was coming in and the strip of sand was narrowing. Then a greater problem faced them. The wind strengthened and it was blowing at 90ª to the take off run.
At last the engine was started and they taxied to the end of the beach. The four ton aeroplane accelerated slowly. The tail came up and, although Smithy held on full right rudder the Altair began to weather cock to the left towards the sea and the wheels splashed through the surf. Smithy closed the throttle and the Altair swung further into deeper water.
At last the engine was started and they taxied to the end of the beach. The four ton aeroplane accelerated slowly. The tail came up and, although Smithy held on full right rudder the Altair began to weather cock to the left towards the sea and the wheels splashed through the surf. Smithy closed the throttle and the Altair swung further into deeper water.
Immediately he slammed the throttle wide open. The tips of the propeller were in the water and the Altair was completely covered in spray. Smithy was able to swing round towards the beach. Bill could see nothing ahead, only the water swirling under the trailing edge of the wings. They burst out of the sea and spray and softening sand and taxied back to the fuelling point where there were boards on which the Altair could stand. The aeroplane and the whole adventure had been saved in that moment.
It was five days before the wind relented. On 29th October they had a trouble free take off and set course for Hawaii. Bill aimed for the island of Lauthala, 150 miles from Fiji to get a check on any drift. Then they ran into turbulent cloud and Smithy flew on instruments. Twenty minutes later the cloud cleared and they were in a truly pacific day, over a calm sea with excellent visibility to clear horizons.
The Altair was fitted with a drift sight which Bill did not normally use but when he looked through the celluloid window in the floor of his cockpit he was alarmed to see it streaked with a pale liquid. Was it petrol? He took the control column out of its socket and squirmed around to cut a hole in the window with his penknife. The celluloid was tough and the blade snapped. The knife had two blades and he used the second one more carefully. It was an awkward job but finally he prized open a little hole. He wetted his finger and tasted it. Thankfully, he tasted water. After a while the flow stopped. They were never able to work out where it had come from.
They were deep into the flight, in cloud, in heavy raid and in darkness. Smithy climbed in the hope of getting above the cloud. At 15,000 ft they were still in cloud. Smithy was concerned about the wings’ leading edges. Were they being damaged again by the continuous rain? From time to time he switched on the landing lights to check. Then Bill noticed that the airspeed had fallen to 90 mph. The engines were labouring but they were not flying at their usual 155 mph. And now they were losing height. The speed fell to 90 mph.
Suddenly, the Altair stalled and flicked into a spin. Smithy closed the throttle and the klaxon blared (as it does when the throttle is closed and the undercarriage retracted). The turn needle was hard over and the altimeter unwinding. Bill instinctively pushed on his rudder - to no effect. Smithy had already got it to the limit of its travel. ‘She won’t come out’ he shouted. 12,000 ft, 10,000, 8,000 . . The blaring spin went on. It might have been the increasing air density but at 7,000 ft the movement became smoother. ‘I think I’ve got her’ said Smithy. They were in a dive, the throttle opened and the klaxon fell silent. They levelled off at 6,000 ft, throttle wide open but still gently losing height. ‘Now I’ve got it’, he said. The revs began to rise and the airspeed crept back to 155 mph.
It was the flaps. When Smithy had flicked on the landing lights he had accidentally hit the switch which lowered the flaps and with the propeller in coarse pitch, the engine couldn’t keep up the revs. To add to the flood of relief in the cockpits, they flew out of the cloud, Bill looked at the stars and picked out Polaris. They had crossed the equator.
Bill got to work with his sextant. They were only 25 miles off course. The sun rose and at 8 o’ clock one of Hawaii’s islands rose above the horizon. Soon they were sweeping in to land at Wheeler Field, Honolulu.
The Altair was fitted with a drift sight which Bill did not normally use but when he looked through the celluloid window in the floor of his cockpit he was alarmed to see it streaked with a pale liquid. Was it petrol? He took the control column out of its socket and squirmed around to cut a hole in the window with his penknife. The celluloid was tough and the blade snapped. The knife had two blades and he used the second one more carefully. It was an awkward job but finally he prized open a little hole. He wetted his finger and tasted it. Thankfully, he tasted water. After a while the flow stopped. They were never able to work out where it had come from.
They were deep into the flight, in cloud, in heavy raid and in darkness. Smithy climbed in the hope of getting above the cloud. At 15,000 ft they were still in cloud. Smithy was concerned about the wings’ leading edges. Were they being damaged again by the continuous rain? From time to time he switched on the landing lights to check. Then Bill noticed that the airspeed had fallen to 90 mph. The engines were labouring but they were not flying at their usual 155 mph. And now they were losing height. The speed fell to 90 mph.
Suddenly, the Altair stalled and flicked into a spin. Smithy closed the throttle and the klaxon blared (as it does when the throttle is closed and the undercarriage retracted). The turn needle was hard over and the altimeter unwinding. Bill instinctively pushed on his rudder - to no effect. Smithy had already got it to the limit of its travel. ‘She won’t come out’ he shouted. 12,000 ft, 10,000, 8,000 . . The blaring spin went on. It might have been the increasing air density but at 7,000 ft the movement became smoother. ‘I think I’ve got her’ said Smithy. They were in a dive, the throttle opened and the klaxon fell silent. They levelled off at 6,000 ft, throttle wide open but still gently losing height. ‘Now I’ve got it’, he said. The revs began to rise and the airspeed crept back to 155 mph.
It was the flaps. When Smithy had flicked on the landing lights he had accidentally hit the switch which lowered the flaps and with the propeller in coarse pitch, the engine couldn’t keep up the revs. To add to the flood of relief in the cockpits, they flew out of the cloud, Bill looked at the stars and picked out Polaris. They had crossed the equator.
Bill got to work with his sextant. They were only 25 miles off course. The sun rose and at 8 o’ clock one of Hawaii’s islands rose above the horizon. Soon they were sweeping in to land at Wheeler Field, Honolulu.
Another huge crowd had assembled to greet them but this was a military field and they were more controlled. The media with there in force with flashing and whirring cameras. The senior customs officer stepped forward. Lady Southern Cross was the first aeroplane to arrive in Hawaii from a foreign country and a customs declaration was ceremoniously signed. After the speeches of welcome two limousines drew up. Smithy was ushered into one, Bill into the other and the convoy drove into Honolulu with a fanfare of the klaxons of the police motorcycle escort. Their destination was the Royal Hawaiian Hotel where the tired and scruffy aviators were given two luxury suites.
Back at the airfield the next morning they found the Altair had been fully serviced and cleaned. Smithy showed his thanks by taking the officer who had supervised the service for a flight around the island. It turned out to be a very quick circuit followed by a deadstick landing. They had run out of fuel. The gravity tank should have been full with 70 gallons. There must have been a leak which drained it. Smithy and Bill reflected that they were extremely lucky to have reached Hawaii the day before.
A close inspection discovered a tiny crack, then another in the oil tank and a bolt head chafing the main tank. All tanks had to be inspected and repaired, a major undertaking which required the fuselage to be lifted from the wing. It took several days but at least it was being done by the best mechanics.
It was mid afternoon on 3rd November when they left Hawaii for the ‘short’ 2,400 mile flight to Oakland, San Francisco. The USA is a very broad target but Bill took frequent sightings during the night to ensure that their landfall was precisely on the course to Oakland. Their welcome was even more enthusiastic than that at Wheeler Field. Before they could climb out of the cockpit microphones were thrust before their faces for live interviews on radio. Smithy escaped by announcing that they were going to fly, that afternoon, to the Lockheed factory at Burbank.
As soon as he got there, he put the Altair up for sale. .
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A close inspection discovered a tiny crack, then another in the oil tank and a bolt head chafing the main tank. All tanks had to be inspected and repaired, a major undertaking which required the fuselage to be lifted from the wing. It took several days but at least it was being done by the best mechanics.
It was mid afternoon on 3rd November when they left Hawaii for the ‘short’ 2,400 mile flight to Oakland, San Francisco. The USA is a very broad target but Bill took frequent sightings during the night to ensure that their landfall was precisely on the course to Oakland. Their welcome was even more enthusiastic than that at Wheeler Field. Before they could climb out of the cockpit microphones were thrust before their faces for live interviews on radio. Smithy escaped by announcing that they were going to fly, that afternoon, to the Lockheed factory at Burbank.
As soon as he got there, he put the Altair up for sale. .
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Smithy and the Southern Cross
Tension over the Tasman
In 1935 a plan emerged to celebrate the Silver Jubilee of King George V and Queen Mary with a special mail flight from Australia to New Zealand. Smithy determined to use the ageing Southern Cross for its last flight. His navigator was ill so he invited Bill Taylor to join the flight. In the last-minute preparations, Taylor noticed one of the Cross’s engines in pieces on the hangar floor. It was being re-assembled by John Stannage, the radio operator and the man who had organised the whole project. Neither was an engineer.
The take-off was near midnight, prolonged, because the Cross was overloaded with maximum fuel, mail and some freight, but trouble free and soon the lights of the Australia coast faded behind them as they headed into the Tasman night.
At 5 a.m. Bill relieved Smithy at the controls. He could see the first signs of dawn breaking beyond the glowing exhaust manifold of the centre engine. His attention was drawn to a brighter spot in the glow which gradually increased as a small crack developed in a weld. By now Smithy had returned to the controls and both men sat hypnotised by this growing split. Flames were forcing open the crack until, suddenly, the top section of the exhaust broke off and disappeared. ‘Instantly the most terrific vibration shook the aircraft as though some giant invisible hand had reached out to shake the life out of her’.
At 5 a.m. Bill relieved Smithy at the controls. He could see the first signs of dawn breaking beyond the glowing exhaust manifold of the centre engine. His attention was drawn to a brighter spot in the glow which gradually increased as a small crack developed in a weld. By now Smithy had returned to the controls and both men sat hypnotised by this growing split. Flames were forcing open the crack until, suddenly, the top section of the exhaust broke off and disappeared. ‘Instantly the most terrific vibration shook the aircraft as though some giant invisible hand had reached out to shake the life out of her’.
Smithy reached for the throttles and they watched the starboard engine shuddering to a halt revealing that one of the blades had been struck by the broken exhaust and was now a splintered stump.
With two engines at full throttle the Cross was gradually sinking and Smithy immediately turned back towards the Australian coast. They were flying at 3000 ft and land was more than 500 miles away. They would be in the sea in half an hour. Dump ‘anything except the mail’ said Smithy. Luggage, tools, freight, anything non-essential went out of the door.
Bill Taylor then began a critical calculation. The Cross was struggling to maintain 65 mph and, indeed, any increase in speed only encouraged the broken propeller to windmill and vibrate. The beam wind reduced their airspeed to 60 mph ground speed. Say 10 hours at 28 gallons per hour. They could dump fuel until only 300 gallons remained. When they were finished the Cross was down to just 300 ft but holding its height. Stannage sent messages to explain their dire situation and was told that HMS Sussex would be ready to set sail in three hours to intercept their course.
In the long anxious wait, Bill noticed a thin stream of blue smoke from the port engine. Clearly it was burning an excessive amount of oil. Each engine had its own oil tank but no gauge. They had been running for eleven hours and at full throttle could run out of oil. There was, of course, plenty of oil in the silent starboard engine’s tank.
Bill had already reached out into the slipstream to try to saw off the end of the unbroken propeller blade but this had proved impossible. However, he thought that if he stood on the horizontal strut between the engine and fuselage he might be able to inch along and reach the oil tank. He dismissed the thought as ridiculous – and maybe the oil would be sufficient to reach the coast.
With two engines at full throttle the Cross was gradually sinking and Smithy immediately turned back towards the Australian coast. They were flying at 3000 ft and land was more than 500 miles away. They would be in the sea in half an hour. Dump ‘anything except the mail’ said Smithy. Luggage, tools, freight, anything non-essential went out of the door.
Bill Taylor then began a critical calculation. The Cross was struggling to maintain 65 mph and, indeed, any increase in speed only encouraged the broken propeller to windmill and vibrate. The beam wind reduced their airspeed to 60 mph ground speed. Say 10 hours at 28 gallons per hour. They could dump fuel until only 300 gallons remained. When they were finished the Cross was down to just 300 ft but holding its height. Stannage sent messages to explain their dire situation and was told that HMS Sussex would be ready to set sail in three hours to intercept their course.
In the long anxious wait, Bill noticed a thin stream of blue smoke from the port engine. Clearly it was burning an excessive amount of oil. Each engine had its own oil tank but no gauge. They had been running for eleven hours and at full throttle could run out of oil. There was, of course, plenty of oil in the silent starboard engine’s tank.
Bill had already reached out into the slipstream to try to saw off the end of the unbroken propeller blade but this had proved impossible. However, he thought that if he stood on the horizontal strut between the engine and fuselage he might be able to inch along and reach the oil tank. He dismissed the thought as ridiculous – and maybe the oil would be sufficient to reach the coast.
Smithy had now been on the controls for five hours so Bill offered to relieve him. He was surprised at how sensitive the controls were in this narrow margin of flight. Both centre and port oil pressure gauges were steady at 63 lbs sq/in and now that the fuel was being burnt off it became possible to ease the throttles very slightly. Any sense of increased well-being didn’t last long. The port gauge began to flicker and dropped back to 60 lbs. Smithy took over again and Taylor worked out their position. Stannage’s next message included ‘Port motor only last quarter of an hour’.
Bill checked the gauge again – it was down to 35 lbs. However ridiculous, his plan had to put into effect. Some line from the mailbag lashings tied round his waist with the other end fixed in the cabin gave a semblance of security. He tightened his coat and took off his shoes. Climbing carefully out of the window he managed to get both feet on the strut. With his shoulders braced against the wing he inched towards the engine. There was a short terrifying gap when he could not reach the engine without releasing his grip on the fuselage.
Unlatching the side cowl he let it go. Stannage passed him a spanner to loosen the drain plug and the casing of a thermos flask to collect the oil. This was filled and handed back to Stannage who emptied some radio parts from a small leather suitcase and poured in several flasks of oil. When Bill finally got back into the cabin the oil pressure was down to 15 lbs.
Unlatching the side cowl he let it go. Stannage passed him a spanner to loosen the drain plug and the casing of a thermos flask to collect the oil. This was filled and handed back to Stannage who emptied some radio parts from a small leather suitcase and poured in several flasks of oil. When Bill finally got back into the cabin the oil pressure was down to 15 lbs.
With no time to recover from his exertions he clambered past Smithy onto the port strut. The combined slipstreams of the centre and port engines were too much to allow any further movement and he could only cling to the handholds on the fuselage. Smithy opened the throttles to full power. The Cross struggled up to 700 ft and the port throttle was closed to idle. Bill inched across to the engine and jettisoned the cowl flap to get at the oil tank. Shouts from Smithy warned him to hang on tightly. The wheels were almost brushing the waves as the engine burst into full power again and the Cross climbed slowly back to 700 ft.
The engined was idled again and the first flask was passed across. The oil which had not blown away was poured into the tank. Reaction came in seconds. There was shouting and thumbs up from the cabin. Oil pressure was back on the gauge. Overcome with the exhilaration of the moment and the exhaustion of his physical efforts Bill almost fell off his precarious perch. But the cycle of successive climbs and oil transfer had to go on until the suitcase was empty. After his final painful shuffle back to safety Bill was rewarded with the sight of the gauge reading 63 lbs. He collapsed on the cabin floor.
They were still two hundred miles from land and all the effort had transferred less than a gallon into the port oil tank. In half an hour the flickering needle meant that it all had to be done again. To add to their worries the port engine began showing signs of distress, occasionally misfiring and constantly over-heating. Smithy reluctantly decided to ditch the mail to keep the Cross in the air. Bill became well practised in the cumbersome transfer process. Incredibly, he did it no fewer than six times, the last being just 30 miles from the coast.
Smithy coaxed the Cross back to Sydney’s airport. As the engines were finally shut down Bill reflected that the centre engine, which had run for so long without complaint, was the one which he had seen in pieces before the flight.
For his heroic action which saved the Southern Cross and three lives Gordon Taylor was awarded the Empire Gallantry Medal. This later became the George Cross, the highest civilian decoration.
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The fight across the Tasman Sea, which failed so dramatically, had been another attempt by Kingsford Smith to establish a regular air mail service to New Zealand. Having seen some of the newest aircraft being developed in the USA whilst searching for the Altair for his trans-Pacific flight he became convinced that the right aeroplane for the mail service could be found only in the US. No British manufacturer made anything suitable. He could find few supporters. Most people expected that the Imperial Airways/Qantas mail service would one day be extended to NZ - and they would, of course, fly British.
Smithy went back to the USA to find the aeroplane he needed. He found that Lady Southern Cross, was still unsold. It was not a mailplane, but. . . Smithy still believed he could press his case by a spectacular long distance, preferably record flight. He abandoned his search and had the Altair shipped to England. There he met up with an old friend, Tommy Pethybridge, who had been in Fiji and had been so helpful on Lady Southern Cross’s flight to the US. They had the Altair serviced and set off on a break-the-record flight to Australia. They left from Lympne on 6th November, 1935. Two days later, they took off from Allahabad after refuelling - and disappeared. Bill Taylor took part in the search but nothing was ever found. (Eighteen months later an undercarriage leg, kept afloat by an inflated tyre, was washed ashore on an island in the Bay of Bengal).
Unlike Smithy Bill Taylor was not interested in any airmail or airline service. He took the wider view that, as aircraft performance increased Australia would need new air routes across the surrounding oceans and he wanted to be involved in surveying all possible routes. Because of the lack of airfields on the islands he saw the need for flying boats to be used, operating from calm lagoons. He sailed to England, where the largest flying boats were operated by the RAF. All were slow and had too short a range. (He was told nothing about Short’s ‘C’ class boat being developed for Imperial Airways. Imperial were bitter rivals with Smithy and anyone associated with him in the contest to set up the air mail service to New Zealand).
Bill moved on to the USA. Several manufacturers were working on new flying boats and Bill was particularly excited by Consolidated’s PBY. Its range of 2500 miles fitted Bill’s specification perfectly. Back at home he set out, in some detail, his proposal for a survey flight to Africa across the Indian Ocean. It fell on deaf ears. The parsimonious politicians saw no benefit in spending so much money for so little return.
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Survey Flight across the Indian Ocean
The engined was idled again and the first flask was passed across. The oil which had not blown away was poured into the tank. Reaction came in seconds. There was shouting and thumbs up from the cabin. Oil pressure was back on the gauge. Overcome with the exhilaration of the moment and the exhaustion of his physical efforts Bill almost fell off his precarious perch. But the cycle of successive climbs and oil transfer had to go on until the suitcase was empty. After his final painful shuffle back to safety Bill was rewarded with the sight of the gauge reading 63 lbs. He collapsed on the cabin floor.
They were still two hundred miles from land and all the effort had transferred less than a gallon into the port oil tank. In half an hour the flickering needle meant that it all had to be done again. To add to their worries the port engine began showing signs of distress, occasionally misfiring and constantly over-heating. Smithy reluctantly decided to ditch the mail to keep the Cross in the air. Bill became well practised in the cumbersome transfer process. Incredibly, he did it no fewer than six times, the last being just 30 miles from the coast.
Smithy coaxed the Cross back to Sydney’s airport. As the engines were finally shut down Bill reflected that the centre engine, which had run for so long without complaint, was the one which he had seen in pieces before the flight.
For his heroic action which saved the Southern Cross and three lives Gordon Taylor was awarded the Empire Gallantry Medal. This later became the George Cross, the highest civilian decoration.
__________________________________________________
The fight across the Tasman Sea, which failed so dramatically, had been another attempt by Kingsford Smith to establish a regular air mail service to New Zealand. Having seen some of the newest aircraft being developed in the USA whilst searching for the Altair for his trans-Pacific flight he became convinced that the right aeroplane for the mail service could be found only in the US. No British manufacturer made anything suitable. He could find few supporters. Most people expected that the Imperial Airways/Qantas mail service would one day be extended to NZ - and they would, of course, fly British.
Smithy went back to the USA to find the aeroplane he needed. He found that Lady Southern Cross, was still unsold. It was not a mailplane, but. . . Smithy still believed he could press his case by a spectacular long distance, preferably record flight. He abandoned his search and had the Altair shipped to England. There he met up with an old friend, Tommy Pethybridge, who had been in Fiji and had been so helpful on Lady Southern Cross’s flight to the US. They had the Altair serviced and set off on a break-the-record flight to Australia. They left from Lympne on 6th November, 1935. Two days later, they took off from Allahabad after refuelling - and disappeared. Bill Taylor took part in the search but nothing was ever found. (Eighteen months later an undercarriage leg, kept afloat by an inflated tyre, was washed ashore on an island in the Bay of Bengal).
Unlike Smithy Bill Taylor was not interested in any airmail or airline service. He took the wider view that, as aircraft performance increased Australia would need new air routes across the surrounding oceans and he wanted to be involved in surveying all possible routes. Because of the lack of airfields on the islands he saw the need for flying boats to be used, operating from calm lagoons. He sailed to England, where the largest flying boats were operated by the RAF. All were slow and had too short a range. (He was told nothing about Short’s ‘C’ class boat being developed for Imperial Airways. Imperial were bitter rivals with Smithy and anyone associated with him in the contest to set up the air mail service to New Zealand).
Bill moved on to the USA. Several manufacturers were working on new flying boats and Bill was particularly excited by Consolidated’s PBY. Its range of 2500 miles fitted Bill’s specification perfectly. Back at home he set out, in some detail, his proposal for a survey flight to Africa across the Indian Ocean. It fell on deaf ears. The parsimonious politicians saw no benefit in spending so much money for so little return.
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Survey Flight across the Indian Ocean
Out of the blue, Bill heard that there was a PBY in New Guinea. It was being operated by Richard Archbold, a scientist at the American Museum of Natural History who had discovered some previously unknown isolated tribes in the interior of New Guinea. He was about to return to the US. Bill contacted him and arranged to charter the PBY for surveying the routes across the Indian Ocean.
He might have had to pay the $20,000 himself had there not been a last minute change of mind by the Australian Government. They agreed to cover the cost. Bill would command the expedition and Richard Archbold would be one of the pilots. There was room in the PBY, named Guba (a New Guinea word meaning sudden storm) for Archbold’s team of three other scientists to be aboard.
The plan was to survey the islands of Cocos, Diego Garcia, Mahé and finally Mombasa, in Kenya, to find suitable places where flying boats could be refuelled and passengers landed.
The plan was to survey the islands of Cocos, Diego Garcia, Mahé and finally Mombasa, in Kenya, to find suitable places where flying boats could be refuelled and passengers landed.
They left Sydney on 3rd June 1939 and crossed Australia to Port Hedland on the north west coast, a 2000 mile flight. Cocos was only 1500 miles away and they took off in late afternoon intending to reach the islands in the light of the following morning. Bill was taking shots of the stars to check the drift when they flew into the first wisps of cloud. The stars disappeared, the cloud thickened and the rain began. Four hours later they were still in the turbulent storm cloud. They climbed to get out of it, struggling up to 15,000ft. Still in cloud. They descended to find the base and at 1,000 the cloud persisted. Any change in pressure would make the altimeter misread so they inched carefully down. At 500 ft on the altimeter (actually rather lower) they sank into clearer air. They estimated that the visibility was less than a mile. There was no way they would be able to find the Cocos Islands.
Fortunately, Bill had anticipated this and had loaded sufficient fuel for a diversion to Batavia. Nevertheless, they flew on until they had covered the right distance to be at the Cocos. They had a D/F (direction finding) radio but it was picking up no signals. (They learned later that the transmitter on the island had not been working). A square search found only open sea so they set course for Batavia – which they found in better weather.
Two days later they set off again for the Cocos. Again they ran into cloud cover. Bill elected to stay low, below cloud base. He kept on course with frequent drift sights. Perversely, the radio on Cocos was now working fine and duly confirmed that the island was dead ahead.
Six days were spent in the islands noting all the sites suitable for a flying boat base. The process was repeated at Diego Garcia and at Mahé in the Seychelles with trouble free flights between.
Fortunately, Bill had anticipated this and had loaded sufficient fuel for a diversion to Batavia. Nevertheless, they flew on until they had covered the right distance to be at the Cocos. They had a D/F (direction finding) radio but it was picking up no signals. (They learned later that the transmitter on the island had not been working). A square search found only open sea so they set course for Batavia – which they found in better weather.
Two days later they set off again for the Cocos. Again they ran into cloud cover. Bill elected to stay low, below cloud base. He kept on course with frequent drift sights. Perversely, the radio on Cocos was now working fine and duly confirmed that the island was dead ahead.
Six days were spent in the islands noting all the sites suitable for a flying boat base. The process was repeated at Diego Garcia and at Mahé in the Seychelles with trouble free flights between.
At Mahé they met HMS Liverpool. Bill was able to enlarge his flying experiences with a steam catapult launch in a Supermarine Walrus.
The survey flight ended at Mombasa, in Kenya. Richard Archbold and his crew flew home to the USA, completing their round the world flight and Bill sailed home to Australia to write his report.
He also submitted another document to the government. It was his proposal to carry out another survey flight across the Pacific, this time to central and South America. All fights to Aus/NZ started from California and this route was dominated by the Americans, in particular Pam Am. He speculated that there was another threat; the central Pacific could become dominated by the aggressively expanding Japanese. The Australian Minister for Air was the one recipient who welcomed the proposal. He said he would press his uninterested colleagues to take action. Sadly, he was killed in an air crash and the proposal seemed to have died with him.
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Wartime Ferry Routes
It was 1939 and in September war broke out in Europe. Bill felt he should play his part, although, at 43, was not sure what he would be allowed to do. He applied directly to the RAF but was rejected. Then he learned that Australia had placed an order for 19 PBYs. Because the USA was not at war they could not deliver them to a country which was at war. Hudson Fysh of Qantas was asked to assemble a group of ferry crews who would be given honorary ranks in the RAAF. Although Bill was regarded by Qantas as an enemy who had tried to steal their business he was recruited and became a temporary ‘Squadron Leader’, along with his old friend ‘Wing Cdr’ Scotty Allan. The group flew to California as passengers on a Pan American Clipper, a flight which, Bill was pleased to note, re-traced his route in the Altair, Lady Southern Cross. The first ferry flight left California on 25 January 1941 and within a few months all the PBYs were delivered. Bill was navigator on nine of the flights and received a personal letter of thanks from Hudson Fysh.
It’s widely believed that the Pacific war broke out at 8.00 am on 7th December when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. Actually the first Japanese attack was the invasion of Malaya, 90 minutes earlier, shortly after midnight on 8th December – the International Date Line between them gives the same day two dates. The Japanese also took over many of the islands in Polynesia where they could build airstrips. Threatened with invasion of the Netherlands East Indies the Governor General wanted to go urgently to the US to seek help. He had a Catalina and asked Bill Taylor to navigate. They would have to find an island, not yet invaded by the Japs, as a refuelling point on the way to Hawaii.
They flew at night, aiming to reach Canton Island after dawn. As they approached they could see several ships at anchor. Canton was maintaining strict radio silence and it wasn’t until the binoculars of a Dutch naval officer aboard the Catalina identified one of the ships as American that they thought it safe for them to approach. Bill went on to record another California and back double Pacific crossing in his logbook.
At home in Australia, he re-ignited his plan for a southern Pacific survey, now more urgent in the light of the Japanese occupation of many islands. The best he could achieve was a grant of sufficient money to cover his expenses of a visit to America to gain support from that end. He flew to California where the US Navy, the Army Air Corps and the Marines were all working on assembling fleets of transport aeroplanes, establishing refuelling points, and building airstrips and transit camps along the route from Hawaii to the Philippines and Australia. Bill’s survey of the Southern Pacific was an irrelevance to them.
He flew on to Washington where he hoped he would find a wider view. One government minister was enthused enough to show the plans to the President. They got a nod of approval - but not just now. Bill went on to meet Air Chief Marshal Sir Frederick Bowhill who was building the organisation which was to be RAF Ferry Command, flying US built bombers and fighters to Europe. Bowhill saw Bill’s route as a useful alternative to the current round-Africa journey between Britain and Australia. Meanwhile, via a long and complex process Bill joined Ferry Command and, once again, put on RAF uniform.
________________________________________________
Wartime Ferry Routes
It was 1939 and in September war broke out in Europe. Bill felt he should play his part, although, at 43, was not sure what he would be allowed to do. He applied directly to the RAF but was rejected. Then he learned that Australia had placed an order for 19 PBYs. Because the USA was not at war they could not deliver them to a country which was at war. Hudson Fysh of Qantas was asked to assemble a group of ferry crews who would be given honorary ranks in the RAAF. Although Bill was regarded by Qantas as an enemy who had tried to steal their business he was recruited and became a temporary ‘Squadron Leader’, along with his old friend ‘Wing Cdr’ Scotty Allan. The group flew to California as passengers on a Pan American Clipper, a flight which, Bill was pleased to note, re-traced his route in the Altair, Lady Southern Cross. The first ferry flight left California on 25 January 1941 and within a few months all the PBYs were delivered. Bill was navigator on nine of the flights and received a personal letter of thanks from Hudson Fysh.
It’s widely believed that the Pacific war broke out at 8.00 am on 7th December when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. Actually the first Japanese attack was the invasion of Malaya, 90 minutes earlier, shortly after midnight on 8th December – the International Date Line between them gives the same day two dates. The Japanese also took over many of the islands in Polynesia where they could build airstrips. Threatened with invasion of the Netherlands East Indies the Governor General wanted to go urgently to the US to seek help. He had a Catalina and asked Bill Taylor to navigate. They would have to find an island, not yet invaded by the Japs, as a refuelling point on the way to Hawaii.
They flew at night, aiming to reach Canton Island after dawn. As they approached they could see several ships at anchor. Canton was maintaining strict radio silence and it wasn’t until the binoculars of a Dutch naval officer aboard the Catalina identified one of the ships as American that they thought it safe for them to approach. Bill went on to record another California and back double Pacific crossing in his logbook.
At home in Australia, he re-ignited his plan for a southern Pacific survey, now more urgent in the light of the Japanese occupation of many islands. The best he could achieve was a grant of sufficient money to cover his expenses of a visit to America to gain support from that end. He flew to California where the US Navy, the Army Air Corps and the Marines were all working on assembling fleets of transport aeroplanes, establishing refuelling points, and building airstrips and transit camps along the route from Hawaii to the Philippines and Australia. Bill’s survey of the Southern Pacific was an irrelevance to them.
He flew on to Washington where he hoped he would find a wider view. One government minister was enthused enough to show the plans to the President. They got a nod of approval - but not just now. Bill went on to meet Air Chief Marshal Sir Frederick Bowhill who was building the organisation which was to be RAF Ferry Command, flying US built bombers and fighters to Europe. Bowhill saw Bill’s route as a useful alternative to the current round-Africa journey between Britain and Australia. Meanwhile, via a long and complex process Bill joined Ferry Command and, once again, put on RAF uniform.
He flew Liberators, Hudsons, Dakotas and DC-4s across the Atlantic, Catalinas, Martin Mariners and PB2Y Coronados across the Pacific and thoroughly enjoyed this period of routine flights in such a wide variety of aircraft. Then, approval of his survey flight came through. He was offered a Catalina, currently at Bermuda, which needed few modifications for the flight. They had extra fuel tanks installed and a tank for fresh water. Bill chose his crew carefully. They needed to be experts at their job and also with the right temperament to work and live in harmony. Bill gave the Catalina a name – Frigate Bird.
The plan was to fly first to Clipperton Island, some 2000 miles west of the Panama Canal. The US Navy’s Air Pilot of the Pacific showed this uninhabited island to be too mountainous for an air base. Bill had learned that this information was false and he wanted to see what was actually there. They flew to Acapulco in Mexico for the final loading and refuelling. On 9th September 1944 they took off and set course for Clipperton.
The plan was to fly first to Clipperton Island, some 2000 miles west of the Panama Canal. The US Navy’s Air Pilot of the Pacific showed this uninhabited island to be too mountainous for an air base. Bill had learned that this information was false and he wanted to see what was actually there. They flew to Acapulco in Mexico for the final loading and refuelling. On 9th September 1944 they took off and set course for Clipperton.
Clipperton Island is an uninhabited atoll. It was used in the past only by pirates. In 1906 a company got a concession to mine phosphates there and a hundred or so people landed. In 1914, the supply ship stopped calling. No one knows why. Many people died off from disease and starvation. By 1917 most of the men were dead. The keeper of the lighthouse which had been built there killed off all the rest of the men and declared himself King. One of the women hit him with a rock and he died.
A few days later, a ship arrived, rescuing three women and eight children. The island was abandoned.
A few days later, a ship arrived, rescuing three women and eight children. The island was abandoned.
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The water inside the atoll was stagnant and they could see patches of coral beneath the surface. In some parts green weed was floating. They circled till they could pick out a line where it seemed safe to land and noted its bearing. The differences in water colouring would not be visible from the low angle of approach. Their choice was a good one. The landing was entirely normal and clear of all underwater obstacles. Streaming two drogues to act as brakes against the pull of the engines they taxied about to find a safe anchorage.
They slept in the boat that night and next day explored the island. The coral inside the lagoon, now dead since it was in fresh water, could be easily cleared with a few sticks of gelignite making a large safe area for flying boats to land and take off. At one end of the island there was a flat area with enough room for an airstrip. They set up a fuel store, offloading two of the large tanks and filling them with petrol. They floated and were strapped together, effectively making a fuel barge.
They slept in the boat that night and next day explored the island. The coral inside the lagoon, now dead since it was in fresh water, could be easily cleared with a few sticks of gelignite making a large safe area for flying boats to land and take off. At one end of the island there was a flat area with enough room for an airstrip. They set up a fuel store, offloading two of the large tanks and filling them with petrol. They floated and were strapped together, effectively making a fuel barge.
The next day they flew back to Acapulco taking off on the lane which they had marked with floats. They would return with more fuel for the ‘barge’ and with materials to set up a camp. They would also be accompanied by a second Catalina bringing a working party and an experienced C-47 pilot who would assess the suitability of the island for an airstrip.
As the work went on the weather changed and the wind rose. During the night, in gusts of 50 knots or more, both Catalinas began slipping their anchors, drifting downwind. One of Frigate Bird’s anchor cables snapped. Luckily, the other anchor caught a firm grip on the coral and held. The following day, they collected large pieces of rusting metal from the old mine workings and lashed them together to make a mooring. It was floated out on a raft to a place of safe anchorage and tipped into the water. Frigate Bird was securely moored to its buoy. As darkness fell, the wind rose again, bringing torrential rain. By morning, it was clear they were being assaulted by a full blown typhoon.
It was difficult to see across the lagoon. The air was filled with spray from the waves crashing on the shore. They could see enough to detect that the other Catalina was dragging its anchors and was in danger of being wrecked on the downwind beach. There was a slight lull – the wind dropped to mere gale force. Seizing the opportunity, the Catalina’s engineer, Warrant Officer Hicks, launched himself in one of the dinghies. The gale blew him downwind towards the Cat, and he paddled furiously to get near the fuselage. He hung on, working his way towards the blister. He was climbing aboard as the wind rose again and the Catalina, still dragging downwind, was lost to view in the swirling spray and rain. No one knew how he could save the Cat. They weren’t sure that there was another anchor in the boat. Then, in a gap in the storm of spray, they could see that one propeller was turning. The second engine started.
A Catalina will fly at 70 knots. The wind was stronger than that. The roar of the engines added to the noise. Hicks was flying the Cat, using the elevators to hold it down on the water. Frigate Bird was also being buffeted by the wind yet was holding its position. A lot of the weed had blown across the lagoon. A great clump of it had caught on the mooring cable and its weight was holding Frigate Bird’s nose down.
It wasn’t until evening that the wind dropped to 30 knots and Hicks was able to stop the engines. He had been at the controls for seven hours. Bill determined that his actions to save the Catalina and his bravery would not go unrecognized. That same evening a signal was received saying that two C-47s would be bringing construction workers to build the airstrip. The survey team’s work on Clipperton was done. They could fly on to the next island, Bora Bora.
Frigate Bird was fully loaded when it lined up on the marked runway in the lagoon. It was now over 2000 yards long and the Catalina used most of it before lifting into the air. Despite having full fuel there was not enough to reach Bora Bora, 3,600 miles away. Bill knew he had to seek out favourable winds . They studied the clouds and constantly monitored their ground speed and fuel consumption, regularly changing their height to take advantage of the slightest tail wind. Before the half way point they knew they were going to make it. 27 hours after leaving Clipperton the mountain on Bora Bora rose above the horizon.
As the work went on the weather changed and the wind rose. During the night, in gusts of 50 knots or more, both Catalinas began slipping their anchors, drifting downwind. One of Frigate Bird’s anchor cables snapped. Luckily, the other anchor caught a firm grip on the coral and held. The following day, they collected large pieces of rusting metal from the old mine workings and lashed them together to make a mooring. It was floated out on a raft to a place of safe anchorage and tipped into the water. Frigate Bird was securely moored to its buoy. As darkness fell, the wind rose again, bringing torrential rain. By morning, it was clear they were being assaulted by a full blown typhoon.
It was difficult to see across the lagoon. The air was filled with spray from the waves crashing on the shore. They could see enough to detect that the other Catalina was dragging its anchors and was in danger of being wrecked on the downwind beach. There was a slight lull – the wind dropped to mere gale force. Seizing the opportunity, the Catalina’s engineer, Warrant Officer Hicks, launched himself in one of the dinghies. The gale blew him downwind towards the Cat, and he paddled furiously to get near the fuselage. He hung on, working his way towards the blister. He was climbing aboard as the wind rose again and the Catalina, still dragging downwind, was lost to view in the swirling spray and rain. No one knew how he could save the Cat. They weren’t sure that there was another anchor in the boat. Then, in a gap in the storm of spray, they could see that one propeller was turning. The second engine started.
A Catalina will fly at 70 knots. The wind was stronger than that. The roar of the engines added to the noise. Hicks was flying the Cat, using the elevators to hold it down on the water. Frigate Bird was also being buffeted by the wind yet was holding its position. A lot of the weed had blown across the lagoon. A great clump of it had caught on the mooring cable and its weight was holding Frigate Bird’s nose down.
It wasn’t until evening that the wind dropped to 30 knots and Hicks was able to stop the engines. He had been at the controls for seven hours. Bill determined that his actions to save the Catalina and his bravery would not go unrecognized. That same evening a signal was received saying that two C-47s would be bringing construction workers to build the airstrip. The survey team’s work on Clipperton was done. They could fly on to the next island, Bora Bora.
Frigate Bird was fully loaded when it lined up on the marked runway in the lagoon. It was now over 2000 yards long and the Catalina used most of it before lifting into the air. Despite having full fuel there was not enough to reach Bora Bora, 3,600 miles away. Bill knew he had to seek out favourable winds . They studied the clouds and constantly monitored their ground speed and fuel consumption, regularly changing their height to take advantage of the slightest tail wind. Before the half way point they knew they were going to make it. 27 hours after leaving Clipperton the mountain on Bora Bora rose above the horizon.
They were greeted by the CO of the US naval base there and offered the use of all the facilities, a welcome change from the privations of Clipperton. After men and machine were serviced and refreshed they took off and headed east, passing over all the islands in the Marquesas group. At Napuka Island, they found everything needed to establish a base – a large sheltered lagoon and an area of land suitable for a landing strip.
Frigate Bird settled on the lagoon and the anchor was dropped near the shore. Many people, of all ages, ran down to the sea and swam out, surrounding the Catalina, all waving and smiling. Bill was suddenly struck by a vision which appalled him. Here he was, on one of the most beautiful of Polynesian islands where the people enjoyed happy, peaceful lives and he was going to shatter all that. In his mind’s eye, he could see the bulldozers destroying the palm trees, explosives blasting the coral and killing the fish, the litter of construction, the pollution and the imposition of an entirely alien way of life. However, he had a job to do and he intended to do it thoroughly. But he hoped that islands like Napuka would never be needed to be converted into air bases.
They flew on, visiting Tahiti, then on in stages to New Zealand and finally Sydney. Frigate Bird had a full service here then the crew took it ‘home’ – Fiji, Canton, Hawaii, San Diego, Bermuda and Dorval, Quebec, home of Ferry Command. On the airfield there, they saw the C-47s which should have gone to Clipperton. They learned that the US Navy had taken firm control of the island for themselves, even threatening to shoot down any ‘unauthorized’ aircraft which might try to land there.
They flew on, visiting Tahiti, then on in stages to New Zealand and finally Sydney. Frigate Bird had a full service here then the crew took it ‘home’ – Fiji, Canton, Hawaii, San Diego, Bermuda and Dorval, Quebec, home of Ferry Command. On the airfield there, they saw the C-47s which should have gone to Clipperton. They learned that the US Navy had taken firm control of the island for themselves, even threatening to shoot down any ‘unauthorized’ aircraft which might try to land there.
After a short leave, Bill was transferred to the RAF Communications flight at San Diego. For a few months he enjoyed flying the RY-3 Privateer - a development of the Liberator - carrying VIPs and high value freight across the Pacific.
Then, almost as suddenly as it started, the war ended. Bill Taylor was discharged and happily went home to Australia.
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Then, almost as suddenly as it started, the war ended. Bill Taylor was discharged and happily went home to Australia.
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The family settled into private life – Bill even picked up the threads of the family company. Bill’s two young daughters were growing up and he looked for a good school for them. He found nothing suitable in the local area so he decided to found one himself. It was to be a small school for children up to the age of 12 and Bill laid down its principles. It started with just 12 students. By 1948 the number had grown to 65. (Loquat Valley Prep School is still a highly regarded school today).
He flew as much as he could, at one time helping out a small company that was flying freight and a few passengers to the islands in a Short Sunderland. Sadly, in 1959, his wife Joan died after a long battle with breast cancer. Bill filled the void with action. There was one more flight that he felt had to be done.
Across the South Pacific to Chile
He prepared his case and submitted it to the government. He proposed a survey flight to Valparaiso in Chile, via Fiji and Easter Island. To his surprise, his plan was immediately accepted. He found a war surplus Catalina and, knowing that Easter Island had no harbour and he would have to take off from the open sea, he had JATO (jet assisted take off) rockets fitted. The Cat was named Frigate Bird II.
He flew as much as he could, at one time helping out a small company that was flying freight and a few passengers to the islands in a Short Sunderland. Sadly, in 1959, his wife Joan died after a long battle with breast cancer. Bill filled the void with action. There was one more flight that he felt had to be done.
Across the South Pacific to Chile
He prepared his case and submitted it to the government. He proposed a survey flight to Valparaiso in Chile, via Fiji and Easter Island. To his surprise, his plan was immediately accepted. He found a war surplus Catalina and, knowing that Easter Island had no harbour and he would have to take off from the open sea, he had JATO (jet assisted take off) rockets fitted. The Cat was named Frigate Bird II.
It was 11th March 1951 when they took off. The flight went well to Papeete in Fiji. On the next leg the weather deteriorated and diversions to avoid cu-nb. clouds complicated the navigation. Mangareva was in bright sunshine when they arrived. A buoy had been set out for them and they taxied up and moored. After reporting to the French authorities who controlled the island they rowed across the harbour to the schooner Tamara. The schooner had brought fuel for the Cat and also the JATO rockets. The two cylinders, each weighing almost 200 lbs were put in the rowing boat and taken to the Catalina. Lifting them from the rocking boat to the brackets just below the blisters was tricky. With the first one fitted they rowed round to the other side of the Cat with growing confidence. It was a case of pride coming before the fall of the rocket. It slipped from their grasp and fell, teetering on the gunwale of the boat. Had it gone into the water that could have been the end of the expedition. It fell into the boat. It was carefully retrieved and fitted to the bracket.
The intention was to spend the night in the relative comfort of the Tamara. Bill and one of his crew were already there when they heard the cry ‘L’avion depart!’ In the growing darkness they could see Frigate Bird II drifting downwind toward the rocky shore. The anchor cable had snapped. In a replay of the Clipperton incident the engines were started by the two crew aboard and the Cat saved. It was moved to a safer anchorage with two anchors laid.
Next morning, in an air of anti-climax, they had an easy take off and set course for Easter Island.
Easter Island is the product of ancient volcanoes. The coast is rocky, there is no inlet and the harbour is no more than a wide cove. The intention was to land in the sea off Hanga Roa where the fuel was, anchor near the shore, refuel and leave – all within two hours.
The intention was to spend the night in the relative comfort of the Tamara. Bill and one of his crew were already there when they heard the cry ‘L’avion depart!’ In the growing darkness they could see Frigate Bird II drifting downwind toward the rocky shore. The anchor cable had snapped. In a replay of the Clipperton incident the engines were started by the two crew aboard and the Cat saved. It was moved to a safer anchorage with two anchors laid.
Next morning, in an air of anti-climax, they had an easy take off and set course for Easter Island.
Easter Island is the product of ancient volcanoes. The coast is rocky, there is no inlet and the harbour is no more than a wide cove. The intention was to land in the sea off Hanga Roa where the fuel was, anchor near the shore, refuel and leave – all within two hours.
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They arrived after a 13 hour overnight flight from Mangareva and could see immediately that the sea on the western side of the island was too rough for a landing. In Ovahe Cove, on the eastern side there were long swells but no waves. Bill did a long low approach and eased the Cat down on the top of a swell. He taxied as close as he dared and anchored 150 yards from the shore.
After a while, two men on horseback appeared on the top of the cliffs. Others swam out to the Cat and one ceremoniously presented Bill with wooden sword with a carved bird on the hilt. An hour later, a small boat came round the point. It was not bringing any fuel. The islanders thought it would take three hours to load the fuel into boats and bring it round to the cove. A line of low cloud appeared on the horizon to the south east and the wing swung to the south. If it went on like this Frigate Bird would facing the ocean swells on a windward shore. Bill and two of this crew went ashore and learned that an official luncheon was being prepared and a drive to see the island’s statues. Bill had to use all his diplomatic skills to postpone his hosts’ lunch and drive and give priority to the refuelling.
It took longer than they thought. It wasn’t till five o’ clock that the tanks were full and they could prepare for take off. The wind was now east of south, whipping up local waves across the line of the main ocean swells. There was no clear run and the Cat butted into the swells so that the propellers were churning in the water. Take off was impossible. They returned to the limited shelter of the cove, laying out two anchors. A third anchor was laid by Islanders in a whaleboat.
After a while, two men on horseback appeared on the top of the cliffs. Others swam out to the Cat and one ceremoniously presented Bill with wooden sword with a carved bird on the hilt. An hour later, a small boat came round the point. It was not bringing any fuel. The islanders thought it would take three hours to load the fuel into boats and bring it round to the cove. A line of low cloud appeared on the horizon to the south east and the wing swung to the south. If it went on like this Frigate Bird would facing the ocean swells on a windward shore. Bill and two of this crew went ashore and learned that an official luncheon was being prepared and a drive to see the island’s statues. Bill had to use all his diplomatic skills to postpone his hosts’ lunch and drive and give priority to the refuelling.
It took longer than they thought. It wasn’t till five o’ clock that the tanks were full and they could prepare for take off. The wind was now east of south, whipping up local waves across the line of the main ocean swells. There was no clear run and the Cat butted into the swells so that the propellers were churning in the water. Take off was impossible. They returned to the limited shelter of the cove, laying out two anchors. A third anchor was laid by Islanders in a whaleboat.
It was a sleepless night. The Cat tossed and tugged at the anchors. The sea broke one of the Perspex windows in the nose and water flooded in. A cushion was stuffed in the window. At daybreak they could see that two of the anchor cables had snapped. Just one was taking the strain of 16 tons of Catalina being swept back by the seas. Then that cable snapped. The Cat drifted back towards the rocks. Luckily, the engines started readily and Bill eased the Catalina out into the open sea, closing the throttles as the props bit into the sea, opening them up again to make progress. The sea was far too rough for take off – but it might be smoother on the west of the island now that the wind had backed. Bill decided to sail the Cat. to the smoother water.
He shut down the starboard engine and balanced the thrust of the port engine with full right rudder. With the right aileron down to cause drag on the right wingtip he could control the drift of the boat. The crew worked at the bilge pumps to clear the water which had flooded in Bill climbed out on the nose to clear the broken anchor lines. A steel cable was proving difficult when he lost his grip and was washed off the nose, He drifted past the hull and was saved at the last second by a rope thrown from the blister.
Some of the precious fuel was jettisoned to reduce weight and make sailing easier. They became confident enough to sail the boat through the gap between the south cape and two little outlying islands.
He shut down the starboard engine and balanced the thrust of the port engine with full right rudder. With the right aileron down to cause drag on the right wingtip he could control the drift of the boat. The crew worked at the bilge pumps to clear the water which had flooded in Bill climbed out on the nose to clear the broken anchor lines. A steel cable was proving difficult when he lost his grip and was washed off the nose, He drifted past the hull and was saved at the last second by a rope thrown from the blister.
Some of the precious fuel was jettisoned to reduce weight and make sailing easier. They became confident enough to sail the boat through the gap between the south cape and two little outlying islands.
At last they reached Hanga Roa and could refill the fuel tanks. It was nearly sunset when they pulled away from the shore and lined up with the swell. Bill held the direction with the gyro compass until the spray cleared from the windows. At the right moment, he called for the rockets. Frigate Bird II lifted from the sea that had held them for so long and they set course for Valparaiso.
Seven hours later, they were intrigued to see a line of cumulus clouds stretching across the horizon ahead. Then they realised that, although they were 150 miles ahead, the ‘clouds’ were the snow covered peaks of the Andes. They expected an official welcome with some ceremony and although they had not slept properly for four days and three nights they all shaved and changed into their uniforms.
The welcome was warm with telegrams from across the world, speeches and interviews. They were given the use of an amphibious Catalina so they could visit the airport at Los Cerrilos which would become the terminal for trans-Pacific flights. The crew were made honorary members of the Chilean Air Force and Bill was awarded the Order of Bernardo O’Higgins, Chile’s highest award. There was talk of extending the flight to other countries in South America but Bill rejected that. His job was only half done. They would fly back to Australia.
Easter Island was as they had first found it with the sea too rough to land on the western side. They anchored again in Ovahe Cove and the fuel was brought round in boats. The weather deteriorated, sheets of rain fell and the visibility shrank to a few hundred yards. Bill taxied out not sure he could take off. Somehow, he found the last smooth swell and opened the throttles. The rockets fired and Frigate Bird lifted off. But something was wrong and the Cat was pulling hard to the right. They were turning towards the cliffs and they couldn’t see them. At 300 feet, they went into cloud and almost at once Frigate Bird was flying normally. With relief, they realised that it was all because the starboard JATO had failed.
The rest of the long flight home was entirely uneventful.
The welcome was warm with telegrams from across the world, speeches and interviews. They were given the use of an amphibious Catalina so they could visit the airport at Los Cerrilos which would become the terminal for trans-Pacific flights. The crew were made honorary members of the Chilean Air Force and Bill was awarded the Order of Bernardo O’Higgins, Chile’s highest award. There was talk of extending the flight to other countries in South America but Bill rejected that. His job was only half done. They would fly back to Australia.
Easter Island was as they had first found it with the sea too rough to land on the western side. They anchored again in Ovahe Cove and the fuel was brought round in boats. The weather deteriorated, sheets of rain fell and the visibility shrank to a few hundred yards. Bill taxied out not sure he could take off. Somehow, he found the last smooth swell and opened the throttles. The rockets fired and Frigate Bird lifted off. But something was wrong and the Cat was pulling hard to the right. They were turning towards the cliffs and they couldn’t see them. At 300 feet, they went into cloud and almost at once Frigate Bird was flying normally. With relief, they realised that it was all because the starboard JATO had failed.
The rest of the long flight home was entirely uneventful.
Bill’s achievements were recognised by the aviation community with the award of the Oswald Watt Gold Medal and the Johnson Memorial Trophy in 1951 and 1952. In 1954 he was knighted and became Sir Gordon Taylor MC, GC (the MC from his WWI service and the Empire Gallantry Medal, which became the George Cross, for his oil-transfer save of the Southern Cross in 1935) .
The expedition to Chile may have been his last great trans-ocean voyage but he didn’t regard that or any of the other long flights as his best flying. That was the time between 1954 and 1958 when he operated a Pacific island cruising service.
He bought a Short Sandringham and fitted it with luxury passenger accommodation. His passengers were usually rich Americans who would fly to Fiji. There they transferred to Frigate Bird III, (of course), and dotted around the isolated atolls and islands which Bill loved.
The expedition to Chile may have been his last great trans-ocean voyage but he didn’t regard that or any of the other long flights as his best flying. That was the time between 1954 and 1958 when he operated a Pacific island cruising service.
He bought a Short Sandringham and fitted it with luxury passenger accommodation. His passengers were usually rich Americans who would fly to Fiji. There they transferred to Frigate Bird III, (of course), and dotted around the isolated atolls and islands which Bill loved.
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Bill Taylor died of a heart attack on 15 December 1966. His writing is of the highest quality and several of his books are readily available and highly recommended. The most comprehensive is ‘The Sky Beyond’ which covers the first 35 years of his flying life. It should be on every aviation enthusiast’s bookshelf. |