After 14 hours of extended night, a 747-400 rolls onto final approach at Brisbane Airport. Gear down, final flaps and checks complete the modern monolith readies for its return to earth after what seems an eternity to its 350 passengers. As the wheels smack the 1500’ markers, the blue smoke puffs from the tyres and another trans-Pacific epic is over. A mere matter of wingspans away from the 747’s final place of docking, one can almost hear the contempt of the use of the term ‘epic’ rising from a landscaped garden and discreet glass fronted hangar. Within these glazed walls stands a worthy recipient of the terms pioneer and legend. Within these glazed walls stands Sir Charles Kingsford Smith’s ‘Old Bus’, The Southern Cross.

The Fokker Tri-Motor stands proudly, wrapped in a carefully controlled air-conditioned environment and surrounded by artifacts and plaques relating to its days of glory. Retired, but not forgotten, its current home pays due respect to the trials and tribulations of its historic past but is a far cry from the weather-lashed reality of its heroic adventures. To view the Southern Cross, up close and personal, is a rare privilege. Inside the confines of its stable and approaching across the clean grey floor, one cannot help but be struck with a sense of awe and reverence. This is not a replica; this is the actual craft that wrote history. An integral part of Australian aviation heritage from a time before pressurisation, GPS and affordable safety; a time of Bradman and Phar Lap.

“Southern Cross” is boldly displayed in silver along its navy blue flanks, though this was not always the case. The Fokker FVIIB had originally been owned by Antarctic explorer, Sir Hubert Wilkins and suffered through a series of trials in Alaska before coming to grief. In 1928, the fuselage and wings were subsequently bought by ‘Smithy’ and his Trans-Pacific cohort, Charles Ulm and at this time the manufacturer’s name, ‘Fokker’, graced its sides. Fitted with new Wright Whirlwind engines on its nose and silver wings, Smithy flew a series of endurance testing flights before the name “Southern Cross” was proposed by another of the team, Keith Anderson. What was to become its permanent trademark was actually supplemented by a reference to a truck manufacturer, “Faegol Flyer”, along with “The Spirit of California” in somewhat smaller sign writing. These latter examples of “American Graffiti” were removed for the trans-Pacific conquest. Ultimately, the Australian registration of “VH-USU” would adorn the fuselage in company with its name.

If the bearing of the machine impacts upon the spirit, making one’s way to the door on the starboard side is ripe with anticipation. Stooping to gain access through what is best described as a hatch, the interior is now manned by a lone wicker chair and a brass fire extinguisher that still hangs at the ready. Within this chamber Jim Warner would strain against the deafening roar to detect the hint of a radio signal that may lead them to land as they traversed the Pacific. Nearby Harry Lyon plotted the Southern Cross’ course in one of the great efforts of dead reckoning. Thrashed by weather and incessant vibration, Lyon’s sextant was of limited value and he relied on the constant of time, heading and groundspeed. Drift was calculated by throwing powder by day and flares by night into the Pacific below and subsequently flying a constant heading. Such rudimentary techniques safely saw the intrepid aviators cross over 11,000 km of ocean by day and night in three historic legs. Whilst seat pitch may not have been an issue in the Southern Cross’ cabin, there were few other ‘positives’. The noisy, draughty environment rendered communication ineffective and left the crew temporarily deaf after shutdown. Messages were exchanged between the cabin and cockpit by means of a stick with notes pinned to the end. These notes were not only used to relay operational information, but humourous and uplifting messages between the crew as they set about defying the odds. In later life the cabin played host to 12 passengers in joyflight operations, or 8 in the upmarket role of airline transport. Today the tube and fabric hull holds only memories......

Check back soon for the conclusion to "If  These Walls Could Speak"