Seventy years after the first Tiger Moth took flight over English fields from the quaintly named ‘Stag Lane’, cars have parked on the verge of Old South Road to witness a similar scene. As a child sits atop their father’s shoulders, an older gentleman with a straight Air Force back casts a knowing eye. A little embarrassed by the attention, my passenger and I clamber into our respective seats and ready ourselves for flight.
Strapping into a vintage biplane has always been a snug fit, particularly with the necessary multiple layers of clothing. Sitting in tandem, with heads poking outside the cockpit, leather helmets and goggles provide further protection from the elements. Within, the furnishings are equally basic. Enveloped in the bare metal frame and its fabric skin, exposed control cables weave their way past our feet. A solitary ‘control stick’, two pedals, a couple of levers and a few ancient gauges in a varnished wooden panel complete the picture.
The antique machine is literally ‘swung’ into action with a downward thrust on the propeller. Great care is taken during this practice, particularly when alone, as tales endure of runaway Tigers. A couple of coughs and puffs of smoke and the engine throngs with a charm, reminiscent of ’Chitty Chitty Bang Bang’. At runway’s end and ready, power is increased and the aircraft slowly accelerates along the gravel runway. As momentum builds, the aircraft comes to life and the tail rises from the ground. Shortly thereafter, at a speed acceptable to the Highway Patrol, the Tiger Moth breaks its shackles and the earth falls away. Slowly. Far from being sleek, the two wooden wings are joined by a maze of struts and bracing wires, all of which fight the air as the wooden propeller drags the aeroplane aloft.
As the Tiger gains height, the surrounding countryside unravels. A push of the stick and a squeeze of the pedals wheel the machine about the horizon. Views from Razorback to Joadja greet the eye. Initially Mittagong, and then Mount Gibraltar pass to the right as the rolling green fields to the south begin to appear. The scene could be from a bygone era in the skies over England, where the Tiger Moth taught its lessons in darker times. This setting is picturesque, though any hint of peacefulness is broken by the roar of the engine and the airflow that blasts past the face at 140 km/h. The small glass windscreen is misnamed as it affords only token protection, though the modern luxury of radios replace rubber tubing to enable pilot and passenger to stay in touch.
Cruising a kilometre above the treetops, the Illawarra coastline peeps above the hamlet of Robertson whilst Fitzroy Falls looms larger ahead. The Spartan nature of the Tiger Moth adds to its allure. There are no autopilots or navigation systems beyond the map and liquid-filled compass that bounces in harmony with the engine. Many a map has last been seen flying past the tail, having been sucked from its owner’s lazy grip. Over the Falls, we turn tightly for the best view and maximum fun. Fully aerobatic, the Tiger can ‘loop the loop’, spin and weave its way through the sky in a variety of manners. Manoeuvres that were necessary as it trained the ‘Top Guns’ of yesteryear. Even so, many cherished moments are to be had simply wandering aimlessly about the sky. In a world dominated by schedules, it is an absolute pleasure to dawdle about the clouds with no particular place to go and no particular time to be there. With Burrawang behind and Berrima ahead, we take time to ‘waggle the wings’ at children waving from a dam’s edge just beyond Moss Vale. The Highlands chill bites at the cheeks and suggests without subtlety that it is time to set course for home.
Firstly Chevalier, then Bong Bong Racecourse slide beneath as Bowral sits nestled to the left. Passing ‘The Gib’, radio calls are made and the aircraft readied to land. Checks completed, power is reduced and the pop, pop, pop of the Gipsy Major engine signals that the flight’s end is near. A final turn to align with the runway, gently descending, the wind whistles through the wires. The airfield fence is crossed and the runway draws closer until man, machine and Mother Earth are once again reunited.
In an age when footraces are timed to the hundredth of a second and the Internet blinks across the globe, it can be difficult to capture a truly timeless moment. Thanks to the Tiger Moth, it may be difficult but not impossible.
(c) Owen Zupp 2011
