"Traffic Ahead." A very popular image on the blog this past week.

Hi All,

Thanks once again for a tremendous week at this aviation blog. Your support just keeps on growing!

The choice of highlighting the most popular blogs is getting more difficult each week as the numbers seem to be rising right across the range of stories. In a news sense, the post on the collapse of 'Air Australia' seemed to strike a nerve. As a series, 'The Practical Pilot' seems to be very popular, so you can be sure that more of that style of content will be on its way. Similarly, the second instalment of 'The Fatal Stall' inspired quite an amount of comment and feedback; particularly given the fate of Air France 447 in more recent times.

I would like to humbly thank Karlene Pettit for mentioning this blog and profiling me at her very popular website. I also received my copy of her book, "Flight for Control", in the mail a couple of days ago and I recommend that you check it out at her website also.

Episode 82 from the lads at the PCDU podcast hit the airwaves where we chatted about topics like 'The Fatal Stall' and the recent Air Test of the GippsAero GA8 for 'Australian Aviation' magazine.

Well, you've probably grasped that it's been another busy week and I'm currently organising content for the seven days ahead. It's a significant task, but the ongoing support of this aviation blog is making it all worthwhile.

Please keep the feedback and comments coming and don't forget to subscribe to this website or 'Like' me on Facebook.

Cheers for now,

Owen

Should you sit in an American hotel room for any period of time and have the pleasure of hunting through 500 channels of cable TV, it becomes apparent that one can undertake a ‘college course’ in just about anything; from leg waxing to law enforcement. Furthermore, it seems that unless you have the associated piece of paper your chances of employment may be severely compromised. Are tertiary studies in aviation worth the time and money to Australian pilots?

As an unemployed 737 pilot in his thirties, the Ansett collapse threw up a whole spectrum of new challenges. Career, financial and personal security had taken an unplanned leave of absence and the future seemed a rather murky place. It was a bit like a mid-life crisis without the red convertible. Throughout this period of self-assessment and priority shifting, a new career was always a distinct possibility. It was this examination of all options that led to a visit to Centrelink that is still with me to this day.

As I sat in my best interview suit, the employment officer flicked through my Curriculum Vitae and supporting documentation. He flipped the pages of my green covered ATPL whimsically and even glanced at the log-book that told the tale of 10,000 hours. Returning to my resume, his face lit up, “You were an Ambulance Officer previously. This might be of use.” This was the first inkling that my dedication to a career in aviation may be worth zip. He then rummaged further through my papers, squinted and asked me, “Have you any tertiary qualifications?” I replied in the negative, but explained that a first class Airline Transport Licence requires years of theoretical and practical application. It called for numerous exams and none of those 50% results that they call a pass in the real world. I then proudly informed him that it was all paid for by my own hard earned dollars. He looked back at the paperwork and then at me, “You were an Ambulance Officer previously. This might be of use.”

It was shortly thereafter that I decided to reassess my options. Fortunately, within months I was able to secure another airline job and many of my previous career issues became mute. Even so, the matter of a tertiary qualification stayed with me as I no longer possessed the naïve, laissez faire ‘job for life’ attitude. It was to this backdrop that I began to research university studies. I discovered that I was fundamentally a ‘mature age’ student, yet this far from guaranteed a place in any course of study. Many required evidence of more recent studies. Catch 22.

Wary of my eggs being in one basket, I reluctantly examined aviation Degrees and was pleasantly surprised. My industry experience would be recognised and I could enter a course of post graduate studies; a Masters Degree in Aviation Management. The course was available full time, part time and via correspondence over the internet. Within the syllabus lay generic subjects such as Project Management that could be of use in any field of endeavour, not just aviation. Additionally, if I established a track record of study in this course, entry to other faculties may be possible as a mature student. I decided to enroll.

Formalising Qualifications:

One of my primary motivations for undertaking tertiary studies was to formalise my qualifications. We operate in a specialised industry that can render us highly qualified and thoroughly unemployable. Tertiary qualifications are able to speak the universal language of the workplace and offers a yardstick to those who are unfamiliar with our chosen field. Some subjects may not bear direct relevance to the world in general, but this is the case for many degrees.

What the tertiary qualification does signal is application. Particularly when studied in conjunction with full time employment, a high degree of resolve and dedication are required. This is recognised by employers, be they airlines or anybody else. Certainly, so does an ATPL, but it does translate into a tangible quantity for many. A high proportion of recruitment staff at airlines are non-pilots and whilst one would hope they understand the commitment required for an ATPL, you can almost guarantee that they understand the effort required for a degree.

 An Edge:

As we all know, aviation is a highly competitive industry and a good proportion of ‘right time and right place’ doesn’t go astray either. In such a fierce environment, any edge an aspirant can get is time and money well spent. That is not to say that the old-fashioned slog of accumulating hours should be put on the back-burner: far from it. What is worth stating is that if you can apply yourself to gain a qualification above and beyond the next applicant, you stand a good chance of getting the nod on the big day.

It is now possible to obtain a Commercial Pilot Licence through Universities and graduate with both a licence and degree. This would have to be advantageous in the long term. If the opportunity is not there, or the timing is not right, consider studies again at a later date. The flexibility of studies over the internet and recognition of industry experience means that it’s never too late.

Security:

Let’s face the facts, aviation and the airlines cannot offer the long term security that they once did. Our world and our industry is in constant state of flux. Fuel prices, low cost carriers, US Chapter 11 operations, terrorism and so on. Unless your crystal ball is extremely well tuned, it is very hard to make any predictions about the future. Remember a little operation called Pan Am? Having been through the collapse of an airline I am aware that you need everything going for you to keep moving forward. Whilst I never could have seen job security being an issue when I was twenty, I certainly can now I’m forty with three children and sleep better knowing that there are options available to me.

Similarly, I used to be seven foot tall and bulletproof. These days I’m not so tall and definitely not bulletproof. Medical issues have plagued pilots, at times, from a relatively young age. Your medical is your licence. You may blitz every check and simulator session with flying colours, but a stone in the eye from the neighbour’s ride-on mower will put paid to that in a heartbeat. Protecting yourself isn’t about being pessimistic. To the contrary, it’s about peace of mind and the ability to thoroughly enjoy the present. A tertiary degree is a very sound form of insurance.

There’s more to aviation than flying:

For Beech and Boeings to stay in the air safely, there is a myriad of support staff. In time pilots often develop a taste for management, training, flight safety or projects, such as the introduction of a new type. Such options do not wrench the pilot from the cockpit for life, but offer a challenge and change to routine. These positions are numerous in airlines and often provide an interesting mix that brings about greater job satisfaction but, once again, competition for the jobs can be fierce. A tertiary qualification not only assists in the application process, but may well provide the individual with the skills to successfully undertake the task.

Is it worth it?

Sometimes you can be blessed and waltz through life and career without a hiccup. It is, however, very rare. Furthermore, pilots are inherently a self-critical bunch who hold themselves to higher standards than any Test Officer or Check Captain would ever seek. They need challenges. Tertiary studies seem to offer not only security, but a level of satisfaction that is often sought after by pilots at all levels. Notwithstanding, there is the genuine worth of a degree in the gaining of knowledge and the enhancement of employment and subsequent career potential.

The financial cost of a tertiary qualification is not unsubstantial. If it can be gained concurrently with a Commercial Licence, tremendous. If not, it may be a while before the coffers permit the extravagance of further education, however, do not let the passage of time completely extinguish the flame. A degree may be out of reach in the short term, but there are still tremendous courses on offer in Accident Investigation, Safety Management and the like. The main point will always be to build your logbook, but also try to extend your portfolio.

The pursuit of further education is never easy. It is a test of persistence, motivation and resources. The rewards, however, are great and will provide benefits of a varied nature regardless of the stage of your career. A tertiary qualification may land you that job you desire, allow you to start your own enterprise or earn a promotion within the ranks of management. Whatever your particular goals may be, it will certainly provide you with a great degree of satisfaction.

...readying for departure from Hervey Bay, Queensland.

Along the way we all have cause to encounter all sorts of personalities; some interesting, some complicated and others that spring to mind for all of the wrong reasons. They can be found in a marketplace in some far-away hidden corner of the globe, or right around the corner next to the pie shop. Part of the fun is never knowing quite where you’ll find them.

Some time back, I took to speaking to veteran aircrew of past conflicts in an effort to record their stories. It allowed me to tie together my interest in history, writing and aviation. Along the way meeting characters who have ‘been there and done that’ but retain modesty and the art of the understatement. While some stories are published, others are simply retained by the family to pass on to the enquiring grandchildren whose questions always seem to surface around ANZAC & Memorial Day assignment time.

Two years ago, I was approached by one such survivor of World War Two. Not through the Department of Veteran’s Affairs, or the Returned Serviceman’s League, but an electrician. Repairing all and sundry in the aftermath of a lightning strike, the ‘sparky’ mentioned an old fella he knew who had been trying to get his story recorded for a few years. He’d started to write it himself, but hadn’t gotten very far; maybe I’d like to have a chat with him?
Kenneth Butterworth McGlashan was standing in his shed, shaking his head at a recalcitrant lathe when I first met him. He’d taken to restoring tired antique furniture in his retirement and his workshop was a mix of turned table legs and sawdust. Turning away from his tools, Kenneth greeted me warmly and immediately began chatting about his Royal Air Force days. With a Scottish accent, the 84 year-old started to describe an aerial combat over Dunkirk in 1940 on which he had come out on the wrong side. We wandered inside and began to chat over a cup of tea about aerial campaigns that had become folklore; the Battle of Britain, Dieppe, D-Day. Kenneth had been there for all of them as a fighter pilot, he was one of ‘The Few’ who had defended Britain in her darkest hour.

His sharp eyes hadn’t aged a day, nor had his sense of humour. He related anecdote after anecdote with tremendous clarity and the hours ticked by until it was time for me to leave. Sensing my movement toward the door, Kenneth asked me if I was interested in writing his story and I knew I was, however I sensed immediately that this wasn’t a magazine article or a short story for the family archives; it was a book. This bloke had received his wings on rag and tube biplanes before the war and flown through the entire conflict, from the retreat at Dunkirk to the landings at Normandy and beyond. He was living history and I was hooked. I had to say yes.

Was I up to writing a book? Between a two year-old, a wife pregnant with twins and good dose of self-doubt, I had reservations. But as I sat in Kenneth’s lounge room a week later with the wheels of a tape recorder slowly turning, I started to gather momentum. Not through any skill on my part, but because Kenneth was a natural story teller with an ‘A Grade’ memory. He jumped from episode to episode, but I let him go as sorting out the chronology was my job. For a starting point, I couldn’t go past the tale of Dunkirk with which he had first captivated me.

He had been 19 years of age as he sat perched above the English Channel in his new single-engined Hawker Hurricane. The airframe had only eight hours in the air and, by modern standards, Kenneth didn’t have much more. Leading the rear section of three at 25,000 feet, he was tasked with covering the backs of his leading sections. Not long over the Channel, one of his trio turned back with engine trouble, leaving him and Geoff Howitt to fly as a pair. As they flew toward the plume of smoke lifting skyward from Dunkirk on the French coast, the massive evacuation of allied troops was taking place on the waves below in everything from Thames paddle-steamers to personal yachts.

Suddenly, the leading sections dived towards a flock of marauding German bombers. Simultaneously an ear piercing squeal rang out in Ken’s headsets and his wingman broke formation clean in front of him as a pair of Messerschmitts roared from left to right. McGlashan rolled in on his foe, but seconds later heard what sounded like an alarm clock going off behind his head. (It was actually bullets hitting the armour plating.) Reality struck when the port side of his Hurricane began ripping under a hail of gunfire and red tracers skipped between his legs, tearing up the piping and framework of his aeroplane’s floor.

What ensued was a turbulent spinning plummet towards the French sand. When the attack abated, he attempted to level out and get out as his fighter was bleeding to death. Crippled, the Hurricane was attacked again and he was ultimately forced down on the beach just south of the Belgian border. On the ground, he hurried from his fighter and dived beneath one of a sea of abandoned Lorries on the beach. His subsequent nine mile walk to Dunkirk was a drama that included being shot at by German infantry and being threatened at bayonet-point by French Algerians, but ultimately it was a walk of isolation. As a nineteen year old he watched Spitfires dive into the sea and soldiery drift on the swell like so much flotsam as he trudged toward the final point on the Continent held by allied forces.

Needless to say, Ken survived his encounter over Dunkirk. After an eventful boat ride back to England he went on to fly in the Battle of Britain from the RAF’s easternmost airfield at Hawkinge until it was abandoned and laid to waste by the Luftwaffe. At this time his squadron was transferred to Ireland, where they trained foreign pilots on the Hurricane and attempted to protect coastal towns and the vital shipping routes supplying the British Isles from the west. There was no radar or organised control system in this region, so it was not unusual for the pilots to be scrambled by an irate Postmaster yelling down the phone, “We’re being attacked, what are you going to do about it?”

From Ireland he would be a pioneer in night-fighting in a time when pilots were force fed carrots to improve their night vision. Stacked from 13,000 feet at 500 foot intervals above a burning Merseyside, the ‘advanced’ technique of detection was to wait for the bombers silhouettes to appear against the backdrop of the inferno. The fighters would then dive down, but inherently the bombers had already slipped away into the veil of darkness. Later in the war he would ‘night fight’ again, this time in company with a bomber equipped with a massive light in its nose. Termed ‘Turbinlite’, this technique involved sneaking up on the target in absolute darkness before illuminating it with a 2,700 million candlepower searchlight. This highly unsuccessful game of cat and mouse provided a greater risk to friend through collision than to foe through combat.

Through the disastrous raid on Dieppe in which Ken’s aircraft was again badly shot up, he continued to fly operationally. On the eve of D-Day, he was one of a handful of aircraft airborne in darkness over France seeking out the German aircraft designed to jam the communications of the Normandy landings. Following D-Day he was deemed ‘Tour Expired’ and was to be pulled from operational flying. Instead he was seconded to BOAC and sent to Cairo as the British carrier set about re-establishing civil air routes in the Middle East. Be it serving in Cyprus through the EOKA campaign, welcoming in the jet age in Gloster Meteors and de Havilland Vampires or winning the Air Force Cross, there always seemed to be something happening for Kenneth McGlashan.

He finally retired from the RAF in 1958 and later established his family and a civilian life here in Australia. In 1990 he received a very cryptic letter from the Tangmere Aviation Museum who was undertaking some research following the discovery of the Hawker Hurricane that Kenneth had left on the Dunkirk beach in 1940. Today the aircraft is set to take to the English skies once more.

So tale after tale occupied afternoon after afternoon. I would sit and listen as Kenneth would detail his extraordinary life and tale of survival, taping every word before spending the night tying it together into some sort of order. Slowly but surely, his life became the book we had both envisaged. We agreed to title it in a manner that reflected Kenneth’s level-headed approach and made a humourous jibe at the fact he had a few RAF aircraft make ‘unscheduled’ landings in his time.

Along the way, I gained two valuable friends in Kenneth and his wife, Doreen and this is another wonderful by-product of my hobby. Sadly, when the book was launched at Kenneth’s stomping grounds during the UK’s Duxford Air Show in July, he had not lived to see it happen. However, Doreen made the long trip to the UK to be a part of the event. On the second day of the air show she was flown by helicopter to be reunited with the restoration of Kenneth’s Hurricane. Nearing 90, Doreen is insistent that she’ll be back next year to see the fighter fly once more.

Ken always stressed that by numbers, there were 3,000 fighter pilots who defended the realm through the Battle of Britain and within this sum only three percent were officially recognised as “Aces”. He was always proud to be counted amongst the remaining 97%. To me this in many ways sums up who he was.

His life was an extraordinary tale. I didn’t have to venture to some far flung corner to find it though; Kenneth McGlashan was virtually over my back fence and my life became richer because of it.

"Down to Earth". The Book.

“Down to Earth” (ISBN 1904943845) By Squadron Leader K.B. McGlashan with Owen Zupp

It was thirty years since I’d last sat low in a Mustang’s cockpit. At eight years of age there were very few other ways to sit. My father had hoisted me into the cockpit of a now retired steed as it sat in the darkened confines of Syd Marshall’s Air Museum at Bankstown Airport in suburban Sydney, Australia. Ever since his RAAF days, the P-51D and its Aussie equivalent had been my father’s favourite. More than the Meteors he had flown in Korea, or the Super Connies in which he’d criss-crossed the globe, it was always the Mustang. Leaning in, he explained the numerous dials and switches with military thoroughness. The systems and limitations poured forth from a razor sharp memory that would still forget to pick up milk on the way home.

I grasped what I could, but found my imagination drifting elsewhere. My head revolving as it moved its gaze from the enormous cowling ahead back to ‘check my six’….just in case. Now I again found myself swiveling at the neck. It was an Airshow day at a regional aviation museum and the atmosphere was charged. Taking in the sights and sounds of this fantastic opportunity, I spotted my wife in the crowd. In conspiracy with a chap I’d known for years, Guy Bourke, she had secretly arranged the wedding anniversary gift of a lifetime. I had never seen my wife so keen for me to go to a fly-in and the reasoning was now becoming very apparent.

The flight was to be made up of two sections. The first involved an air-to-air photo shoot in company with another fighter, the Australian Boomerang, and a trainer of yesteryear, the North American Harvard. At the conclusion of this sortie, ‘Bourkey’ and I would break off and take the Mustang to the west for airwork on its own. This had been briefed thoroughly pre-flight and the Harvard now led the three ship formation out to the end of Runway 36. Checks complete, we now sat beneath the closed canopy awaiting our turn for take-off. Throughout the procedure, Guy had kept me briefed and ‘in the loop’ through the intercom that linked the world of the rear seat to the fore. The aft seat had a spartan instrument panel of altimeter and A.S.I. to the right. To the left, at about the same height, lies the throttle quadrant. Ahead, the control column and rudder pedals complete the picture.

As the pristine Boomerang cleared the perimeter, Guy announced the departure and smoothly increased the abundant power of the V12. I have been fortunate to fly a number of aircraft over the years, but the sounds, sensations and sinking into the seat of a Mustang take-off takes some beating. As rudder authority increased with airflow, the tail was raised to introduce a new world of enhanced visibility. The ground rush in the peripheral vision began to change in focus as the ground fell away and the gear was selected up. All clear for the turn, Bourkey rolled this fierce piece of North American design to the left in pursuit of the formation. Closing on the two specs at an impressive rate, one couldn’t help but imagine how many times this scene had been acted out in skies around the world in a very different time.

With the Harvard serving as the camera ship, we slotted in to right echelon on the Boomerang. Sitting tight on the little Aussie fighter, it was easy to see the immaculate quality of the restoration. After weaving across the skies in formation for a period, it was time to break right and head west on our own. The land surrounding the airfield is custom built for committing aviation. Golden fields of crops, uninterrupted by the rising terrain that so often can pose a problem. Should all go quiet ‘up front’, potential landing fields are numerous, offering a special type of peace to the single-engine pilot. It is little wonder that this site was chosen as an Elementary Flight Training School throughout the war years and was home to a flock of Tiger Moth biplanes. Set to this backdrop Guy climbed the Mustang to a safe height and set about demonstrating some rolls and loops. Even tucked into the back seat, the brilliant visibility afforded by the bubble canopy allows tremendous orientation throughout the manoeuvres. As sky passed earth and back to sky, a sense of balance and power pervaded the aircraft. It was in its realm and roared across the heavens with the freedom of its namesake. I gratefully accepted control on Guy’s call of, “Handing Over” and proceeded to experience that freedom first hand.

I exercised the controls and the Mustang responded crisply to the inputs. Seemingly unencumbered by adverse yaw to any degree, the rudder is used as a tuning fork rather than a backhoe. Scanning the horizon and the skies, the aircraft holds the attitude as if set in stone and I take in the view and the ambience. All too soon, the minutes have ticked over and Terra Firma calls. We set the airfield in the windscreen and call inbound for an ‘initial and pitch’ entry, Runway 36. Circuit-side and parallel, we zoom along the bitumen before pulling up and left to enter the circuit. Power steady, the energy is managed and the drag deployed to position the aircraft on left base. Final calls, final checks and the Mustang sets its sights on the touchdown point under Guys hand. Over the fence, powering back and the wide track of the main gear reunites Man and Mustang with Mother Earth. As the speed washes off, the tail slowly lowers and the back of Guy’s head again dominates my field of view.

The exhilaration as we taxied in was hard to harness. Mindful of wingtip clearance, we navigated through a tarmac littered with a gallery of aircraft that one can only admire. In position and checks complete, power is withdrawn from this great machine and the huge disc dissipates to again form four distinct blades. Becalmed, with ‘switches off’, the adventure is over. Out of the blue a childhood dream had been realised and it had lived up to all expectations. As I took in the moment, I was that eight year-old once again and looked back to ‘check my six’ one more time...…just in case.

At some point in my childhood, between converting Mum’s clothes-horse to a P-51 and sitting atop our garage with binoculars, I asked my father a fairly simple question, “What was a Tiger Moth like?”

Starry-eyed, I awaited the reply that would define the sheer essence of aviation and the pioneer spirit. “The Tiger?” he started, “It was cold, draughty, noisy and you’d end up with windburn, sunburn and goggle marks to prove it” He tapped his pipe empty on the verandah. Paused. Then continued, “…but it was blessed good trainer for its day. It taught you to use your feet. It taught you a lot of things.” That answer was about as extensive as Dad would ever venture when it came to reminiscences, however, if it was a technical question you’d be best advised to take a seat with a pen at the ready. Nevertheless, I think this is when the first seeds of owning an antique aeroplane were probably sown.

I was surrounded by aviation growing up. Dad had first started flying privately at Wagga Wagga NSW in 1948, whilst an apprentice mechanic in the RAAF. His early flying with Eric Condon lasted about six months before he was mustered for aircrew and posted to Point Cook. His subsequent career saw active service in Korea with 77 Squadron, the early days of the ‘Connie’ traversing the globe, primitive attempts at cloud-seeding, umpteen hours of instructing, testing and checking before winding up his career with the NSW Air Ambulance in 1986. Even after this he used to “do a bit” with Rebel Air and Schofields. As a youngster, I took every opportunity to tag along to the airport and not infrequently buckle up beside Dad. I vividly remember old Syd Marshall and his collection of aircraft at Bankstown and sitting in the Mustangs that Dad had flown at a previous time. Even today, I treasure an old Hurricane model Syd gave me. The older aircraft had always been of more interest to me. Their shape. Their character. Their history.

In 1994 I was fortunate to be given a relatively rewarding and seemingly secure job with Ansett, (enough said). I had no sooner “checked to line” than I noticed a Tiger Moth project for sale. I made the initial enquiries, but questions hovered over the completeness of the aircraft and the logistics of an interstate restoration daunted me. I let this opportunity slide; nevertheless, it was effectively the turning point for my childhood dream to start taking form. I started reading everything I could get my hands on and chasing up information from any source available, particularly the living, breathing kind. I found loitering around fly-ins to be particularly beneficial and the friendliness and generosity (i.e. free rides) of those involved with antique aviation bolstered my decision to go ahead if I could fund the project adequately. My wife agreed.

In 1996 my wife was fortunate to be given a relatively rewarding and secure job in aviation, (fingers-crossed).

Together we ventured to a place we had heard about and flown over numerous times in our days before turbines; Luskintyre. Nestled in the Hunter Valley, just west of Maitland, lies a facility busily putting long-forgotten deHavillands back in the air. My first memory of Ray Windred’s hangar was its’ similarity to Santa’s workshop. There were numerous tradesmen at different stations, each thoroughly engrossed in a task that seemed to call for patience as the primary tool. Access was gained by weaving between airframes, some standing proudly on their own undercart, others braced in jigs ready for covering. My wife and I did the “cook’s tour” of the restorations and the surrounding airfield. We subsequently retired to one of the vineyards for lunch, where we agreed no decisions would be made on grounds of diminished responsibility.

Time passed as we attended to other minor matters such as buying and selling a home, but as 1997 drew to a close we advised Ray Windred that we would purchase one of his old airframes and have him restore it to its previous glory. This was to be Ray’s 18th rebuild of the type. One of the factors that made purchasing an antique aircraft more attractive was the history that is attached to each of the aircraft of yesteryear. Accordingly, we set about finding the history of our airframe, construction No. 82358. In the process, we made contact with pilots that had flown in the aircraft in its war service and a number of these gentlemen kindly forwarded copies of their log books. Together with old RAAF documents and photos of the restoration taking place, my wife and I compiled a journal relating to our project. This exercise is one which I would highly recommend as it keeps the spirits up through those delays, trials and tribulations that are associated with the rebuild of an old aeroplane and on completion it serves to tell a fascinating tale. 

The aircraft had an interesting history. To the best of my knowledge, it was built at Hatfield, U.K, as part of the original order 0I758 that saw the British Air Ministry deliver 100 Tiger Moths to the RAAF. Arriving at RAAF Richmond in February 1940, it subsequently served with a variety EFTS units throughout the war, maintaining its British markings of N9257 throughout. “De-mobbed” at Cunderdin, W.A. in 1947, it began its’ civilian life under the markings VH-AKN, passing from private hands to an “air-ag” operation in April 1955. As was the way, the front cockpit was gutted and replaced with a hopper for spraying. This commercial chapter of 82358 was to be short-lived, crashing at Midland Junction, W.A. on June 13th 1955.

Almost 46 years to the day, on June 12th 2001, the Tiger again took to the air at Luskintyre. Restored in a civil scheme, with a new call-sign, I finally got my hands on my childhood dream shortly thereafter. The euphoria of the flight that followed very closely rivalled my first solo twenty years before………….it was great. The only regret?  That the old man wasn’t there to see it.

I did a number of hours at Luskintyre to consolidate my own familiarity with the type and monitor the engine and airframe for any gremlins that may surface. The aircraft performed without fault and after a “5 hour check-up” I prepared to ferry the aircraft to its’ new home. As I was delayed by early morning Hunter fog, my wife set out ahead in our car with the plan being to rendezvous outside the hangar at Mittagong. Late morning, I became airborne and armed with a P8 compass set course to the south. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and I took every opportunity to sightsee as I visited lesson after lesson of navigating in an open cockpit. Midway I discovered that sitting on one’s charts was far more satisfactory than the clipboard I had earlier employed and that recovering one’s pencil from within the many layers of clothing was easier said than done. All this and no autopilot! I laughed at myself and took absolute pleasure in stumbling through the grassroots of aviation. As I trekked south into a very light headwind I calculated that the aircraft was making good time…….for a Tiger. Even so, freeway traffic seemed to be making a very comparable pace until the benefit of straight-line travel opened up a lead. My wife, having stopped to pick up to pick up my Mum, a former WAAAF radar operator, saw me pass overhead somewhere near Pheasants Nest, consequently on my arrival at Mittagong the welcoming party was yet to arrive. As you would expect, I took the opportunity to waste time over the beautiful Southern Highlands and the hamlet of Bowral, home of Sir Donald Bradman. It is a great privilege to be able to dawdle around the sky with no particular place to go and no specific time to be there.

The ground party finally caught up and I was all out of excuses to remain aloft. Touching down on 24, I rolled out to the hangar that is now to be home to this Tiger. An old Royal Aero Club mate and his wife were there so we took to the air for a quick hop, as you’re prone to do. Back on the ground, I was all out of excuses, so we pushed the aircraft in for the night. Armed with champagne we toasted the Tiger and even allowed a little to trickle down the prop. All in all, the flight had been cold, noisy and draughty and I did indeed bear windburn and goggle marks, but there was no doubt, this Tiger Moth was a blessed good aeroplane.

....The Montagnard, or “Mountain People”, were another ally. Brown remembers them as being a good people; short, tough and “very anti communist”. They possessed small crossbows that were incredibly tightly strung and would fire a 12 inch bamboo arrow. In his room one evening Brown attempted to relieve the boredom by shooting the arrow into the thick solid wood door of his villa apartment. “It went straight through the bloody door! It was incredibly powerful.” Left jutting from the other side, the arrowhead fortunately caused no damage to life or limb. Though not fired again, the crossbow did make the long journey home to Australia.

The RTFV did not have the airspace to itself. An absence of radar and prevalence of cloud meant that aircraft were not always aware of each others presence. “I saw a Canberra dive down in front of us,” he starts, “and then another and another.” Brown describes the looping motion of the bombers using his hands in the best fighter-pilot fashion. “I had flown through the middle of a Canberra bombing raid!” At times, being on the ground wasn’t any safer. “At one of the bigger bases, I think it was NhaTrang,” Brown strains the memory banks, “I was waiting to take off when a South Vietnamese A1 Skyraider landed on its belly tank right in front of me. The whole aeroplane went up in flames.” Miraculously, the pilot, the squadron CO, escaped without a scratch. Faced with an obvious delay and readying to offer assistance, the Aussie crew shutdown their Caribou. As fire tenders whizzed by, the Tower called the ‘Wallaby’ to ‘back out’. Brown hurried to comply, “I had no sooner started it, when the starboard engine went Voomf! There were flames for about 3-4 seconds and then it went out.” The culprit was found to be a cracked component in the fuel system that subsequently sprayed fuel over the hot engine. There was a happy ending though, “Unbelievably, the deHavilland Canada representative to Vietnam was on the base. He stripped and rebuilt the back of the engine overnight and totally rewired it. The aircraft flew out the next day.”

At Vung Tau the Australian Caribous were supported by RAAF ground crews, about whom Brown cannot speak too highly. Unlike the American system of “Crew Chiefs” assigned to a single aircraft and expected to be a ’jack of all trades’, the RTFV was supported by a team of skilled RAAF tradesmen. “An aircraft would come in unserviceable and 10 people would hit it. Bang. The next morning it was on the flightline, ready to go. It was a 24 hour a day job and they worked like drovers’ dogs.” On arriving in Vietnam in 1965, Brown’s tour of duty was originally six months, though this was extended to eight months whilst he was there. In that entire time he can only recall 3 or 4 occasions when a full complement of aircraft was not available.

When describing the suitability of the Caribou to its role, he puts it simply, “100%. It was a lovely aeroplane and very strong.” Warmly describing it as a “truck with wings”, he states that he never had cause to shut down an engine in flight and rarely was an engine change required for anything other than reaching its scheduled ‘life’. Coupled with its amazing short field performance, its sturdy reliability has seen the Caribou serve in numerous theatres of operation since Vietnam. For Brown, his ‘tour’ ended in January of 1966 and he subsequently entered the civil ranks of QANTAS. Now in retirement, he was present at a recent air show when the air, dust and crowd were stirred up by the distinctive growl of the deHavilland Caribou. For those in attendance it was a display of impressive low level manoeuvrability and short field performance. For Barrie Brown it probably evoked memories of the mountains of Vietnam, tight strips, old friends and the occasional flying pig.

Unbelievably, 2011 is now down to its final hours. Another year has passed with the children a little older and me none the wiser it would seem. The skies have again been kind to me in 2011, so as the champagne pops and the fireworks illuminate Sydney Harbour, my thoughts will again drift to an aviator now passed, who set me on my journey amongst the clouds.

He was a quiet man, short in stature but with arms made strong by a youth of combat and cane-cutting. He was predominantly self-educated, for drought and the Great Depression had stolen much of his childhood and any chance of a formal education. As a commando in the jungles of New Guinea, his kit-bag had been crammed with books on aerodynamics and aircraft while his dreams were of a life free of the earth’s muddy bonds. But it was merely a dream for a lad with a big heart and no apparent claim to the elevated world of aviation. At the war’s end, he traded the humidity of the jungle for the nuclear devastation of Hiroshima before finally wending his way home to Australia after years away at war.

Out of uniform he found it hard to settle down, drifting from one sugar-cane field to another with a few belongings strapped to the rear of his motorcycle. It was hard, hot labour to bring the mighty cane down by hand with snakes underfoot and insects clinging to the raw nectar running down his bare back. At the end of the sugar season, ultimately the road once again led him to the military, but this time as a mechanic in the Royal Australian Air Force. Finally surrounded by the machines he loved, he flourished in the hands-on application of his newly discovered knowledge. With money in his pocket and a home on the air base, he would spend his free hours studying aviation and paying for private flying lessons at the civilian school just across the tarmac. His dream was coming true, although his stunted formal education continued to form a barrier to any career in the sky; until fate dealt its hand.

With the outbreak of the Korean War in 1950, the post-WW2 Royal Australian Air Force was now depleted in its supply of pilots. It called  for volunteers from amongst its ranks and when a kindly commanding officer countersigned the young mechanics application, his world was changed forever. Within 18 months he had transitioned from repairing airframes to flying fighter combat missions over North Korea. As a Sergeant Pilot he would fly over 200 sorties at the helm of a Gloster Meteor in the lethal ground attack role which saw many of his squadron mates killed in action. On one occasion, his own canopy was blown off by enemy fire and shrapnel was embedded in his face. Even so, he limped the damage jet home and flew two missions the next day. He returned home a decorated veteran and finally completed his formal education at night school.

He married a WRAAF corporal who he had met prior to leaving for Korea when she had processed his departure paperwork. Together they moved from base to base before a civil career ultimately called. From international airlines to cloud-seeding, flight instruction to target-towing, there was very little that the short boy from the Australian bush didn’t fly at some stage in the next 40 years. Yet in the 23,000 hours aloft and countless aircraft types, training always held a special place for him. The chance to mentor the next generation of pilots was something he held very close as he always recalled how close his dream had come to never eventuating. If he saw a desire to fly in a young set of eyes, he would go the extra mile to make it happen.

He saw that desire in me from a young age and set an example that I still aspire to achieve. As an instructor he was unsurpassed and held in the highest regard by his peers. He had the knack of explaining complex concepts in simple terms with a million ‘rules of thumb’ to match. For him flight was always magnificent, but never elite. He cringed at the brash, slicked-back, sunglasses brigade but had endless patience for the struggling student who was trying their very best. He had fought in the jungle and stared down the tracer bullets that struck his jet, yet he never swore in front of women and always stood when they entered the room; he was old school.

To me he passed down so much more than the manipulative skills needed to fly an aeroplane. He instilled airmanship, a sense of command and an ultimate respect for the aircraft and the environment in which it operates. He loathed complacency and arrogance and highlighted that disciplined flying presented the greatest challenge and the most satisfaction. He set the bar very high and I was privileged to have such an outstanding mentor.

So as another year draws to a close, spare a thought for that special person who inspired you to fly or actually guided you in your fledgling hours aloft. Revisit their lessons and strengths and give thanks for their patience and knowledge. Recount some of their anecdotes and share them with friends and family this New Year’s Eve. It is a real gift to take to the sky, but without a steady guiding hand along the way, the journey can be fraught with potential dangers and self-doubt.

If it’s possible, make contact with your mentor and thank them for their effort. It will mean the world to them and offer a chance to share the hours that have been logged since you last spoke. I would dearly love to speak with the man from the bush who taught me all that I know today and hear more of his pearls of wisdom. However, for me that is no longer an option as cancer took him nearly twenty years ago when I was still a young bush pilot taking my own first steps as a flight instructor. Even so, as I sit around this New Years Eve surrounded by family I will spare him a thought and a silent word of thanks. He was the best pilot I ever met. He was my Dad.

Flying Officer Phillip Zupp M.I.D. AM (US) 1925-1991