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.
