England to Australia Flight
Part X: Australia
by Peter McMillan
We made landfall over Darwin within the hour, and I was
looking down on Fannie Bay, site of the original landing
field, as well as Ross Smith Avenue, Keith Lane, Shiers
Street, and Bennett Street. As Lang banked us left toward
the airport, cutting the power, I heard the song of the
Vimy's flying wires and had to take a deep breath.
"Vimy 1, cleared to land," the control tower
told us. "Welcome back to Darwin after all these
years."
Our wheels touched down on Australian soil at 3:09 p.m.
on 22 October 1994.
Because of the storms in Europe, fog in Cairo, plague
in India, and forced landing on Sumarta, we had taken
two weeks longer to finish the flight than Ross Smith
and his crew had in 1919. But we didn't really care. Lang
was excited to be back on his native soil, and I was overwhelmed
with relief and pride that our time machine had succeeded.
As Lang and I hopped down from the plane at Darwin to
speak to a crowd of television and newspaper reporters,
someone handed me a magnum of champagne and I let the
cork fly, bouncing it off the Vimy's upper wing.
Administrator of the Northern Territory, Austin Asche,
and the Acting Lord Mayor of Darwin, Robyne Burridge,
stepped forward to welcome us, just as their counterparts
had greeted Ross Smith 75 years before on 10 December,
1919. After having patiently waited for her turn, Mrs
Wendy Miles handed me a telegram of congratulations from
Australian Prime Minister Paul Keating.
Wendy Miles is the daughter of Sir Hudson Fysh, one of
the founders of Quantas and the first person to shake
Ross Smith's hand at Darwin, surprising him with a bundle
of telegrams from around the world. The two young men
had served together in the Australian Light Horse and
Flying Corps in the Middle East.
"Seeing the Vimy today gave me a funny feeling inside."
Wendy Miles said. "It brought back memories of the
small planes of my childhood. I was quite overcome."
The story of the Smith brothers has a bitter-sweet ending.
Less than three years after their triumphant success for
which the two pilots were knighted by King George V, Ross
and Jim Bennett were killed in the crash of an amphibious
Vickers Viking in England. They had been testing the aircraft
for a proposed flight around the world. Keith, who also
would have been in the cockpit if his train from London
hadn't been delayed by fog, arrived at the airfield in
Brooklands as the plane struck the ground. Ross was dead
by the time Keith sprinted to the wreckage. Benny died
in his arms.
There had always been something reckless about the way
Ross Smith lived. But there was also something inspiring
about his pioneering spirit. Time and again he risked
his life to advance the possibilities of aviation from
idea to reality. I would like to think that our flight,
in a more modest way, revived that spirit by showing that
great adventures are still possible for those willing
to pursue a dream and to trust in the skill and courage
of their friends.
As we stood in the long shadow of our flying machine,
I saw names and greetings in Arabic, Hindi, Malay, and
other languages traced in the dust that still clung to
the lower wings, and I recalled a thousand faces from
our 11,000-mile flight. I understood then what Ross Smith
had written about his moment of glory:
"The hardships and perils of the past month were
forgotten in the excitement of the present. We shook
hands with one another, our hearts swelling with those
emotions invoked by achievement and the glamour of the
moment. It was, and will be, perhaps the supreme hour
of our lives."
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