THE FLIGHT TO AUSTRALIA

Press, Volume LXXIV, Issue 22419, 4 June 1938, Page 21

THE FLIGHT TO AUSTRALIA

Landings at Karachi And Jodhpur BAD WEATHER OVER BURMA Miss Jean Batten’s Autobiography CHAPTER IV (Continued.) - (Published by “The Press’’ under special arrangement.) Hours slipped by as I continued my flight along the barren coast of. Persia with its peculiar rock formations, and far inland rocky mountains rose to great heights. There was scarcely any vegetation to be seen except for a few date palms and shrubs at ah occasional tiny village tucked away in a valley. Just as the sun set in a ,red glow Jask came into view, and I landed on the long, narrow promontory where the aerodrome is located. There was a big Fokker aeroplane on the i ground, and I learned from the picturesquely clad fuel agent, whose name was Mahommed Ali, that it belonged to the K.L.M. Royal Dutch Air Line. Years ago the Imperial Airways liners used to call at Jask, and there were then proper facilities, but nowadays they fly along the southern part of the Persian Gulf, although K.L.M. and Air France still use this route. Mahommed Ali helped me to refuel and to picket the aeroplane down for the night; then we drove in his ancient car to the rest-house kept by a Dutchman and his wife. All accommodation in the tiny rest-house was taken, but the wife of the proprietor arranged for me to share her room. The Dutch lady was, I thought, very plucky to live in such a hot, lonely place as Jask. She spoke a little English, and told me that every one in Jask including her husband had been ill with malaria, and that she was the only one who had fortunately escaped. That evening at dinner I met the two pilots and the passengers of the aif liner, who told me that they had heard my aeroplane' and wondered who could be arriving at Jask. I slept so soundly that night that I failed to hear the roar of the Fokker as it took off before dawn bound for Amsterdam. Continuing my flight to Karachi I was again filled with wonder at the amazing rock formations along the coast. Near Gwadar there is a great mass of rock which, because of its resemblance to a cathedral, is called the Cathedral Rock. Towering up to an immense height, the huge rock stands like a sentinel. I flew inland a short distance, and on looking down into the centre" of a group which formed a circle, I saw the most delicately shaped white rocks decorating the inner walls and appearing like exquisite lace in contrast with the sombre, grey of the outer walls. Karachi a Welcome Sight The ordinary fuel system of my Gypsy I engine was by gravity feed from ' the main centre-section petrol-tank above my head, and as the level in this tank became lower more petrol had to be pumped up from the auxiliary tanks situated in the front cockpit and the rear luggage locker. All this pumping had to be done by means of a lever-type band-pump on the right side of my cockpit. The engine used five gallons of petrol an hour, so I had to work very hard pumping the petrol through at intervals. My time was fully occupied steering a compass course, checking my positions on the map, making up the log, pumoing the petrol, and endeavouring to have an occasional sandwich or cup of coffee. Karachi was a welcome sight after the monotony of flying hour after hour along the barren Persian coast, and I landed there to stay the night. At sunrise next morning I was on my way again, crossing the Sind Desert to Jodhpur. It was beautifully cool flying in the early morning, but as the sun rose higher and shone down with increasing fierceness, the heat became almost unbearable. I crossed the big river Indus shortly after leaving Karachi, and until I neared Jodhpur there was nothing to relieve the parched and barren-looking Sind Desert except an occasional Indian village. Flying over Jodhpur, reputed to be the home of polo, I soon located vha large aerodrome near the beautiful palace of the Maharaja, who is a keen airman. The aerodrome, circular in shape, had a good surface and a runway of approximately a thousand yards. The instructor of the local flying club met me when I taxied up to the tarmac, and after a refreshing iced drink in the cool clubhouse, I felt inclined to stay awhile in this inter-est- , ing town instead of flying on to Allahabad in the midday heat. I was scheduled to arrive at Allahabad. 932 miles from Karachi, that evening, however, so I did not delay. Across Rajputana The sUn burned fiercely from a cloudless sky as I flew on across Rajputana that afternoon. Altering course at Jhansi, with its British fort standing high up on the isolated rocky crag, I flew on over India. The country took on a greener look as I neared Allahabad, where the river Jumna joins the mighty Ganges. There was a thick dust haze in the air, and the banks of the Ganges were only just visible when I flew low toward the aerodrome at Bamraoh at Allahabad. There was the usual procedure after landing, and once again the , Moth was pegged down in the open, for at that time the aerodrome boasted no hangar. I drove into Allahabad with Mr Steel, the fuel agent, who told me that the country was badly in need of rain, and everyone would be thankful when the monsoon broke. “I only hope it doesn’t commence before I cross India.” I. replied, blissfully unaware of the terrible weather I was later to encounter along the lonely Burmese coast. On our drive to the aerodrome at dawn next morning I saw many natives padding along the road to the market. Some carried unbelievably heavy loads on their backs, and others were driving small carts filled with produce. We passed a cart heavily laden with bricks which a wretched water bullock was striving to pull, and farther on a few blind and maimed mendicants crying for alms. I saw a sacred cow wandering unmolested along the roadway by itself. It was very mot and dusty even at such an early ■hour, and I was glad when I took off to feel the crisp fresh air from the slip-stream against my face. The Sacred City of Benares Passing over the sacred city of Bences with its burning ghats I could (See hundreds of pilgrims bathing in ‘the holy water of the Ganges. Altering course at Buddh Gaya with its beautiful Indian temples, I flew on toward Calcutta. The country became noticeably greener and more densely covered with vegetation the farther I mew eastward. It was when passing i°ver hilly country thickly covered with timber, where a forced landing Would have been almost impossible, that I discovered an oil leak; Watching the gauge for the inevitable drop in - pressure, for I had no idea how much oil had leaked away, I flew oh, hoping that the engine would not fail