LIFE STORY OF MISS BATTEN

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

LIFE STORY OF MISS BATTEN

(CONTINUED FROM FIRST COLUMN) me before I reached the aerodrome. At last I sighted the wide Hooghly river, and six hours out from Allahabad landed at Calcutta. On climbing from the cockpit I discovered one side of the Moth covered with oil, and less than two pints left in the engine sump. The people at Calcutta were most hospitable, and I stayed overnight at the beautiful home of Mr Matthew, superintendent of the munitions factory and an enthusiastic member of the Bengal Flying Club. By the time the oil leak had been rectified and the engine schedule and refuelling completed and arrangements made for a dawn take-off there was no time left for sightseeing. It was most refreshing, however, after a shower to change my flying-suit for a white silk frock. Tea was served by a silentfooted Indian servant on the cool verandah of my host’s home overlooking the busy Hooghly. Although I enjoyed a long sleep, that night seemed to pass in a flash. It seemed only a few minutes after I had retired that the be-turbaned Indian servant brought my breakfast murmuring that it was time for memsahib to get up. I groped through the mosquito netting for my faithful alarmclock and reluctantly donned by flyingsuit. My host was a private owner, and he flew his own machine, accompanied by two Moths flown by other members of the Bengal Flying Club, to escort me for a few miles on my way to Akyab. I felt decidedly lonely when the pilots waved good-bye and the three machines flashed back to Calcutta. My route lay over the Sundarbans, a great stretch of innumerable islands formed by the Ganges and the Brahmaputra as they break up and flow in hundreds of tributaries into the Bay of Bengal. Crossing the Bay I altered cpurse at Chittagong, and flew along the Burmese coastline to Akyab, where I landed for petrol. I was obliged to land cross-wind on the L-shaped aerodrome. While I was directing refuelling operations some white residents drove up and greeted me. Among them were Mr Price and his daughter, who told me they were from my country, and laughed at my surprise, for I had not expected to meet New Zealanders in such an isolated place. They had brought some lunch for me. and as there were no buildings on the aerodrome at that time I sat under the shade of the trees with my new-found friends and enjoyed a hasty lunch. En Route to Rangoon Continuing my flight southward that afternoon I noticed high cumulus clouds banking up inland, although out to sea the sky was fairly dear. When I arrived at the point where I had planned to cross the lofty Arakan Yoma Mountains for Rangoon it was to find them completely obscured by great banks of cloud. I climWd up to BGOO feet before attempting to cross the range, and at that height I flew high above the clouds. When I had allowed sufficient time for the Moth to cross I experienced the awful sensation of gliding down through the cloud layers to 500 feet. At this low altitude -I suddenly emerged from the hot, damp cloud to see the blurred outline of the town of Bassein. The country over which I was flying was broken by the hundreds of tributaries which form the mouths of the Irrawaddy river. In the distance I could see the golden Shwe Dagon "Pagoda, and arriving over Rangoon was able to appreciate the rare beauty of the lovely temple, which, standing on a prominence, is completely covered with golf-leaf and crowned with precious jewels. On landing I heard the disconcerting news that the monsoon was expected to break sooner than usual. That evening I spent -a delightful hour at the British Club sitting on the cool terrace sipping an iced drink and listening to the military orchestra playing on the wide lawn. Later I drove round Rangoon to see the magic beauty of the golden Shwe Dagon Pagoda flootlit, and looking at the clear, starlit sky it was difficult to believe there was' bad weather ahead. The sky was overcast when I toe* off from Rangoon, and crossing the Gulf of Martaban to Moulmein I flew very low to avoid the dull, leaden-looking nimbus clouds which gave the sky an ominous appearance. Instead of crossing the mountains to Bangkok I Intended to fly down the western side of the peninsula and refuel at Victoria Point, a British outpost and the most southerly point of Burma, Rain commenced to fall steadily as I flew over the township of Ye, the terminus of the light railway from Moulmein. Flying through several severe squalls I continued southward over the thousands of tiny islands of the Mergui Archipelago. This line extends for hundreds of miles down the coast of Burma and Lower Siam. The islands are mostly sugar-loaf in shape and covered with dark green Jungle which grows right down to the water's edge. The effect is amazing, and quite unlike anything I had previously, seen. It was not until I flew back from Australia to England and had reasonably good weather in this section that I appreciated the full beauty and glorious colour of this panorama. The peaks of most of the large islands were shrouded in wispy nimbus cloud, and the high mountain ranges inland were completely covered. Turbulent Weather Encountered Hoping that the weather conditions might improve I flew on. but the weather became steadily worse. Ahead of me, and completely blotting out the I horizon, was a great bank of dark cloud, stretching like a wall far out to sea and blending with the big banks of treacherous-looking cloud covering the mountains inland. The air became rough and turbulent I knew I was entering an intensely bad storm area. [“Should I go back to Rangoon?" I [thought quickly checking up on the remaining petrol. I was five hoars out from Rangoon, and there was not sufficient petrol left to return even to Moulmein. Vainly I flew on. search- | ing for a break inland or out to sea so I that I might fly round the storm, but [the rain and clouds ahead were like 1 great dark curtains screening all from | view. Victoria Point was another 200 : miles farther on. and there was no ali ternative but to fly through the storm, hoping that it would not extend over a very wide area. The rain thundered down on to the wings of my aeroplane like millions of !tiny pellets, and visibility was so bad j that the wing-tips were not visible and 1 the coast-line was completely' blotted lout. It was like flying from day into I night, and in the semi-darkness the luminous instruments glowed an eerie ! green from the dashboard. Very soon the open cockpit was almost flooded, and my tropical flying-suit wet through. The rain was blinding, and it was distinctly unpleasant flying blind at such a low altitude. The engine gave an occasional splutter, then regained its steady roar, and I marvelled how it kept going in the deluge. Through a break I suddenly saw the dark blur of the jungle beneath roe. and flying lower picked up the coastline. It was good to see something after the strain of blind flying, but I wondered if I had overshot Victoria Point in the rain. According to my watch I should be over Victoria Point in five minutes if the wind had not altered since I had last checked my position. Only the dark, blurred line of the jungle and the giant white rollers breaking on the shore were visible im- ! mediately beneath the aeroplane, and it was* impossible to fly inland. Nine hours had passed since I had left Rangoon, so I decided to fly up and down that section of the coast In the hope that the rain would clear sufficiently for me to see inland. Five minutes up and five back; there was sufficient petrol left for one and a half hours’ flying. (To be continued! A