FLYING OVER ASIA

Evening Post, Volume CXXV, Issue 128, 2 June 1938, Page 9

FLYING OVER ASIA

(By Jean Batten: Copyright.) CHAPTER IV. About 60 miles south-west of Bagdad I flew over the ancient city of Babylon. As one .looks, down on the rather pathetic;, ruins, none of them more than 30 feet in height, it is still possible to visualise from the foundations the immense scale on which the city must have been built. Being interested in archaeology and having read a great deal about these excavations, I longed to land and investigate at close quarters the gates with their beautiful ceramic work and the foundations of the Tower of Babel of Nebuchadnezzar's city. The winds of the, desert lay wreaths on the ruins of dead Babylon, and the saying that "there is no dust-cloud, in all Irak but has in it substances that were once combined in the living person of some man or woman" must be true, for this part of the wOrld is supposed to have been the cradle" of the" human race.

After a hot, dusty flight With more sand-storms. I arrived at Basra, and landed at the Royal Air Force aerodrome at Shaibah. Gliding down from the comparatively cool atmosphere to land on the sandy aerodrome was like entering a furnace, the heat was so intense.- Both the personnel of the Royal Air Force and the staff of Imperial Airways were most helpful. I felt content to leave the refuelling and engine schedule to the mechanics, confident that all my directions would be carried out satisfactorily. Flying on towards Bushire, on the Persian Gulf, next morning, I passed just south of the city of Basra. Before leaving the wide Shattal Arab River I flew over the huge oil-tanks on Abbadan Island. I had read that these great tanks have a cubic capacity of two and a half million, gallons, and that the diameter of each is 116 feet The story of Abbadan is an interesting one, Every day approximately half a million gallons of crude

olLare pumped along the pipe-line from ; Fields, a town about 150 miles away i in the Khuzistan Hills, where the oilwells are situated. There is always ' great, activity, at the big oil refineries 1 on Abbadan, ,for they never close, and i shifts work day and night. NO HUBRYI Landing on the aerodrome at Bushire ; I had. a sample of Persian officialdom. : At I wished to arrive at Jask before : sunset it was necessary to refuel and §r on again without any undue delay. : owever, after I had paid the Persian aerodrome officer' the ten rials (equivalent to 255) landing fee, produced my i bill of health from Basra, my passport and permit to fly over Persia, he declared Ihat I could not leave before the Customs officer arrived to stamp my log-book. "Where is the Customs officer?" I asked after the aeroplane had been refuelled. "He is in Bushire," the official replied. Taking the thermos flask and a packet of sandwiches from the cockpit, I sat down under the shade of the wing and had my lunch, while waiting patiently as the precious time slipped by. After a rather heated conversation the official, who wore a red fez and a long striped tunic, departed, eventually returning with his friend. The Customs officer made no excuse for his late arrival, but stamped my journey log-book, and we all parted good friends. To regain the time I had lost at Bushire I decided to fly a direct course from Lingeh to Jask, which would take me across the Gulf of Oman and over the northern tip of Oman. The sun beat down relentlessly, and I was glad that I liad discarded my heavy flyingsuit at Damascus for my white tropical suit. A little shelter was afforded by the cork helmet which had been specially made for me in London, so that I could wear it in the open cockpit wlthout,fear of its blowing off. Hours flipped 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 height*. There was scarcely any vegetation to be seen except for a few date-palms and shrubs at an 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 leng, narrow promontory where the aerodrome is located. There was a big Fokker aeroplane on the ground, i and I learned from the picturesquely- j clad fuel agent, whose name was Ma- j hommed 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. AH 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 111 with malaria, and that she was the only one who had fortunately escaped. That evening at dinner t met the jhro pilots and the passengers-** the <

BAGDAD TO RANGOON

JEAN BATTEN'S NARRATIVE

airliner, who told me that they had heard my aeroplane and wondered who could be arriving at Jask. ASTONISHING ROCK SCENERY. 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 deli-cately-shaped white rocks decorating the inner walls and appearing like exquisite lace in contrast with the sombre grey of the outer walls.

The ordinary fuel system of my Gipsy I engine was by gravity feed from the main centre-section petroltank 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 hand-pump on the right side of my cock-pit. The engine used five gallons of petrol per 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 position on the map, making up the log, pumping 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

i almost unbearable. I crossed the big river Jndus shortly after-leaving Karachi, and until I neiared 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 the 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 f iced drink in the cool clubhouse I felt inclined to stay awhile in this interesting 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. 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 towards the aerodrome of Bamraoli 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 driv- . ing small carts filled with produce. We passed a cart heavily laden with bricks which a wretched water-bullock was ! striving to pull, and further on a few blind and maimed mendicants crying \ for alms. I saw a sacred cow wanIdering unmolested along the roadway 1 by itself. It was very hot 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. 1 A DANGEROUS SECTION. ' Passing over the sacred city, of Ben- ' ares with its burning ghats I could see - hundreds of pilgrims bathing in the 1 holy water of the Ganges. Altering course at Buddh Gaya with its beauI tiful Indian temples, I flew on towards ' Calcutta. The country became notice- : ably greener and more densely cov- ' ered with vegetation the further I flew ' eastward. It was when passing over 1 ! hilly country thickly covered with • I timber, where a forced landing would Shave been almost impossible, that I -,discovered an oil leak. Watching the '[ gauge for the inevitable drop in presII sure, for I had no idea how ■jhad leaked away, I flew on, hoping I! that the engine would not fail me be- • I fore I reached the aerodrome. At last II sighted the wide Hooghly River, s'and six hours out from Allahabad i landed at Calcutta,-On- climbing from

the cockpit I discovered one side of the Moth covered with oil and less I 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 alarm clock and reluctantly donned my flying-suit. 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 Sun;darabans, a great stretch of innumerI able 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 course 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.

THE THREAT OF THE MONSOON.

While. I was directing refuelling operations some white residents drove ' up and greeted me. Among them . were Mr. Price and his daughter, who j 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 i 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. Continuing my flight southward that afternoon I noticed high cumiilus clouds banking up inland, although out to sea the sky was fairly clear. 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 climbed up to 8000 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 the rare beauty of ."the lovely temple, which, standing on a prominence, is completely covered with gold-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 dripk 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 floodlit, and looking at the clear, starlit sky it was difficult to believe there was bad weather ahead. (To be Continued.)