“MY LIFE”

Otago Daily Times, Issue 23514, 31 May 1938, Page 5

“MY LIFE”

JEAN' BATTEN’S AUTOBIOGRAPHY (Published by the Otago Daily Times under special arrangement) CHAPTER 111 FLIGHT TO AUSTRALIA Although I only arrived back in England from Rome on May 6, 1934, I set off again at dawn on May 8, accompanied with the good luck that has flown with me ever since. The aeroplane which I flew was by no means a modern one; in fact, it was fifth-hand and nearly five years old I had bought it for the modest sum of £260, and after spending a considerable amount on having the engine overhauled and a number of modified and new parts fitted thought it capable of flying the 12,500-odd miles to Sydney without failing me. On looking through the log-books 1 had found that the history of the aeroplane was an extremely interesting one. The Gipsy I Moth had been purchased from the manufacturers in 1929 by a flight-lieutenant. He was stationed at Amman, in Transjordania. and flew the Moth across Holland, Germany, Austria, Hungary, Rumania, Bulgaria, Turkey, and Syria to his base. It was kept there for some time, and frequently visited Bagdad and Cyprus, and made various flights over the Holy Land. At one stage it was flown to Bagdad, where the wings were removed and transferred to an aeroplane that had crashed in Persia. It was afterwards sold and flown back to England by Flightlieutenant Atcherley, of Schneider Cup fame. In England the Moth changed hands again, being on this occasion bought by an aircraft firm, which in turn sold it to the French airwoman, Madeleine Charnaux, who did a considerable amount of flying with the machine.

Later the Moth was damaged at Marrakesh, in Morocco, and eventually found its way once again ; to England, where it was traded in to an aircraft firm as part payment for a new machine. The aeroplane was used for passenger flying and instructional purposes in Wales, where an accident befell it. When it was being reconditioned I heard of the machine, and thinking the Moth the bargain it ultimately transpired to be, bought it with the limited funds at my disposal. The cruising speed of this veteran was only 80 m.p.h. Therefore the schedule of 14 days which I had set myself was a fairly ambitious one. The route I planned to follow differed from that taken on previous flights to Australia. Instead of calling at Aleppo, in French Syria, as I had done on my flight to India, I intended to fly along the Mediterranean to the eastern end and land on the island of Cyprus, then cross the Lebanon Mountains to Damascus and the Syrian Desert to Bagdad. From there I would fly along the usual roue to Australia via Persia, India, Burma, Malay, and the Dutch East Indies. This route was about 500 miles farther than the route across Central Europe, and entailed the crossing of considerable stretches of water. 1 looked forward to visiting Cyprus, and planned to make the first direct solo flight to that historic island from England. Britain’s only possession in the Levant, the island of Cyprus, had always intrigued me, and as a child, reading of the Crusaders, I had looked at it on the map of the world, where it appears as a tiny red dot at the eastern end of the Mediterranean, and resolved to go there if ever I had the opportunity. On the take-off from Lympne my heavily laden Moth climbed gallantly above the boundary of the aerodrome and over the misty Channel toward the coast of France It was bitterly cold sitting in the open cockpit and exposed to the icy blast of the slipstream from the propeller In spite of the fact that I was wearing a leather helmet, goggles, a heavy lined flying-suit, and fur gloves, I felt the cold dreadfully South of Paris I was obliged to fly at 7000 ft owing to low clouds on the mountains, and very soon my hand gripping the control column became numb with the cold. After a cup of coffer from the thermos flask I felt better, and my spirits rose as I passed over Lyons and the sun came timidly from behind the clouds. Away to the east I could see the great snow-capped peaks of the Alps, and as I flew down the Rhone valley I began to enjoy the flight. Valence, Montehmar, and Avignon slipped beneath the wings of my Moth as I flew southward. At times I would almost lose sight of the Rhone as it made great sweeping curves, as if loath to leave any of the pasture-land ungraced by its beauty. On arrival at Marseilles six and a-half hours after leaving England I cleared customs while the machine was being refuelled, and had a welcome cup of coffee with my friend, M. Fournier, controller of the aerodrome. The weather report was fair, so within an hour I took off for Rome. My course lay over the Etoile Mountains to the French coast, thence over the Mediterranean and the island of Corsica to Italy After I had left sunny St, Tropez. on the Riviera, it seemed almost an eternity before the majestic snowy peaks of the mountains of Corsica came into view. Very soon I passed over the rugged coast and the little town of Bastia, with its white houses clustered together, then out over the sea again, Pianosa Island lay ahead, and to the north I could see the island of Elba, and to the south the island of Monte Cristo, As I neared the coast of Italy I realised it was going to be a race against the sun if I were to arrive in Rome before dark.

The sun sans, rapidly lower as I speeded toward the Italian capital The little white villages over which I passed at intervals soon became enveloped in the purple shadows, and here and there a light gleamed through the misty veil which furtively spread itself over the countryside. At last. There were the lights of Rome ahead, and as I flew over the aerodrome I was relieved to find the landing lights already on for me. It was nearly 8 p.m., local time, as 1 landed and taxied up to the tarmac, where I found my Italian friends waiting for me, I had flown a thousand miles, for I had left Brooklands before clearing customs at Lympne, and had been in the air for 13a hours, so I enjoyed the luxury of the new aerodrome hotel, and fell asleep the moment my head touched the silken softness of the pillow. The Littorio aerodrome is large and beautifully appoined, but owing to its proximity to the river Tiber there is frequently an early morning mist covering its smooth surface. The air was quite clear next morning, however, and a clear sky gave promise of a fine day The large hangars are raised above the level of the aerodrome and approached up a wide concrete ramp.

Although I had been at Littorio before, I always experienced a distinctly unpleasant sensation when I watched my aeroplane being wheeled from the hangar to the edge of the ramp. The two Italian mechanics pointed the nose of the Moth down the centre of the ramp, then gave the machine a push, whereupon it ran swiftly down the fairly steep incline and came to rest on the tarmac below. The mechanics laughed at my anxiety. “ Why don’t you sit in the machine? ” I had asked one of them. “Oh, no,” he answered, laughing, “it might run over the edge.” This method of pushing the aeroplane down the ramp was the usual procedure at Littorio, and I have seen aeroplanes of all sizes run down the steep ramp unattended, and have never heard of one running over the side. While the engine was warming up the Customs officer arrived with my journey log-book, which he had retained overnight together with my certificate of airworthiness, registration papers, my passport and carnet de passage. I accompanied him over to the control office, where I paid the landing and hangar fees, signed the declaration forms, cleared Customs for Greece, and obtained a weather report for Brindisi and Athens.

This was the usual procedure with slight variations at each stoppingplace on the way to Australia. Few people realise that flying an aeroplane to different countries is similar to sailing a ship to foreign ports, and at most places the same declaration forms and customs manifests stating the name of the captain of the vessel, passengers, crew, freight and destination, etc., are used for ship and aeroplane. The weather report on this occa sion was a very detailed one and written in Italian. After puzzling over it for a few minutes I grasped the main text: Fair with low cloud on the Apennines and the wind N.N.W. at 15-20 m.p.h. Putting the report into my pocket, I decided to read it again on the flight to Naples. All these formalities took time, and were always most distasteful so early in the morning. I silently blessed the officials, however, for arriving punctually at such an unearthly hour and completing them comparatively quickly. The Moth had been refuelled the previous night in accordance with my usual procedure, so there was only the engine to check and test before 1 took off. Bidding good-bye, I was soon in the air, speeding on my way to Naples. Rome looked very lovely in the morning light, although the streets were still deserted owing to the earliness of the hour. I recognised parts of the city with which I was familiar. On a previous visit I had spent seven delightful days as guest of Mr Reason, secretary of the Aid Attache, and with Mrs Reason had visited most of the famous beauty spots.

Many unforgettable hours had been passed marvelling at the excavations and admiring the exquisite beauty of the gardens. It was most intriguing to walk through the streets of Rome and see the high rush screens which Signor Mussolini ordered should always be placed round an area where excavations were in progress until the work was finished and the beauty discovered revealed in full. In one of the main streets I had seen two large coloured panels depicting. the maps of the Roman Empire as it was at the height of its power and as it is today. The contrast, of course, was very striking, and evidently intended to create a desire in the minds of young Italians to rebuild the Roman Empire. There were the place of St. Peter with its fountains, the Colosseum,' the Capitol, the ancient Forum, and the Arch of Constantine, under which Marshal Balbo and his companions had driven in triumph after their flight across the Atlantic.

All these sights I was able to identify again as I flew over Rome toward the Pontine Marshes. As I flew southward I glimpsed the Appian Way, leading like a slender ribbon toward Naples. The sight brought back memories of a most enjoyable drive along that ancient highway. We had driven slowly over the strong white cobblestones and stopped occasionally to gaze in wonder at the ancient monuments and tombs, which stand like sentinels on each side of the Appian Way. Some of the tombs, crumbling with age, had been built up with cement, into which had been pressed fragments of pottery and exquisitely carved broken pieces of terra-cotta and marble. It seemed to be the general rule in Rome that any pieces of carving or pottery unearthed during excavations were to be preserved in this fashion on the site of their discovery. So it was that one would come upon new blocks of flats or houses with assorted fragments discovered during the building artistically decorating an arch or the side of a wall. . - I always enjoyed the flight from Rome to Naples, and this occasion was no exception. The beauty of each successive scene, framed by the silver wings of my Moth as I looked from the cockpit, suggested a great painting, for the colours seemed too vivid and the range too great to be real Flying along the coast I would cross occasional headlands and come suddenly upon a silvery strand of beach, on which small fishing boats would be drawn up and groups of fishermen busily engaged in spreading their nets. Little villages dotted the coast, and the cluster of white houses formed a striking contrast to the sapphire blue of the Mediterranean and the great, purple, snow-capped Apennines towered away into the distance

Very soon 1 saw the grey pennant of smoke from Vesuvius in the distance, and, arriving over Naples, altered course to cross the Apennines, I had been to Naples before, too. but I never appreciated its beauty from the ground as I did from above. Seen from the air at sunset, just as the tiny white lights outline the bay and the last rays of the sun tint the snowy mountain peaks, Naples beggars description. Low cloud shrouded the highest peaks, and the early morning mist had not yet cleared from the valleys I flew high above the clouds, where only an occasional peak was to be seen piercing the white carpet beneath me Once across the mountains I met good weather and landed at the San Vito del Normani aerodrome. Brindisi, to refuel. After lunch with the charming Italian Air Force officers I took off for Athens. Leaving the Italian coast at Otranto, I set a course over the Adriatic Sea to the Island of Corfu, 75 miles away. A strong north-easterly wind whipped up the sea into a thousand white-capped waves, and I knew there was a rought flight ahead when 1 neared the mountainous coast of Greece. Visibility was good, and 20 miles away I could see the island of Corfu, and very soon the great snowcovered mountains of Greece. The magnificent grandeur of Greece impressed me deeply, and the steep mountains, rising in places sheer from the intensely blue sea, and the majestic snow-covered ranges of the interior against a background of fleecy clouds formed an unforgettable sight. Giant rocky peaks towered me as I flew along

the coast, and a small series of bumps was a sample of what was ahead.

When I rounded a rocky promontory to fly over the Gulf of Patras 1 experienced a bump of such intensity that, had I not quickly grasped a metal longeron on the floor of the cockpit, I should probably have been thrown out of the machine. For the rest of the flight to Athens I clung to the ipetal longeron with one hand and the lower part of the conrol column with the other, as the Moth was buffeted about like a feather in the boisterous wind. Passing along the Gulf of Corinth I felt that every mile over which I flew had played some important part in ancient history. There was rain ahead, and I flew through a severe squall when nearing the end of the Gulf.

At' this stage when 1 had passed through the squall, which was only of short duration, I had the remarkable experience of flying through a rainbow, and could see the lovely colours quite distinctly on the silver wings of the Moth. As I left the Gulf I flew over the Corinth Canal, which, although not very long, is cut from solid rock and was actually commenced by Nero, and over the little town of Corinth, to the inhabitants of which St. Paul wrote his epistles. ■ The wind strengthened as 1 flew northward and approached Athens, surely one of the most beautiful cities on the face of the earth. I had been flying into the teeth of the gale and averaging only about 40 m.p.h. ground speed, and at times the aeroplane seemed almost to stand still. The aerodrome of Tatoi is in a valley 14 kilometres northwest of Athens, and after circling a few times I was relieved to see two Greek mechanics running toward the centre of the landing area, where they stood waiting to catch the wing-tips of the Moth when I landed. As 1 closed the throttle to glide down to a landing the machine made scarcely any progress, and finally I was obliged to fly on to the ground. Strong arms caught the wing-tips, and the two mechanics ran alongside the Moth as I taxied into the large hangar. The wind was .so strong that later, when I walked along the tarmac to the Customs office. I was nearly blown off my feet. My friend Mr Hill was waiting to meet me, and after all Customs formalities had been completed and the engine schedule carried out, we drove into Athens. On a previous visit to Athens I hac. stayed with Mr and Mrs Hill, and once again I enjoyed their hospitality.