“MY LIFE”

Otago Daily Times, Issue 23517, 3 June 1938, Page 7

“MY LIFE”

JEAN BATTEN’S AUTOBIOGRAPHY (Published by the Otago Daily Times under special arrangement) CHAPTER IV (continued) 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 silent-footed Indian servant on the cool veranda 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 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 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. 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 newfound friends and enjoyed a hasty lunch. , .. . Continuing my flight southward that afternoon I noticed high cumulus 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 1 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 1 was flying was broken by the hundreds of tributaries which form the mouths of the Irrawaddy River. In the distance 1 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 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 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 floodlit, and looking 'at the clear, starlit sky it was difficult to believe there was bad weather ahead. The sky was overcast when 1 took off from Rangoon, and crossing the Gulf of Martaban to Moulmein I flew very low to avoid the dull, leadenIboking 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. Hoping that the weather conditions might improve I flew on, but the weather became steadily worse. Ahead of me, and completely blotting out the 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?" 1 thought, quickly checking up on the remaining petrol. I was five hours out from Rangoon, and there was not sufficient petrol left to return even to Moulmein. Vainly I flew on, searching for a break inland or out to sea so that I might fly round the storm, but the rain and clouds ahead were like great dark curtains screening all froin view. Victoria Point was another 200 miles farther on, and there was no alternative 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 that the wing-tips were not visible and the coast line was completely blotted out. It was like flying from day into night, and in the semi-dark-ness the luminous instruments glowed an eerie green from the dashboard. Very soon the open cockpit was almost flooded, and my tropical flyingsuit was 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 me, and flying lower picked up the coastline.

It was good to see something alter the strain of blind flying, but I wondered if I had ovei'shot Victoria Point in the rain. According to my watch I should be over Victoria Point in five minutes if the wind had not altei'ed 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 immediately beneath the aeroplane, and it was impossible to fly inland. Nine hours had passed since 1 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 hour and a-half of flying.

After 35 minutes of anxious cruising the curtain of rain lifted temporarily, disclosing the bases of the mountains. I located a clearing in the jungle which was the aerodrome, although it resembled a lake, and landed just as the x'ain closed in again. Great sprays of water rose on each side of the machine as it taxied to where a group of

natives were sheltering under umbrellas and grass mats. A white-clad figure waded out to meet me, and I stopped the 'plane as he neared the cockpit. A big smile and two honest blue eyes looked out at me from beneath a white topee, and a big hand grasped mine in a welcome handshake. “Better take the machine over to the dry patch,” he said, pointing to where the natives were huddled together. “ The dry patch ” was only a mere few inches deep, and I stepped out of the cockpit up to my ankles in water. Although the rain continued to teem down, we managed to picket the aeroplane and tie the canvas cover over engine and cockpit I learned that my new-found friend’s name was Russell, and that he was in charge of a rubber plantation and was the only white man in Victoria Point. Although it was still raining it was extremely hot, and my friend removed his topee, down the brim of which the rain streamed like a veil, and mopped his brow every few minutes. 1 donned my raincoat, although it was not of much use, as I had been wet through for hours. Refuelling was not possible, so we drove to Mr Russell’s home near the aerodrome. It seemed to be the only house there, and was built high up off the ground on supports, as is the custom in the East. After changing into dry clothes I felt decidedly happier, and gave my wet flying-suit to the native servant to dry, as anything damp becomes covered with mildew in a short time in that climate. The big living room was most comfortable, and I enjoyed a welcome cup of tea and the most delicious egg sandwiches 1 had ever tasted. There was a wireless station some miles away, and I learned that Mr Russell had gone to fetch the wife of the wireless operator to keen me company. While waiting for my host to return 1 looked over the great pile of English magazines which I concluded he had reserved to pass away the time during the incessant rains of the monsoon season. I walked out on to the verandah and surveyed the scene. The rain had lifted, to reveal the panorama of the thick tropical foliage. Near th; house great drops of water slid down from the glistening leaves of the tall palm-trees and flopped to the wet earth beneath with thudding precision. Wispy grey cloud still hid the tops of the mountains from view, and thin columns of steam rose here and there from the thick jungle. Mr Russell returned with the shy little dark-eyed wife of the wireless operator, and as the rain had stopped we went on to the aerodrome. Refuelling was a lengthy procedure from two-gallon tins of petrol, and owing to the state of the ground I decided to take a very light load—just sufficient with a slight margin to enable me to fly to Alor Star,, where I could refuel and proceed to Singapore. During the night I awoke to hear the rain thundering down on to the roof, and despaired of ever being able to take off from Victoria Point. Next morning, however, the rain stopped, and although the aeroplane had been out in the open and exposed to the full force of the deluge, we were able to coax the engine to life. The cockpit was flooded, but at least the upholstery was dry, as I had taken the cushions to Mr Russell's house the previous evening. The take-off wgs a mpst anxious one for me. The small aerodrome was fringed with trees, and a mountain overhung one end. The ground was very wet, and T was extremely doubtful if the aeroplane would lift in time to clear the high palm trees. Two sprays of water rose on each side of the machine as I gave the engine full throttle, and the aeroplane lifted just in time to clear the trees. Circling the aerodrome to gain height, I saw the white-clad figure of Mr Russell waving, and felt a tremendous admiration for him. I felt the same about all the white people I met at these outposts—shut off from the world, yet going on with their jobs, and incidentally keeping the flag flying. Mr Russell would probably be cut off from- the rest of the world until the rains ceased several months later. With the exception of the wireless operator and his wife and an occasional visitor to Victoria Point from the tin mines on the islands farther up the coast, he would have no company save the natives. In addition to supervising the rubber plantation, he was in charge of the aerodrome in a purely honorary capacity, and took it upon his good-natured self to attend to the needs of any aviators who landed there.

Hundreds of miles of jungle stretched ahead, and there was no sign of civilisation to be seen, except a stray native village. Over Lower Siam I met several severe squalls, but as I neared Malay the weather improved. At Alor Star I refuelled, and when taxi-ing out to take off the aeroplane became bogged in the wet ground. Stepping out of the cockpit, I waded round to the front of the machine and saw that only the tops of the wheels were visible above the mud. Everyone was most helpful, and the superintendent requisitioned a number of natives to pull the aeroplane out of the mud. The machine was eventually lifted on to a dry patch, and I took off for Singapore. Isolated storms loomed ahead, looking like giant mushrooms, but I was able to fly round them. In spite of the fact that my shoes were covered with mud and my feet wet through, I felt very happy as I speeded toward Singapore. On this section I passed oyer great rubber plantations and saw many homesteads and small towns. Roads were a welcome sight, too, and Malay seemed to have many good highways. Just as I crossed the railway bridge which connects Singapore Island with the mainland the sun sank in a golden glow, and a few minutes later I landed on the beautiful RA..F. aerodrome at Seletar.

There were a large number of R.A.P. men in spotless white tropical suits waiting on the tarmac with cameras as I taxied up to the hangars. I sat smiling from the cockpit until I hoped they had exhausted all their films, then climbed out to display my once white suit and shoes caked with Alor Star mud. Group-captain Sidney Smith, whom I had met in England, was in charge of the base, and I received a cordial invitation from him and Mrs Smith to stay at their bungalow. Very soon I was enjoying the luxury of a bath. I greatly appreciated the hospitality of my charming hosts, and felt thoroughly rested and refreshed next morning. The ’Air Force mechanics had carried out the engine schedule and I felt very grateful when I climbed into the cockpit and tested the engine, which also seemed to have gained vigour during our short stay. The aerodrome was circular in shape, with a diameter of 1000 yards, so it was a pleasure to take off from its smooth surface.

Leaving the island of Singapore, I flew over myi’iads of Httle islands forming the Rhio Archipelago on a course for Batavia. About 60 miles south-west of Singapore I crossed the equator and flew along the coast of Sumatra. The jungle looked particularly thick, and the trees so close that I doubt if sunlight ever penetrated to the eaidh beneath. As I flew low over the jungle, occasionally great flocks of brightly-coloured parrakeels would rise up from the trees, evidently startled by the roar of my engine. On the muddy banks of the great rivers I saw many crocodiles sunning themselves. Upon the aei’oplane’s approach they would invariably slither off the bank into the rivex - . down which floated debris of every description. The high mountains of Java were visible some distance away, and as I crossed the stx-aits from Sumatra to Java I thought how strange it was that of these two islands, so close together and both belonging to Holland, one should be almost completely claimed by the jungle and the other so intensely cultivated. Java has a population of 40,000,000 people, hundreds of miles of beautiful roads, large cities and a general air of prospexdty. Approaching Batavia, I flew over miles of cultivated fields with elaborate irrigation canals, and whem the capital itself came into view, was surprised at its size. The aerodrome was very large, with modern-looking administrative buildings, and I found Mr Smet. the fuel agent, there to welcome me. 1 stayed for the night at the home of Mr' and Mrs Smet. These most hospitable Dutch people soon made me feel at home. The flight from Singapore had been very hot, and I welcomed the thought of a refreshing bath. Mrs Smet laughed at my surprise on seeing the bathroom, whxctx I found later was typical of the Dutch East Indies. The floor was tiled, and along one side of the wall extended a deep stone container, filled with cold

water. Alongside were two pitchers. The procedure was to stand beside the stone container and tip water on oneself with the pitchers. Although this required a certain amount of dexterity, nevertheless it was. the next best thing to a shower and most refreshing. Mr Smet proved himself a good friend by returning to the aerodrome that night to repair the cracked ■ air-\ intake pipe on my engine.