I Flew For MMA

I FLEW FOR MMA

An Airline Pilot's Life

By

R.C. ADKINS

COPYRIGHT

ISBN 0 646 29966 2 (Hardback)

ISBN 0 646 29965 4 (Paperback)

Copyright© 1996

R.C. Adkins

First Published November 1996

Revised Printing September 1998

Published as an ebook June 2020

This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission of the author.

This ebook is not copy-protected, to allow you to manage your book on your devices as you see fit. Please do not distribute this book.

This is ebook edition 1.0

DISCLAIMER

While every care has been exercised to present accurate data throughout the context of this book, no responsibility is implied or accepted for any inaccuracies which may occur through the verbatim reproduction of quotations, either verbal or written, of contributions. Every possible attempt has been made to contact everyone where copyright could be applicable.

The Author

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Alan Powell - who sparked my enthusiasm at The Twins 21st birthday party on June 30th, 1991, and who read my book and provided valuable advice and corrections.

Ailsa Dodds (nee Turner) - Many colour slides, B/W photos and MMA Magazines and Booklets. She even kept a Flying Log Book.

Beverley Davis - (nee Doherty) - Many colour slides and photos.

Pamela Fraser - (nee Hardwick) - Colour slides and photos.

George Meadows - Slides, photos and reminiscences.

Ray Hames - Photos, Route Orders, Slipstreams.

Julien Harris, DCA Grader Driver - photos and story.

Ern Flanders - Colour slides and superb B/W photos.

Brian Shields - for excellence in Cartography & photos.

Phil McCulloch - Melville Island.

Jean McDonald - who read my book and provided valuable advice and corrections.

Brian Muhling - Negatives from Film.

Jack Murray - who read my book and provided valuable advice and corrections.

John Pierce - Photos, Rosters, Schedules.

Gwyn Williams - Photos, Slipstream Magazines & Memorabilia.

George Wood - Photos from Derby, 1962.

Our Son, Alwyn - for his Computer and Printer expertise.

And the many others who provided information, facts and photos.

Table of Contents

I FLEW FOR MMA

COPYRIGHT

DISCLAIMER

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

FOREWORD

PREFACE

PART ONE - DC-3 FIRST OFFICER

Douglas DC-3 (Dakota) Information

1955

Overview

First Trip

Line Pilot

The Bookwork

Loading

Enroute

Port Hedland

Darwin

Uniform

Enroute Weather

Radio

Other Runs

The Wet and the Dry

Radio Aids

Merger

Night Flights

Afternoon Runs

Kimberley Station Runs

Derby-Darwin Station Run

1956-57

Trials and Tribulations

Changing Times

Aerial Surveys

Live Cargo

The Southern Run

The Carnarvon Run

Rest and Relaxation

The Douglas DC-3

DCA and Company Exams

Breakfast

The Hostesses

Variations

Single-Engined Time

1957-1959

Air Beef

Outback Navigation

The Butchers

Instrument Flying

An Embarrassing Practice

Birds

PICTURES GROUP 1

Long Hauls

The Link Trainer

Heavy Hours

Food Fright

The Home Front

Pilots

More Runs And Pilots

Asymmetric Flight

PART TWO - F.27 FIRST OFFICER

Fokker F.27 Friendship Information

1959-1960

On Course

Medicals

TAA Engineering School

Flying in Friendship

The New Era

Official Approval

Various

Stranger in the Family

Derby Hostel

The Worrisome Wet

Personalities

1961-1964

Heavy Duty

Part Time Widows

Fun on the Run

Liberty of the Subject

Holding

Rough Rides

Nav Computers

New Uniform

Route Flying

Hard Decision

Growth and Changes

Strike

Under Training

Engine Change in the Outback

Despair

Euphoria

PART THREE - DC-3 CAPTAIN

1964

General

Renewal Time

Medicals

Moment of Truth

Life on the Route

Tourist Flights

Other Bloodings

Cat's Tale

1965-1966

Northern Service

Off to Darwin

The Missions

Arnhem Land

Tropical Weather

Settling In

DC-3 Mission Run

PICTURES GROUP 2

Darwin Miscellany

Strip Maintainers

Tourism Ticklers

Down the Track

The DC-4

More Promotion

PART FOUR - F.27 FRIENDSHIP CAPTAIN

1966-1971

Return to the Sweet Ship

F.27 Captain

Instant Captains

Alex Whitham

Industry in the North

Life on the Route

Voice Recorders

Long Legs

F.27 Baptism of Fire

The Engineers

Back to Normal

In Trouble

Weather

Various

A Mate's Blooding

Disaster

Technical Times

New Accommodation

Fleet Increase

More Hostesses

General

Tragedy & Fate

End of an Era

Pain and Pleasure

Passenger Types

Troubles Down the Back

The Aeroplane

Moon Shot

Pilot Problems

Jets

Hard At Work

DC-3 Finale

Accommodation Woes

Miscellany

PART FIVE - F.28 FELLOWSHIP CAPTAIN

Fokker F.28 Fellowship Information

1971-1975

Jets

The Aeroplane

Fitzroy Crossing

Weather Wise

Miscellany

Pilots in Control

A Dangerous Dalliance

More Miscellany

Delightful Darwin

Patients

Leave and Disappointments

Long Service Leave

Back to Work

Long Legs Again

Window Gazing

Aerobatics

Fighter Pilot at Last!

Down to Earth

Ditching

Sublime to Superlative

Unwanted Passengers

Trials of an Airline Pilot

Various

The Death of DCA

Hijacks and Bomb Hoaxes

The Regulars

Tracy

Life Goes On

Overseas Again

Back to Reality

1976-1980

Hot Heads

Departures

In-flight Meals

The Fascination of Flight

En Route Miscellany

PICTURES GROUP 3

Thunderstorms

Water Waste

Unattractive Prospect

Trip to Persia

Various

Accountants and Integration

Life Goes On

Distance Measuring Equipment

DC-9 Operations

Freighter Facts

Bomber Command

A Look at the Army

Various

Leave

Overseas at last!

Family Reunion

Alwyn's Accident

On The Route

Renewals Pressure

Joyride

Family Affairs

Maps, Spinning, RAAF and Civil

Miscellany

Drunks on Board

Life Goes On

We Visit the Boys

Horrie Goes

Delights On Board

Syd Retires

The Radio Men

General Industrial History

1981-1985

Training Captain

Funeral Flights

Personality

Flight Attendant Furore

Ferry Flight

The End of MMA

Neil Joins the SAS

Life on the Route

Retirement With Disillusionment

More Pioneers Depart

New Route

Father Jack Departs

Fresh From Fokker

The Growth Continues

Omega

Yulara

The Golden Handshake

American Adventure

Miscellany

Train Buff

Overseas

Ferry Flight

European Leave

Another Ferry Trip

Back To Normal

Cancer Again

A Hard Night's Work

Super Soundings

Another Long Run

First Class Accommodation

DC-3s Never Die

Sir Norman

1986

Weather Pressures

Last Test

Argyle To Perth

A Tiger of a Future

Finale

Last Flight Pictures

POSTSCRIPT-WITTENOOM F.27 FORCED LANDING

APPENDICES

MMA Ports of Call

Names On Aircraft

Bibliography

Glossary

Conversions

People mentioned in the Book

PICTURES LISTING

FOREWORD

By Captain JACK MURRAY

Check & Training Captain, Flight Superintendent

and Manager Flight Operations

MMA 1949-1982

The quintessential elements of a book are surely the storyline, the principal character(s) and the location.

An Autobiography certainly takes care of the second essential and generally helps to fix the third. The ability however to weave the story depends largely on a detailed recording of time, event and placement.

Reg Adkins has managed to take care of these factors by the keeping of a detailed listing both written and taped. His ability in these areas has resulted in a pleasant reading that I am sure will appeal to many who for various reasons have an enquiry, not only into the subject of aviation, but of greater interest in the development of Western Australia and perhaps the Northern Territory within the past Fifty years.

There have been a number of books written with regard to Australian aviation. Many of these I have read, but few, if any may I say, have detailed the human side of this modern technology that has so influenced our way of life since 1945.

Whilst the storyline is developed around the major part of the Author's life, his ability to illustrate the highs and lows, the joys and might I say the odd despair, that we all encounter in some form or other on life's journey, is well told and of special interest is his acknowledgment that whilst desire, courage and initiative are all important in one's achievements it is seldom a solo effort.

In giving special attention to the love, loyalty and encouragement of his partner in life, his wife Shirley, herself an accomplished pilot, the author reminds us that one is not a temple unto oneself.

Of particular interest I found the excursions into the environmental medium in which an aeroplane operates a delight. The author's descriptive passages are first class and embody that which all who fly, whether professionally or as a means of commuting, or for sheer pleasure, have or will experience in varying degrees, depending on the total time of exposure.

Jack Murray

Pilot 1941-1982

PREFACE

For as long as I can remember, I always wanted to be a pilot. Living in Longroyd Street, Mt. Lawley, a suburb of Perth W.A. in the Thirties, I had a model aeroplane that Mum bought at Woolworths for about 2/6 (25c). It was a gold coloured DC-2, and I built a little aerodrome with a hangar and windsock in the sand out in the back yard.

My boyhood love affair with real aeroplanes began around 1937 when, as a young lad, I would ride my Armstrong back pedal 26" roadster out to Maylands Aerodrome and climb on the white rail fence to greet the arriving Eastern States mail plane. In those days the pilot would quite often fly on over Perth and the beaches to give the passengers a look at the Indian Ocean, and when the aeroplane flew over our place, going West, we would hop on our bikes and pedal like mad for the 3.5 mile ride to Maylands to watch the landing. You had to be there for the landing - if not, you weren't really keen!

The massive DC-2 Bungana taxied in across the grass, gleaming silver in the afternoon sun, the wing tip sweeping just past our noses and Captain Harry Baker in the cockpit - the famous Cannonball Baker from his motor cycle racing days at the Claremont Speedway - uniform cap on and white-shirted elbow resting casually and competently on the window sill, would sometimes give us a wave and I mused above the rumble of the engines, What magic. If only I could do that. Eleven years later I would learn to fly there!

Then, in my teens, around 1940, we moved to the corner of Field and Walcott Streets, Mt. Lawley. They were the days of little traffic, when sounds carried quite a long way and we often heard the lions roaring in South Perth Zoo. Early in the morning we could hear the high pitched howl of the MMA twin engined Lockheed Electras taking off from Maylands Aerodrome. All I knew about it then was There goes the Nor'Wester.

All through my school years and working until I was eighteen, I had aeroplane pictures all over my bedroom walls and models hanging from the ceiling. With WW2 in full swing I joined the Air Training Corps in 1943, was mad keen on anything to do with aviation, and wanted to be a Spitfire pilot. By the time I turned eighteen in October 1944 aircrew training was almost at an end but like everybody else of like mind, I joined the RAAF anyway, five days after my birthday, and served as an Armourer for over 4 years.

They were years of high adventure for a young man, criss-crossing Australia by train and plane, living in a disciplined environment with all found, learning skills and enjoying free travel on postings to distant parts of Australia only dreamt of in school - even two week boat trips to Japan where I served with the British Commonwealth Occupation Force (BCOF) and 77 Squadron in 1947-48. I had by now worked on Kittyhawks, Hudsons, Beauforts and Mustangs, necessarily sitting in the cockpits and turrets testing the armaments, and this increased my yearnings to be the pilot of these powerful beasts.

I came home on leave in mid 1948, aged 21, to find all my mates drifted away and by chance seeing an Ad in the Daily News, learned to fly with the Royal Aero Club at Maylands, on Tiger Moths, qualifying for a Private Pilot Licence with 65 hours in twenty eight straight days. I flew back to Japan from Mascot, NSW, on a Qantas Lancastrian, gazing in awe at the crew, whilst hugging my brand new pilot's licence in my tunic. Returning home six months later, I took my discharge from the Air Force and started flying towards a Commercial Licence.

I got stuck into the study (whilst flying furiously) passed all the subjects, then did an Instructor Rating at which stage the Aero Club employed me, and I was now getting paid to fly! I did 530 hours instructing on Tiger Moths in 1950-51, and was amongst the first of the post war pilots accepted by Australian National Airways, in Melbourne. By this time the source of RAAF pilots had dried up - they'd gone on to other things - and the Airlines were taking pilots with the bare 165 hours of a Commercial Licence.

I flew with ANA from June 1951 until January 1953, as a First Officer on Douglas DC-3s and Bristol 170 Freighters, and was in heaven, flying airliners and being paid handsomely. The ANA Pay Scales in 1951 were:- Probation £648 ($1298)p.a. After 3 months it rose to £748 ($1496) and on appointment to F/O on the DC-3, £848 ($1696).

We were Radio operators (not co-pilots) on the Bristols, a long box like aeroplane, with big clamshell nose-opening doors to swallow the freight loads it carried. All the co-pilot controls were removed to increase the uplift so we just sat there, in that huge cockpit, with no control column. The Captain was miles away over on the left and I often wondered if I'd be able to scramble across the huge console in time, if he had a heart attack.

Out over Bass Strait in those aeroplanes, to Launceston and Hobart in the middle of the night and winter time, there were miles and miles of cold water and stormy weather to negotiate and we just banged away on the key in the dark, sending our position reports in Morse Code. Coming back from Tassie, our check point was a VAR beacon at Wonthaggi. Once you picked up Wonthaggi, were tracking on the A's and N's and went over the top, you knew you'd made landfall and were back safe and sound over dry land again and didn't have far to go to Essendon and home.

Harry Baker flew with ANA from 1936-1955 so he was there when I joined in 1951. He would have been flying the DC-4s by then, but I don't remember ever meeting the man who probably set me off on my career.

For a time in 1952 I was based in Adelaide and often crewed the DC-3 service to Perth. Our route was Adelaide-Perth calling at Ceduna, Forrest and Kalgoorlie for 10hr 40min flight time in the log book and around a thirteen hour duty day. We arrived at Guildford Airport about 1730, after the last two hours flying straight into the blinding setting sun, and left again the next morning at 0700 for Adelaide via the same route, flying into the same blinding rising sun. We stayed at the ANA Crew Hostel Wedderburn, (still standing today) just out of the Airport on Great Eastern Highway opposite the corner with Fauntleroy Avenue.

I was married in June 1952 to Shirley Lee of Scarborough and we lived in Melbourne for six months until I made the disastrous decision to resign from ANA and go to England. I had made the big time from the Aero Club and spent eighteen months as a co-pilot but wasn't satisfied - should have been a Captain by now, I reckoned - so in January 1953 took my new wife to England (where Aviation was booming) for fame and fortune. Unfortunately I fell flat on my face and was, whilst living in abject poverty over the next two years, to learn a very hard lesson about the green grass over the next hill.

I had to sit the exams for Air Legislation and Northern Hemisphere Meteorology to validate my Australian licence, had an operation for Appendicitis straight after the exams and missed out on the 1953 year's hirings as a result. I applied to BOAC and was rejected out of hand as a colonial beacon crawler, so spent the year washing cars and polishing the Showroom's brass entrance step (on my hands and knees) every day. In the middle of an English winter, flat broke and freezing cold, I cursed myself as a stupid fool for throwing up a good job as an airline pilot in Australia for my now ignominious position.

Shirley got a job straight away with the Society of British Aircraft Constructors and supported me during our two years there. Of her weekly pay of £6/10/0, £3 went on rent for a bed-sitting room with one gas ring, and she used her Lunch Vouchers of 2/6 a day to buy sausages for our meals. In the Springtime, when the rich sweet strawberries were at their cheapest, we couldn't afford the 2 shillings (20 cents) to buy a bagful.

About the same time a year later, I needed another operation for adhesions caused by the first one, missing out again on the year's hirings, then applied for and was accepted for pilot training with the RAF, but declined enlistment because of the prospect of leaving Shirley for a life in the barracks. I also developed sinus problems which eventually led to a third operation. During July/August I finally got a flying job and did 74 hours joy-riding a Fox Moth off the beach at Southport, Lancashire but lost it when the owner pranged one of the only two aircraft in the fleet. So I spent the rest of 1954 packing parcels in Libertys Store in Regent St. and writing to ANA, TAA and Airlines of W.A. Ltd, but got no replies.

After two years of desperation we had scraped up one boat fare and decided that I should come home in order to get a quick Crop Dusting job in order to earn enough for Shirley's fare. In the meantime we had been visited by my concerned parents (obviously come to see what was happening to their little darling) and Dad had since departed for home.

I returned to Australia by ship in January 1955, (airfares were far too expensive then), leaving Shirl in England with my sick mother, but Mum died two weeks later while I was enroute at Port Said. My Dad paying for Shirl to finalise that terrible situation and come home, and Shirley's Dad taking me on as a house painter took the immediate threat of the dangerous game of crop dusting away, so I concentrated on getting back into Airlines. I applied again to ANA and TAA and had an interview with one of them but they were a bit tardy with invitations and didn't really seem to be interested.

Eventually my Father (I would imagine) knowing everybody in the business world, took pity on me and had a word to Cyril Gare, the Secretary of MMA, and they wrote offering me a position on the flying staff. I thought MMA - who are they? I don't really know anything about MMA and I want to join ANA or TAA. The idea of a job with MacRobertson Miller Aviation was treated scornfully - a little old airline like that - when I'd been in the big time in ANA in the East and was frantic to get back there.

MMA had to send me another letter (after three weeks), asking me to make up my mind and because beggars can't be choosers, I took the job in desperation. I didn't know it then, but I had made a sensible decision for a change and I stayed with them for over thirty one years. After all our misfortunes brought on by my silly pipe dreams, it was the best thing that ever happened. We ended up living in our home state, with our kids born here and me flying great aircraft with a great Company.

It was just good luck. Everything that happens is really by chance, whether you plan it or not, but I suppose there must be a bit of fate in it somewhere as well.

PART ONE - DC-3 FIRST OFFICER

Douglas DC-3 (Dakota) Information

Dimensions: Span 95ft (29m), Length 64ft 5½in (19.7m), Height 16ft 11in (5.2m)

Wing area 987sq ft (91.7 m²)

1955

Overview

I began my service with MacRobertson Miller Aviation Company on April 18th 1955. I started off by doing Link Trainer practice on the 22nd and the 23rd - some 8 hours flying in the Trainer to get back my co-ordination and blind flying skills - and was then revalidated on the Douglas DC-3 VH-MMF, doing circuits and landings and single engined emergencies practice before being cleared to the line, on a salary of £885. As I had been on the bones of my backside for the last two years, I was now on a King's ransom!

In 1955 MMA had five DC-3Cs - MMA, MMF, MMK, MML with MMM joining in April with me. The first four, having the large cargo door, were basically C-47s but were always called DC-3s. Cyril Kleinig was General Manager, Ken Cohen Operations Manager, Alex Whitham Chief Pilot, Cyril Gare Secretary, whilst Horrie Miller, the Miller in the Company name MMA, lived in Broome with his family. Frank Colquhoun was our Chief Engineer and what a marvellous job he and his team did on those aeroplanes. We had the five best DC-3s in Australia - in the world - all perfectly maintained and very reliable. Our DC-3s were all over bare metal skinned and always kept highly polished - this being a regular duty while the aeroplane was in the hangar at night. Cyril Kleinig reckoned the cleaner the aeroplane was the less would be the skin friction, so the faster it would fly, thereby saving air time and therefore, money. Corrosion was prevented and as painting would add some 80lb to the aircraft's weight, another economic penalty was avoided. So the cleaners polished away diligently - on a progressive basis - when the aeroplane was home, using aluminium powder and white spirit. After about six weeks the whole surface was polished again with Duraglit wadding which the Company bought in 5lb tins. We crews all carried the same product in our kit, to polish our uniform brass, albeit in a much smaller tin. On one occasion in late 1954, when Syd Goddard, Brian Bayly and Phil Dickson took the Freighter, MML, over East on a Charter, the engineers in Adelaide and Melbourne were surprised at the high polish on the skin and the general cleanliness, both inside and out, of the aeroplane.

The airline operated from the home port of Perth, north along the coast of W.A. to Port Hedland and the pastoral areas of the Pilbara, up to the beef areas of Derby (always pronounced Durby) and Wyndham, on to Darwin in the Northern Territory and out into Arnhem Land and the Gulf of Carpentaria, through all the Kimberley Station country via Fitzroy Crossing and Halls Creek and down through Wittenoom Gorge and Meekatharra and their Pilbara and Murchison Stations. Over the ensuing years MMA's very extensive route structure would have us calling at 135 ports on a regular basis and another 50 On Request. An engine change required at, say, Groote Eylandt involved a big logistical exercise with all the necessary gear located in Perth.

As big as India, half the size of Europe, occupying one third of Australia and with an area of one million square miles, Western Australia was a big place, as I was about to find out. The North is virtually all that land above the 26th parallel which runs through WA just below Carnarvon - a town closer to the equator than Brisbane. Split into the North-West and the Kimberley, the area occupies over half of this big State's total area.

In 1955, seeing the North-West of Australia for the first time was a bit of a shock to the system for me. I'd been across Australia by train and plane and to Japan with the BCOF for a year and a half during my four and a half years with the RAAF, from 1944 to 1949. I'd flown for ANA, up and down the East Coast from Brisbane to Hobart and from Melbourne and Adelaide to Perth many times during my year and a half with them, and lived and worked in England for two years, but I'd never been north of North Perth. I didn't know what to expect of Port Hedland, but soon found out.

First Trip

My first flight with MMA began on May 4th with a drive to Guildford Aerodrome at 0430 in our little 1940 Ford Prefect. It was the regular run up the coast, and I was supernumerary pilot, standing between the crew, Captain Col Whyte and First Officer Don Williamson (flying VH-MMK), to observe and learn the routine. This was a normal day's work for them, with an 0345 wake up, Sign On at 0445 and an 0545 take off. Given a 20 minute stop at each port and 7 hours 40 minutes flying time, plus tie down procedures and sign off at destination, this promised a normal hard working day of nearly 11 hours. After flying Perth-Geraldton-Carnarvon-Learmonth-Onslow-Roebourne-Port Hedland, refuelling, offloading, learning the paper work, with me enduring all that time standing in the gangway, doing no flying, we arrived at around 1530 at the tiny outpost of Port Hedland, tied the aeroplane down and headed for the town.

Hedland was a small place then, with the usual two Pubs, Post Office, Elders Store, Police Station, an odd tiny shop and housing, all tin and asbestos. We checked into the Esplanade Hotel which to me was something akin to the stone age after two years in London. It was a two storey hotel close to the harbour with the bars, kitchen and dining room on the ground floor and the accommodation above. I followed the pilots along like a lost sheep, up the stairs and Col Whyte, doing his duty for the new chum, showed me along the passage and into a big bare room proclaiming, Here we are. The room had double doors on two sides and there weren't any cupboards, shelves or dressing tables - it was just a room with cases strewn about all over the floor. He said Dump your case where you can find a spot and hang your clothes where you can find a nail, and sure enough the only thing there was to hang your uniform on was a nail banged into the wall. I must have looked pretty stunned and bewildered because he said Your bed's outside and we stepped out on to the verandah, which looked out on to the main street and over Elders Store, and on this long, wooden, tin roofed verandah were a number of cyclone beds. I said lamely, Which one and he laughed, Any one, grab the best one you can find before someone else gets it. Don Williamson laughed like a drain at my apparent disbelief but took over and showed me the rest of the ropes.

And that was my introduction to flying and accommodation in the rugged North-West. The whole day had been a real surprise and I didn't know what had hit me.

Line Pilot

My very first crew flight departed Perth at 0430 on May 8th with Dave Campbell on a flight to Meekatharra and Port Hedland. The second departed Perth at 0050 on May 14th for Port Hedland with Brian Bayly via Geraldton-Carnarvon-Learmonth-Onslow and Roebourne, so I was thrown in off the deep end right from the start. The MMA terminal at Guildford was located at the southern end of what is now the Domestic Terminal. It was in the area which later became the DCA Hangar, right beside the present Security Gate. All MMA flights left and arrived there, the aircraft parked right outside the door. It had a waiting room, with what would now be called Art Deco chairs, and a traffic counter behind which the two pilots and the hostess would mill around trying to find out what the load was like and who was travelling, much to the annoyance of the Traffic Officer. He had no computer system then and all bookings were held on individually hand written cards which had to be thumbed through as passengers arrived to check in.

A typical day's flight began by signing on in the Crew Room and collecting your personal envelope. This contained all information pertinent to the day's flight, including various Company notices to pilots, general information and a copy of Route Orders, which was to be adhered to, with no variations. This official document (for each and every flight), listed the date, aeroplane (so you knew which one to get into), crew (so you knew who you would be with for the next few days), with their individual weights, ports of call, timetable and details of expected loads. To avoid confusion, all times operated on the 24 hour clock, and, as with the military, there was no 0000hrs or 2400hrs. A flight either left at 2359 or 0001hrs.

The F/O's duty after signing on was to proceed to the aircraft and check out all the radios for serviceability for the long day's work. In turn, the VHF Transceiver for Tower communication and the Bendix HF TA-2J Transmitter, RA-1B Receiver and the Morse key for Aeradio were worked, followed by the VAR and later DME. Normally you couldn't get Perth on HF, being too close, so we'd quite often work Meekatharra or Hedland and even places like Rockhampton, from the tarmac at Perth. Then back to the office to collate all the load figures, adding up the total weight of the aeroplane for take off. When it was time to board, the passengers just walked through the front door and across the tarmac, hail or shine, and queued up at the foot of the stairs. If it was pouring with rain, they would curse those who were already on, standing in the aisles casually taking off their overcoats and stowing their parcels.

The Captain was in his seat ready to start, whilst the First Officer stood to attention at the foot of the steps counting heads as the passengers went through the door - this being checked independently by the Hostess. There had been occasions when passengers had wandered off or gone to the toilet for an extended stay and had been left behind, with the resultant outcry. Also, the odd itinerant had been known to stroll on with the legitimate fare payers and enjoy free transport to his next port of call, so counting heads was most important.

When all had boarded, and if it was the first flight of the day, the F/O climbed the stairs carrying the five big wooden control locks which had restrained the control surfaces during the overnight parking, together with the two undercarriage locking pins which mechanically secured the undercarriage in event of hydraulic failure, and the pitot cover which deterred wasps, other insects and water from entering the thin pipes that carried the air flow which told you what speed the aeroplane was doing through the air. These three items had long red tell-tale strips on them to flap around in the wind and catch your attention to ensure they were removed before flight. The two U/C flags in particular were invariably covered in oil, being under the engines and didn't help your dry cleaning bills if brushed against your uniform.

Closing the passenger door with whatever other hand he had available, he made his way up the narrow aisle with all this gear, weighing nearly 11lb (5kg), in his hands and the Tin Can under his arm, trying not to upset any of the 28 customers sitting in the 7 rows of seats too much by banging or clipping them with all his paraphernalia. Finally in the cockpit area, he had to stow the five locks in the starboard locker, hang the others on their special hook on the hydraulic panel where they were visible to the Captain over his right shoulder, stow the Tin Can in its special holder from which it could not eject in turbulence and take on the attributes of a lethal missile, stow his cap in a relatively clean spot and fall into the right hand seat intoning the ritual phrase, All control locks off and stowed, undercarriage pins out, pitot cover removed, rear door and locker closed.

Then it was time to read the check list for starting engines, pre-take off and so on, through the phases of the flight. Until recent years these had always been done from memory, but many an accident had been attributed to missing a vital item and now our aeroplanes were fitted with a roller blind check list, mounted on the rear of the throttle pedestal. The F/O would call the checks, slowly winding the knob on as the Captain responded, thereby ensuring that all vital actions were completed before take off.

The maximum take off weight was 26,200lb. It had been brought down quite a bit from wartime standards, which were by now far removed from civil passenger flying. The Royal New Zealand Air Force during the war operated their C-47s at 32,000lb (15,545kg). That was alright as long as both engines kept going, but as soon as one engine stopped they'd fall out of the sky, so for safety's sake, and by Directive of the AAPA in the middle 1950s, the weight was limited to 26,200lb (11,909kg). There was some resistance to this by the Company, with pilots like Peter King and Col Chapman being threatened with the sack by Cyril Kleinig for refusing to fly at the higher weights, but reason prevailed and everybody was happy that the mighty Three would perform reasonably at that weight.

Around this time flashing navigation lights and beacons were introduced. Previously, all lights displayed were steady, but increasing night traffic required other aircraft being seen early enough to be able to steer clear. As well as the red and green wing and white tail lights, red flashing beacons were added on the top and bottom of the fuselage.

As we taxied out the Hostess would hand out papers and magazines and offer the obligatory Barley Sugar lollies (MacRobertsons of course) for relief of earache caused by the change in air pressure as we ascended. Some consternation was caused by a passenger who put the rolled up sweets in his ears for Take Off and dutifully replaced them on subsequent occasions. The Hostie was too embarrassed to tell him he was supposed to suck them instead.

A normal day's run up the coast was Perth-Geraldton-Carnarvon-Onslow-Mardie-Roebourne and Port Hedland - a day's work just flying the aeroplane - but after departure from Perth, in a spruce khaki uniform with shiny buttons and buckles, the paperwork had to be tamed. On the way from Perth to Geraldton our first check point was Karakin Lakes, in the Lancelin area, 60nm from Perth, (if we were going to Mount Magnet it was New Norcia) and by that time we were well into the bookwork.

Carrying 28 passengers in large comfortable chairs, and one Hostess to look after them, supplying pillows, blankets, hot beverages, papers and cigarettes, the DC-3 was reasonably comfortable for a long trip. The toilet (complete with small wash basin), was at the rear beside the buffet and just big enough to turn round in. It had a small window about 6x4in (15x10cm) in the roof which looked up at about 70 degrees. All you could see was blue sky or cloud, but it cut down the feeling of claustrophobia in such a confined space. With luggage lockers full and both main tanks holding 336 gallons (1529lt), the mighty Three would plough along all day and night.

The Captain enjoyed life, sitting in the left hand seat like God - flying the aeroplane - while the F/O, the poor F/O, had his head down, with his pencil going like a shuttle trying to add up all the figures to make sure they balanced - so that he could take the offload from the total load with which we left Perth - and be ready to collate the onload handed to us by the Agent when we got to Geraldton. He then had to make up the bookwork and get the load sheet ready for the departure for Carnarvon because, in 1955 through to the early Sixties, the pilots did the physical handling of the offloading and the onloading - as well as the refuelling.

The Bookwork

The First Officer did all the bookwork, which is never touched by them now. Load sheets, manifests, cargo lists, passenger lists and the actual compiling of the load sheet was all carried out with the assistance of the afore mentioned Tin Can. Weighing 3lb (1.4kg), it was a big metal book cover about a foot and a half long by nine or ten inches wide and two or three inches deep. It held all the paperwork pertaining to the flight under springloaded clips. All the passenger lists, cargo manifests, air mail waybills and load sheet forms had to be collated in this can to calculate the weight and centre of gravity of the aeroplane for each take off and landing.

The Airmails were our personal responsibility and had to be signed for by the F/O. Being the Royal Mail, for which the Company received a subsidy, it was vital they be handled correctly and woe betide the hapless F/O who lost a bag of mail along the track. It was easy to do, with all the myriad pieces handled in a day and all the paper collating that went on in the air, so it was a constant test of discipline to collate them successfully. Picking up and setting down bags of mail for all ports passed through and going to, there were quite a few bags that could be mishandled or mislaid and for this reason they were usually carried in the smaller Port locker where they could be kept in some semblance of order. Once a few irate residents of small towns had missed their expected mail, which wouldn't be back until next week, and you had received the obligatory rocket from Head Office you soon learned to get it right!

Another vital part of the bookwork was the Gubbins Bag, so called from a Services term for all the bits and pieces of stuff needed for the job. This was a leather satchel with about a dozen pockets, looking something like a squeeze box concertina, and about a foot wide. Each pocket corresponded to the next port of call and into this went all Company correspondence, passenger lists, manifests, waybills and whatever else was pertinent to that port. This was loaded just before departure and carried in the small area by the nose locker door. It was the first thing we went for when we took over, up the track, digesting all the latest bumph in the individual crew envelopes in the front pocket.

The Captain's duty was to keep the Trip Record up to date. A hangover from the Journey Log Book of old maritime days, it was a record of each aeroplane's daily flying. Much slimmer than the F/O's Tin Can, it had its own metal cover to protect the precious statistics inside. It also was stowed in its holder behind the F/O. Starting with the day's departure point, e.g. Perth, time of start up, take off, landing and stop was logged, thereby showing time spent taxying and time in the air along with crew names and Company numbers and Take Off weight. Strict calculations were followed before and after refuelling, for maintaining a check on fuel and oil consumption - ensuring the correct amount was carried for the next leg - and for performance monitoring and accounting procedures. Many are the aircraft that have had all engines stop in flight because someone forgot to put on enough fuel to keep them running until the next landing.

These details were logged religiously for every stage, and with an aeroplane going up the coast to Darwin and back something like 20 ports would be entered. This mass of information was forwarded to Head Office on the flight's return and then disseminated through the various departments for keeping of aircraft flight times, fuel consumption, payment to Mobil for fuel and oil purchased, crew wages and hours and passenger and cargo statistics. In the middle was the engine log which was required to be entered up every hour, when each engine instrument was read and logged for reference and engine health monitoring by the Engineering Department.

At the back, on a tear off, was the Pilot's Report in which the Captain reported such details as unusual occurrences, off schedule and late running and reasons for same, passenger complaints and anything else that interfered with an on schedule flight. It was strictly a Captain report and F/O's weren't permitted to use it. Some pilots liked to think they could run the show better than the office johnnies and would launch into wide ranging reasons for doing something their way, but generally it was a report on what had happened and not what should happen. The goal was not to put in a report at all, which meant it had been a smooth and uneventful flight.

Loading

On arrival at Geraldton, the fun began. The DC-3 had the main Starboard Locker behind the cockpit, holding 1340lb, a smaller Port Locker opposite, of 960lb and a Rear Locker down aft of the passenger door holding 1500lb and it was a work of art hauling cargo and baggage out and in to make sure you got it all on board. I had to learn to stack a locker properly. There was none of this business of just hurling a few cases in and then closing up the nets which restrained the load in flight and kept it all from sagging out into the narrow gangway between the cockpit and cabin. If you did that you'd never ever lift whatever there was to be carried, so it was a matter of starting with the empty starboard locker, then the port locker, picking the best bags to fit the spot, because the outboard sides of both the lockers were curved to follow the fuselage frame, and you had to make sure that you got the lockers packed as tight as a drum so that you virtually couldn't fit in another pound of butter. Because of the curved sides the stacked cases would tend to keel over, so it was an art to get them to fall the right way, i.e. onto the side and not into the gangway.

The offloading was done first and the technique with the front lockers was to take the first case out and place it on the aisle carpet at the front of the cabin. The next case butted up against the first and you gave it a push to slide it along and likewise with the third, fourth and so on. The trick was to keep them running dead straight as they slid along the aisle downhill, following the fall of the cabin floor, it being a tail wheel aeroplane. If the cases started to skew off line the first one would catch on a seat leg and that was it. You'd have to step or clamber over all these cases to get to the jammed one, unhook it and clamber back and carry on unloading and sliding. It was normal to see the whole length of the aisle lined with cases slowly inching their way to the rear door and you soon learnt to keep them straight to save yourself more work.

Then you clambered your way to the door and started to hand them out to the agent who was waiting on the ground with his trolley. And as they came out the line back up the aisle got shorter and so you had to trek back up to get the next one and lug it back down to the door sill. When the load was all off, it was time to do the onload and this meant lugging the new cases uphill to the front lockers, usually with one case in each hand and crabbing along sideways with both hands twisted to keep the cases from catching on the seats, which would bring you up with a jolt. As the standard passenger case weight allowance was 35lb, you were lugging 70lb (32kg) up hill in this confined aisle just wide enough for a person to walk along, and to this day I can pick up a case and tell you its weight.

The Commercial Travellers didn't help either. Blokes like Bert Marsden with G & R Wills, Ron D'Almeida freelancing in goods for D.J. Fauldings and wines for Penfolds and Orlando, W. Robinson with Goode Durrant & Murray, Bert Dhu with E.S. Wigg & Sons, Alan Bolton with Smyth & Hickman - good blokes who we always got on well with - always had anything up to 20 odd big cases containing their samples, as they did their run around the ports. Ray Havlin at the West Perth Cargo Depot would get the cases in early and feed them up the track as cargo to alleviate the problem of one Traveller using up the whole plane. As we taxied in and our jaundiced eye spotted all those cases stacked up on the trolley ready to onload, we gave a collective sigh, knowing what was in store for us.

We quite often had to write tickets for late travelling passengers at out-stations, and this serious revenue handling exercise had to be completed accurately and the duplicates and monies handed over to the Branch Manager immediately on arrival at the next major port.

Refuelling was part of the job early on, helping the agent with the hose and the oil when needed. You'd climb up on the great wing, cool and slippery with its shining metal skin, flip the big mat down, with the access hole over the filler cap, stick the hose in and fire the liquid energy (required to turn the big engines), into the big dark hole between your feet. While there, you could gain a surreal look into the cockpit through the left hand window, imagining the view a Gremlin might get, sitting on the engine waiting for you to make a mistake, as the aeroplane rushed along through the sky.

With the loading now complete it was time to add up the passenger weights, cargo lists and airmail waybills, complete the onloading bookwork, consult the Maximum Take Off Weight chart, fill out the load sheet (the legal document), get it signed by the Captain and hand it to the Agent, for safe keeping. You had now committed yourself and, in the event of any incident or accident, one of the first things called for by the DCA investigators would be all the paperwork - to check that your calculations were correct.

To save all the time and trouble working through the take off graphs at each port, the Company, in February 1955, produced a circular slide rule Load Computer for the DC-3. A very ingenious device, it looked for all the world like a discus escaped from the Olympics. Made of stainless steel, weighing 9.3lb and about 9 inches in diameter, it had a base plate showing the forward and rear limits and index units for calculating the centre of gravity, a smaller rotating inner plate showing the passenger and cargo loads and limits and a swinging cursor. The principle of this instrument was such that you could take the basic index weight of the aeroplane and using the applicable scales, lay off the various amounts of cargo in the various lockers and in the seating rows. By spinning the inner plate and swinging the cursor right and left, all the load was added until you could finally see, with the cursor lying within the centre of gravity range, whether the aeroplane was nose or tail heavy, or outside the limits. If so, it was a simple matter to shift some of the load as required to bring the ship back into balance. Centre of gravity is critical in any aeroplane so that it remains stable in the air, like a great see-saw. In the DC-3 the range is only 23.5 inches and it is vital to calculate it accurately so the aircraft flies with the elevator trim on zero.

It was quite a hefty instrument and hung on a hook behind the First Officer's head on the forward bulkhead, next to the Tin Can, handy for him and his interminable calculations. Being quite heavy, if it came loose in turbulence it could be quite lethal so the hook was designed to prevent any movement. It very soon gained the nickname of The Prayer Wheel, as the hardworking F/O bent over it, muttering the loads to himself as he swung them off on the cursor. A beautiful piece of engineering, it was designed by Lloyd Butcher and made in the MMA Workshops at Guildford. Many years later, when the DC-3s and F.27s had gone, one was presented to the RAAFA Aviation Museum at Bull Creek and is still there today. It gives me a real thrill to gaze on it now and remember all those flights when I would spin it so fast that it almost smoked!

Enroute

Often in those early days you would be flying with a Captain impatient to keep moving and who didn't wait for you to arrive in the cockpit but would start the first engine when he heard the door closing, so that by the time you arrived and took your seat, both engines would be running, the brakes were released and away she rolled with you still getting your seat belt buckled up. Such types didn't endear themselves to F/Os, who worked pretty hard and sometimes felt unappreciated and unneeded.

Having done all that, and taken off on the second leg, it was now time to begin the routine all over again - bookwork, fly, land, offload, refuel, onload etc. - and remembering Perth to Hedland via the Coast could entail 7 or 8 legs it's no wonder we were ready to drop when it was finished. If you were lucky, after take off, and had an understanding Hostie with you, up would come a wet flannel for you to mop your brow with. Many a time I've crewed with Harold Rowell who, having cooled himself off with it, would park it on top of his head to get the last bit of moisture from it. It was normal to have both cockpit sliding windows wide open plus the cabin door, and being un-pressurised this set up a good airflow throughout the cabin and cockpit area to get the aeroplane and us cooled down and dry off all the sweat generated in our ground exertions.

Here we became great tea drinkers, keeping up the fluid intake and refreshing ourselves after humping cargo on the stopovers. My Training Captain back in the ANA days, Charlie Lister, had a saying, How's the Teapot?, whenever the Hostess came up front, and I learnt from him to swallow cups of it in this harsh working environment. There were no such things as cool drinks on board and a good hot cup of tea was invigorating, sometimes helping down a slab of fruit cake smothered with butter to help replace the energy burned up on a long day's trip.

MMA flights only carried one each of hot water and tea urns, clamped to the side wall of the buffet which was really only a shelf with drawers and cupboards to store the cups, saucers, plates and cutlery plus the spare rations like tins of corned beef, camp pie etc. Some years later, as a change, I developed a desire for strong black coffee and a fresh banana (all fresh fruit purchased by Cyril in Foys, almost next door to the office) which I would dunk in the drink just as a break from the monotony of the tea, much to the amusement of Colin Cook who would sometimes join me in this little lighthearted break from routine.

Another aspect of the flying side was Take Offs and Landings. This refers to the practice of the Captain giving the F/O a turn at flying the aeroplane. In the Fifties, when I joined, you got a take off or a landing if the Captain felt like it and was in a good mood. It was not a right and you never assumed the next one would be yours. All pilots like to handle the aeroplane and the take off and the landing are the epitome of the operation. All our Captains were ex-wartime and had mostly flown single pilot aeroplanes and were therefore not used or accustomed to, or even cognisant of the need to give one away. Of course, in a way, you couldn't blame them. We were an unknown entity, coming from the Aero Clubs, not service trained and with not a lot of experience, so I suppose they just watched our performance, sizing us up for ability and keenness. I stopped recording the big events in September 1956, when I had been in the Company a year and a half, so by then we were probably getting enough to keep us satisfied. Later on, as we gained experience and respect for each other in a hard job - depending on each other - it became traditional to fly leg for leg, with the Captain always offering and the F/O never presuming. Then, if you weren't offered you knew something was radically wrong and you had incurred his displeasure in some way.

In those early days we had one Captain who kept the aeroplane to himself. He always flew it, maybe allowing the F/O to fly straight and level on the cruise. He never said much and all commands were given with the hand. The hand coming up off the throttles, palm up, meant `raise the undercarriage', and similarly a thumbs down meant, lower it. Thumb and forefinger held up, slightly apart, meant quarter flap and wide apart meant full flap. Another annoying habit was to fold the Flight Plan and put it in his left hand breast pocket where it stayed until he made the entry at the next Position Report, handed it to you to send to Aeradio, took it back and returned it to his pocket. That was the sum total of your involvement in the navigation. I never found out why he operated like that, but it certainly rankled the F/Os a lot!

Port Hedland

As you got further north it would get hotter and hotter and you'd get more tired, and after having been on the ground for twenty five minutes at a place like Onslow or Roebourne in the heat, when you'd already done four or five legs taking most of the day, you knew you'd been working and you were really ready for a cold ale or two when you arrived at Hedland.

The Esplanade Hotel was pretty rough - but it could be quite pleasant there too. The sea breeze came in every afternoon in the hot weather and the cooling air dried off all your sweat to make life easier. We slept out on the verandah all year round, rugged up cosily in the winter time when it could get quite cold - two rows of bodies - pilots and hostesses, all bundled up singly in their cyclone beds. There was little or no hanky panky as any move to share beds would've always resulted in loud chiacking from the rest of us. Later on, with a little more propriety becoming evident, a latticed fence was erected and a curtain was stretched across to segregate the hostesses from the pilots. It then had a small flap cut in it so that the girls could pass coffee through to the boys, because the kettle was on our side, recalled Joy Evans (nee Fawcett) at a reunion in 1993.

But in the summer time it was different - hot and sticky - with the musty smell of the mangroves coming up from the harbour on the outgoing tide. You couldn't bear a sheet over you because it was so hot and humid but you had to keep covered up to stop being eaten alive by the minuscule sandflies, so it was a little bit of hell. All personal kit would contain the obligatory insect repellent like Dimp or Citronella to combat the little wretches. Smeared all over your face - which was the only part showing - as you began to sweat, it would run down into your eyes and make life generally miserable.

So, knowing what was in store, it was quite often the thing to repair to the Bar early in the night. Of course, we always did straight after a flight anyway because we were always so wrung out and thirsty, sweating all day. In the Fifties, there was no entertainment except the Bar and the Flicks. Restaurants and night clubs were places you only knew of from the movies. So we would revel and banter the night away, in the euphorious thrill of having completed the long hard grind of another full day's disciplined flying. Quite often we went