John Duigan; The Bush Lad Builds The First Australian Plane.

And the station workshop, spick and span, with every tool in its right place, was regarded as John's special domain.

In 1910 young Duigan decided to build an aeroplane. 

The cheek of it! Why, there was not an aeroplane in all Australia. True, a Wright machine was to be brought out for exhibition and it was also rumoured that Houdini was actually bringing a plane out to fly here.

People would believe in Houdini and his machine if it really did fly; but not before.

Military Cross (MC)

2 seater British BE8 aircraft similar to that flown by Duigan in WW1. During World War I, the lumbering Reconnaissance Experimental 8 was the most widely used British two-seater biplane on the Western Front. A descendant of the R.E.7, it was initially developed for reconnaissance work but also saw service as a bomber and ground attack aircraft. Nicknamed "Harry Tate," it provided a stable platform for photographic missions but suffered from poor maneuverability, leaving it vulnerable to attack by enemy fighters. Despite heavy losses, the R.E.8 remained in service throughout the war. Photo http://www.paulnann.com

Victory No 1 -be built a glider. Only a small one but it did go aloft.

Then he designed his flying machine. He would build it all in the station workshop. Except the engine. This was beyond his resources, and would have to be made in a city workshop, that is, if be could find a man to make it. Then he heard of Mr. J. E. Tilley, who was one of the first men in Australia to make petrol engines. John went to Melbourne to meet him. Tilley became intensely interested in the proposed flying machine engine. They discussed it in detail, and Tilley promised to make it. John hurried back to the bush.

He got to work. His design was for a machine with a wingspan of twenty-four feet six inches, and a length of thirty-five feet. To-day we would not build a plane with a greater length than wingspan. But then - we have learned.

And now John Duigan really got down to his tremendous job. For not only did he design the plane itself-he designed and made every single part himself. Moreover, be had to find or improvise the necessary material. You see, in all Australia there were no aircraft parts for sale. No one had wanted them before; no one sold them. In fact only an occasional traveller from overseas had even seen an aeroplane!

But John's plane hummed on, flying in his mind. And he was determined to make it fly in the air. His intelligence and patience, ingenuity and resource overcame one by one the countless difficulties that arose. And the greater the difficulty the greater his determination.

For the woodwork he used ash and red pine, all sticks well seasoned, each one well and truly tested. For the stays he used piano wire, each strand of proved strength. From the steel bands used on wool bales he fashioned the metal fittings. That's adaptability for you! He took infinite pains with the tiniest thing, as with the largest part. Everything that be put into *that machine was chosen for efficiency and tested thoroughly for strength. John, you see, intended not only to build the machine, but also to fly it. On any and every part of it his life might depend.

Slowly but surely the machine took shape. It was a labour of love. He was with it throughout all the daylight hours. He worked on it until far into the night. It remained in his dreams as he slept. That machine, he vowed, would fly.

It was a marvel of ingenuity that this lad was building. There was not one single, solitary nail in it. Not a tack. Not a screw. No glue was used. Every piece was firmly bolted together. Tedious work, hard work. But sturdy work, work meant to "stay put." The builder was resolved that vibration would never shake it apart.

John Duigan even made the ball races. His mind planned and his clever bands made everything, right there in the station workshop with the crows carking away up in the old gum-tree outside. Everything, that is, except the engine, the shock absorbers, and the propeller. These were made in. the city.

With the same loving care and precision he fashioned the wheels and propeller shaft. People now came to gaze at it, to wonder. It really was beginning to look like something. But fly! Surely that was expecting too much 1

When the propeller arrived from Melbourne it was a great day at the station. The "prop" looked most impressive. And it was the very first one made in Australia. Carefully John tried it on the shaft. Calamity! It would not fit! He had to re-shape it, re-balance it, and re-cover it himself.

Then the special engine arrived. Delightedly be unpacked it. Carefully he placed it on the workshop bench. For long be examined it, frowning.

It was a good engine, yes. An ingenious engine, yes. He bad no fault to find with the making. But was it entirely suitable for lifting a machine above the earth, then propelling it through the air? He doubted it. He had learned so much, thought so much, when he was experimenting with the glider and making and fitting the parts of the machine. He realized now how very different an efficient aeroplane engine had to be. It bad, such a very different job to do.

Over this truly ingenious engine John pondered long. It was a kind of motor-cycle hybrid. In it were the magneto of a single-cylinder engine, and a distributor from a four cylinder engine. It was air-cooled. But no, it couldn't do the job. He knew it now-and it was his neck that was to be risked. There and then this extraordinarily adaptable station lad started to improve the engine. Already be bad been designer, turner, fitter, carpenter , rigger. Now be was to prove himself designer -engineer in a station workshop.

Problem 1: The engine was not sufficiently powerful. Problem II: Its air-cooling system was inefficient. In his mind John worked out the two solutions. Then his clever hands got to work.

He fitted larger cylinders, changed the cooling system from air to water. By hand, he bored out the crankcase. He cast and made a water -circulating pump. He changed the drive from belt to pulley. He designed and made a radiator. Even if you are not mechanically- minded,# you will surely appreciate the difficulties of this radiator job. In the radiator there were 500 cooling fins. By band John soldered each and every one of them. Remember, too, he was working single-handed in the station workshop. Even to-day, thirty years later, none but a completely equipped engineering shop would or could undertake so big a task.

Came the great day when the plane was wheeled out for its first trial. All the station folk were there. John swung the propeller. Swung and swung again. It spun, stopped, spun again, spun faster. There came a splutter and roar from the engine. The station dogs bolted for the wide spaces.

John climbed on to the primitive seat in front of the plane. He fiddled with a few mysterious gadgets. There came a roar and a burst and a mighty jerk that must have been the envy of all the buck jumpers in the paddocks. Alas, all that had happened was that the propeller shaft bad wound itself up. An aeroplane "stays put" when that kind of thing happens. John climbed from the machine. His station friends looked dubious. John examined the machine.

"I'll have to make a much stronger propeller shaft," he mused. He stood back, gazing, calmly working out in his mind all that bad taken place, and why.

"This is an eight-foot propeller," he said thoughtfully. "The machine has a twenty-four foot wingspan. It really is a toss up whether the propeller revolves and the machine stands still, or the machine goes round and the propeller stays put.

Back to the shed went the plane. Back to the work bench went John. There was still another big hurdle to be surmounted.

On 16 July 1910 be made the first successful flight-the first flight ever made by a machine built in Australia.

It hopped a whole-twenty-four feet! What a thrill! The biggest old-man 'roo on the station would have to be hard pressed to out-distance that. Even though his plane had only "tip-toed over the ground," as be described it, John Duigan was well pleased. For his brain-child, the man-made bird of his very own making, had actually flown.

That was only the start. He bad learned a lot from that tiny flight.

Two months later he tried again. She flew a hundred yards. That was better. Back to the workshop again. More alterations. They were successful. For at the next trial she rose to a dizzy height of twelve feet, and flew one hundred and ninety-six yards at a speed of forty miles per hour...Oh yes, they timed the flight.

Then, at Bendigo racecourse, a big crowd saw that John Duigan's plane could fly and that John Duigan could fly it. There were several flights of nearly a mile. Now the first Australian-built aeroplane is an exhibit in the Melbourne Technical Museum.

Those days of 1910-11 seem far away. But surely we should be proud of the Australian lad who then, in a bush shed so far from the old world whose vast resources were only just enabling it to fly in timid little hops of five and six miles, designed, built, and piloted a flying machine that would really fly.

Three years passed. Overseas, the nations were pushing ahead with their flying machines. Machine after machine, each one a little better than the last, came rolling out from the workshops of England, America, France, Germany. Flying had "arrived." But it was only a hobby for John Duigan. His work was electrical engineering.

Then came war. John Duigan enlisted in the Australian Flying Corps. There were only two other pilots senior to him in the date of their licence - Oswald Watt, Royal Aero Club, licence No. 112, and W. E. Hart, Royal Aero Club, No. 199, No. I Australian "ticket."

As in peace, John was to distinguish himself in war. He was with No. 3 Squadron Australian Flying Corps (AFC).

During April 1918 No. 3 Squadron was in continuous and very heavy action. The squadron was equipped with R.E.8s-two-seater machines mainly used for observation work. In these hectic days swarms of Albatross an& Pfalz scouts were aloft waiting to pounce on our two-seaters. From this enemy activity and from the growing intensity of artillery fire on the ground the British High Command guessed that something big was doing. The reconnaissance pilots had to find out quickly what that was.

The weather was very bad. On the ground mists hid the activities of the busy armies. Aloft, scudding clouds afforded ideal hiding places for lurking enemy hawks. Every day desperate duels were fought in hide-and-seek battles amongst the clouds, while down below on the flats south of the Somme fresh enemy batteries were continually coming into action, pounding the British, French, and Australian lines. But our airmen had their job to do. They simply had to locate and bomb the enemy batteries. That a major attack was threatening was soon to be proved by the great assault by the Prussian Guards.

This jacket was worn by Lieutenant (Observer) Alec Stewart Paterson, Australian Flying Corps (AFC). Enlisted as a bombardier (SN 8431) in the AIF field artillery at Adelaide on 18 August 1915. Awarded the Military Medal in December 1916.  Commissioned with the rank of lieutenant in the AFC on 26 July 1917. Attended the RFC Gunnery School in Kent and a course at 'B' Flight Artillery Cooperation Squadron RFC, both in August, and then the Australian Sub-Pool Wireless & Observers School, Hursley Park, Winchester, in November, before being posted to 3 Squadron. On patrol with Captain (flight commander) J R Duigan on 22 April 1918, he is credited with being the first to detect the German railway gun that was shelling Amiens from Harbonnieres.

The railway gun was captured by 31 Battalion AIF on 8 August and subsequently sent to the Australian War Memorial.  It is now referred to as the 'Amiens Gun' and is in the AWM collection at REL/19643. On 9 May his RE8 aircraft was attacked by four German triplanes whilst on a photography patrol over Villers-Bretonneux. He and Duigan were both wounded in the engagement but they managed to fly their aircraft back to their own lines. Taken to 8 General Hospital suffering gunshot wounds to the right arm, head, right shoulder, left hand and right foot, he was later moved from there to the Central RFC Hospital in Hampstead, England, and invalided home to Australia on 12 December 1918. AWM text.

One gusty morning Captain John Duigan and Lieutenant Paterson, his observer, were flying low over the enemy lines, staring down in the search for camouflaged batteries. Through a rent in the mist the Australians saw something that set their eyes agleam. Lower they swooped. Yes, they bad seen aright. Here, at Harbonnieres, was a mighty German railway gun getting ready to fire. With all speed they flew home to report their find. And John Duigan and his observer must have been happy men when they learned that, in the last great Allied push of the war, it was Diggers who captured that gun. You can see that great gun now - at Canberra.

In the next few days after they'd located the big gun the men of No. 3 Squadron were constantly engaged in reconnaissance duty, bombings, and combats with a determined enemy who was all out to keep the British machines from the air. He did not succeed, but he took a heavy toll. .

John Duigan and his observer Paterson were detailed to photograph portions of the German lines. Again there was heavy mist. Sometimes they glimpsed a ghostly machine, but it was gone as soon as seen, back into the mists.

Then came brighter sunlight. The Australians got to work. They had to fly low. And while the archies burst around and about them, the observer took photo after photo of enemy activity below-the placing of new guns, the movements of supply columns, the arrival of reinforcements, the digging of advanced trenches. Paterson's camera was very busy over Villers-Bretonneux; certainly something was happening down there. Suddenly the camera closed with a snap. Four enemy triplanes were diving upon them. One hurtled past with guns flashing. Duigan brought the R.E.8 up to the challenge. Paterson swiftly swung to his machinegun. The fight was on.

Both the Australians knew theirs was a dual problem. Their lives depended on their ability to weather this attack by superior forces. But, good soldiers both, they knew the vital value of the photos they had taken. The information in those shots could help to win the day for the ground forces. Without that information the Australian troops below might suffer heavy and unnecessary losses. Those photos must be got home. And quickly.

As determinedly as he had battled to build that pioneer machine but a few short years ago, so now Duigan handled his war machine to bring to safety those photos upon which rested the lives of men.

Paterson, crouched over his gun aft was firing, determinedly, coolly. Four scouts against a slow two-seater. He had to be cool.

In a furious hail of fire Paterson suddenly slumped forward. He had been bit. But he carried on. Now a machinegun burst ripped into the pilot's cockpit. Duigan felt a searing fire, felt his own blood well forth. But his hands and feet remained firm on the controls. With magnificent skill, with unshaken determination he was fighting, and flying his way out. At long, long last there came an empty sky; for him a blessed silence broken only by the roar of his own engine. 

The four Huns bad been beaten off. Then the badly-holed R.E.8, with its two bloodstained Australians, came down. The French troops rushed to succour them. But Duigan brushed aside the proffered bandages. Before self there was duty. Those camera plates bad to be taken out and rushed to his home 'drome. Then and then only did the pilot have his wounds attended to.

That was the spirit that made our airmen great in peace and terrible in war. Salute to Captain John Duigan, M.C.!