Ray Parer & J C McIntosh; The Flying Wreck

De Havilland 9, converted to civilian use after the First World War, photographed by C.H. Harrison RAF. Image from http://www.ivyandmartin.demon.co.uk

"She's a bit of an old warhorse," chuckled Parer, "but she'll do us."

"She's the best machine ever built," declared McIntosh. "We'll get there. And there's no trouble about choosing a name for her, is there?"

"None at all," said Parer, with a smile, "It's going to be the P.D.-'P' for Peter, and 'D' for Dawson."

Enthusiastically they examined the engine, a 240 h.p. Siddeley Puma. It wasn't perfect, they knew. "But," said Parer, "we'll soon tinker her up - and the plane, too."

"A bit of straining wire here and there and a spot of paint will work wonders," answered McIntosh confidently. "She's built for endurance and distance anyway, declared Parer at last. "I'll bet she has done her bit."

They gazed silently, knowing from experience what the men who had flown the old D.H. 9 had probably gone through. Yes, that machine could tell a story. Parer sighed. Then, briskly: "Well, P.D.'s a wonderful machine. But we've got to make her shipshape. The others must be half way across the globe by now."

"Yes, it's a long, long start," declared McIntosh. "But you never can tell. Anything can happen. And this old job is a beauty isn't she?" But the authorities did not think P.D. was a wonderful machine.

"We forbid you to compete," they declared. "That machine is utterly unsuitable for such a great flight. We forbid you to take the air."

The two airmen Ray Parer and John McIntosh standing in front of their battered de Havilland DH9 at Flemington Race Course in Melbourne.  The PD had earlier been involved in a failed landing in a paddock. (Copied from a print in Parer and McIntosh Book). AWM text Image AO3166

But one morning the birds had flown.

It was to prove one of the greatest flights of history. 12,000 miles in a worn-out plane of twenty-two years ago. But the race was lost when they started, for Ross Smith and his crew had a long start, and they went on to win the prize -full well they earned it too. None of the other planes got through - except the Flying Wreck, as it was to become.

Into the teeth of a howling gale they flew. Through scudding clouds, pelting rain, and driven snow, with crashing thunder that drowned the sound of the engine, the old D.H. fought her valiant way. It was a despair-making start. But the two mates were ready for anything and everything. With hand and heart and mind they won their way past their first hurdle.

After several hundred turbulent miles they were forced down in France. The weather remained vile. They were marooned there for a fretful month. A great day came when, to a cheering crowd, P.D. roared into the air again.

By a hairbreadth the two men escaped a terrible death in Italy. The massive crater of Vesuvius loomed up, a black cloud lazily rolling far up from the volcano. McIntosh leaned to Parer, making signs and shouting above the roar of the engine.

"I wonder what the old fire looks like from above?"

"We'll see!" howled Parer. He jerked down his thumb to McIntosh's nod, and P.D. dived under the cloud and, wheeling like an eagle, soared over the mouth of the volcano. Overawed, they looked down into what they knew was a molten lake boiling in the bowels of the earth. Smoke dimmed their eyes, sulphur fumes choked their nostrils, they gazed.

Parer tilted the joystick, and down they dived. It was to be a brief, safe peep - at least that was the pilot's intention. Suddenly, as if by a demon's hand, the plane was clutched by a fierce downward draught. Parer worked frantically at the controls. McIntosh held his horrified breath as the draught sucked them down, down. Right at the lip of the crater Parer regained control and the plane slipped sideways, then zoomed up out of the eddy and just skimmed over the crater rim.

Soon afterwards the two airmen landed. Death, a terrible death, had been very close. They were very shaken.

They started out again, over the blue Mediterranean with its wonder islands specked like tiny worlds below. A storm came. A lightning flash with crash of thunder dizzily rocked the plane, and then a shrieking gust of wind surged into the cockpits - and away went their maps. Tragedy! In those days aeronautical maps were rare indeed, and very expensive. Remember, too, there were then no wireless aids for navigation.

And here the two comrades were, near the borders of Turkey, with their precious maps gone - the maps that were to have guided them to the other end of the world. In a foreign country, distant from a city, too.

''Well," said Parer ruefully, "we've got very little money. but we certainly do get some fun." They had had less than £50 between them when they left England.

"Twig all these funny looking people hurrying along to the show. " said McIntosh. "They think we've come down from the moon."

"If we open our mouths," grinned Parer, "they'll understand we want something to eat."

"I wish our friend Dawson were among them," answered McIntosh, "he wouldn't need a hint."

They could secure no flying maps, so they bought railway maps!

"Fancy finding your way to Australia with railway maps printed in Italy and Turkey," said Parer. "No wonder the newspaper men think we're cracked."

"We're cracked in the right place, anyway," answered McIntosh energetically. "And we're going to fly to Australia, map or no map.

"Sure-but we'll have to mend a crack in the old plane first. She's a beauty. She's standing up to her job wonderfully. "

"Well, so far the air hasn't been able to beat us," said McIntosh. "Two seas haven't been able to drown us, two storms haven't been able to down us, and a volcano hasn't been able to burn us. So what?"

Parer grinned. "We'll see what the desert can do then. But first see if we can get some dope from those yokels to plug up the leaks in this petrol pipe."

When high above the great Iraq desert, the old engine coughed, coughed again, then spluttered warningly. Above them stretched a brilliant dome of sky, a blazing sun. Below, far as the eye could reach, was one vast brown sea of sand.

"Water?" they were both thinking. "Will there be water? "

Again the engine groaned, clanked, spluttered, coughed despairingly. Then a great silence enveloped them as they began to glide down. Swiftly the parched desert rose up to meet them.

They landed safely, stepped out and gazed around. "We must be somewhere near the Garden of Eden."

"Looks like it," answered McIntosh cheerily, "so long as you imagine the roses and things. Baghdad is only a few hundred miles ahead. Isn't it in Mesopotamia somewhere or other that the Garden is supposed to grow?"

"Somewhere thereabouts, "said Parer, "when Adam and Eve were boys and girls. But let's patch up the old engine, or we'll do a perish from thirst."

Their brows streaming perspiration in that blazing heat, they worked busily for several hours until a hoarse shout made them jump around. Fierce-looking Arabs on camels bad ridden right up to them. The Australians stared at the bearded men clad in flowing burnoose, nomads of the desert with the predatory eyes of, hawks. They smelt, So did their camels.

"I'll bet that book-nosed robber on the bull camel has never had a wash in his life," said McIntosh.

"For heaven's sake smile!" advised Parer. "They look like mischief. We're in a nasty fix."

He walked smilingly towards the Arabs, but the leader suddenly levelled his rifle. With a warning cry McIntosh whipped out a revolver. Arab and white man stared eye to eye in a deathly silence. Then Parer reached into the cockpit and turned around smiling, a revolver in one hand, a Mills bomb in the other. He showed them the bomb, threw it up in the air, caught it again with a smile. Then playfully made as if to throw it among the camel men. With a hoarse cry of alarm they urged their camels apart, and away.

"They know what Mills bombs mean," said McIntosh grimly. "You hurry on mending the plane while I keep these birds covered. Then climb into the plane and gammon to fix a machine-gun, before you set to work on the engine.

All that afternoon Parer toiled at the engine while McIntosh stood guard. The Arabs glowered from a little distance, almost on the point of starting an attack again and again. But fear of the Mills bombs and that supposed machine-gun held them back.

The adventurers took the air again at sundown. They laughed at the fusillade of parting shots. Two days later exactly the same adventure befell them. Again they bluffed their way through.

"It's a jolly queer thing," said Parer. "Twice now we've been forced down in a desert right on top of a band of wandering cut-throats. And I suppose there's not another man within a hundred miles."

McIntosh frowned. "I didn't like the look of those long knives," be said. "But they'll never cut our throats; the good old '9' won't let them."

"She certainly is a beauty," answered Parer enthusiastically. "She's holding together wonderfully."

TRIUMPH

The Flying Wreck, as it was known by now, was holding together quite miraculously, but was becoming sadly the worse for wear. She was squeaking and moaning in every joint, her tail was a bit out of plumb, a wing tip looked a bit skew whiff, and the two Australians had their suspicions about the propeller. It was to take these two courageous men seven months to reach Australia; they were to battle through disasters and heart-burnings that would fill a book. They never would have won through had they not kept on smiling. With hardly any money left, they had to do all their repairs themselves, had to find the materials for these. "If only we were in the bush back in old Australia," sighed Parer again and again, "we could pull fencing wire off any cocky's fence and patch up the old bus whenever we needed to."

"A strip of greenhide would certainly come in bandy now," said McIntosh with a glance at the wobbly struts.

The two battlers accomplished wonderful things. Just to give you an idea: Before they reached Australia they were forced to make or improvise no less than five propellers. They practically rebuilt the Flying Wreck several times over.

They flew on to Baghdad and that City of the Caliphs gave them a rousing reception.

"They must think we're Noah's Ark come to earth again," sighed McIntosh. "Don't these people ever see people?

"They don't see Australian airmen or the Flying Wreck every day," said Parer, with a grin.

It took them a hard fortnight's work in Baghdad to patch up the old Wreck. Then merrily, for so battered an old lady, she took the air again. The adventurers circled the minarets and waved the old-time city a long farewell. India was right ahead. But except for the fact that they were getting on, they had little to smile about. Funds were very low.

"I know what we'll do," suggested Parer suddenly, "we'll raise the wind by giving joy rides."

"Just the thing," laughed McIntosh.

If only those passengers had known! But they didn't. They paid eagerly for the privilege of riding in the Flying Wreck. This route had been rarely flown over before. The innocents did not know what a risk they were taking.

"Ignorance is bliss," said McIntosh, grinning, as they counted their gains.

"Maybe," Parer replied, "but at least we're still in one piece. It's strange, though, that the old Wreck has turned out to be a money- spinner."

Up into the blue skies once more. Then, with the engine conking out again, they landed at Akyab on I April 1920.

"A great day for joy rides," said Parer. "I wonder who'll be the first?"

"We'd better knock that konk out of the engine first," warned McIntosh. "The old Wreck mightn't like us taking joy rides aloft on All Fools Day,

Parer nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps you're right. Planes are touchy, like humans sometimes."

They set out from Burma, over plain and mountain, river and jungle, and although it was an old monotonous tune, the song of the engine was music in their ears. Never had the Flying Wreck behaved so sweetly; they felt she could go on flying for ever. As do all good pilots when approaching a strange landing ground, they circled at Moulmein. They were gliding down when, to their horror, a great crowd of excited spectators rushed out on to the tiny landing ground. What to do? If they made a normal landing the milling natives would suffer. To avoid the natives would surely mean crashing the machine. With a cry that nearly meant tears, Parer pulled on the joystick and; piled up their beloved plane.

They crawled from the wreck. After the first shocked silence the crowd came rushing towards them. But the two mates had eyes only for their machine. Undercarriage and propeller were smashed, lower wing and radiator badly damaged. The Flying Wreck now looked a wreck indeed.

Moulmein, Burma, early 1920-04. The first single engined aeroplane flight from Great Britain to Australia by Ray Parer and John McIntosh.  Extensive damaged resulted when the pilot, Ray Parer, was forced to crash-land the P.D. (stricken with engine trouble) so as to avoid casualties as natives crowded the landing ground. This photo shows the starboard side of the P.D.

"I couldn't help it, old man," whispered Parer.

"Of course you couldn't," replied McIntosh huskily.  "I'd never have forgiven you had you hurt any of those people. And the old bus wouldn't have forgiven you either."

Parer managed to smile. "We'll soon fix her up again."

"Of course we will."

And then, kindly people led them away to have their own injuries attended.

Now began two months of desperately hard work-so far away from any skilled help and with so little money. P.D. would by most have been dismissed as a total wreck. But these cheery mates, ever ready to help each other with hands and brain, with humour and understanding, refused to admit defeat. Though one man's heart might sometimes be almost breaking, be would have a laugh and a joke to help the other along. So they laughed together, they battled together, and together they won out.

With great difficulty they managed to get a French propeller; it was unsuitable, but they soon worked it into shape. Their radiator was smashed to pieces. They secured two old motor-car radiators and tinkered about with them until they had fashioned them into an aeroplane radiator. They soldered here, and brazed there, and worked mechanical magic until the Flying Wreck was herself again.

"As good as ever," declared Parer enthusiastically.

"Better," said McIntosh. "We'll get there yet!"

So they took to the air again. P.D. rose like a bird, a very noisy bird-but she flew to Penang. And then the old engine konked out again.

"She's certainly a bit wheezy in the chest, said Parer, "but she's a trier. And she has got us this far."

"A week or two will fix her up," declared McIntosh confidently. "We're sure to pick up some spares here and there. "

They picked up the spares all right. But it meant three weeks' hard work before the Wreck was ready for the air once more.

They set out for Singapore over lands from which peeped cities where sunlight gleamed upon cupola and minaret. One day they zoomed over a jungle road and stampeded a herd of elephants and scared monkeys into hysterical chattering over the tree-tops. But apparently the old Wreck disapproved of their playfulness. It came to earth in a paddy field to the amazement of the farmer. They patched her up again and just managed to reach Singapore again the engine began to fail when they were just above that colourful city.

They listened, their hearts beating painfully. How often they bad listened to their old engine konking out? But this wheeze sounded different. It sounded worse. And worse it was. When the co-pilots landed, their faces serious for once, they at once went to the engine-and a brief examination told the sad, sad story. The engine had konked out for the last time. It would never fly again. Not even the greatest machine shop in the world could have repaired this engine. It bad worn out completely, just like a broken man's heart.

No money. No engine. Things were indeed black. Then the kindly Dutch Government came to the rescue. Great sportsmen, the Dutch. They gave the adventurers a new engine. But it took the two men two months' work to install the engine and recondition the Wreck ready for flying.

They rose above Singapore with a triumphant roar and sped straight into a thunderstorm. Instantly the plane was spun around and only Parer's skilled touch saved it from a last crash. Like a broken-winged duck she came hobbling back to Singapore-with a big hole blown through a wing. Great work that, to land the disabled plane without further damage.

They took off their coats and repaired her again. They flew to Giesee (Gresik) and, in landing, piled up. The fuselage was stove in. The fifth propeller was smashed.

Gresik, near Surabaya, Java, Indonesia, mid 1920.  The first single engined aeroplane flight from Great Britain to Australia by Ray Parer and John McIntosh.  At Gresik the P.D. struck an irrigation channel near the end of the landing run and finished on its nose. This photo shows a close-up of the port forward beam. The damage amounted to a cracked undercarriage and broken propeller. AWM P00281.023

"A lump on my head, a tooth sticking through my ear, and eyes all full of stars," sighed McIntosh, as he picked himself out of the wreck. "Tell me, Ray, am I coming or going?"

"Wait until my head stops spinning," Parer answered, from the broad of his back. "I'm seeing so many things and they're all chasing one another around and around in a whirling sky."

But like their old machine these lion-hearted Australians could "take it."

They patched her up again and set off for Sourabaya, magic city of the Dutch East Indies. They were nearing home. They took the air again on the last lap-the crossing of the Timor Sea. Never had the old Wreck flown so well, never had aeroplane engine hummed so sweetly-for now her nose was pointed straight towards Australia!

Far above the Spice Islands, set like emeralds upon a deep blue sea, they hummed out over the Timor, their hearts singing with the engine. Darwin! Australia! Would they reach Darwin? At last? If the God of the Air only held their old plane together while it crossed this last ocean, Australia's Timor Sea!

They did it. At 6.30 on 2 August 1920, 206 days after leaving England, they landed at Darwin - with the petrol tanks bone dry!

Cheery Australians greeted them, pearlers and buffalo shooters, business men and police, cattlemen and men of the North, of Australia-and marvelled at their luck. Empty petrol tanks and the sea safely crossed behind them'

But there was to be yet another setback. In a landing the poor old nose of the Wreck was smashed. Child's play-for these great-hearts. They did wonders with a sheet of galvanized iron and the old nose that bad weathered many a gale, survived many and many a hard bump, was ready for service again. Then across their own Australian continent they flew with light hearts to journey's end.

The first single engined aeroplane flight from Great Britain to Australia by Ray Parer and John McIntosh just arriving in their de Havilland DH9 PD, at Mascot aerodrome in Sydney.  (Copied from a print in the Sydney Mail 25 August 1920). AWM A03164

And then-from the very heart of the Flying Wreck, wrapped around so very very carefully, they reverently took out the little present sent by Peter Dawson.

"I wouldn't have damaged it for worlds," said Parer, giving it an affectionate pat. "Just think of all the crashes it has come through!"

McIntosh nodded. "Peter Dawson was so very good to us," he said. "I am so glad that we can deliver his present to his friend."

They carried out their promise to their backer.

Such, very shortly, is the story of two wonderful men, of a grand old plane, and of a great flight half way across the then-uncharted sky of the world. When you visit Canberra, go and touch your cap to the old Flying Wreck, in the Australian War Museum.

Near Culcairn, NSW Australia, mid 1920. The first single engined aeroplane flight from Great Britain to Australia by Ray Parer and John McIntosh.  The end of the flight.  The P.D., landing in failing light, overturned in a recently cultivated paddock.

Poor McIntosh, alas, was killed a year later in a flying accident in Western Australia. Ray Parer has since lived through many air adventures. He was one of the grand pioneers of flying in New Guinea. And, in the face of setbacks that would have broken the heart of a lesser man, he is (in 1940) still flying.

While our Australia breeds such men as these our land can never die.