Bert Hinkler; The Lone Eagle

<<< Petty Officer Bert Hinkler in the RNAS, 1918

W. E. HART'S patience was beginning to wear thin. At Richmond Common in 1912 he had troubles enough without being continually pestered by two lads who wanted a free flight. There was the job of establishing the first real flying field in the Commonwealth.

There were the worries of coaxing his primitive planes into the air; of frequent crashes and ever-recurring repairs. The worries of being manager, sole pilot, and business-getter for the first all-Australian flying outfit in Australia.

He was getting £ 10 for a short passenger flight.

And here were these two lads pestering him to take them up. One of the lads neatly solved the problem.

If, he said, Mr. Hart would give him a flight he would wash the plane every night. And that is bow Edgar Percival got his flight. Edgar Percival who some twenty years later was to win fame as the designer, builder and race-pilot of Percival Gulls.

The other lad, a stranger to Sydney, and a most determined little chap, had just about worn down the pilot when his mother appeared on the scene. She was both worried and angry. Young Bert, she explained to the pilot, had run away from home. She had come to take him back - to Bundaberg. Without further ado she did. That was Herbert John Louis Hinkler.

But the wide, well-set eyes of young Bert Hinkler were steadily turned to the skies. Nothing could stop him. There were no planes, no pilots at Bundaberg. None within a thousand miles of the town. As the next best thing young Bert turned to gliders. He made them, flew them. But that was not enough. So when he was nineteen years old, he again left home. There was no running away this time. He told his mother be was going to learn to become a pilot.

And, be promised her, "I'll fly home!" He kept his word. But there were to be years of hard battling, heart-breaking disappointments, war-birding and flights in many lands, before he was to see home again.

Of the many qualities that made Bert Hinkler a world-famous pilot not the least of them was thoroughness. This be showed at the outset. He decided that the best pilot would be the man who thoroughly understood the manufacture of the aeroplane and who could be its engineer. That knowledge could not be won in Australia. So the sturdy little Queenslander went to England. He could not pay for the trip. So he worked his passage-on a tramp steamer.

There was many a heart-break for him in England. jobs were few and far between in the fledgling aircraft industry. And of course this young stranger had no experience. no influence, no references. However, sheer determination at last got him a job with Sopwith, the aircraft company which was to play a big part in Britain's air success in the Great War. But Bert Hinkler was a fighting man as well as a flying enthusiast. He had to be "in it."

He enlisted on the outbreak of war. In the Royal Naval Air Service he won a Distinguished Service Medal in France; and when on active service in Italy be was promoted to Lieutenant. At the end of the war be was so confident of his pilotage that he tried to undertake a flight to Australia in a Sopwith Dove. But he could not finance it. Again, in the £ 10,000 England-Australia flight competition, he could not secure a backer.

Lack of finance was to hinder him throughout his flying career. But perhaps that was a good thing for aviation. For if Bert Hinkler had had the money perhaps he would have done things on a bigger scale. As it was be was, with one exception, confined to the sphere of light planes.

By this time he was working as flying demonstrator for the firm of A. V. Roe (of Avro fame), and be had become the owner of the first of their experimental baby planes. The machine was then rather the worse for wear. But the little Queenslander installed several devices of his own design. He was ready to undertake a big demonstration flight when the carelessness of a mechanic caused the owner-pilot to have a thought that was to benefit world aviation. The thought was for a machine that, as Bert Hinkler described it "needed no mechanic but would depend entirely on the pilot; every part must be accessible to a man standing on the ground." That objective was virtually the birth of what we now know as the light aeroplane.

Twenty years ago Bert Hinkler first flew to fame. In his experimental baby Avro-it only had a 40 h.p. engine-be flew non-stop from London, over the Alps, to Turin. The flight had never been made before, and the pilot only stopped at Turin because, as be explained, "the baby dribbled badly and ran short of oil." His intention was to fly on to Australia. But ahead on the air track a war was raging (in Syria) and once more he was short of funds.

In 1921 he returned to Australia. Some of his youthful ambitions had been realized. Now be was a pilot, a skilled aircraft worker and an engineer. With him, on the steamer, was a proud possession-his famous "baby" Avro. Bert Hinkler was always reticent. He preferred to do things rather than talk about them. And when on the early morning of 11 April he went out to the Mascot aerodrome there was only one person, the night watchman, to see him take off. No one knew his destination, his intentions.

That afternoon at Bundaberg there was a new, a faint noise in the sky. What was first a pinpoint grew and grew in size. Then to the excited gaze of the townspeople an aeroplane flew down and landed on what was known as the foundry green. But the engine was still thundering, the propeller turning. And so the plane trundled off the green, on to a street, and along it until ... Bert Hinkler flew home. He bad kept his word. Here outside his mother's gate was her son, still in his aeroplane.

But this was only a visit. There were still bigger things to be done. Not enough scope in Australia. Bert returned to England. Soon be was to prove his greater ability. There was another quiet, unannounced Hinkler departure. Then news was flashed from Russia. Flying one of the first of the new Avro Avians he bad flown 1200 miles non-stop from London to Riga-a world's record for a light aeroplane.

Then for the first and only time in his life, he undertook a team flight. There were two pilots in a Fokker named the Princess Xenia. Objective-a world's non-stop distance record. They did not succeed. But they did cover 2800 miles. And the R.A.F. authorities must have been impressed, for they appointed Bert a relief pilot to the British team that was to go to the United States to compete for the Schneider Trophy, the most famous speed prize in the whole history of aviation. This was indeed a splendid compliment. For the few Britishers who took part in the race were the cream of R.A.F. pilots, especially trained for super speed. And remember the little Australian was a civilian.

But soon after his return to England from U.S.A., be set himself another venture. By now be knew that he did his best work alone. From now on be was a lone eagle.

He busied himself with his Avro Avian. He designed and fitted a stronger undercarriage. He built in special tanks, He worked on his engine until even be was satisfied. Then one day he went to Lloyd's, the oldest and the greatest insurance company in the world. The officials were amazed at his request. But Lloyd's will never turn down a dare; they will bet on anything. Insurance policies they call them. So when be left the office Bert Hinkler bad several "insurance policies" for a solo flight to Australia. If be could do the flight in fifteen and a half days he would receive over 12000. If he took seventeen days the sum would be halved.

The Bert Hinkler Commemorative medallion

Lloyd's were taking a sporting risk. But they knew, as did Bert, that only three planes had ever flown from England to Australia; that the fastest of these three flights was twenty-eight days; and that none of the flights had been solo. Yes, Lloyd's knew what they were about. And, as events proved, Bert knew what he was about too.

But first he had a big anxiety. He had no doubts about his ability to fly the machine. He was certain about the fitness of plane and engine. But once more be was short of money. He knew that if the income tax collector were to arrive at the aerodrome that flight would have to be postponed for a long time. So it was "bush bush." There were only a few friends at Croydon aerodrome that early morning of 7 February 1928. And without hindrance a little man flew away in a little machine. It was a splendid start. The first hop was I 100 miles to Rome-the first time the English and Italian capitals had been air-bridged in one day. Then the England India record was also broken. It was typical of Bert Hinkler's determination and stamina that his last day's flight-from Bima to Darwin - was, with the exception of the first hop, the longest, in time and distance, of the whole long flight.

A tremendous strain for one man. He was pilot, navigator and mechanic. He had no foreign tongue and many were the foreign lands be visited.

Punch, the world-famous English journal, paid Bert Hinkler a splendid and well-deserved compliment. In the journal's main cartoon, a big kangaroo on the edge of the sea waved an Australian flag to a tiny plane overhead. On the top of the cartoon was "Australia Advances!" and beneath:

"Hinkle hinkle little star,

"Sixteen days and here you are!

"With Mr Punch's congratulations on your great solo performance. "

This was the year the Pacific was flown for the first time. But both the International Aeronautical Federation and the Royal Aero Club awarded their highest honours, not to Kingsford Smith and his comrades in the Southern Cross, but to Bert Hinkler. Australia's expressions of recognition included a grant of £2,000 by the Federal Government, and the rank of honorary Squadron Leader in the R.A.A.F. It was typical of Bert Hinkler that be never even bought a uniform, never used his R.A.A.F. title.

Just as he was a lone band in the skies, so this little Queenslander was a lone band on the ground. He could neither work nor fly with others. And so where other airmen, less gifted and lacking his achievements, were able to find permanent posts or remunerative returns in aviation, Bert Hinkler remained on the outer fringe. As one leading English paper described him, be was "the pilot the world forgot." But the sheer merit of performance again brought him in the world's news.

The lone eagle was aloft again - aloft out of New York in a Puss Moth <<<.

He was heading for the West Indies. Hours sped by. Then, in the wastes of waters below, the Bahamas suddenly appeared. Then the long island of Cuba. Then Haiti, then Jamaica.

From Jamaica he was in the air again, far above the Caribbean Sea. The long hours droned by.

Then like a dim blur upon the horizon there appeared the coast of South America, Venezuela, Colombia, then the far-spread Brazilian empire. And now he had to fly across the South Atlantic, to the coast of West Africa-2000 miles of open sea.

Hour by hour the plane droned on. Great winds came that tossed the Puss Moth as a chip is tossed upon the sea. A gallant little craft, but that bowling wind pressed her downwards. Desperately the pilot battled, struggling like any wind-blown eagle, to keep height. Again and again he was driven down to but a few feet above the waves, forced down to a world of wind and rolling green waves that ever and anon flung spiteful spray. Down there death rode the angry sea.

Grim-faced, with furrowed brow but steady hands, the lone eagle flew on. At last there came a lull. Now he could gain height. But up there a new enemy awaited him. Billowing cloud banks rolled and swirled about him. What now of navigation? How now to steer?

Thunder roared, and the Puss was in the raging heart of a storm. The world grew black. Lightning flashed and heaven's artillery boomed out from the tortured clouds. No salute this, but a dreadful challenge. The little man, lonely in a small machine, answered it. Answered it with skilled, steady hand; with the mental eye that alone can "see" in blind flying. After twenty-two hours of ordeal, the coast of West Africa. More, Bert Hinkler was but a hundred miles from his planned landfall. It was one of the greatest feats of navigation before or since.

For a Hinkler the rest was easy. He skirted the edge of the Sahara, flew up the coasts of Spain and France and then London.

Again there was world acclaim. But again the world was to forget him. He designed a new type of light amphibian. But he could not get backing. He was a proved pilot, and now of international fame, an engineer, navigator, designer, builder. Yet throughout his life he could never make good commercially. A master of the heavens on earth, he was a man with few friends.

There was a secret take-off from England on 7 January 1933. They knew Bert Hinkler had a full load of fuel in his Puss Moth. He left. Then silence. Only afterwards was it learned that Bert was attempting a record flight to Australia; that he was to use the difficult Great Circle route, a route never before used.

What had happened? No one knew. There had been that take-off. Thereafter no landings. Months later the mystery was solved. On a lonely, snow-covered mountain-side in the Apennines was found a body and a wrecked plane. The lone eagle had made his last flight.