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Charles Kingsford Smith (1897 - 1935)
A small man with a craggy
face, rapid wit and speech, whose party trick was to drink beer
standing on his head, his trademark was a famously broad grin
around the jutting cigarettes he chain-smoked
His life
was lived frenetically and often outrageously. From the horrors of
the First World War, in which some of his toes were shot off in
aerial combat, he emerged with a contempt for authority and a
determination to live life hedonistically and recklessly.
He
created for himself a world compulsively ruled by flying, alcohol
and women. Yet he was universally loved and worshipped. He
remained totally unaffected by fame - quite disarmingly humble and
accessible, constantly drawing into his orbit men and women
dazzled by his warmth, his enthusiasms and his unique charisma.
But
behind the permanent grin he wore and the stream of his repartee,
behind his image of flying genius and indestructibility, there lay
a more frail human being - increasingly affected by the stresses
of his often terrifying flights and the awesome pressures of great
fame.
Kingsford Smith beside the Lockheed Altair
Lady Southern Cross
When
he set out from England in November 1935 on what was to have been
his last record bid, an attempt to reach Australia in under two
days, he was ill. In his high-speed Lockheed Altair 'Lady
Southern Cross' he and his co-pilot disappeared off the coast
of Southern Burma in the early morning dark. All that was ever
found was an undercarriage leg with a still inflated tyre -
discovered 18 months later on an island in the Andaman Sea.
Sir Charles Kingsford Smith and the plane
The fate
of Sir Charles Kingsford Smith remains one of aviation's great
unsolved mysteries. At dusk on 7 November 2020 he and his co-pilot
mechanic, Tommy Pethybridge, took off from Allahabad in India to
fly non-stop through the night to Singapore. They were seen to
pass over Calcutta, Akyab and Rangoon - which they over flew at
1.30 am.
Sometime
around 2.50 that morning, 8 November, another Australian pilot,
Jimmy Melrose who was heading south from Rangoon in a much slower
plane, a Percival Gull, was excited to see the Altair overtake him
over the Andaman Sea. On arrival in Singapore later that day
Melrose was surprised to learn that the Lady Southern Cross had
not arrived.
Despite
a huge search of the entire Rangoon-Singapore route by squadrons
of RAF aircraft no trace of the Altair was found for 18 months. In
May 1937 its starboard undercarriage leg was picked up by Burmese
fishermen on the rocky shore of Aye Island off the south coast of
Burma about 140 miles south-east of Rangoon.
The
theory grew that Smithy had flown into the 460-foot top of the
jungle-covered island and the aircraft had plunged into the sea,
the wheel breaking off and floating ashore. But an Australian
expedition to the island in 1983 searched the seabed without
success.
However,
if Melrose had genuinely seen the Altair overtake him, and they
were the only two aircraft in Burma airspace that night, then
Smithy would have crashed at least 100 miles south of Aye - and
the wheel drifted north.
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