Air Safety

Further airmail contracts were soon let – among others to the infant Qantas for a route linking the railheads of settlements in western Queensland. Though these services were the real pioneers of Australia’s airlines, they remained “bush operations” for the first years of their lives, making no demand, apart from their requirement for adequate landing grounds, for any supporting “airways system. ”

But the year 1929 saw the dawn of a new era. WAN. snew transcontinental link between Adelaide and Perth with the DH-66 Hercules – the nation’s first inter-capital service with multi engined, cabin aircraft – marked the real beginning of Australia’s domestic airlines.

A few months later the eastern capitals witnessed the introduction of the nation’s first daily interstate airline. With its fleet of brand new three engined Avro Tens, Charles Ulm and Kingsford Smith’s Australian National Airways Ltd (not to be confused with the later company of the same name), was to set a pattern for other airlines to follow in years to come.

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The overnight rain had gone but it was still overcast with the threat of more blustery weather on the morning of Saturday, 21 March 1931.

Outside ANN big Sydney hangar two Avro Tens, VH-UNA Southern Sun, scheduled for Brisbane, and the Melbourne bound VH-UMF Southern Cloud, stood ready for the day’s flying, engines running and warmed.

ANA Chief Pilot Travis Shortridge boarded Southern Cloud and made his way up to the cockpit. Like his young copilot, he wore a heavy flying overall over a tweed suit – flight crew uniforms were still something for the future – and carried a flying helmet and goggles.

He sat studying the weather report in the day’s Sydney Morning Herald conveniently left for him in the cockpit. It indicated cloudy and unsettled conditions, with heavy rain and thunderstorms. There would be strong winds from the north at first, but a cool squally change was expected to spread across the State from the west. They were in for a rough, slow passage.

Luggage and freight was stowed and the passengers were shepherded aboard. The aircraft foreman closed the cabin door and gave a “thumbs-up” to the pilots. Shortridge waved and pulled down his goggles; an apprentice removed the chocks and Southern Cloud taxied out.

A few minutes afterwards it lifted off into the light northerly and, in the words of watching ANA staff, “struck out towards the west. Later that morning it was sighted over Moss Vale being buffeted by the gusty nor-westerly that had sprung up. Later again it was heard passing over Goulburn, in or above cloud. Nearly three decades were to pass before any trace of it was seen again.

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Incorporated in 1936, Airlines of Australia took over the daily Sydney/Brisbane service operated for several years by New England Airways.

Up to this time, Australia’s airline network had been a plodding 100mph affair. Air travel thus remained a wearisome business, especially in strong headwinds. But at the end of 1935, with the lifting of the Australian Customs embargo on the importation of US aircraft, Airlines of Australia ordered Stinson Model A trimotors.

Bristling with new features – retractable undercarriage, electrically operated flaps, and variable pitch propellers- the eight passenger Model A was a low wing monoplane with a cruising speed of 170mph – nearly double that of many biplane airliners still in service.

At Archerfield soon after midday on Friday 19 February 1937, the Stinson VH-UHH, Brisbane, was being prepared for the afternoon service to Sydney via Lismore, departing at 1pm. The weather was not good, but for Captain Rex Boyden, it gave no great cause for concern. His main problem was the landing at Lismore, where four passengers were to join the flight. Lismore had received a lot of rain, and the tops of the surrounding hills were in cloud.

But finally all was ready; taking off into the fresh south-easterly, VH-UHH set course towards the distant MacPherson Ranges on the NSW border.

VH-UHH was due at Lismore just before 2pm. But it carried no radio and when nothing was heard of it, it was assumed at first that Boyden had continued on to Sydney. But at Mascot later that afternoon, there was wonder, then concern, and finally anxiety for the Stinson’s safety.

Because of many reports that the Stinson had been seen in flight less than 40 miles (64km) from Sydney, one of the most intensive searches in Australia’s history was concentrated on the southern section of the route. As the days dragged on without uncovering a single clue, it was concluded that VH-UHH, somehow stricken by the violent weather, haq come down in the sea. A week after it began, the search effort was called off. In banner headlines, a Sydney newspaper asked: “Is it another ‘Southern Cloud’?”

But on his little mountain farm deep in the MacPherson Ranges, a bushman thought differently. On the day of the Stinson’s disappearance, the weather on the mountains had been the worst for years, but the Stinson had flown over as usual. Yet the newspapers, when they reached him, told how passengers had waited in vain at Lismore.

On a map of the ranges, Bernard O’Reilly drew a line from where his neighbours had last seen the Stinson, direct to Lismore. It crossed four steeply sloping, jungle covered ridges. If the Stinson had come down in the MacPhersons, O’Reilly reasoned, it would be on the northern slopes of one of these ridges. The story of how, 10 days after VH-UHH had vanished, Bernard O’Reilly single handedly found the wreck amid almost impenetrable rainforest, then organised and led a party back to the site to save the lives of the two survivors, is one of the most extraordinary search and rescue epics in aviation history.

From the evidence of the survivors, meteorological records, and those who were the last to see VH-UHH in flight, the cause of the crash was finally deduced.

Having evidently decided to attempt a landing at Lismore, Captain Boyden had set course as usual from Archerfield. The route, though avoiding the heavy rain battering the coast, took the aircraft directly across the main ridge of the MacPherson Ranges, rising to almost 4,000 feet. Intent on remaining in sight of the ground to enable an approach to Lismore, Boyden kept just below the cloud base as VH-UHH crossed the high terrain, not realising the southerly gale at mountain top height was the worst for years. About to skim the spur on which the crash occurred, VH-UHH flew directly into an invisible downrush of air and, too late to turn back, was carried below the summit into the tree-tops.

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In his cramped little hut on Tuesday 25 October 1938, Aeradio Officer Bill Lauder-Cridge glanced at the wall clock. It was just after 1. 30pm. Presently the call he was expecting crackled in his headphones; “Kyeema calling Essendon. Passing Daylesford, altitude 7,000 feet, course 110°. What is your weather please?”

Kyeema was one of the big new all metal Douglas DC-2s, introduced only 18 months before. Flying the morning service from Adelaide, its ETA was 1. 45pm. The DC-2s, together with the dynamic Lockheed Electras of Ansett and Guinea Airways, had revolutionised airline flying. For those to whom time was all important, going by air was now becoming a desirable option.

Launder-Cridge read Kyeema the latest· weather: overcast cloud at 1,500 feet in the Melbourne area, extending to 4,000 feet. Beneath it was a broken layer at 800 feet. The wind was a light southerly.

“Weather received OK, ” Kyeema replied. “We may require a bearing from you later. We’re about to enter the overcast at 4,000 feet. ”

In a few moments there was another call, this time from an ANA Dragon Rapide inbound from King Island. It reported coming up the bay beneath the cloud. Well, that took care of that-the Rapide would not conflict with Kyeema.

Launder-Cridge relayed this information to Kyeema, then an Ansett Lockheed, en route from Hamilton, called with a position report. Its signal was strong and it jammed a further transmission from Kyeema. As soon as he was finished with the Lockheed, Lauder-Cridge called the DC-2 again: “Did you call for a bearing? I was working the Lockheed. ”

“Yes,” Kyeema replied. “What is your barometer?”

“Barometer 29. 88. If you want a bearing, keep your transmitter on. ”

The DC-2 didn’t leave its transmitter on. Apparently they didn’t need a bearing after all.

For the next few minutes, Lauder-Cridge was busy with other traffic. But there was still no sign of Kyeema. It couldn’t be far out now. At 1. 59, he called the DC-2 again: Kyeema, what is your position? Transmit while I take a bearing. ”

Silence.

Further calls produced the same negative result. Whatever could have happened? Kyeema could not have been far out when it last called. Captain Webb and First Officer Steen he knew well. Only this morning, soon after he had come on duty, he had watched them taking off for Adelaide – a beautiful gleaming airliner, performing faultlessly . . .

Bob Logan had lived on Mt Dandenong all his life, but the fog this day was as bad as he’d seen it. With his mate Tom Murphy, he had been working all the morning clearing undergrowth from the side of Ridge Road, and here it was nearly two o’clock and the fog was as thick as ever In the eerie quietness of the fog enshrouded bush, both men gradually became aware of the distant whine of an aeroplane; the sound was coming from the north west and it seemed to be getting louder . . .

The noise grew; it wasn’tjust a whine now-they could hear the beat of the engines as well. It was a big one all right-and it was coming closer and closer . . .

The engine noise had become a roar. But suddenly it was overlaid by a loud screeching; in a moment there was a smashing of metal, then a tremendous explosion . . .

Logan dropped his pick and began to run, Tom Murphy hard on his heels. Leaving the road, they ran on through the fog into the thick bush of the mountainside, a strong smell of burning guiding them. Ahead now, only a little way down the slope, great orange flames were leaping up among the trees. As they scrambled down the rock strewn mountainside an appalling sight met their eyes.

All on board had died instantly . . .

News of the Kyeema tragedy shocked the nation more profoundly than any previous air accident. The Inquiry that followed showed that it had happened for no other reason than the DC-2 had overshot Essendon and let down into the mountain. Yet Mt Dandenong was 20 miles (32km) beyond Essendon. How could an experienced crew have made such s gross navigational error? A reconstruction of the DC-2’s flight from Adelaide showed it had tracked a few miles north of the direct line between Parafield and Essendon. Eventually passing to the north of Essendon in cloud, it had continued on the same heading until it struck the mountain. The time of the crash was 1. 45pm – Kyeema’s flight planned ETA. The “passing Daylesford” position report had clearly been incorrect, probably given when the aircraft was over Sunbury, 20 miles closer to Essendon. It could be mistaken for Daylesford if glimpsed momentarily through a break in the cloud.

Have you an air safety story to tell? Particularly one with a lesson that might save other pilots from making a similar error of judgement? If you have, write to Macarthur Job, cl- Australian Aviation, PO Box 3105, Weston Creek, ACT 2611. Contributors to this series are assured their anonymity will be fully respected!

It was obvious that, had there been some way of checking Kyeema’s progress from its inflight reports, its erroneous Daylesford position would have been immediately suspect and the captain could have been instructed not to descend until the aircraft’s true position had been established. As things stood, there was a serious element of risk to an airline aircraft whenever a crew mistook or miscalculated their position.

Equally significant was the finding that modern radio navigation aids were of primary importance to the safe flying of the new generation, high speed airline aircraft. In the past, the unwieldy ground operated Bellini-Tosi direction finding equipment originally designed for ships at sea had proved reasonably adequate. But for the new breed of airliners, it fell a long way short. The time taken to get an accurate bearing could nullify its value, and pilots were sometimes unable to get bearings when they wanted them – simply because the operator on the ground was busy with other aircraft. The equipment was also subject to interference and unreliable over any distance at night, early morning or late afternoon.

This finding came as no surprise to the airline industry-it had been clamouring for the introduction of radio ranges since the loss of the Stinson early the previous year. Indeed, the need for adequate air route facilities had been the subject of industry pressure since the mysterious disappearance of Southern Cloud.

The Inquiry into that loss in 1931 found that the pilot in command, though anticipating moderately bad conditions, had no warning of the extreme conditions that actually existed. “Under present arrangements,” the Southern Cloud Inquiry reported, “these extreme conditions could not have been forseen. ” The report continued, “It cannot be established what happened . . . after the departure from Mascot . . . it is the opinion of the Committee however, that the extreme weather conditions contributed greatly to its loss. ” It added: “Had two way wireless been carried . . . and a ground wireless direction finding system been in operation, the disaster might not have occurred.

The loss of Southern Cloud was not only Australia’s first major air disaster which put a highly promising pioneer airline out of business: demonstrating the need for an integrated meteorological and radio communications system, it began the long and painful evolutionary process of airways development.

The loss of the Stinson and its dramatic aftermath in 1937 brought to light the startling fact that though more than six years had passed since Southern Cloud had vanished without trace, Commonwealth regulations still did not require the carriage of “wireless” on airline aircraft. If VH-UHH had been making regular position reports, it would have indicated the area in which the aircraft had disappeared, enabling the wreckage to be located more quickly.

As a result, a network of “aeradio ” stations was hurriedly begun and it became mandatory for all aircraft operating regular passenger services to carry radio.

The Stinson accident also sheeted home the need for some form of radio navigation system. At the time, an experimental VHF radio range was undergoing tests in Melbourne. The Minister responsible for aviation immediately announced he “expected it would be decided” to install the system at Brisbane, Sydney and Melbourne “within the next three months. ” The radio ranges were still not operational 20 months later when Kyeema ploughed into Mt Dandenong.

How many of the 15 million passengers who use out airlines each year ever give a thought to the way this modern day miracle came about? The effortless, assured air travel of today is not something ushered in only with the advent of the jet airliner; it evolved over 70 years, often painfully, out of the bold and determined efforts of pioneering airline companies that struggled against repeated adversity to establish safe and efficient air services. The facilities and systems that eventually resulted, ensure our air routes today are as safe as it is humanly possible to make them. But the fact that these standards have been hard won, hammered out one by one over the years, more often than not in the harsh light of tragic experience, must never be forgotten.

Despite frequent proddings from the industry, installation of the promised radio ranges had proceeded at a snail’s pace, while bureaucratic procrastination over the funding of an aircraft suitable for air-testing the new equipment dragged on month after month without decision. Meanwhile, with an increasing number of high performance aircraft flying the air routes, concern mounted over the risks being taken.

The Kyeema accident confirmed the industry’s worst fears, proving beyond all doubt that technological advances in aircraft design and performance were of doubtful value – even dangerous – without a corresponding development in ground support systems. Out of it came immediate action to equip Australia’s airways network with VHF Radio Ranges that would give instant navigational information without having to depend upon cumbersome equipment operated from ground stations.

Equally important was the historic decision to establish a Departmental Flight Checking system – to appoint senior experienced airmen to monitor aircraft progress in flight and advise pilots on weather conditions, alternative aerodromes, and their position in relation to other aircraft. It was the birth of Australia’s system of Operational Control – one that came to be regarded as amongst the safest Air Traffic Control system in the world. Most significantly of all, the Kyeema Inquiry sealed the fate of the old Civil Aviation Board which had functioned under the umbrella of the Department of Defence. Fearful of public reaction, the Government lost no time in setting up a new portfolio of Civil Aviation. It was a watershed for Australia’s infant airline industry. There was still much to be learnt, but with the creation of the new Department of Civil Aviation, the political and organisational basis for the further development of the industry had been put in place.

The Southern Cloud, Stinson VH-UHH, and Kyeema disasters were but three of the 15 fatal accidents to Australian airline aircraft prior to World War II. Other, even worse accidents in terms of passengers killed, would follow in the great post-war airline expansion.

All would point the way to greater safety – to more adequate meteorological services; air-ground communications, better aircrew and airworthiness standards, more accurate maps, equipment to fly safely and accurately in cloud; improved airfields, air traffic control and search and rescue services, and methods of determining if an aircraft was flying into the extreme turbulence of a thunderstorm when already flying blind.

The forces of nature have not only been the only adversary of safety. Breaking through the barriers of government lethargy could also require more than the determined efforts of pioneer airline operators; time and again, it took nothing less than a fatal accident to overcome indecision and political inertia.

Are we today in danger of forgetting the lessons of history? Has the very efficiency of our airway system engendered a similar sense of complacency? Deregulation, cost recovery, the abandonment of Australia’s long established method of Operational Control, the wholesale scaling down of Flight Information services, the sweeping changes to airspace categories, and the increasing takeover of Civil AviationAuthority direction by career bureaucrats with no operational aviation experience, have caused alarm bells to ring in many places.

The way Australia’s airways have developed should be a continuing reminder that their efficiency is but the accumulated aeronautical wisdom of operational lessons learnt step by step over the years in the violent school of practical experience. The stories of those events are parables of what could happen again if the past is dismissed as irrelevant.

It would be tragic indeed if Australia had to experience a latter-day Kyeema to bring us to our senses. The truism that the price of safety is constant vigilance remains as valid today as it did in the era of Southern Cloud.

Volume I of Macarthur Job’s excellent book – Air Crash – How Australia’s Airways Were Made Safe, has just been released and is available from major newsagencies and bookshops or alternatively by mail from Australian Aviation, refer double page advert elsewhere this issue.