Air Safety

I learnt to fly on Tigers at No 8 EFTS at Narrandera. Then I went on to Wirraways over at Uranquinty before being posted overseas. I suppose it was those days that gave me a feeling for the Riverina and eventually led me back to settle in Merrimain.

By the time our course got to England they wanted bomber crews more than anything else, so instead of going to a fighter OTU, I was posted for multi engined conversion training-on Ansons first, and later Wellingtons. Just before VE day I was posted to Bomber Command and did a conversion on to Lancasters, but then the squadron was disbanded and we were sent home to Australia.

After the war I wasn’t sure what to do. We were all keen to go on flying of course, but pilots were like “berries on a bust” and I couldn’t see much future in civil aviation. I was wrong of course -some of my mates held out and fell on their feet with ANA and later TAA as first officers on DC-3s.

But that’s another story-in the event I decided to look for something I thought would be more solid. My deferred pay and savings amounted to quire a tidy sum, so I got on a train in Sydney and came down to the Riverina to look around. As it happened, the newsagency at Merrimain had just been put on the market. It was pretty run down, but the price was right and I snapped it up. And though over the years that followed I sometimes wondered where I might have been ifI’d waited for a flying job, I never had a moment’s regret – that is until this thing happened.

Like I said, the business was run down, but it was a marvellous opportunity. As in most decent country towns just after the war, any business in Merrimain was bound to succeed-it was a time of growth and prosperity all round. And prosper the business did-a country newsagency at that time, especially if the only one in the town, offered possibilities for all sorts of lines besides newspapers and magazines.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, lliked the work and I liked the people, and I did very well. So well in fact that before long, I found I could afford to fly again. I bought myselfa good Tiger Moth from Disposals, put up a bit of a hangar in a paddock I leased from a fanner on the outskirts of the town, and I’d go flying whenever I could spare the time.

A couple of years later when the novelty had worn off, I sold the Tiger to a young bloke who was starting a super-spreading business over at Temora I was tired of open cockpit flying, and with family transport in· mind, I lashed out and bought a Percival Proctor. I was really proud of that aeroplane- it was a challenge to fly and, unlike a lot of ex service Proctors in Australia, was in mint condition. The engineers in the hangar over at Wagga where I’d take it for maintenance used to drool over it.

The one disappointment about the Proctor was my young family. I’d imagined us using it for trips all over the country as often aswe could get the business, but it didn’t work out that way. Ahnost every time we went on a flight my poor wife and our two little girls would get airsick, and before long they didn’t want to go anywhere near.

But I found that owning a fast cabin aeroplane had other advantages. It was a real asset to the business-both in putting me on the map personally and enabling me to pick up stock for the shop during my now frequent buying trips to Sydney and Melbourne. Also, being a war time pilot and the only aircraft owner in the district made me something of a hero with the air minded lads of the town. Most of them were good kids and I thought it worth encouraging their interest. They used to come into the shop to yarn and look through the aviation magazines on the shelves. Occasionally too, I’d take some of them for a flight- I’m sure it all did the business no hann in those early days.

But private flying became more commonplace as the years passed, and by the time I finally parted with the old Proctor in 1964 to buy my Piper Comanche, no one seemed to think owning an aeroplane was anything to get excited about. By then a number of Riverina properties had their own Cessnas, so I suppose it was only to be expected.

The fact that I’d found so little of the old enthusiasm for aviation in recent years was perhaps the reason I gave young Derek so much encouragement. And that’s how the whole wretched business started. . .

Derek Greaves seemed to have the aviation bug almost from the time he could think. Even as a little boy coming into the shop with his mother, he’d get excited over the flying magazines he’d see on display. Then later as he grew older, he’d come in after school and browse though the aviation section for hours. I didn’t mind -in fact I was glad to find someone really keen again. He like to yarn to me about the Comanche too. He’d even ride out to the field on his bike when I was coming in from a trip away to help me push the aeroplane into the hangar.

Derek became so willing and helpful that I began to feel something of an obligation to him. One day during school holidays, I asked him if he thought his parents would let him come with me on a quick trip I had to make to Sydney and back. He could hardly contain his excitement, rushing offon his bike at once to ask. He was back, breathless, in few minutes. Yes, he was allowed to come, he gasped at me.

We went early next morning. He was just as excited when I picked him up at his house on the way out to the field. He’d never been in the air before, but once we were off the ground he was in his element – eyes still shining but outwardly cahn and taking everything in. After I’d levelled the Comanche out at cruising altitude, I let him fly it from the right hand seat. He was a natural,handling the aeroplane as though he’d been born to it, with sensitivity and lightness of touch. On and off, he flew much of the trip, doing so well that I was able to talk him through most of the descent and approach when we got back to Merrimain late in the day.

From that time on, ourfriendship deepened. He’d come with me as often as his school work allowed, and he hung on all I had to tell him. As soon as he was old enough, he enrolled as a correspondence student with the College of Civil Aviation and with a bit of coaching from me, sailed through his private pilot subjects in a few weeks. His classmates at school used to rib him about his “craze” for flying, but underneath I think they respected his ability. But he didn’t seem to realise it. Instead their attitude made him all the more determined- he made up going to be an airline pilot and thatnothing was going to stop him. I certainly had to admire the way he got stuck into his last year at school, even at the cost of missing out on a few trips with me.

As soon as he left school, Derek went to stay with an aunt down in Albury so he could learn to fly. His parents didn’t have a lot of money, but they did what they could and he got himself a part time job to help meet the cost. I didn’t see much of him now, but he kept in touch, writing me graphic letters about the latest training sequences he was practising. I’ve still got some of those letters even now.

Then when he finally got his unrestricted licence, he flew himself up to Merrimain in a hired Cessna 172. He was obviously proud to take me for a circuit, our former roles now reversed, but the thing he wanted to do most was to take some of his former classmates for a flight- he still seemed to think he had to prove himself. He took a number of them up during a few extended circuits – all done very correctly as befitted a newly licensed pilot. As you might expect, his mates took the whole thing as a bit of a lark, pulling his leg about not having made their wills,and being “too young to die”. They didn’t mean any harm of course, but Derek took it rather badly and left for Albury later in the afternoon in bit of a huff.

The next thing I heard was that he’d moved down to Benalla – got himself a job at a garage there, so he could spend all his spare time towing gliders to build up hours. He’d done well to get himself accepted as a tug pilot so soon-apparently a glider pilot at Albury who’d seen something of his flying recommended him to the Gliding Club committee when they were short of tug pilots.

Derek stayed on at Benalla for almost two years, working very hard. He got his commercial licence as soon as he had the hours and was promptly offered a job with a Benalla charter operator. I’d see him occasionally when he’d bring some passengers up to Merrirnain in a Cessna 182 or a 206, usually when the livestock sales were on, and he’d come into the shop to regale me with his latest exploits. We still got on well, but the time away had matured him and I began to get just the slightest impression that I was now a bit “old hat” – that he felt he was catching me up in experience. But the hang up with his school friends persisted- evidently he wouldn’t be satisfied until they were forced to acknowledge his prowess as a pilot.

By the time Derek left Benalla, he had the best part of 1000 hours. He moved on because he wanted twin engined experience – and an instrument rating, something that’s hard to do from the country. Never one to do things by halves, he took a room at the Aero Club at Bankstown and did the rating full-time. Next I heard he was flying for a new company on NSW south coast. The coast south of Nowra was always a bit off the beaten track and the idea was to fly the Sydney morning papers to the far south coast towns in time for a morning delivery. They were usinga fully instrumented Beech 36 andan old Beech 18. I think the real attraction for Derek was that Beech 18. Apart from being a twin, it appealed to him as something akin to the sort of machines I trained on·- big radial engines with all the challenge of a tail wheel. He had to do his stint on the single engined 36 of course, but it wasn’t long before he wrote to tell me all about handling the 18 – he was really in his element. He also mentioned he’d had an encouraging interview with TAA Certainly was amassing some good experience – the paper flight left Mascot every morning before first light, almost regardless of weather.

Then only a few weeks after this came histelegram telling me the glad news that he’d been accepted for the next TAA pilot intake. “See you soon”, it concluded, so I expected I’d see him before he went off to Melbourne to begin his airline course.

What I didn’t expect was the way he came. How he organised it, I don’t know, but early the following Saturday he turned up in the Beech 18. He must have been in touch with his friends too because a number of them were out at the field to meet him when he landed and they had party organised that night to celebrate.

Derek called in to see me at the shop soon after he landed, said he was taking some of them up for a flight and would I like to come along in the right hand seat? I think it was the opportunity he’d waited for for so long. TheBeech 18 is a very impressive machine up close and he’d obviously gone to a lot of trouble to finally demonstrate his skills to us all. I think he saw it a his grand finale in general aviation.

I hadno alternative but to decline. My wife had taken our two daughters off to Sydney for the long weekend, the Melbourne papers had just come in, and I couldn’t leave the shop. Somehow, much as I would have ertjoyed having a go at the Beech, I wasn’t altogether sorry to tum him down – for some reason I felt just a tiny bit uneasy.

Well, off he went and some time later, away in the distance, I heard the unmistakable howl of WaspJuniors in fine pitch as the Beech took off. About 20 minutes later, to my utter surprise, the machine suddenly flew very low overhead- inside the shop it seemed just above the roof. There were no customers with me just then,and I ran to the front door in time to catch sight of theBeech’s twin tails disappearing behind the parapet of the big store across the road- he couldn’t have been more than 100 feet up. I was not impressed and resolved to say so when I saw him later.

The telephone rang only a few minutes afterwards. “That you,Jack?” It was Tom O’Meara, the local Sergeant of Police. “I’ve just had a couple of complaints about a low aircraft. Know anything about it. ”

“Yes, I think I know who it is,” I told him. “I’m a bit surprised myself. ” I explained the situation, mentioning the reason for the exuberance. “I’ll have a word with him-he’ll take notice of me. ”

“I’d be glad if you would. I certainly don’t want to lay any charges, but we can’t have that going on. If it happens again, I’ll have to act. But if you’ll give him a talking to, I’ll do no more about it. ”

“Leave it to me,Tom,” I assured him. Atleast the call from the police gave me ammunition for speaking firmly to Derek. Oh how I wish I acted there and then! Even if it meant closing up for the rest of the afternoon. But confident I’d be seeing him later, I did nothing. I didn’t expect him to be flying again that afternoon anyway.

Derek had invited me to drop into his celebration party for a drink that evening, and I rehearsed how best to go about it. I didn’t want to spoil his night of triumph with a sour note, but as the sergeant had said, something had to be done. It would be best to speak to him before the party, I decided.

As soon as closing time came, I drove straight out to the field.

The Beech 18 was parked there, dynamic and powerful looking, but the cabin door was locked and there was no one about. I drove back into town and stopped at Derek’s parental home. “Derek’s already left,” his mother told me cheerfully. “He’s meeting some of his friends at the ‘Royal Mail’ before going to the party. You’ll catch him there. ”

I thanked her but drove on home. Going to the pub to talk to him would be even more difficult. It would have to be at the party after all.

The celebration were being held at the home of Debbie Richards, one of the lasses Derek had gone to school with. I gathered they had been corresponding since Derek was last home and the relationship had blossomed. It looked as though Derek was more than compensating for his inferiority complex.

In the manner of country towns, I knew the girl’s parents reasonably well. Mrs Richards answered the door when I rang the bell a little after 9. 30. “Oh, come on in, Jack,” she greeted me. “I’m so glad you were able to come. Do make yourself at home. ”

I did, chatting with various friends for a time, but I didn’t catch sight of Derek. Finally I asked one of the boys: “Seen Derek about, Peter? I’d like a word with him before I head off

– got to be up early in the morning. ”

“I think you’ll find him out on the terrace, Mr Stephens. He was there with Debbie a little while ago. ”

I strolled to the open double doors that led on to the paved garden terrace. It was dark outside, but at the far end I could just make out two figures standing close together. I couldn’t interrupt them there- not for what I had to say to Derek.

Going back inside, IbadeDebbie’s mother goodnight. “Would you mind telling Derek I’d like to see him as soon as he’s got a moment, please Marjorie? Tell him it’s rather urgent. ”

“Of course,Jack” she answered. “You won’t stayfor supper? No – it’s getting late I know, and you’ve always got to be up early for the papers. But I’ll see he gets the message. Perhaps he’ll catch you at the shop in the morning. ”

I always opened the shop for a couple of hours first thing on Sundays for the customers to get their papers. But to my annoyance, Derek didn’t come. Getting far too sure of himself, I thought. But I rationalised it as nothing more than my frustration at not being able to get it over with.

At 10 o’clock I closed up for the day and got straight on the telephone to Derek’s home. This time his young brother answered “Sorry, Mr Stephens – you’ve missed him again. He’s just gone out to the aerodrome. He’s taking some more people up before he goes back this afternoon. ”

“Who are they? Do you know?”

“Most of the ones at the party last night, Mr Stephens- about 10 of them. Derek said he could squeeze them all in for just this one flight before he filled the plane up with petrol for his trip back. ” The lad must have sensed the tension I felt. “Is there anything wrong, Mr Stephens?”

Despite my rising anxiety, I checked myself. It was no good transferring it to the boy. “Not really, Tony,” I answered more gently. “I just want a word with him as soon as I can. ”

“Well, I’ll get him to ring you as soon as he comes back,” he said helpfully. Oblivious now to my feelings, the boy continued to enthuse: “Did you see him yesterday, Mr Stephens? Wasn’t he low? And he was saying just before he left it’d be nothing to what he’d do this trip – said it’d be his last go at low flying before he was an airline pilot- so he was going to make the most of it. ”

I resisted an almost overwhelming sense of urgency to drop the telephone and run. “Thanks, Tony,” I said with difficulty. “Goodbye. ”

Slamming down the receiver, I rushed to the car, parked outside in the street. But even before I could slide into the driving seat, I heard the characteristic howl of the Beech’s propellers in fine pitch as it took off. Half a minute later it burst into view to the north, flying low and fast.

As it came abeam the end of the main street, it banked steeply towards the town centre and thundered down the long line of shops and businesses, its height just above the clock tower on the town hall. Turning then towards the west in the general direction ofDerek’s home on the outskirts of the town, it seemed to be descending to an even lower level. The unexpected beat-up of the main street on the peaceful Sunday morning had brought people out in droves and we all watched in stunned silence as the aircraft, now about a mile distant, flew back north, seemingly just below the level of the intervening trees. Now it was banking steeply again, turning near where I knew the irrigation canal passed close to Derek’s house, apparently to follow the canal back in the direction of the aerodrome. Was it possible to fly as low as that along the canal? Wasn’t there a powerline spanning it there?

The howl ofthe engines was hushed now by the distance, but we could still hear them. The aircraft disappeared momentarily from view again behind a thicker stand of distant trees. Then it happened- a sudden sharp crack- just like the snapping of a dry stick- followed by total silence.

“He’s crashed!” someone yelled.

My reason told me it must be so, but numbed, my mind refused to believe it. Surely it couldn’t end like that- just that one sharp crack? I listened intently, straining for the reassuring beat of the engines. There was nothing.

Instead in another moment there was something else- the spine-chilling sound of the town’s fire siren, rising quickly from a low growl into a wailing crescendo.

Without a word I jumped into the car and roared off in the direction of the accident.

* * *

The events that followed are hazy as I think back on them. I was in a state of shock, though I scarcely realised it at the time. I remember the broken high tension line looming up as I drove, leaving the car by the side of the road, and running across the paddock to the canal bank, expecting to see the Beech’s fuselage in the water.

Instead there was only a long tail of smashed, fragmented wreckage, the only thing recognisable a landing wheel, with the undercarriage leg still attached, floating by the opposite bank. Far worse were the grimmer details – the scattered, decapitated, mangled bodies of all those young people I had watched going to school and growing up together while I ran the newsagency, and who had all been at the party the night

before.

Most of all remember the Tony Greaves who had excitedly watched his brother beat up their house only moments before the aircraft hit the power line and plunged out of control into the canal. Like me, he instinctively ran to the scene of the crash to see what he could do. The horror that confronted him at that moment will stay with him for the rest of his life.

* * *

Why did it happen? I’ve asked myself that question again and again over the years since. How much of it was my doing? It wouldn’t have happened if I’d never come to Merrirnain. Neither would it if I hadn’t bought an aeroplane- or encouraged young Derek the way I did. There are so many ifs and buts to it all – it might not have happened if I’d just been more resolute about my promise to Sergeant O’Meara. But none of those postmortems could bring back Derek and his friends.

I was completely exonerated by the accident investigators and the police- in fact they were all very understanding and sympathetic. But I couldn’t stay on in Merrirnain after that. None of the families of all those kids ever made the slightest suggestion that it was in any way myfault. But just the same, it would have been hard to go on facing them without feeling to some extent to blame for the part I played- or didn’t play.

Making a newstart in Adelaide wasn’t easy on my own family – and getting myself an instructor rating was hard work at my age. But at least I’ve tried in the years since to give other young pilots the message I failed so miserably to get across to young Derek-that the control seat of an aircraft is just no place to set about proving yourself.