‘Well done, Deborah Jane’

When I arrived at the check-in counter, I could see lots of press milling around and I felt self-conscious. Alan stepped forward to introduce himself, along with a first officer who’d be sitting in the jump seat for a few days acting as a safety pilot. This was standard practice with new trainees until they’d settled in.

After warmly welcoming me, Alan went to check all was in order with our luggage and tickets. Behind me I could sense the reporters getting anxious for photos and an interview. Next thing an Ansett official appeared, and Alan was on the phone to Captain Dusty Lane, who was asking, “Who said she could go?” There’d been an “administrative hitch”: the Fokker F-27 hadn’t been registered on my pilot’s licence, and without it I couldn’t fly. Oddly enough, despite conjecture otherwise, this time it was the Department of Transport causing the hold-up. Alan was seething and assured me that the paperwork would be fixed forthwith. We made our goodbyes and he headed off to the aircraft with the safety pilot.

Immediately I encountered a barrage of questions from reporters; fortunately, an Ansett official stepped in and ushered them away. I kept my composure until I reached my car. Once safely inside, I burst into tears and cried all the way home. When Peter returned from work to find me red-eyed and looking totally dejected, I huffed, “They f***ed up the paperwork.”

An hour later the company phoned to say that my licence was now in order and that I’d be catching the same flight to Alice Springs in the morning. Alan and the safety pilot would be waiting for me when I arrived.

Day two, take two, and there I was: all dressed up in uniform again. This time, however, the company had prepared for the media onslaught to ensure there was no repeat of the chaos of the previous day. A 20-minute press conference had been arranged, and I was escorted to a room adorned with grey curtains imprinted with small orange Ansett logos. It was nerve-racking. “Don’t say anything inflammatory,” I told myself. Fearful that one of the company officials might report me, I wore the too-large pilot’s hat the entire time. After the gruelling question and answer session, the media wanted photos on the tarmac, so a veritable entourage trailed after me to where a Fokker had been parked for the occasion. As the cameras clicked, I walked, paused, walked some more, stood on the aircraft stairs, propped at the rear entry door and lastly sat in the right-hand seat on the flight deck, where what would become one of the most iconic photos of me was taken. There were more interviews while I sat in the pilot’s seat, and I was even asked to wave out the window. Eventually I tapped my watch and caught the eye of my Ansett minder: I was worried about being late for my flight to Alice Springs. There were a few last snaps before I finally got on my way.

I stepped out of the air-conditioned Boeing 727 into the 40-plus degrees Celsius heat of Alice Springs. No need for the uniform jacket here. Alan was waiting and as we made our way across to the Fokker, with its propellers glistening in the sun, I was dismayed to see more reporters armed with cameras, ready to intercept me. Alan suggested, “Let them take a few photos so we can be rid of them,” then offered to take my flight bag and wait for me on board.

One of the photographers asked me to stand near the landing gear and lean on one of the struts. “Sure,” I said and obligingly leaned on the steely surface. Instantly I felt oil on my skin, from wrist to elbow. I lost my composure for a moment, and the photographer wisely decided he had enough photos.

Back in the cockpit, Alan seemed unconcerned by my flustered demeanour and the unsightly black oil stain on my arm. All he said was, “Perhaps you should clean up first,” his tone nonchalant. I cursed myself for agreeing to pose with the landing-gear strut.

Soon we were underway, with Alan flying the legs to Tennant Creek, Tindal and Darwin so that I could settle in and get familiar with the pilot support duties. At least the radio calls were something I was able to manage confidently.

There was more media waiting when we landed in Darwin and, relieved to have gotten through my first day, I agreed to have some photos taken even though by this stage I must have looked like the wreck of the Hesperus. On arrival at the hotel for our overnight stay I was glad to get out of my uniform into some normal clothes and be free from the stares and whispers I got everywhere I went.

The following day we flew back down the milk run to Alice Springs. This chance to fly under the watchful eye of Alan and the safety pilot had been a long time coming. My first landing into Tennant Creek surprised even me: it wasn’t too bad at all. Alan looked pleased and said, “Well done, Deborah Jane.” From that day forward he always called me Deborah Jane. Now, with decades of airline experience, I know how lucky I was to have Alan as my first training captain. He was calm, patient, extremely knowledgeable and – above all – he wanted me to succeed.

In the newspapers the next day I read, “Finally on 16 January 1980, Wardley made Australian aviation history when she became the first woman to co-pilot a flight for a major domestic airline on Ansett’s flight 232 over the central Australian outback.” What struck me about those flights was that the passengers didn’t seem fazed at all. In fact, some of them asked me to autograph their tickets.

“Touching the Sky” by Deborah Lawrie is available now, published by HarperCollins and ABC Books.