I. TO THE START AT MILDENHALL

According to the race committee regulations, all participating aircraft were required to be at Mildenhall a week before the start. This was to allow the race officials sufficient time to check that all requirements had been met. However, permission had been sought and granted for the Uiver and the Panderjager to arrive a few days later, so the 16th of October was set as our final deadline. On that morning, the Uiver stood ready to depart on the Schiphol tarmac amidst dripping rain. Since there was, for obvious reasons, a great deal of interest in the London route that day, KLM had decided to run the Uiver as an extra scheduled flight from Amsterdam to London at 8 o’clock. Thus, we took off with a full load of passengers. Among them was the German aviator Thea Rasche, who was to accompany us on the journey to Australia. The two other passengers, who had booked return tickets, were to be brought to Mildenhall later by a special flight. Also among the party were two important passengers: Mrs Moll and Mrs Parmentier, who did not wish to abandon their husbands in Mildenhall during those final five days.

After the usual exchange of handshakes, the photographers doing their duty, and the Captain saying a few words of farewell into the microphone, we departed. To the surprise of all onlookers, however, the Uiver did not leave the ground but suddenly returned to the hangars. It was amusing to see all the bewildered faces from the cockpit: ‘What had happened?’ During the take-off on the rain-soaked airfield, the left wheel had suddenly been braked because it had sunk slightly into the soft ground. This caused the aircraft to veer off course. Since I could not determine the cause, I thought it better to shut down the engines and have the undercarriage checked first. As no faults were found, a second attempt was made, using as much of the large concrete platform as possible. This time the aircraft took off smoothly as usual, and we immediately set course for London, where we landed at Croydon 83 minutes later despite a headwind. In the meantime, we received word that the other aircraft, flying to Croydon via Rotterdam, had taken on a passenger who was to accompany us to Mildenhall. We had to wait until this machine had also landed at Croydon. This gave us the opportunity to enjoy a pleasant cup of coffee with the other crew members, about whom I shall now tell you something.

Firstly, I would like to introduce you to Jan Johannes Moll, the First Officer aboard the Uiver and, therefore, my right-hand man. He is thirty-five years old and received his initial pilot training with the Netherlands East Indies Air Force. In 1928, he flew one of the Fokker F VIIb aircraft destined for the KNILM to the Indies, and he served that company for five years as a pilot on the air routes of the East Indian archipelago. In 1931, he made a flight from Batavia to Melbourne in the ‘Abel Tasman’ with Captain Pattist and the flight engineer Elleman.

Next is Cornelis van Brugge, the wireless operator, aged 31, who has been with the Dutch telegraph company ‘Radio-Holland’ since 1926. For five years, he travelled as a radio officer aboard Dutch merchant vessels. He also experienced a voyage to Australia aboard a tugboat towing a floating dock. He joined KLM at the end of 1931 and has since made several flights to the Indies with me as wireless operator.

Finally, there is Bouwe Prins, the flight engineer, aged 33. He received his technical training with the Naval Air Service at De Kooy, where he worked as an aircraft fitter. Before that, he worked at various factories in America, including a locomotive works in Paterson, N.J. He joined KLM on the 13th of April 1931 and has completed eight trips to the Indies with me as flight engineer.

I was tasked with bringing the Uiver to Melbourne and back with these three gentlemen, and you will have the opportunity to get to know them better as the story progresses.

Meanwhile, the KLM aircraft from Rotterdam has landed at Croydon, and we continue our journey to the British Royal Air Force airfield at Martlesham Heath, where the Uiver had to be weighed before the race officials. Naturally, our machine attracted a great deal of interest there, and we were very warmly received by the commander and his officers. We were offered lunch. In the meantime, our friends Geijsendorffer, Asjes, and Pronk arrived in the Panderjager to be put on the scales as well. Once all formalities had been completed to the satisfaction of the committee, the Uiver took off again, landing fifteen minutes later at Mildenhall. The Panderjager arrived just behind us.

There was a great deal of interest in our arrival. However, the aircraft were first placed in the hangar, and the commanders paid their respects to the head of the race committee. The organisation of the race was entirely in the hands of the Royal Aero Club, which proved very hospitable. A charming and, moreover, very practical idea was that every participant was assigned a so-called ‘father and mother’, whose task was to ensure that their ‘children’ lacked for nothing. Colonel and Mrs Strange watched over us like true parents during the five days we spent in Mildenhall. Their kindness and the willingness with which they assisted us sometimes even left us quite embarrassed.

As there was no accommodation in Mildenhall, which is only a very small village, we took up residence at the Bull Hotel in Cambridge, the ancient university city. One drawback, of course, was that we had to drive for a good hour before reaching the airfield.

Inspecting our aircraft, weighing our cargo, and sealing various components took up most of the following day. In the meantime, a set of improved wheels had arrived from America; these were fitted under the supervision of Mr Behage to replace the old ones. Otherwise, there was nothing to be done to our machine, which gave us plenty of opportunity to observe the pleasant bustle in the competitors’ camp.

Not all participants were apparently as ready as we were, for we saw several aircraft being worked on with might and main. Others were making test flights to ensure that everything functioned correctly. A few of the favourites were practising landings daily in their extremely fast racers. It seemed to me, and many others, that they were primarily intent on testing the strength of their retractable undercarriages in a rather drastic manner. Other participants were less fortunate with their retractable legs, the mechanisms of which apparently operated at the wrong moment, with the fairly natural result that they ended up flat on their bellies.

There was a tremendous amount of activity, especially on the final day before departure. We too brought our Uiver out of the hangar, not for a test flight, but merely to check that the brakes on our new wheels were working properly. We left the machine outside, as word had gone round that the British Royal Family would honour Mildenhall with a visit that afternoon. The KLM aircraft from the morning Amsterdam–London service nipped over from Croydon to drop off the director and a large number of interested parties. The pilot, Brinkhuis, who had to return to Croydon immediately to fly the afternoon service back to Holland, could not resist giving a brief demonstration in his empty machine upon take-off, which won everyone’s admiration.

In the afternoon, His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales arrived in his twin-engined de Havilland ‘Dragon’. He viewed the competing aircraft with great interest and also came to take a look at our Douglas. His Royal Highness was very interested in our machine’s instruments and the layout of the cockpit. An hour later, we were honoured by a visit from the King and Queen of England. While His Majesty asked various questions with great interest regarding the flying characteristics of our machine, Her Majesty the Queen admired the interior of the cabin and praised the comfort of our adjustable seats.

We always found it interesting to take a look inside the large tent, which had been completely fitted out as a café-restaurant. Here one met the most diverse characters: pressmen from all over the world, participating pilots, aircraft designers, and many others directly or indirectly involved in the aviation industry. Here one could overhear the most fantastic stories about the tremendous capabilities of participant number so-and-so, who was certain to win the first prize. Bets were placed, business was done, disagreements were fought out, healths were drunk, and farewell parties were held. In short, the entire atmosphere breathed the pleasant bustle and hum of the great tension that precedes a major aeronautical event.

Naturally, we met several of the foreign participants. C.W.A. Scott once asked casually what our plans were, and I can still hear Moll saying: ‘We are only making a commercial flight to Melbourne, making intermediate stops everywhere; if all goes well, we shall take a week or so.’ I added that we were mainly concerned with the handicap race, a remark which clearly relieved Scott. Roscoe Turner, in his own uniform and with his inseparable lion’s tail as a walking stick, twirled the ends of his moustache and… just laughed. Jim and Amy Mollison, by contrast, made a very anxious and nervous impression.

Naturally, we also spent much time with our Dutch friends from the Panderjager. Having no inkling, of course, of the immense setback they would encounter on their journey, we jokingly made an agreement that Geijsendorffer and Asjes would ensure champagne was ready for us when we arrived in Melbourne with the Uiver.

In the meantime, there was still much to be settled in the afternoon, especially when the ‘Snip’—piloted by the KLM Head of Flight Operations, Mr Aler—landed at Mildenhall with our two male passengers, Mr Gilissen and Mr Domenie, and the mail for the Uiver. Once again, things were weighed, calculated, and sealed, but finally everything proved to be in order, and we met for the last time in the large tent for a pleasant farewell dinner.

A very difficult problem now was finding a place to sleep for the final night. As mentioned before, every house in Mildenhall was, to use a KLM expression, ‘triple-booked’. Since a massive stream of coaches, especially from London, was expected on the morning of departure, it was not advisable to return to Cambridge. There was, after all, a very high chance that if one of the large coaches were to break down, the narrow access roads to the airfield would become blocked. None of the participants wanted to risk such a delay, yet on the other hand, it was essential to get proper rest on the last night before departure.

The fourteen seats in the Uiver were occupied that night by various KLM and press staff, so we had no reason to fear that our machine would be insufficiently guarded. Prins and Van Brugge had found a room at a farm near the airfield; their only worry was that the farmer’s wife might not wake them in time should their alarm clock fail to go off. We were offered the chance to spend the final night in the storehouse of the soldiers’ barracks. Between large stacks of new blankets, mattresses, and other quartermaster stores, four cots had been set up for us, where Moll, our wives, and I enjoyed a good final night’s sleep. A comical incident occurred when one of the soldiers, apparently unaware that the storehouse had been promoted to a bedroom, came storming in at midnight. He stood there utterly dumbfounded, seeing two ladies and two gentlemen ensconced on the bunks in distinctly unmilitary nightwear.

Despite everything, we enjoyed an excellent night’s rest and woke with the pleasant thought that the great day had finally dawned.