VI. MELBOURNE IN FESTIVE SPIRIT

It was not only the great England–Australia air race and the arrival of the first competitors that put Melbourne in a festive mood. The London–Melbourne race, for which Sir MacPherson Robertson provided the prizes, is merely one part of the ‘Centenary Celebrations’. These festivities are being held to mark the hundredth anniversary of the State of Victoria and its capital, Melbourne.

With over a million inhabitants, Melbourne is the seventh-largest city in the British Empire. In just a century, it has blossomed into one of the world’s most beautiful metropolises. It seems almost incredible that where modern buildings now line broad boulevards, a small group of English settlers decided to build a city in what was then mere wilderness, barely a hundred years ago. Their industry and enterprise are certainly something of which their descendants can be proud.

Sir MacPherson Robertson could have devised no better way to lend these centenary celebrations lasting significance for Australia, and Melbourne in particular, than by offering £15,000 in prize money for an international London–Melbourne air race. This race is not only a milestone in the development of global aviation; it has also focused the world’s attention on the city of Melbourne.

Naturally, the progress of the MacRobertson race was followed with intense excitement throughout Australia, especially in the state of Victoria. The joy and enthusiasm upon the arrival of Scott and Campbell Black, who completed the flight in less than three days, knew no bounds. Over 30,000 spectators were present at the airfield when the ‘Comet’ landed, giving the winners a grand and spirited welcome.

Once it became known that the ‘Uiver’ had departed Charleville and was expected in Melbourne at midnight, all eyes turned to the Dutch competitors. All of Australia huddled around their radios for the latest news, while crowds flocked to Melbourne’s airfield to witness our arrival, despite the late hour and the foul weather.

Unfortunately, we had to disappoint those 20,000 onlookers because of our emergency landing at Albury. Yet the tension and enthusiasm remained undimmed; the radio kept young and old glued to their speakers, and people only went to bed once we had safely landed at Albury.

The following morning, regular updates continued regarding our struggles to take off from the racecourse. As soon as it was announced we were airborne again, the crowds returned to Laverton airfield near Melbourne ‘to see the Dutchies arrive’. Although we were flying over Melbourne within an hour of leaving Albury, a large crowd had already gathered at the airfield.

On the Flemington racecourse, the name ‘Flemington’ is painted in large letters alongside a white stripe—the finishing line. Although participants do not land there, it serves as the official finish; the time of arrival is recorded as the moment one flies over the line. There are two airfields near the city: Essendon, a civil airport, and Laverton, a military one. Following instructions from race officials in Charleville, we are to land at the latter, as it is larger and better equipped than Essendon.

We taxi towards the hangar, where men signal us with white flags. A strong police cordon holds the public back at a safe distance on either side. Loud cheers erupt as we taxi into the hangar under our own power. Then the large sliding doors close behind us, and for the first time since Mildenhall, the ‘Uiver’ is under cover again, standing beside Scott and Black’s red ‘Comet’. Although the Albury incident has greatly diminished our chances of winning the handicap race, we have reached our goal in a remarkably short time for a commercial aircraft and secured second prize in the speed race.

First, we are welcomed and congratulated by officers of the Royal Australian Air Force, acting as representatives of the race committee. Various formalities are completed; the logbook is handed over, and all seals on the aircraft and engines are found to be intact. Since we had to leave all sealed cargo behind in Albury, there is no need for anything to be reweighed.

Various dignitaries and guests, including many of our compatriots, are then admitted to the hangar. The first to address us is the Dutch consul in Melbourne, Colonel H. Wright. With warm words, he welcomes us and speaks of the great joy felt everywhere at our success in overcoming all difficulties to arrive in second place. Speaking on behalf of the Dutch Government, he informs us that Her Majesty has appointed all four of us Knights in the Order of Orange-Nassau, and he reads out the telegram from the Minister. Captain Knollema then takes the floor, presenting us with a wreath on behalf of the Dutch community in Melbourne. This is followed by the singing of the ‘Wilhelmus’, joined by all the Dutchmen present.

We are introduced to Sir MacPherson Robertson, who welcomes and warmly congratulates us: ‘Your flight has perfectly fulfilled the purpose I envisioned for this race; you have made a magnificent journey and you have a splendid machine.’ Moll and I are then given the opportunity to express our gratitude in both English and Dutch for the warm reception, the assistance, and the honours, while sharing a few details of our flight. Miss Jean Batten, the young New Zealander who flew solo from London to Sydney in thirteen days last year, then leads us to a microphone to introduce us to the Australian listeners.

It is a pity that Van Brugge, Prins, and our passengers cannot share in this tribute; it is a simple yet extraordinarily warm reception that soon makes us forget the misery of Albury. The only reminders are the mud on the landing gear of our plane… and on our shoes.

Meanwhile, an enthusiastic crowd waits impatiently outside. They find it a shame that our machine vanished behind the hangar doors so quickly; most of those present did not see us land, only fly over the city. When we finally step out, we are greeted with hearty cheers; once again, we are photographed, filmed, and asked to speak into microphones. Then we head into the city with the consul and our representative, Colonel Koopman.

Rooms have been reserved for us at the Menzies Hotel. I send a telegram to Holland and telephone Albury; Prins and Van Brugge are on their way to Melbourne by car with the passengers and the ‘Uiver’s’ cargo, and should arrive later this afternoon. We then begin reading the telegrams being brought to our room in heaps.

At lunch, we learn that Roscoe Turner and Clyde Pangborn arrived in Melbourne with their Boeing at a quarter to two, two hours and forty-five minutes after the ‘Uiver’. They had to make an intermediate landing at Bourke due to engine trouble, which was quickly repaired before they flew the final leg. They, too, received a spontaneous welcome and warm words: ‘Bravo Roscoe, in under four days despite the setbacks!’ I recall a bet I made with a well-known figure in civil aviation a few weeks before the MacRobertson race began: that the winner of the speed race would take less than four days. I had no idea then that three competitors would arrive within 96 hours. I have won that bet, at any rate.

After lunch, we continue reading telegrams; it is overwhelming. They are arriving from every continent; hundreds remain unopened, and fresh stacks are still being brought in.

Then Van Brugge and Prins walk in.

‘Are you very tired, boys?’

‘A little,’ comes the reply.

‘And the mail?’ I ask.

‘At the Melbourne post office,’ says Van Brugge.

‘Splendid work. Did everything match the papers?’

‘Not at first,’ Van Brugge replies. ‘According to the records, we had one bag too many. We counted them at least twenty times and always had one left over. Finally, we discovered that amongst the mailbags was a bag of Mr Gilissen’s laundry, and then everything tallied perfectly.’

‘O.K., and how are the passengers?’

‘Fine. All three have gone to their rooms.’

‘Good. And Prins, what about the ‘Uiver’s’ inventory?’

‘Everything is back in its place in the plane, and all the doors are locked.’

Then follows an account of Albury and how wonderful everyone had been. Captain Jones of the Shell Company had arranged everything for them so they could depart quickly. Van Brugge recounts again how he had to swallow hard, and how everyone was wild with joy when they finally saw the ‘Uiver’ take off from the Albury racecourse. Naturally, they were sorry they couldn’t fly along, but they clearly understood the necessity of the measures taken.

Then it is Moll’s and my turn to report on the reception in Melbourne. We congratulate them on the Royal honours, of which they naturally knew nothing yet, read out some telegrams, and point to the pile of unopened ones. I can see some very real lumps being swallowed now.

Fatigue and tension are soon forgotten; we are far too busy. It is still raining telegrams: from Princess Juliana, from Ministers, civil and military authorities, associations, and private individuals. Messages of congratulations arrive from the Netherlands, the East and West Indies, North and South America, Australia, and even from the Transvaal. Such empathy! We are astonished; after all, we only made an ordinary flight, just a little faster and longer than a regular trip to the Indies.

After midnight, a microphone is set up in our hotel room. We take turns speaking to Australia; the broadcast is relayed to America. Thea Rasche also shares details of the flight and her impressions as a passenger. Finally, we find peace. For the first time since the soldier’s cots in the barracks at Mildenhall, we can stretch out comfortably, without worrying about weather conditions, navigation, or fuel supplies. No more thunderstorms, no more mud, no more speeches or microphones. Just sleep and blissful rest. ‘Sleep tight, old man!’ ‘Goodnight, boys!’

The next morning, we wake feeling wonderfully rested. The chambermaid tells us that Scott and Campbell Black, who have been sleeping since their arrival, are staying on the same floor. We agree to pop over in our pyjamas to congratulate them. We find them both, also in their ‘morning attire’, just about to order breakfast. We gladly accept their invitation to join them. After mutual congratulations, Scott and Black, who no longer look tired at all, tell us of their adventures with the ‘Comet’ between Mildenhall and Melbourne. From their story, we gather that life in their ‘Grosvenor House’ was somewhat less comfortable than for the guests at the Grosvenor House hotel in London, after which the plane was named.

‘So that is what you call a commercial flight,’ says Charles Scott. ‘You were right on our heels the whole way, and we were terrified that if we had any bad luck, you’d fly right past us in your “commercial” plane. We didn’t allow ourselves time to rest or repair our engines anywhere, for fear you would overtake us.’ Impressions and experiences are exchanged; Charles Scott and Campbell Black are two fine, sporting fellows. They faced many difficulties, but their teamwork was magnificent; they did a brilliant job and fully deserved the first prize.

We don’t have much time, as there is a great deal on the agenda today. First, a reception with the Lord Mayor of Melbourne, Lord Gengoult Smith. There we also meet our American friends Roscoe Turner, Clyde Pangborn, and their wireless operator, Nicholls. A hearty greeting takes place, after which we enter the festively decorated council chamber together. The Lord Mayor gives a very witty speech, making it clear that there is a sporting rivalry between the various Australian cities, particularly Sydney and Melbourne. Champagne is served; it is a pleasant, informal reception.

Next, we have lunch with His Excellency the Governor of the State of Victoria, Lord Huntingfield. Here, too, we receive a warm welcome. Lord Huntingfield is of Dutch descent, a fact of which he is very proud, as he repeatedly assures me. After this most pleasant lunch, we take our leave of Lord and Lady Huntingfield and stroll through the beautifully landscaped grounds of His Excellency’s palace. The cars that brought us have already departed. Consequently, Scott, Black, Moll, and I board a tram which we hope will take us back to the city. We get off in the city centre and walk down one of the boulevards, the four of us deep in conversation. As we pass a cinema, we hear familiar voices through the loudspeakers outside. Moll nudges me:

‘That’s you.’

We take a look. Life-sized photos of the four of us are plastered on the billboards. They must be showing our arrival in Melbourne; we’d like to see that. It’s always fun to watch yourself arrive. We go inside, but that part of the newsreel has just finished, so we turn to leave. However, one of the employees has recognised us. Once we are back outside, someone stops us and says the theatre management is willing to run that segment again. We head back in. First, we see the red ‘Comet’ land and the reception for Scott and Black; then the ‘Uiver’ glides over Laverton airfield, and we hear ‘Chevaliers’ Moll and Parmentier making their speeches. It is curious that in Australia, since our appointment to the Order of Orange-Nassau, everyone calls us ‘Chevalier’.

When the programme ends, the lights suddenly come up and we are given a standing ovation. Now we must be careful: all of Melbourne seems to know we are in this cinema, for as we emerge, we are mobbed by the public. People want to congratulate us and get our autographs; it never ends. If we hadn’t eventually made our escape, we would probably still be there now, signing names and shaking hands.

Back at the hotel, we reunite. The number of telegrams delivered for the crew of the ‘Uiver’ continues to grow. I receive a message from the PTT service stating that His Excellency Dr Colijn tried in vain to reach us by telephone yesterday. He asks if we can be by the phone today at 13:00 GMT. That is eleven o’clock tonight, Melbourne time. I also find a telegram asking me to call the director of KLM. I wire the PTT service that the ‘Uiver’ crew will be at the telephone at 13:00 GMT and ask Mr Plesman by telegraph to speak with him immediately after our conversation with Dr Colijn.

In the evening, we speak on the radio again; first a broadcast for the Dutch East Indies, which was supposed to be relayed to Holland. However, it seems the latter didn’t happen. Then all four of us give a short speech for South America. The radio announcer introduces us: Chevalier Parmentier, Chevalier Moll, Chevalier Van Brugge, Chevalier Prins. Surely people won’t think we are relatives of Maurice Chevalier?

Then we jump quickly into a car to arrive at the studio just in time for our telephone conversation with Minister Colijn and Mr Plesman. It was only much later that we learned that everything spoken—both in the Indies and in Holland—was broadcast by radio. We were under the impression that this was merely a telephone call and knew nothing of the radio broadcast.

As an interesting point of detail, I include here the full text of this conversation, which formed the first contact between the crew and the entire Dutch nation after our flight. This is possible because the interview was recorded on gramophone records and printed in a PTT news bulletin. After our return, the Director-General of Posts, Ir. Damme, presented us with a specially bound copy as a memento of this contact with the motherland.

PTT studio official: Hello! Hello! Mr Parmentier, you are speaking with the studio in The Hague. You can speak with His Excellency immediately… Please, go ahead!

Minister Colijn: Mr Parmentier, are you there?

Parmentier: Yes, Excellency. The entire crew of the Uiver is here.

Minister Colijn: The entire crew. Good. Then once I have said a few words and you have replied, you must ensure that the other gentlemen each let their voices be heard in the studio.

Parmentier: Certainly, Excellency.

Minister Colijn: You have received a great many telegrams…

Parmentier: An enormous number, Excellency.

Minister Colijn: I sent one myself; that was a personal telegram. But now I would like to address a few more words to you, not on my own behalf, but on behalf of the government and the entire people of the Netherlands. There has been tremendous tension here. From young to old and rich to poor, the whole nation has waited in suspense, especially over the last twenty-four hours, to see what would happen. A wave of enthusiasm swept the country when we heard the Uiver had arrived safely. I shall tell you a charming anecdote I happened to hear yesterday. On Monday evening, a vicar was holding a catechism class. He had assigned the children a lesson on Calvin, and at one point he asked when Calvin was born. But the boys weren’t paying any attention at all. Then he asked: ‘Where is the Uiver at this moment?’ At once they all jumped up; they knew the Uiver’s position exactly.

Parmentier: Ha ha, that is very good.

Minister Colijn: Yes, isn’t it? It really is quite wonderful. I must say, it was primarily the landing made at Albury that made an exceptionally deep impression here. The flight itself was fine, but we were becoming somewhat accustomed to that. But that extraordinarily difficult moment—bringing a large aircraft down on an unlit field in an unfamiliar region without damage—was a masterpiece. We all followed it with profound admiration.

And I wanted to say that once more, not just for myself or the government, but in the name of the entire Dutch people, whom I know I represent in this matter, despite all the differences in our country.

Now, I don’t know if the others in the studio are listening. If so, I should like to say a few words in English. Are they listening there with headphones?

Parmentier: Only the crew of the Uiver, Excellency.

Minister Colijn: Oh, only the crew of the Uiver. Not the English?

Parmentier: No, Excellency! I don’t believe it is being broadcast.

Minister Colijn: Very well, then I shall say it to you. If you have any opportunity to do so in a fitting manner, you must somehow convey the thanks of the Dutch government and the Dutch people to the authorities who assisted you in Albury for their sporting attitude.

Parmentier: I shall certainly do so, Excellency. I shall just ask if this is being broadcast; it would naturally be nicer if you could do it personally in English.

(Parmentier enquires if the conversation is being broadcast in English).

Parmentier: No, Excellency, it is not being broadcast; no one can hear it here.

Minister Colijn: Good, then you can convey it in some other way.

Parmentier: I certainly will, particularly to the Mayor and the people of Albury, who supported us exceptionally well.

Minister Colijn: And I have one more thing: naturally, if you receive orders from your chief, who will be speaking shortly, I shall step back, for then I have nothing more to say. But on the way back… take it easy! You don’t need to fly from Batavia to The Hague in two days… that isn’t necessary! Only if you are ordered to do so, of course, but otherwise you must remember that we want to see you back here in one piece.

Parmentier: Naturally, Excellency, but even if we do it in two days, you will see us back in one piece; even when flying at night, we take no more risk than by day.

Excellency, I speak here on behalf of the other gentlemen too, and I shall let them speak for themselves in a moment. I must certainly thank you, and especially the government and Her Majesty the Queen, for the honour She has bestowed upon us. We were all deeply moved when we received the telegram from the KLM management and from hundreds of others. I believe we have received some 600 or 700 telegrams. We had no idea there would be so much interest and tension in Holland. We really thought we were making a normal Indies flight that wouldn’t attract much attention. (Minister Colijn laughs). We simply fulfilled our assignment; we were lucky and we are naturally very glad to have arrived here safe and sound without too much bad luck. I thank you very much, Excellency. I shall now let Moll let you hear his voice.

Minister Colijn: Good!

…Hello!

Minister Colijn: Is that Mr Moll?

Parmentier: Hello, Excellency, it’s still me, Parmentier. I’ve just received word that if you wish, it can easily be arranged for Your Excellency to broadcast in English so it can be heard in Australia.

Minister Colijn: Good, we shall do that. Just give me a signal when I should speak.

Parmentier: I shall signal you, Excellency.

Moll: Hello, hello! Moll here, Excellency. I am Moll, Excellency. I must certainly thank you most heartily for the very great honour that has been bestowed upon me on this flight. I cannot personally convey my thanks to the Queen or the government at the moment. I should like to ask you personally to convey those thanks on my behalf.

Minister Colijn: Good, thank you. Are you in good health?

Moll: Excellent, Excellency.

Minister Colijn: No ill effects from the journey?

Moll: Generally, our health has been very good. We have had an enormous number of climate changes, but we have endured them well.

Minister Colijn: Good.

Moll: Shall I give you one of the other gentlemen now?

Minister Colijn: Yes, certainly.

Moll: One moment.

…Hello!

Minister Colijn: Yes, who is there?

Van Brugge: This is the wireless operator Van Brugge, Excellency. I fully endorse the words of thanks spoken by the other two gentlemen. I was almost overwhelmed, I might say, by the extraordinary honour that has fallen to us. What has touched us most is the tremendous empathy from all over Holland and the Indies. We have received telegrams not only from Holland and the Indies but also from South Africa, North America, Australia—in short, from places we had never even heard of.

Minister Colijn (laughing): Yes, yes!

Van Brugge: We have actually become a little shy about it! As Mr Parmentier already said, we hadn’t realised the significance of the flight ourselves. May I politely request that you also convey my thanks to Her Majesty for the wonderful honour bestowed upon us?

Minister Colijn: Good, I shall see to it.

Van Brugge: Thank you, Excellency.

Prins: Excellency. You are speaking with Prins, the flight engineer. I also wanted to thank you for the honour I received from H.M. the Queen. As you have heard, we had a very smooth journey; everything went normally. The engines ran well; in short, we had no trouble at all.

Minister Colijn: Well, we shall see each other when you are back in the country. You are going to visit a few more places in Australia first, I believe…

Prins: Certainly, Excellency.

Minister Colijn: Then to Batavia, and then you’ll stay in Java for a while before coming home. Anyway, we’ll see each other when you arrive here.

Prins: Certainly, Excellency. Goodbye, Excellency!

Minister Colijn: Bonjour!

Parmentier: Excellency, I have word that if you wish to speak, you can do so now, in English.

Minister Colijn: All right.

Parmentier: Yes, it is being broadcast simultaneously. If you could wait one moment, Excellency.

Minister Colijn: Yes, give me a sign.

Parmentier: We would particularly appreciate it, Excellency, if you would especially thank the Mayor of Albury. He is an old man, and crippled to boot, and he stood on crutches in the rain all evening and half the night to ensure we had sufficient help, that a guard was placed on the aircraft, and that we lacked for nothing. It was actually foul weather—pouring rain—so it was exceptionally appreciated by us.

Minister Colijn: Yes, I shall do it.

Parmentier: Thank you, Excellency.

Parmentier (to those present in the Melbourne studio): You simply can’t imagine that it’s afternoon there; it will be about half-past one.

Minister Colijn: Yes, it’s half-past one. Three minutes past.

Parmentier: Did our radio speech to the Indies come through well, Excellency, or did you not hear it? We have just heard from Batavia that everything was relayed to Holland.

Minister Colijn: Yes, it came through well. I didn’t hear it myself, but the gentlemen around me are all nodding that it came through well.

Parmentier: Thank you. One more moment, Excellency. We were at a reception with the Lord Mayor of Melbourne this morning. We were there with the other pilots who arrived first, the Englishmen Scott and Campbell Black. Afterwards, we had lunch with the Governor of the State of Victoria.

Minister Colijn: Well, well!

Parmentier: You can speak now, Excellency.

Minister Colijn (continues in English): Before concluding this conversation, I wish to say a few words in my capacity as Prime Minister of the Netherlands. We are moved by the sporting attitude of the Australian authorities and the Australian people. And I wish to express the gratitude of the government and the people of the Netherlands to these authorities and to the people. In particular, I wish to mention the Mayor of the city of Albury. We know that he did everything possible to help the crew of our aircraft, and the entire people of the Netherlands are very grateful for what he in particular has done. I repeat once more, in the name of the government and the people of the Netherlands, that we are all very grateful for what he and the other authorities and the people have done.

Finally, I wish to congratulate the Australian people that one of their countrymen, Scott, was the first to reach the finish in this great race. We feel here that what he has done is truly something superhuman, and we congratulate the Australian people on the success of Scott and Campbell Black. I think these few words will suffice, and I hope that everyone who has listened to this broadcast will have understood me.

Plesman: Crew of the Uiver. Parmentier, Moll, Prins, and Van Brugge, also you, Fraulein Rasche, and Mr Gilissen and Mr Domenie: my heartiest congratulations on the successful journey to Melbourne. The assignment has been carried out by you, Commander Parmentier, assisted by your crew and with the kind cooperation of your passengers, in a manner that has drawn the highest praise here and in the Indies, and which extends far beyond our national borders. Your intermediate landing in Albury, the telegrams received from you, and your measures to reach Albury safely testify to excellent judgment and the highest professional skill. I would now like to ask you a few questions. Can you tell us how long the take-off run was when you started at Albury?

Parmentier: Because we had completely emptied the machine, the take-off run was quite short, but the ground was also very small. We had very little speed but were still able to pull the machine up well; we had enough space left that if the machine hadn’t lifted off, we could still have run out safely.

Plesman: What was the estimated take-off run?

Parmentier: It would have been about two hundred metres.

Plesman: Has the mail and the documents entrusted to you been delivered?

Parmentier: That has all been delivered. The mail went on by car and was delivered to the post office in Melbourne that same afternoon and has already been sent out everywhere.

Plesman: Are your passengers satisfied, and were they able to adapt well to the fast crossing? Will you please wish them a very pleasant stay in Australia on my behalf, in the hope that they may also have an interesting journey in the Indies and return to the fatherland in good health?

Parmentier: I shall certainly do so.

Plesman: I hope that you will have an interesting journey in the Indies and return in good health.

Parmentier: I must also remark that we had extraordinary cooperation and pleasant company from the passengers.

Plesman: Did they suffer any ill effects from the fast crossing?

Parmentier: Absolutely none. They weren’t even tired; they slept wonderfully in the aircraft and they were exceptionally enthusiastic.

Plesman: I have heard with pleasure that everyone’s health is good. Are you satisfied with the results achieved?

Parmentier: Yes, Director.

Plesman: You know that you will depart from the Indies on 11 November, and then at a slow pace along the usual route. Has the date of departure from Australia already been fixed?

Parmentier: We haven’t fixed that yet, Mr Plesman. We shall begin inspecting the aircraft thoroughly tomorrow, and the engines need to be checked over well.

Plesman: Let me know this date soon!

Parmentier: I shall arrange the departure date with Colonel Koopman and wire you.

Plesman: In the Indies, they wish to honour you during your stay. To ensure the necessary coordination here as well, I request that you let all invitations be handled by the KNILM representative, Mr Nieuwenhuis. Are you, the crew, and the passengers prepared to do that?

Parmentier: What did you say?

Plesman: May Mr Nieuwenhuis arrange everything in the Indies for the reception?

Parmentier: Yes, excellent, Director; that would be very convenient.

Plesman: So you personally, and no one else, accept nothing; only through Mr Nieuwenhuis.

Parmentier: Excellent, Director.

Plesman: I have the impression that the petrol and oil service from Shell was in excellent order.

Parmentier: Indeed—it worked excellently. We didn’t have the slightest difficulty.

Plesman: I have the impression that the aircraft is now in good order and that we can look forward with confidence to the return journey to Holland. Do you have any specific wishes we can fulfill?

Parmentier: No, nothing, I believe. Oh yes, the only defect we had was that on the last leg, both our Sperry horizon and the directional gyro failed, one shortly after the other. We have a spare horizon with us, but we have no directional gyro. Is it possible to ensure that one is available in Bandoeng when we arrive there?

Plesman: Excellent, it will be seen to. I now convey to you the admiration of the KLM staff and my sincere thanks. Will you please thank the Consul-General, Mr Staal, and our representatives Koopman and Bakker very much for the extraordinary help they have given? Would you please make 1,000 guilders available for the hospitals in Albury?

Parmentier: What did you say?

Plesman: Would you please make 1,000 guilders available for the hospitals in Albury?

Parmentier: Oh, yes. Yes, indeed!

Plesman: And would you please tell the Dutch colony in Australia that we feel very close to them and that we hope we shall soon take part in regular traffic. Do you have anything else for me?

Parmentier: No, Director. Except that we also express our thanks for the confidence you placed in us to let us make this flight, and we also give thanks for all the telegrams we have received. I would like you to also heartily thank the other people at KLM who were not on board the aircraft but who also worked hard for their cooperation; they prepared everything beautifully—the technical and flight departments, in short, the whole of KLM—for everything they did in a relatively short time, so that we could fly 20,000 km in succession without the slightest breakdown or difficulty.

Plesman: I already conveyed those thanks in your name by general order the day after your arrival. I wish you and the crew a good journey, and I hope the new experiences in Australia will be very particularly pleasant for you all. Parmentier, we hope to welcome you at Schiphol on 17 November.

Parmentier: Good, Director.

Plesman: And I hope to meet you all again then in radiant health.

Parmentier: Thank you very much.

Plesman: I thank you kindly!

Parmentier: Goodbye, Director.

The next day, we go to Laverton airfield early to assess the condition of our aircraft and make arrangements for it to be thoroughly cleaned and inspected.

We receive a great deal of help from the Royal Australian Air Force. Wing Commander Cole promises us every possible assistance, so under Prins’s supervision, work begins immediately on removing the Albury mud from the ‘Uiver’. The cabin also gets a thorough cleaning: the upholstery and cushions are removed and dry-cleaned. Prins personally takes charge of inspecting the other mechanical parts of the aircraft.

Fortunately, it turns out that our machine suffered no damage from the Albury interlude, and no major engine parts need replacing. The ‘Uiver’ should be ready to fly again within a few days.

Beside the sleek ‘Grosvenor House’ and our Douglas, Roscoe Turner’s Boeing now also sits in the hangar. This company is joined by a fourth bird: Jones and Waller’s green ‘Comet’. These competitors arrived yesterday afternoon and plan to depart again tomorrow morning, aiming to set a London–Melbourne–London record. Everyone is working flat out to get their plane airworthy as quickly as possible. Despite many setbacks, Cathcart Jones and Waller completed the flight in less than five days. The fact that they are able to fly back after just one day’s rest shows they treated their machine well and did not overtax the engines. We wish them a fair flight and a safe arrival in London. Truth be told, we envy these sporting fellows; we, too, would love to begin the return journey at a high pace after a few days’ rest.

The complete crews of the three aircraft that arrived first in Melbourne are all at the airfield. An Australian film company takes the opportunity to record this meeting, a copy of which will be presented to the governments of the respective countries. We rehearse briefly; then, while the camera lenses are trained on us and microphones capture every word, we joke around while inspecting each other’s planes, ensuring a good ‘mise en scène’.

Back at the hotel, we receive the shocking news that the ‘Panderjager’ collided with a tractor upon departure from Allahabad and has been completely destroyed. Fortunately, Geysendorffer, Asjes, and Pronk are unhurt. What terrible luck. First the setback at the Allahabad landing, when they were only a few hours behind the ‘Uiver’. Then all the effort and care to make the plane airworthy again, and now this narrow escape. We can well imagine what our friends have gone through with all these disappointments and hope they have better fortune on their future travels.

In the hotel, my room has been transformed into an office. Colonel Koopman has provided a shorthand typist to answer the many letters of congratulations, most of which ask for a photo or the crew’s autographs. We try to fulfill as many requests as possible, so many hours are spent signing names. Still, I find time to go through the stacks of telegrams still pouring in from all over the world. These telegrams clearly show how people from all walks of life have shared our journey. Besides the telegraphic congratulations from Her Royal Highness Princess Juliana, we have received messages from Prime Minister Dr H. Colijn, the late Minister of Public Works Ir. J. A. Kalff, the Governor-General of the Dutch East Indies, Jhr. Mr. B. C. de Jonge, the Director-General of the PTT, Ir. M. H. Damme, and many other prominent Dutchmen in the Netherlands and the Indies.

Many compatriots abroad also followed the London–Melbourne race with suspense. We receive telegraphic congratulations from Dutch communities across the globe.

Amidst all these congratulations, we receive invitations from all over Australia, New Zealand, and Tasmania to visit various places with our aircraft. Several telegrams are exchanged regarding this; if we were to accept all these invitations, we would have to stay in Australia for at least another month. However, the schedule for the return journey is already fixed, with departure from Melbourne set for 1 November. We will fly back to the Indies along the southeast coast of Australia. Therefore, much to our regret, we must decline nearly all the invitations.

Monday, 29 October.

In the evening, a gala performance of the well-known operetta ‘The White Horse Inn’ is held at the Queens Theatre in honour of the competitors who have arrived in Melbourne. Sir MacPherson Robertson and the various crews are in attendance. Our box is draped with the red, white, and blue flag. Opposite us, in a box decorated with the Union Jack, sit our friends Charles W. A. Scott and Tom Campbell Black. After the performance, we are honoured on stage by Sir MacPherson Robertson and must say a few words to the audience, which are, of course, also broadcast by radio. Once one is in the public eye, one must be a jack-of-all-trades: one moment we are appearing in a film, the next we are on the stage of Melbourne’s premier theatre. If it continues like this, we shall become all-round entertainers.

The remaining days are filled with official and other receptions; tributes, speeches, and radio addresses follow one after another. At the same time, we ensure our machine is ready on time, with excellent assistance from the Royal Australian Air Force.

Tuesday afternoon, 30 October.

The ‘Uiver’ is ready to fly again and shines like a mirror. We make a test flight, during which everything proves to be in excellent condition. The instruments and the radio are tested: everything works normally and the engines are running beautifully.

Wednesday, 31 October.

On our final day in Melbourne, all the competitors who have arrived in the meantime are invited to a lunch at the Parliament House of the State of Victoria, preceded by a festive procession through the city. Charles Scott and Campbell Black lead the way, followed by us, then Roscoe Turner, Clyde Pangborn, and their wireless operator Nicholls. In the fourth car are our passengers Thea Rasche, Domenie, and Gilissen, followed by the New Zealanders MacGregor and Walker, who completed the flight in seven and a half days in their ‘Miles Hawk’. Last of all is the young Australian Melrose, who arrived in Melbourne that same morning in his ‘Puss Moth’. This brave young man flew solo from London to Melbourne in less than eleven days.

There is enormous interest; all traffic has been stopped. The streets are black with people, and the public cheers the rivals of the world’s greatest air race. The enthusiasm is overwhelming, and it is sometimes hard to cope when the crowd presses right up to our cars and people want to congratulate us personally. As we turn a corner, an Australian young lady suddenly leaps onto the running board of our car and gives me a resounding kiss as a tribute. However, I immediately notice that this display of affection is taking place within reach of a battery of cameras and film equipment, which somewhat detracts from the spontaneity of her performance. When the same young lady tries again a few streets later, where another large army of photographers is stationed, I decide I have had enough and let Moll take his turn. It should be noted that the lady in question used a very poor quality of lipstick; it took some effort to remove the red from our cheeks.

At Parliament House, we are received most warmly, and the lunch is naturally followed by the customary speeches, to which all the race participants respond.

A humorous interlude occurs when young, blond Melrose’s turn comes to give a speech. He is not at all shy but simply doesn’t know what to say. After a few moments of breathless silence, the young Australian says: ‘I am sorry gentlemen, but I really don’t know what to say. Well, Scotty, have you any suggestion?’

However, we soon have to excuse ourselves, as we are expected at the airfield at two o’clock to conduct flights for a large number of dignitaries and guests.

Before these flights begin, Sir MacPherson Robertson gives a short speech at the airfield and presents each of us with the gold MacRobertson medal. In a kind gesture, Sir Robertson, out of appreciation for KLM’s work, also provides gold medals for our three passengers who made the London–Melbourne flight. After this short ceremony, we make several flights over Melbourne and the surrounding area. Among our passengers are Mr and Mrs MacRobertson, our friends Scott and Campbell Black, and many civil and military authorities. The Mayor of Albury has also come to Melbourne to experience his first flight in the ‘Uiver’.

In the evening, we dine with the Dutch community; in the radio studio, I give a farewell speech to the State of Victoria; then we pack our bags and head to bed.

Early the next morning, we are at the airfield. A large number of friends and acquaintances come to see us off. To great interest and loud cheers, the ‘Uiver’ rolls away from the platform, and at half-past eight, we are airborne again. The return journey has begun.