Hong Kong Courier - No. 41 Squadron RNZAF? Great story.
Oct 2, 2021 15:34:28 GMT 12
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Post by Dave Homewood on Oct 2, 2021 15:34:28 GMT 12
HONG KONG COURIER
NEW ZEALANDERS AT CONTROLS
LONG, SUCCESSFUL FLIGHTS
(N.Z.P.A. Correspondent) (By Air Mail), KAI-TAK, Hong Kong, July 3.
Storm clouds hung low and occasional flashes of lightning brightened the darkness of early morning as one of the New Zealand Dakotas rolled down t Changi’s long runway and lifted her 29,000 pounds into the heavy tropical air. Even before dawn it was hot in the aircraft, the broad webbing of the safety belt was a chafing restriction, and at cruising altitude of 8000 feet, passengers wished that regulations permitted flying merely in shirt and shorts.
Somewhere under the thick cloud lay the troubled Malay Peninsula but the Dakota bore away to the north and east, headed for Saigon some 600 miles distant. The aircraft wallowed in turbulent air, lurched and shuddered as unexpected hail beat deafeningly on the metal fuselage, and shot in a few sickening seconds from 8000 to 12,000 feet as a fierce updraught gripped it. The captain, outlined against the greenish glow of instrument dials, worked hard to keep his plunging aircraft steady, firmly corrected a tendency for the fat Dakota to stand skittishly on one wing, and brought the plane smartly out of the “build-up” into which it had flown in the dark and rain. Passengers, including one sleeping man who had been tossed neatly across the cabin into the lap of a surprised nursing sister, sheepishly released their tense grip of the nearest solid piece of metal, and got on with their reading, and the Kai-tak courier shoved its way through a head-wind toward Indo-China.
Pretty from Air
Saigon is pretty from the air, but that was the travellers’ only view of it. There are trees, with big homes set neatly among the groves, intensive cultivation provides an ordered pattern in the fields, and the yellow-green of young rice makes patches of startling beauty. But on the ground is all the ugly bustle of war, for the French are fighting for this rich land, and are doing little more than holding their own.
Parked beside the taxiways is one of the most extraordinary collections of aircraft ever assembled anywhere. In their war to hold Indo-China, the French are using aircraft from Germany, Britain, the United States and Scandinavia as well as some from the national factories of France. A couple of Spitfires take off with their typical hearty roar, followed by two American Kingcobras, a Feisler and an aged tri-motor Junkers 52, of the type Goering used for the air assault on Crete. An American helicopter, deftly handled, hovers like a dragonfly, and visitors watch, appalled and fascinated, as the old Junkers lumbers across at 3000 feet and paratroopers come tumbling out on practice jumps.
In the airport terminal, a fine two-storeyed block with impressive murals and bright window-boxes, passengers sip good French coffee and watch the long-tailed lizards playing on the grass. Somebody bets that a green-headed lizard will race a pink and brown one up a trellis, and loses when his favourite darts off at a tangent; a sleek Skymaster, Paris-bound, taxis out and those who watch wonder if it was sabotage or chance that caused two sister-ships to drop into the sea off Bahrein a week or two back; and an airport bearer, black as the ace of spades, causes general consternation by asking a question in smoothly accented French.
Straight across south-eastern IndoChina the Dakota flies at a steady 8000 feet. The bad weather is behind, French coffee has produced a feeling of general well-being, and nobody thinks of the 600 odd miles of water still to be crossed. The motors’ drone is soothing, and only the crew stays awake.
Immediate Speculation
Approaching Hong Kong, flying control calls the New Zealander, warns the captain to stay well away from a tiny island, and arouses immediate speculation among the crew. Far below, on the glittering sea, there appear to be the makings of a minor naval action. Two small warships, provisionally identified as belonging to Nationalist China, are hotly pursued by a frigate of the Royal Navy, but the Dakota sheers off before those aboard can see the outcome of the chase.
The aircraft begins to lose height to approach Kai-tak, and as Victoria Island looms out of a slight sea-haze, the water shows speckled with myriad tiny aircraft, junks and sampans, weaving a mad pattern in the water. The Dakota circles the western end of Victoria Island, flies over perhaps 100 liners and merchant-ships at anchor in the narrow waters between Hong Kong and Kowloon, and is lined up for the landing.
Kai-tak has the unenviable reputation of being one of the worst-sited international airports in the world. It lies on the only available stretch of flat land, but is ringed by vicious hills, and reminds the New Zealander inevitably of Rongotai. The captain watches height and speed, notes the gusty cross-wind that is no help, and brings his aircraft in fairly fast, touching at the extreme end of the runway. The motors turn idly, the brakes take firm hold, and the Dakota taxis away to dispersal. The New Zealanders have taken the Hong Kong courier through again, and the crew reports another 1400 miles’ flying “without incident.”
ASHBURTON GUARDIAN, 18 JULY 1950
NEW ZEALANDERS AT CONTROLS
LONG, SUCCESSFUL FLIGHTS
(N.Z.P.A. Correspondent) (By Air Mail), KAI-TAK, Hong Kong, July 3.
Storm clouds hung low and occasional flashes of lightning brightened the darkness of early morning as one of the New Zealand Dakotas rolled down t Changi’s long runway and lifted her 29,000 pounds into the heavy tropical air. Even before dawn it was hot in the aircraft, the broad webbing of the safety belt was a chafing restriction, and at cruising altitude of 8000 feet, passengers wished that regulations permitted flying merely in shirt and shorts.
Somewhere under the thick cloud lay the troubled Malay Peninsula but the Dakota bore away to the north and east, headed for Saigon some 600 miles distant. The aircraft wallowed in turbulent air, lurched and shuddered as unexpected hail beat deafeningly on the metal fuselage, and shot in a few sickening seconds from 8000 to 12,000 feet as a fierce updraught gripped it. The captain, outlined against the greenish glow of instrument dials, worked hard to keep his plunging aircraft steady, firmly corrected a tendency for the fat Dakota to stand skittishly on one wing, and brought the plane smartly out of the “build-up” into which it had flown in the dark and rain. Passengers, including one sleeping man who had been tossed neatly across the cabin into the lap of a surprised nursing sister, sheepishly released their tense grip of the nearest solid piece of metal, and got on with their reading, and the Kai-tak courier shoved its way through a head-wind toward Indo-China.
Pretty from Air
Saigon is pretty from the air, but that was the travellers’ only view of it. There are trees, with big homes set neatly among the groves, intensive cultivation provides an ordered pattern in the fields, and the yellow-green of young rice makes patches of startling beauty. But on the ground is all the ugly bustle of war, for the French are fighting for this rich land, and are doing little more than holding their own.
Parked beside the taxiways is one of the most extraordinary collections of aircraft ever assembled anywhere. In their war to hold Indo-China, the French are using aircraft from Germany, Britain, the United States and Scandinavia as well as some from the national factories of France. A couple of Spitfires take off with their typical hearty roar, followed by two American Kingcobras, a Feisler and an aged tri-motor Junkers 52, of the type Goering used for the air assault on Crete. An American helicopter, deftly handled, hovers like a dragonfly, and visitors watch, appalled and fascinated, as the old Junkers lumbers across at 3000 feet and paratroopers come tumbling out on practice jumps.
In the airport terminal, a fine two-storeyed block with impressive murals and bright window-boxes, passengers sip good French coffee and watch the long-tailed lizards playing on the grass. Somebody bets that a green-headed lizard will race a pink and brown one up a trellis, and loses when his favourite darts off at a tangent; a sleek Skymaster, Paris-bound, taxis out and those who watch wonder if it was sabotage or chance that caused two sister-ships to drop into the sea off Bahrein a week or two back; and an airport bearer, black as the ace of spades, causes general consternation by asking a question in smoothly accented French.
Straight across south-eastern IndoChina the Dakota flies at a steady 8000 feet. The bad weather is behind, French coffee has produced a feeling of general well-being, and nobody thinks of the 600 odd miles of water still to be crossed. The motors’ drone is soothing, and only the crew stays awake.
Immediate Speculation
Approaching Hong Kong, flying control calls the New Zealander, warns the captain to stay well away from a tiny island, and arouses immediate speculation among the crew. Far below, on the glittering sea, there appear to be the makings of a minor naval action. Two small warships, provisionally identified as belonging to Nationalist China, are hotly pursued by a frigate of the Royal Navy, but the Dakota sheers off before those aboard can see the outcome of the chase.
The aircraft begins to lose height to approach Kai-tak, and as Victoria Island looms out of a slight sea-haze, the water shows speckled with myriad tiny aircraft, junks and sampans, weaving a mad pattern in the water. The Dakota circles the western end of Victoria Island, flies over perhaps 100 liners and merchant-ships at anchor in the narrow waters between Hong Kong and Kowloon, and is lined up for the landing.
Kai-tak has the unenviable reputation of being one of the worst-sited international airports in the world. It lies on the only available stretch of flat land, but is ringed by vicious hills, and reminds the New Zealander inevitably of Rongotai. The captain watches height and speed, notes the gusty cross-wind that is no help, and brings his aircraft in fairly fast, touching at the extreme end of the runway. The motors turn idly, the brakes take firm hold, and the Dakota taxis away to dispersal. The New Zealanders have taken the Hong Kong courier through again, and the crew reports another 1400 miles’ flying “without incident.”
ASHBURTON GUARDIAN, 18 JULY 1950
