Post by Dave Homewood on Aug 1, 2022 21:03:38 GMT 12
Boyhood memory of flying with Kingsford Smith
By KEN COATES
The deafening roar of three Whirlwind engines, a heaving plywood floor, the violent flapping of fabric sides against tubular steel, and a view of Christchurch below through cloudy celluloid windows.
This is a Christchurch man’s boyhood memory of a flight in Sir Charles Kingsford Smith’s Southern Cross two days after the historic flight across the Tasman, which was celebrated at Wigram last week-end.
Mr Bevan Napper was 15 then, but he had the inside running for a flight with Christchurch V.l.P.’s because his father, Sidney Napper had been a pilot with “Smithy” in the Royal Flying Corps in France.
“We lived at New Brighton then, and Kingsford Smith came out to see my father. Both had trained at the officers’ training school at Denham in Buckinghamshire, and later they flew in France, Mr Napper recalls.
“I remember the flyer as very sharp and quick, although most of the time he was with us he was inebriated, as was my father. It was a grand reunion and the hops flowed rather freely.”
Kingsford Smith asked Bevan’s father whether “the boy would like a flight.”
Two days earlier Bevan had travelled by tram from New Brighton to the Square, then by tram again to Sockburn, and then had walked to Wigram to see the Southern Cross land. I said, “Yes, sir,” to the flight invitation, and turned up with the Mayor (the Rev. J. K. Archer), a Mr Neville, the town clerk, their wives, and my father.
“We lumbered up from Wigram over the Port Hills, and I can remember peering down through the celluloid windows as we flew above Lyttelton Harbour, along the coast to Sumner, and then back over the city,” says Mr Napper. “It was like being in a big square box. There was only a wooden form, a light card table, and a wicker chair for the navigator behind a big petrol tank. We all stood upright.”
The pitching floor, slung between tubular steel bracing and wire diagonals, the pulsating fabric sides, and the thundering of the engines were rather too much for the Lady Mayoress. "We could see her turning rather pale, and although we could not hear what she was saying, we could tell she was telling her husband that she was about to be sick,” Bevan Napper recalls. “The Mayor, a man with considerable dignity, gently but firmly took his wife by the elbow and turned her away from us.
“He coolly doffed his black bun hat and handed it to his wife. We pretended not to notice.
“When we landed, Mrs Archer alighted first, followed by the Reverend Mayor without his hat. He had dealt with the situation beautifully.”
Mr Bevan Napper says that two flights were made over Christchurch after the first flight across the Tasman. “I was certainly the only kid to get a flight. I heard the flights were for notables, and I realised, by cripes, I must be a notable.”
He says his father described "Smithy” as a man with an iron nerve, completely without fear. He would take on anything, and was a pioneer in the true sense. Even while training for the Royal Flying Corps he fought a Sergeant Sunshine, former heavyweight boxing champion of England, and managed to get a few punches home as the former champion had run to fat.
“But Smithy was a man who was plagued by money troubles all his life,” says Mr Napper. "He barnstormed all over Australia and New Zealand to make enough money to keep flying. He was no businessman, but he was a great adventurer.”
Mr Napper followed the family tradition by joining the Fleet Air Arm during the Second World War and sailed on aircraft carriers as a flight engineer. But his adventures in those years are another story.
PRESS, 15 SEPTEMBER 1978
Bevan Napper took these snapshots of the southern Cross at Wigram after the aircraft's history-making flight across the Tasman 50 years ago. A naval guard has been posted around the plane in the upper picture, while the lower view clearly shows the fabric fuselage of the Fokker monoplane.
By KEN COATES
The deafening roar of three Whirlwind engines, a heaving plywood floor, the violent flapping of fabric sides against tubular steel, and a view of Christchurch below through cloudy celluloid windows.
This is a Christchurch man’s boyhood memory of a flight in Sir Charles Kingsford Smith’s Southern Cross two days after the historic flight across the Tasman, which was celebrated at Wigram last week-end.
Mr Bevan Napper was 15 then, but he had the inside running for a flight with Christchurch V.l.P.’s because his father, Sidney Napper had been a pilot with “Smithy” in the Royal Flying Corps in France.
“We lived at New Brighton then, and Kingsford Smith came out to see my father. Both had trained at the officers’ training school at Denham in Buckinghamshire, and later they flew in France, Mr Napper recalls.
“I remember the flyer as very sharp and quick, although most of the time he was with us he was inebriated, as was my father. It was a grand reunion and the hops flowed rather freely.”
Kingsford Smith asked Bevan’s father whether “the boy would like a flight.”
Two days earlier Bevan had travelled by tram from New Brighton to the Square, then by tram again to Sockburn, and then had walked to Wigram to see the Southern Cross land. I said, “Yes, sir,” to the flight invitation, and turned up with the Mayor (the Rev. J. K. Archer), a Mr Neville, the town clerk, their wives, and my father.
“We lumbered up from Wigram over the Port Hills, and I can remember peering down through the celluloid windows as we flew above Lyttelton Harbour, along the coast to Sumner, and then back over the city,” says Mr Napper. “It was like being in a big square box. There was only a wooden form, a light card table, and a wicker chair for the navigator behind a big petrol tank. We all stood upright.”
The pitching floor, slung between tubular steel bracing and wire diagonals, the pulsating fabric sides, and the thundering of the engines were rather too much for the Lady Mayoress. "We could see her turning rather pale, and although we could not hear what she was saying, we could tell she was telling her husband that she was about to be sick,” Bevan Napper recalls. “The Mayor, a man with considerable dignity, gently but firmly took his wife by the elbow and turned her away from us.
“He coolly doffed his black bun hat and handed it to his wife. We pretended not to notice.
“When we landed, Mrs Archer alighted first, followed by the Reverend Mayor without his hat. He had dealt with the situation beautifully.”
Mr Bevan Napper says that two flights were made over Christchurch after the first flight across the Tasman. “I was certainly the only kid to get a flight. I heard the flights were for notables, and I realised, by cripes, I must be a notable.”
He says his father described "Smithy” as a man with an iron nerve, completely without fear. He would take on anything, and was a pioneer in the true sense. Even while training for the Royal Flying Corps he fought a Sergeant Sunshine, former heavyweight boxing champion of England, and managed to get a few punches home as the former champion had run to fat.
“But Smithy was a man who was plagued by money troubles all his life,” says Mr Napper. "He barnstormed all over Australia and New Zealand to make enough money to keep flying. He was no businessman, but he was a great adventurer.”
Mr Napper followed the family tradition by joining the Fleet Air Arm during the Second World War and sailed on aircraft carriers as a flight engineer. But his adventures in those years are another story.
PRESS, 15 SEPTEMBER 1978
Bevan Napper took these snapshots of the southern Cross at Wigram after the aircraft's history-making flight across the Tasman 50 years ago. A naval guard has been posted around the plane in the upper picture, while the lower view clearly shows the fabric fuselage of the Fokker monoplane.
