The Not-so-Lucky Lady

Charles Kingsford Smith bought a Lockheed ‘Altair’ to enter the 1934 England to Australia Air Race. If sailors believe it is unlucky to rename a ship then aviators would have to agree the same could be true of renaming aeroplanes.

The first name Smithy chose for his Altair was “Anzac” but this was considered to be an affront to the World War One soldiers of the Australian/New Zealand (Anzac) Force so he renamed the blue and silver monoplane “Lady Southern Cross”. She was beautiful, sleek and powerful but she was not a lucky lady.

An early disappointment for Kingsford Smith was that the extra fuel tank that he had installed to make the aircraft competitive over the long sectors of the race had overloaded the aircraft. As a result, it failed to meet with the approval either of Lockheed in America or the race organisers in Britain. His disappointment was compounded when it was later discovered that the Altair’s cowling had split; Smithy had to pull out of the race.

He was pilloried for this by a fickle Australian press which had previously championed him. At a low ebb because of problems with his finances and business affairs, he could easily have succumbed. But the resilient Smithy fought back, determined to overcome the vitriolic and damaging attempts to discredit him. He decided to go one better than the Air Race. He would fly his Altair from Australia to the USA across the Pacific, thus creating a world first – the first such crossing in a single-engined aeroplane. For his co-pilot and navigator, he chose the brilliant P.G.Taylor.

In November 1934, the Altair took off from Australia to fly to Fiji, the first leg of the long Pacific flight. In Fiji, Lady Southern Cross nearly came to grief. While taking off from Naselai Beach, heavily laden with fuel for the next leg that was to take them to Hawaii, a strong cross-wind struck the overburdened aircraft as it powered along the sand. As Marshall’s painting shows, there was little room for error on the beach; it was narrowed by a rising tide. The “Lady Southern Cross” was skewed into the surf when a fierce gust hit the large fin and rudder. Split-second reactions and superb airmanship on Smithy’s part somehow got the Altair back out of the surf, averting the possible destruction of the aeroplane.

The intrepid pair had to abandon any further attempt to take off and had no alternative but to leave the aircraft on the beach for a week, waiting for the wind to abate. Finally, they took off and successfully made the long haul to Hawaii. There, more trouble; the US Army engineers servicing the powerful monoplane came across yet another problem. They discovered cracks in the oil and fuel tanks. However, the Americans generously repaired them, enabling Smithy and Taylor to fly on, uneventfully, to Oaklands in California. Their courageous and historic flight had taken 16 days overall, with 52 hours flying time. It was possibly Smithy’s most magnificent and dangerous flight; it certainly restored his public image.

However, his luck ran out again when he failed to sell the Altair in America. Dejected, he travelled by sea back to Australia. By now, financially strapped, he found himself without the funds to ship the Altair to Sydney from London to where she had now been freighted. In desperation, and close to a break-down, he decided to go back to London and fly the Altair back home – to beat the Air Race people at their own game. His long-time colleague, engineer and pilot, Tommy Pethybridge, replaced Taylor as co-pilot.

The English authorities again refused to sanction the filling of Smithy’s “unsafe” fuel tank. Undaunted, with the aircraft registered as G-ADUS (she had been VH-USU), they took off for Australia. Their jinxed machine was soon back in London with hail-damaged wings from a severe storm. They had flown only as far as Italy. One can only guess the state of Kingsford Smith’s mind at having to begin all over again. Wearily, he took off yet again on and filled the extra fuel tank at the first refuelling stop out of Britain!

The Altair was reported tracking well to beat the record. Then, at night over the Bay of Bengal, their luck finally ran out. It appears that they may have had an engine failure – the aircraft had sliced through some trees on the peak of an uncharted island lying just off the rocky coastline south of Rangoon. The “Lady Southern Cross” crashed into the sea; neither crew member was found.

So, on November 8th 1935, in a few appalling seconds, ended the eventful life of one the world’s great aviators and that of his unfortunate co-pilot. Along with them died one very unlucky aeroplane.

Left to right: P.G. Taylor, Sir Charles Kingsford Smith, Tommy Pethybridge