A Passion for Speed by Paul Smiddy

Author:Paul Smiddy
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780750985307
Publisher: The History Press

12

ONWARDS TO JAPAN

Trouble in the air is very rare. It is hitting the ground that causes it.

Amelia Earhart (1897–1937), American pilot.

On 19 November, alongside a piece noting the fourth marriage of Edina, Countess of Errol, the front page of the Daily Express carried, ‘Englishwoman’s Air Triumph – Mrs Bruce near end of 11,000 mile lone flight’.

After four hours or so (according to her) on her steady north-easterly heading, she noticed a patch of jungle that was a shade darker, flew towards it, observed a clearing surrounded by some houses on stilts, and decided it must be Korat. She landed and was quickly refuelled by the Siamese soldiers. Her navigation had been pinpoint accurate at the time it was most crucial.

Hanoi was her next major port of call. According to her plans made in England, she intended to fly to Vinh, en route to the capital. After only half an hour on the ground, she again pointed the Bluebird north-east and settled down to more hours of flying over endless jungle. ‘This jungle is getting on my nerves, no sight of anything or any human being.’

Her instructor only weeks earlier in England had counselled her, ‘Keep high, going low can be dangerous.’ But with typical spirit (or stubbornness) Mildred was choosy about what advice to adopt:

I used to be almost at ground level – by flying low about a hundred feet, I got the sense of speed. The boredom of going up high was more than I could stand, and I used to see things … people going along the road, that sort of thing.139

The jungle denied her such simple stimulants. Although, at one point over some scrub, a herd of elephants took fright at the Bluebird’s low-level droning.

Doubts about her real position mounted but she carried on until she met an unmistakeable feature – the Mekong River. Beyond its eastern bank, the jagged peaks of the Annamite Mountains were masked by ‘heavy black clouds’. After three and a half hours’ flying she saw darkening skies ahead, but realised she did not have enough fuel to return to Korat. While following the river northwards, Mildred became engulfed in the monsoon rainstorm. It was as if she had been enveloped in a black sack, and one that jolted the Bluebird with impunity. Escape from the storm’s clutches was vital and, remembering her instructor’s advice and eyeing her compass, she performed a 180 degree turn as steadily as she could. ‘The rain is beating the aircraft down and I can’t see.’ Conscious that her fuel was by now low, very low, she realised she had to land soon.

Just before she thought she would have to alight (and probably crash) on the river bank – the least bad option – she noticed a nearby clearing and put the Bluebird down there. It was bumpy ground, and some bamboo stumps tore the fabric on the underside of one wing. She had been navigating with a now soggy basic map: it was 60 miles to the

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