Stand Up and Cheer

by Loretta Re

  ‘We need manpower to help pull it out,’ Dad says. He cups his hands, and his announcer’s voice blares, rings out around the racecourse.

  ‘Tie ropes to the plane,’ he calls out. ‘All able bodied men to pull on a rope.’

  ‘I’ll help,’ says Arnie.

  ‘Me too,’ I say.

  ‘Not you,’ says Arnie. ‘This takes real muscle.’

  ‘Aw, not fair,’ I say.

  Dad grabs hold of one of the ropes next to a big man in a checked shirt and hands it to me. ‘All hands on deck, boys. Jack can do his bit, too. We need all the muscle we can muster.’

  Chapter

  FOURTY-TWO

  ‘One two, three, pull,’ Dad yells.

  All the helpers pull together. We sweat and strain. We’re pulling so hard we fall over, splashing into the sludge. Arnie’s face is caked with mud. So are his overalls. Mum starts laughing. She bends over, doubled. All the grubby, splattered men are laughing fit to burst.

  The team pulls on the ropes again. The engines of the DC-2 chug, and the wheels grind in the mud with a low growl but still the plane is stuck.

  Mrs Drake comes steaming out of the clubhouse like a puffing train.

  ‘The American plane is about to leave Charleville. They’ve skipped breakfast to get cracking. Roscoe Turner says he’ll win the last leg. We can’t let those Yankees beat the Uiver.’

  Three of the crew get out of the plane, talk in a little huddle. Surely they’re not going to give up?

  Then the crew scurries back on the plane and come staggering off with huge sacks, bulging like sofa cushions.

  ‘My goodness,’ says Dad, ‘they’re taking off the Centenary Air Mail. Around thirty thousand letters! Maybe they’ll take off everything that weighs them down.’

  And that’s what they do. Hundreds of helpers swarm aboard, like ants crawling over a wounded stork. To help the Uiver, to lighten the load.

  ‘A brave move,’ Dad says. ‘It will make it harder for them to win the handicap race. It’ll count as if they flew the whole race with a light load.’

  Little kids are tumbling on the mail bags. Climbing them like haystacks. I watch as Brendan clatters down the stairs of the plane with a heavy suitcase.

  ‘Come on board,’ he calls out to me.

  ‘Can I help too, Dad?’ I ask. But Dad is busy talking to the mayor, jabbing his finger in the air.

  ‘This shows Albury really needs an aerodrome,’ Dad says. ‘All those men out of work in Happy Valley. Men like Joe Gallagher. We can give them work. They can dig the ground. Level it. Make a proper runway.’

  Mr Ward is nodding along with him, listening. ‘I agree, Arnold. I quite agree.’

  Here’s my big chance! I rush on board. Climb the giant steps.

  RIP! TEAR! BANG! Men are crawling all over the cabin. Everything goes amid the clatter. The passengers’ luggage, the crew’s street clothes, the trays from the galley. Even the extra water supply is taken off to lighten the load. I look around the busy cabin but I can’t see Captain Parmentier. I go to look in the cockpit. Maybe my hero’s in there.

  Chapter

  FOURTY-THREE

  The heavy door to the cockpit is ajar. Amid all the clatter I peep in, but there’s nobody in there. I can’t resist. I have to go in and see the cockpit close-up. Touch the shiny array of controls. Sit in Captain Parmentier’s pilot seat. Breathe in the green leather walls of the cockpit. They look like a quilt and they smell new, like the Minerva.

  Of course they do! The plane is brand new. The Flying Dutchman has made it to Australia in three days!

  I’m sitting inside, drinking it all in when the cockpit door slams shut.

  ‘Gotcha, ya rat.’

  I wheel around in fright. And then a chill runs right down my back.

  Pat O’Reilly! Here with me alone in the cockpit. I slide out of the pilot’s seat.

  ‘I know what you did and you’re in big trouble. Going into the studio last night with your Dad and messing up the cricket. And you got caught, ya dummy.’ He’s as angry as the snorting mallee bull he looks like.

  ‘My dad says your dad’s been sacked and he’ll make sure that he never works in this town again.’

  Pat moves towards me menacingly. I scan the cabin trying to see a way out. But his bulky frame is barring the cockpit entrance.

  There’s a hubbub of voices and the clang and clatter of jemmying in the main cabin. Even if I yell, they won’t hear me. He gives me a rough push and I crash back against the control panel. The levers bang into my back and I wince with pain as I slide to the floor. He creeps forward to have another go.

  From my crumpled position I watch as his boots come towards me. He’s got me cornered this time. This time I’m done for. I shut my eyes tightly, waiting for him to kick me.

  ‘Stop right there!’ a sharp voice rings out from behind him. I open my eyes to see Pat whirling around at the same time.

  Arnie is standing there, and his mood is as dirty as his overalls. He must’ve seen Pat slink into the cockpit after me.

  ‘Leave my brother alone! You’re a grub, O’Reilly, just like your dad,’ he yells fiercely. He draws up close to Pat. They’re about the same size and they’re eyeballing each other.

  ‘Not scared of you,’ Pat blusters. But I can see the whites of his eyes. And I can tell from the little shrug he gives that he is scared. He’s whistling in the dark.

  POW! There’s a crunch of bone on jaw. And with one clean punch Arnie has him spread out against the co-pilot’s seat.

  ‘You’ll be scared, next time,’ Arnie says coolly. He leans over towards me and holds out his hand for me as I slowly stagger to my feet.

  ‘C’mon, Shorty,’ he says. ‘We have to work to get this crate in the air.’

  And we go out to join the clattering gang of helpers in the cabin. They’re still all busily stripping the Uiver of its cargo. I roll up my sleeves like the other men there. Work with Arnie and Brendan to heave a water tank out of its place, ready to take it off the plane.

  And I no longer feel the bruises in my back at all.

  The other ladies all stand around and watch. But not Mum. She takes out her new box brownie and takes photos of everything. Snaps us hauling the Uiver out of the dirt while Brendan looks on, barefooted and cheering. She even takes a picture of the wheel-tracked mud.

  Then she starts taking photos of the passengers. They’re all dressed in their best clothes, ready for the last exciting leg. Thea Rasche, the daredevil lady pilot, wears a rose on her collar. She’s ready to meet the Chocolate King in Melbourne.

  Arnie and I heave the last of the equipment onto the ground. I can hear Miss Rasche talking to Mum. ‘Captain Parmentier is truly the best pilot in the world,’ she tells Mum. ‘I learned so much watching him. Holland can be proud of such a captain.’

  Mum snaps Miss Rasche taking a photo of Mr Ward, the mayor. They all know Mum’s taking a photo of Miss Rasche taking her own photo. And the three of them burst out laughing like old, old chums.

  ‘We shall swap photos,’ Miss Rasche promises her. ‘You shall be able to sell your pictures all around the world.’

  At last, the final, desperate decision. Captain Parmentier will make one more try to get to Melbourne. But the plane must dump everything weighing it down. Two of the crew and all the passengers must stay behind.

  Miss Rasche bursts into sobs, her shoulders heaving. ‘I so want to go to Melbourne,’ she says croakily. ‘I so wish to make history of commercial aviation.’

  One last try, and the Uiver inches forward. Then a tiny bit faster, swaying up and down, like a goose waddling over swampy ground. Everybody cheers and laughs. Then it stops and Captain Parmentier climbs out of the cockpit.

  And my mouth drops open.

  Chapter

  FOURTY-FOUR

  Captain Parmentier’s short! He’s the shortest of all the crew, yet he’s the captain. He’s shorter than the co-pilot, First Officer Moll. Even shorter than Thea Rasche, the d
aring lady pilot.

  I’m giddy with excitement and my ears are humming. It’s as though Cap tain Parmentier has tapped me on the shoulder and whispered a secret. A secret that was saved especially for me.

  Captain Parmentier is small, but he’s smart and brave. He’s the best pilot in the world and he’s led everyone onboard all the way from England to Australia. He’s flown them across an alien land. Now he has only one more task, which is to fly to the finish line in Melbourne and win the handicap race.

  ‘I thank you all very much,’ he says politely. ‘This has been the best landing of our flight. To all our good Albury friends, we salute you.’

  He turns to Dad and shakes his hand warmly. ‘We hear your message in morse code,’ he says. ‘You tell us we are near Murray. So then we know.’

  ‘That wasn’t me,’ says Dad. And he slaps me on the back with such a look of pride that I feel warm as I flush. ‘That was my boy, Jack. He taught himself morse code. He’s a great radio man. And he’s going to be a fine pilot when he’s older.’

  I gulp with excitement. Dad thinks I’ll be a great pilot! I want to take his praise and write it in huge, fuzzy letters in the sky.

  The Flying Dutchman turns to me. ‘You are reading our morse, and you helped us,’ he says. ‘We already say our prayers. We in crew think we maybe die for sure. We need real miracle, so to speak. There is snow thumping on the wings. Bang! And then we read, “Fly east to Albury.”’

  So my message got through. I almost choke with delight. One of my messages made it through the ether, all the way to Captain Parmentier. I feel ten feet tall.

  Then Captain Parmentier shakes my hand. The Flying Dutchman shakes my hand! I want to put on an aviator’s glove and never wash my hand again. Mum takes our photo with her new camera.

  ‘How about another one with Brendan and Ricky in it too?’ I ask her.

  This is better than anything I ever imagined. I’ve met the great aviator. And not only that, I was the one who helped him to land.

  Captain Parmentier turns to Dad. ‘By your words on the radio, to call the cars, you save our lives,’ he says, so everyone can hear. ‘We could not see the morse code in the storm. We did not see the word Albury flash. But we see the cars shining here. We see your special landing place and we find a safe place to land.’

  He gives Dad a gift, his own silver cigarette case. He knows my dad helped rescue the plane. But he doesn’t know all of it. Doesn’t know that Dad had to break the rules to make the broadcast. Or know about Mr O’Reilly and his fury. He might never know how Dad had to stand up to his boss and be really brave and do what he thought was right. But I do, and I’ll never forget it.

  ‘Your broadcast of our landing is famous around the world,’ Captain Parmentier says. ‘Our Queen will send her deepest thanks.’

  The onlookers all start to clap and whistle. ‘Three cheers for Mr Newton. Three cheers for his boys.’

  All except one. I can see Mr O’Reilly close by. He’s watching and listening with a cloud over his beefy face.

  ‘We must go now,’ Captain Parmentier says. ‘Grosvenor House has won the speed race. We congratulate them on their flight. But we will win the handicap race.’

  And with one last wave he turns and springs nimbly up the steps and boards the Uiver.

  ‘Did you hear that, boys?’ Mum asks with a huge smile. She stands between Arnie and me and holds up an arm each, like calling a draw at a boxing match. ‘You’re both winners!’

  She turns to Dad, her dark eyes alight with joy. ‘Miss Rasche needs to get to Melbourne to see the end of the race.’ She pats Miss Rasche on the shoulder. The lady pilot puts away her crumpled hanky with a sudden, brilliant smile. ‘And you need to talk to the Melbourne bosses,’ Mum adds. ‘I’ve always said the car would come in handy,’ she tells him with a mischievous smile.

  Dad laughs at her little joke. I can’t believe my ears! Mum wants us to go to Flemington!

  ‘Yes, Dad, let’s go to Melbourne,’ I beg, though I don’t even dare hope.

  Chapter

  FOURTY-FIVE

  We’re surrounded by people clamouring to talk to us. Mr O’Reilly watches closely. He’s heard what Mum said about talking to the Melbourne bosses. And I see him look around sheepishly at the rest of the crowd, while everyone else at the racetrack cheers and claps and slaps us on the back.

  Mr O’Reilly swallows hard. He looks at Dad and at the cheering crowd and then straight at Dad. He looks beaten. Like a dog that knows he’s in disgrace.

  ‘You’d better get back to the studio for your next shift,’ he says to Dad, gruffly.

  So Melbourne is only a dream.

  But then Dad surprises me.

  He looks straight at Mr O’Reilly. ‘The studio? All in good time, Bill,’ he replies. He seems very calm, as if he’s the boss. ‘I’m not on today’s roster,’ he adds dryly. ‘Right now, my family has to drive Miss Rasche to Flemington. For the end of the race. If we leave now we might be there before Roscoe Turner.’

  ‘Honestly, Dad?’ I cry, jumping up and down and waving my arms. ‘We’re going to Melbourne?’ I could turn cartwheels with joy. I’m the luckiest kid in the world.

  ***

  We all watch now as the Uiver takes off and lifts smoothly from the ground. It’s a truly wonderful sight! I capture the image in my mind’s eye, and know it will stay there forever. The giant Dutch stork lifting off for the last leg of its long and perilous journey.

  As it slowly lifts in the air, everyone holds their breath. Will the plane clear the huge gum tree safely? Kids jump off the mailbags and weary men get up from squatting on the ground.

  One of the crew stands near the edge of the track, his uniform flapping in the breeze. If he believes the plane won’t clear the tree, he’ll signal by raising his arms and the Uiver’s race will be all over.

  We watch, as still as statues. All eyes are on the dapper officer.

  His hands stay low.

  And as the plane clears the huge gum tree and rises towards the sky, all of us, all the muddy helpers and all the onlookers, rise up too. We all let out a gasp of relief. And then, together … we all stand up and cheer.

  HISTORICAL

  NOTE

  Stand Up and Cheer is a fictionalised account of a great air race and an amazing rescue that brought Al bury to the attention of the world.

  Australia in the 1930s still looked to England as its mother country and in many ways our life was very British. For example, instead of dollars and cents, our money was based on the English system of pounds, shillings and pence. There were twelve pennies in a shilling (often called a bob) and twenty shillings in a pound. The ha’penny, a brown coin the size of a ten cent piece, had the lowest value, of half a penny. The smallest coin in size was the silver threepenny bit.

  At that time, Australia was in the grip of the Great Depression and almost one-third of the nation was unemployed. The major cities and many small towns had areas called Happy Valley where homeless families camped or lived in tiny huts of hessian, wood and cardboard. In 1932, trying to create more jobs for men, the New South Wales government passed a law preventing married women from working as teachers and 220 were immediately dismissed.

  The success of Australia’s sporting heroes lifted spirits during these harsh times. Its cricket team was the best in the world and Don Bradman, the captain, was a national hero. In 1934 the ABC introduced what came to be known as ‘synthetic cricket’. Details of a match were sent from an English cricket ground to the Sydney studio and broadcast a minute later by Australian commentators. The test sounded like a live report, thanks to the use of a wooden pencil tapping the desk and special effects creating crowd noise. These cricket shows were hugely popular.

  People also admired our aviation heroes, and revered Sir Charles Kingsford Smith who set a record for a flight from Australia to England of just over twelve days. Sir Macpherson Robertson, known as ‘The Chocolate King’, was a great aviation fan. In 1934, for Melbourne’s Cen
tenary year, he gave the city a number of gifts including a school for girls and, of course, the prize money for the Centenary Air Race, still the greatest air race ever.

  Mac Robertson said he wanted the race to result in better international understanding and enhance friendship throughout the world. As news of the contest spread, people all around the globe followed the race and mobbed the planes when they landed.

  The rescue of the Uiver in Albury made worldwide headlines. In the Netherlands, Queen Wilhelmina was delighted that the Uiver was saved. She honoured the mayor of Albury, and gave the town a small model of the plane cast in solid silver. At the time, the Dutch Prime Minister said, ‘We did not know such a place as Albury existed, but the name of that town will go down in our country’s textbooks so that our children can read of the splendid services rendered to our airmen. We shall never forget the people of Albury.’

  The town also received a gift of tulip bulbs in gratitude from the people of the Netherlands. The flowers bloomed around the racetrack in a multitude of different colours. After the Second World War, when many Dutch people came to Australia, some settled in Albury because of its famous link with the Netherlands.

  After that extraordinary night in 1934, men without work were employed to build an aerodrome for the town. If you go to Albury, you can see the story of the Uiver on display at the splendid LibraryMuseum where Queen Wilhelmina’s silver replica of the Uiver is housed. At the modern airport on the same site as the old one, the Uiver Café and Bar has an entire wall with a painting that depicts the events of that amazing night.

  GLOSSARY

  Argy-bargy – a lively argument

  ABC – the Australian Broadcasting Commission, the national radio station. Today it is known as the Australian Broadcasting Corporation and remains a national public broadcaster