by Jim Eames
Carmichael could never be sure but he believed the duke was referring to a mistake made in the early days of Boeing 707 royal flights when Singapore’s two airports, Changi and Paya Lebar, were close together and had runways aligned in the same direction. Coming out of the overcast the 707 landed at Changi and when the captain realised his mistake he quickly taxied back to take off and land at Paya Lebar. Long retired but still puzzled twenty years later, Carmichael wrote and asked the duke whether in fact that was what he had been referring to that night in Singapore. HRH replied that it had been a long time ago but he felt sure that would have been the case.
Flying Pope John Paul back home after an Australian visit was another feather in Carmichael’s cap, with his Boeing 747 Special Performance aircraft fitted with a huge four-poster bed on the upper deck. Qantas chairman Jim Leslie was on the flight, along with a phalanx of cardinals making up the entourage and an all-male cabin crew, since no women were permitted on board a papal flight. Once again Carmichael experienced some peculiar air traffic control exchanges.
Normal procedure was to have His Holiness send a message of goodwill to the prime minister or leader of any country over which they were flying. This could create some interesting radio exchanges as they flew over countries like Somalia where the air traffic controller’s English was limited to the aviation terminology he was required to use as part of his job. Asking him to pass on the good wishes of His Holiness the Pope was well beyond his comprehension. After minutes of frustration trying to get the message across that a chap known as Il Papa was trying to communicate a blessing, Carmichael and his crew began to double up with laughter at their futile attempts, until co-pilot Stuart Fraser took over and translated the message into French.
‘We think it finally got through, but I’ve never been sure,’ says Carmichael.
***
Flying politicians in the days before RAAF VIP squadrons were equipped with aircraft capable of long-range international travel was another unique experience for Qantas crews and some of the stories of much admired former Qantas chief pilot, the late Alan Terrell, have moved into Qantas folklore, particularly while carrying former Prime Minister Gough Whitlam.
Terrell and Whitlam spent many hours in the air together, with Whitlam, who had served in the RAAF during the war, always managing to find time to sit in the jump seat behind the crew. They swapped stories and at times offered each other the odd snippet of advice—political or other—although there was one occasion, flying the PM from Samoa to Vancouver, when Terrell’s advice didn’t help the PM all that much.
Because the distance involved between Samoa and Vancouver was beyond the Boeing 707’s range, Terrell needed to allow a brief stop in Honolulu early in the morning to refuel and had flight planned for a simple, quick turnaround so they could quickly be on their way again. But several hours out from Honolulu, still in the middle of the night, Terrell received a signal that the mayor of Honolulu wished to greet the Australian prime minister on arrival.
Realising no such meeting was on the schedule, Terrell had the crew wake the PM and a few minutes later an obviously less-than-keen Whitlam was in the cockpit expressing his surprise and asking Terrell what dress attire he should assume.
‘Prime Minister, at 5 a.m in the morning in Honolulu they’ll be in shorts, Hawaiian shirts and long socks,’ was Terrell’s confident prediction.
Whitlam retreated back to the PM’s suite to change into something casual. As they approached the terminal after landing, Terrell was aghast to see a conga line of officials spread across the tarmac, all dressed in lounge suits and ties.
He hardly had time to think about what he would say to his VIP passenger when the cockpit door opened to reveal a Gough Whitlam dressed in a bright sports shirt and light slacks.
‘Alan, please be assured that will be the last time I shall be seeking your sartorial advice,’ offered the PM before descending down the aircraft steps to meet the greeters.
Punctuality, not appropriate attire, was the problem on another occasion when flying the PM from Colombo to an important meeting in Brussels. After a three-day stopover in Colombo, Terrell and his crew were ready for a 10 a.m. departure when time began to drag on. Soon the PM was an hour late and, by 11.30 a.m., word reached Terrell that he was still talking with Sri Lankan Prime Minister Sirimavo Bandaranaike.
Eventually Terrell was relieved to see a flurry of activity as officials strode quickly towards the aircraft, a quick farewell between the two prime ministers at the foot of the steps and Whitlam bounding aboard, straight into the cockpit.
‘I’m sorry I’m late Alan, but it’s important I get to Brussels on time.’
Terrell, who had spent the waiting time making some flight recalculations, figured it could be done if they travelled low at about 20,000 feet to make up time: ‘I’m pretty confident we can do it, Prime Minister, but it’s going to cost the Australian taxpayer a lot of money in fuel.’
‘I don’t give a bugger about the Australian taxpayer right now, Alan. Just get me there on time.’
Years later Terrell remembers the sheer enjoyment of having Whitlam spend much of the time in the cockpit as they flew over the Middle East. ‘He was with us for an hour or so and treated us to a wonderful travelogue as he pointed out the historical landmarks across Mesopotamia et al. The extent of his knowledge made it a fascinating experience.’
While VIP flights like Vancouver and Brussels were important assignments, they paled into insignificance when it came to the pre-planning required for Whitlam’s journey to China in October 1973. Not only was Whitlam the first Australian prime minister to visit the country, but it was to come within eighteen months of US President Nixon’s ground-breaking visit in February 1972.
The China of the 1970s was no easy place to get to. East–West relationships were still delicate and, although Whitlam’s initiative was welcomed by the Chinese, flying into the Middle Kingdom was a whole new experience for a Western airline and required intricate planning.
The first step was to be a ground survey with Captains Phil Oakley and Terrell, who had flown together since Qantas’s early Papua New Guinea years, leading a twelve-man team to discuss the air and ground handling requirements.
Accommodated at a government guesthouse in Peking, they had allowed for at least four days of meetings at the headquarters of the Chinese Civil Aviation authority, which turned out to be a new experience for the Qantas team. First the leader of the Chinese delegation spoke for over an hour, then Oakley, as leader of the delegation had his turn, before introducing Terrell who addressed technical issues. They adjourned for lunch at 11.30, planning to reassemble at 4 p.m.; during the interim, the Chinese would interpret the contents of the discussions.
When 4 p.m. came, the Chinese leader briefly outlined the main points in the discussions and, to the surprise of the Australians, declared the discussions over.
‘We spent the rest of the time eating extended Chinese banquets and touring the sights,’ recalled a grateful Terrell.
The next step was the survey flight, which would be operated by a 707. Since the Chinese would not permit the use of still-British Hong Kong as an originating point, the survey flight would come out of Japan to Peking on the same routing as the eventual official flight. As the Chinese had only recently purchased a Boeing 707, Terrell was startled when a whole team of Chinese aircrew turned up to accompany them. At one stage he counted seven of them in the cramped Boeing cockpit at the same time.
After arrival, Oakley and Terrell were able to quickly resume their technical discussions with the Chinese, who soon made it clear that the VIP flight itself would require an unusual Qantas crew complement of seven, comprising three pilots, two engineers, a navigator and lastly, at the Chinese insistence, a radio operator as well. And the Chinese insisted on having their own navigator on board, presumably to ensure the aircraft didn’t inadvertently stray over any of their military installations.
Beyond that, arrangements went quite smoot
hly, although the same could not be said for another member of the team, Food Services Manager Rolf Gschwind, whose assignment was to inspect the catering facilities for use on Whitlam’s return flight from China at the conclusion of his visit. Gschwind became concerned when the first day passed with the Chinese explaining there was a delay with the catering inspection arrangements, but when the delay stretched into the second day he became even more concerned. When it looked like Day Three was heading the same way he pressed further, only to finally learn that no such catering facility existed! While he accepted it had been a case of the Chinese saving face, something had to be done, and quickly. Gschwind went to the Australian ambassador, Stephen Fitzgerald, who suggested they use the embassy kitchen, which was at least capable of handling large diplomatic dining arrangements. On inspection Gschwind found it could easily cover the task.
Now, with the catering elements in place, all appeared ready to provide the Australian prime minister with a smooth transition into China. Little did they know!
Since Whitlam would be paying an official visit to Japan on his way to China, Japan manager John Picken’s staff had spent weeks working on arrangements for Whitlam’s stay in Japan and also to ensure a smooth departure for China. At the outset, Picken got some idea of the complexity of the task when 30 organisations turned up for the Japanese government’s briefing session on the Whitlam itinerary for Japan. Most arrived in either dark business suits, military or government uniforms or, in the case of the meeting’s convenor, the Department of Protocol representatives, in formal morning suits of striped trousers and cutaway morning coats.
Security too, was high on the agenda as the Japanese terrorist organisation, the Seki Gun Ha, was reported to be training for an assault on Tokyo airport and the Japanese feared that any visiting head of government could be an attractive target.
In the days leading up to the visit, apart from a Japanese demand that the aircraft be positioned at Nagoya, 350 kilometres south, during the Japan stopover because of parking limitations at Tokyo, Picken and his team gradually sorted out the bureaucratic demands. By the time the official flight arrived, only a few issues were outstanding, several of which related to the actual flight into China itself. The first was the requirement for a flight plan, which had been based on flying through South Korean airspace to overhead Shanghai and then direct to Peking. Both the Japanese and the South Koreans had approved the flight plan but the People’s Republic of China was now insisting that, since it was still technically at war with South Korea, over-flight of South Korea would not be possible. The extra distance involved meant a substantial change to the timing of the red carpet farewell from Japan and the comprehensive official arrival in Peking, so a new flight plan had to be obtained from British Airways, who had experience flying west of Tokyo.
While that was requested urgently from the British, another problem surfaced when it was revealed that the navigator assigned to the flight couldn’t speak English, which resulted in an hour-long exchange Picken will never forget: ‘Firstly the Chinese interpreter translated all the operational and navigational requirements, which she didn’t understand, from Mandarin to Japanese. I translated from Japanese to English and then translated the replies and questions back to Japanese. The Chinese interpreter then translated from Japanese to Mandarin. And on it went. Our two pilots and the Chinese navigator were all rolling their eyes and taking notes—the only things they had in common.’
Travelling back to the Qantas Tokyo office after the meeting, Terrell remarked dryly: ‘This won’t look good for any of us if we finish up landing in the middle of the Gobi Desert.’
Picken couldn’t have put it better himself.
For the next two days, along with keeping his own office moving, Picken repeatedly contacted the British Airways office in Hong Kong to chase up the flight plan to no avail until, with the prime minister scheduled to depart the following afternoon, BA Hong Kong telexed that the flight plan had been sent.
On the day of departure, while the pilots went to the British Airways operations office to obtain the flight plan and make the necessary adjustments, Picken went to his own office to clear up any outstanding paperwork. While there he was handed a pile of correspondence that he nonchalantly dumped into his in-tray.
By the time he returned to the airport everything seemed well under control and the Prime Minister of Japan and the Crown Prince were on their way to the airport.
Suddenly he was confronted by an anxious Terrell. The flight plan hadn’t arrived and he had been forced to lodge a plan without any knowledge of high-altitude winds. The best he and Oakley could do was estimate they would probably be 15 minutes late on the blocks in Peking, not a good result when flying the Australian prime minister and an aircraft full of Australian press representatives on their first visit to China.
Even as Mr and Mrs Whitlam climbed aboard, Terrell poked his head out the cockpit window and gestured to Picken whether the plan had arrived. Picken signalled it hadn’t but was at least thankful it would be an on-time departure.
With the aircraft gone, Picken returned to his office to await notification from Peking that the 707 had arrived, still concerned at the prospect of a traditional Chinese fanfare welcome for the Australian party being delayed. While he waited he began to flick through the papers he had tossed onto his desk that morning to discover the flight plan the third item in the pile. It had been mistakenly faxed to his office instead of BA flight operations!
Fortunately Oakley and Terrell’s makeshift flight calculations had been reasonably accurate and the Qantas Boeing 707 landed at Peking 17 minutes late, although the late arrival was to have a sequel for Picken.
Four years later, the former prime minister recognised Picken, now Qantas manager for Queensland, at Brisbane airport. When the conversation touched briefly on that departure out of Tokyo, Whitlam explained that very strong headwinds had caused them ‘to arrive a little late’. Doubtless Oakley and Terrell had found the ‘excuse’ they needed and Picken didn’t have the heart to explain the real story.
In contrast to the anxiety and drama of the Tokyo departure, the welcoming ceremony at Peking, a colourful affair involving hundreds of costumed Chinese and rows of bandsmen, lining the tarmac had a humorous sidelight. Catering man Rolf Gschwind, who had arrived in Peking several days earlier, watched as the Boeing’s engines were shut down and the assembled throng waited for Whitlam to appear at the aircraft doorway, the signal for the start of much dancing, flag waving and band music. As the seconds ticked by in silence, Gschwind noticed a catering lorry head for the rear of the aircraft, ready to load replenishments for the flight back to Tokyo. Suddenly Gschwind saw the rear door open unexpectedly and the figure of Qantas’s executive chef Henri Leuzinger step into the doorway. Obviously mistaking him for Whitlam, the band launched into the Australian national anthem and flags began to wave, prompting Leuzinger to slink back inside the door, the music fading into a few jumbled notes as the band realised its mistake. A few moments later the Whitlams appeared at the correct forward door and the official welcome resumed.
Whitlam generally proved popular with those who flew him, as did John Gorton, a former fighter pilot himself in World War II. Although political shades rarely enter into the accounts of those who flew the aeroplanes, most acknowledge that prime ministers generally accepted the realities associated with weather-related delays and other issues beyond the pilots’ control, although Roger Carmichael recalls dealing with a testy Bill McMahon while flying from Singapore to Bali.
In those 707 days, Bali had few navigation aids and no instrument landing system, which meant circling down from as high as 16,000 feet to remain well clear of the surrounding mountainous terrain. McMahon, who had been invited into the cockpit to watch the landing, began to show signs of impatience, appearing to believe it was all a waste of time, at one stage remarking: ‘Whenever are we going to bloody well land?’
Carmichael took pains to explain they didn’t want to hit a volcano by
trying to get there too quickly!
***
While prime ministers and the like might be the top of the ladder, so to speak, when it comes to VIP airline travel, there are others who make the grade at various levels, ranging from the likes of Frank Sinatra and Judy Garland to high-flying businessmen, some requiring handling with kid gloves, others expecting little more than the comforts of first-class service they are paying for.
Contrasts, even on the same aeroplane were common, as in the case of one incident involving Australian businessman John Elliott, who carried his commendable ‘Australianness’ onto the aeroplane with him, down to the suggestion that Qantas first class meals should include the option of a Four’n Twenty pie.
Roger Carmichael remembers Elliott as a pleasant and most forgiving VIP passenger, particularly when the unexpected occurred. Some of the early Boeing 747s had a habit of gathering condensation in the ceiling above a row of seats on both sides in first class, with the result that, as the aircraft climbed steeply after take-off, a small quantity of water would drop onto any unfortunate passenger who happened to be sitting there. After his aircraft had reached cruise level on a flight out of Sydney to the United States, Carmichael was told by his cabin crew that there was a crisis in first class that needed his attention.
He arrived to find Elliott and another well-known Australian businessman who had been sitting in the same row on the opposite side of the aisle, wet from the condensation fault. Offering his apologies to both, Carmichael couldn’t help remembering the contrast. While the businessman was railing at the shortcomings of Qantas engineering and its treatment of first-class passengers, Elliott was laughing his head off. ‘I’ve had nothing but respect for him ever since,’ was Carmichael’s comment.
As for the availability of Four’n Twenty pies: in the late 1980s, Foster’s was in the process of taking over Courage Breweries in the UK and, as Foster’s boss, Elliott found himself flying Qantas between Australia and London every fortnight. A confessed ‘pie tragic’, he suggested to the airline his favourite pies should become part of the first-class service. The airline agreed.
