by Jim Eames
After that he’d eat several pies on the first leg to Singapore and then another couple on the leg to Bahrain. But at times, thanks to the Qantas reaction to his request, Elliott got more than he bargained for: ‘On one trip we were about to leave Bahrain for London when the chief steward told me they’d put 24 Four’n Twenty pies on board.
‘Well by that time I didn’t want any more pies and, when I said so, he asked what he should do with them. I suggested he put them on for breakfast in economy. It must have worked as he came back a little later and told me they’d all gone.’
Elliott’s taste for iconic Australian food didn’t stop with the humble pie. He later wrote a five-page letter suggesting some improvements the airline could make to its services, one of which was the addition of Vegemite in first class.
‘They already had it in economy so why shouldn’t we have it too,’ he says.
Along with the Vegemite request were twelve suggestions as to how the airline could improve the food in first class. ‘Three weeks later I got a five-page letter back and they had an excuse for not doing anything about most of them,’ says Elliott, still sounding disappointed. But he did get his Vegemite in first class.
Much to the delight of cabin crew, some VIPs brought with them a rich sense of humour. Among the famous folks carried by flight attendant Liz Cook was Frank Sinatra, who just happened to be on the same flight as Paul Hogan and his colleague John Cornell.
‘This was the pre-Crocodile Dundee days and they were just fabulous. Paul Hogan kept asking me: “Does Mr Sinatra realise that I’m on board?”’
Another of her most memorable passengers was former Beatle John Lennon. ‘He got on in Singapore and was sitting in the front row of first class. He refused to eat any aircraft food and proceeded to eat some packaged Japanese food he’d bought in Singapore. It was the most ghastly smelling food and the smell went right through the cabin all the way to London,’ says Cook.
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Flying VIPs wasn’t restricted to normal international flights. One of the most successful Qantas public relations moves was the airline’s longstanding practice of naming its 707 and 747 aircraft after Australian cities and towns. Tradition dictated that, once aircraft had been named after the airline’s two foundation towns of Longreach and Winton in Queensland and all capital cities were represented on the nose of a Qantas Boeing, regional cities and towns would be chosen through a well-defined process based on state representation and population.
It was a decision that was not only a source of pride to the centres concerned but resulted in valuable local media publicity, culminating in invitations to visit Seattle to christen the brand-new aircraft on its delivery to the airline. Usually the small party would comprise the member of parliament for that area, along with the mayor and local representatives of press, radio and television. It was an experience long remembered by many and, provided the weather in Seattle cooperated, a four-day visit included an inspection of the Boeing production line with a celebratory dinner at a Seattle restaurant and culminated in a christening ceremony to splash champagne over the aircraft before it set off on its delivery flight to Australia. Often the party would be the only passengers aboard the aircraft on its delivery flight to Australia, making it an even more memorable occasion.
Boeing was a gracious host and could be relied upon to handle the most sensitive moments with commendable diplomacy, even when the occasional decidedly left-leaning Australian politician made pointed remarks about the fact that Boeing was also the maker of military hardware.
The mayors from the largest regional centres to small country towns represented a welcome cross-section of Australians, and it was obvious their Boeing hosts particularly enjoyed their company. These were, the Boeing people would always tell Qantas, the ‘real Aussies!’ There were some memorable occasions. Lengthy descriptions of the current wheat harvest, the lack of rain for six months and the state of outback roads were often standard fare at the celebratory dinner, sat through with commendable interest and patience by their Boeing hosts, although there was one occasion where they were forced to sit up and take notice.
One mayor concluded his remarks about the attractions of his particular portion of Australia, announcing as he sat down he was now looking forward to comparing the fillet steak in front of him with the top-grade product he was accustomed to at home. All eyes in the room were upon him as he took the first bite and began to withdraw the fork from his mouth—only to see his top dental plate come out with it! His Boeing hosts handled it with their customary aplomb, turning quietly away towards their own meals, although one could imagine the incident was a highlight of discussions on their way home after the dinner.
But not all the VIPs handled by Australia’s international airline were restricted to royals, prime ministers, mayors or movie stars. In 1990 Qantas found itself handling a group of men unique in terms of their age and worldly experience—the return to Gallipoli of those veterans who had gone ashore that fateful April in 1915.
20
THE RETURN OF THE GALLIPOLI VETERANS
The 100th anniversary of the Anzac landing in 2015 demonstrated the special meaning the Anzac legend has for Australians, as VIPs from royalty through to prime ministers spoke to the thousands gathered before them above the beach at Anzac Cove.
To a few of those watching in 2015, it would have brought to mind a similar, though less-elaborate ceremony on the 75th anniversary in 1990 on that same beach. On that morning in 1990, sitting in the front row as dawn broke on 25 April 1990, were 60 men who had forged that legend on the Gallipoli Peninsula.
All were in their nineties and for some it was the first time they had been out of Australia since they left its shores in 1914 to take part in ‘the war to end all wars’. This time they made it to Turkey not aboard cramped troop ships but aboard a Qantas Boeing 747 renamed Spirit of Anzac and carrying its own special flight number, QF1915.
The decision by the Australian government to take a small group of Gallipoli veterans back to the peninsula in 1990 to mark the 75th anniversary not only presented a major logistical exercise for the Department of Veterans’ Affairs, but a unique challenge for Qantas.
The veterans themselves would be the central characters on an aircraft specially configured for the task. With them would be a full load of legatees, government officials, military personnel and journalists who would attend a range of commemorative services spanning the length of the Gallipoli Peninsula, from Anzac Cove to Suvla Bay and Cape Hellas, where other contingents of the Allied forces had landed.
It was an exercise months in the planning, beginning with the careful selection of 60 of the 150 veterans still alive in 1990 and considered capable of making the trip, given their age and the long distances involved. All would be subject to close medical assessment before departure, the primary aim to ensure they returned home from the scene of their wartime landing safe and well for the second time.
Eight war widows were among them, several of whom would be seeing their husband’s grave for the first time. There was no shortage of volunteers to look after them and Veterans’ Affairs was deluged with offers from doctors and nurses to make the trip, along with individual carers to cater for the every need of their aged guests.
While administration matters relating to the veterans themselves were being put in place, other aspects of what was to become a substantial military support operation were taking shape. Royal Australian Navy frigates were positioning to form a seaborne backdrop for the dawn service at Anzac, while HMAS Tobruk would be carrying everything from medical supplies, helicopters, vehicles and even Portaloos as part of the ground logistical support.
The 26 doctors and nurses allocated for the journey spent the weeks beforehand visiting their charges, getting to know them, shopping with them and helping with other chores, all designed to help them feel comfortable about taking on the trip. Not that many of the veterans had any qualms about it. Most regarded it as an unprecedented opportunity and one that w
ould make them the last of a generation to ever make the journey to a place they would never forget.
The Anzacs lost 7400 from two divisions, the British 22,000 from eight and the French 10,000 from one. Turkish estimates were around 80,000 casualties and, despite the marked difference in life expectancy in comparison to the Australians, Turkish authorities had managed to find one soldier who had been above the beach that day.
The dawn service was to be a traditional one at Anzac Cove, followed by a wreath-laying ceremony at Lone Pine. Soon after, Australian Prime Minister Bob Hawke and British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher would attend the international service at Cape Hellas, at the far end of the peninsula.
As the departure date drew nearer, Qantas began preparing the Spirit of Anzac Boeing 747 for the flight, converting the aircraft’s first-class section into a fully equipped aeromedical intensive care area, with a curtained stretcher, oxygen cylinders and appropriate medical equipment. Additional stretchers were in place towards the rear of the aircraft.
The crew were to be volunteers, among them Captain Les Hayward, whose father had taken part in the first day of the campaign, and flight service director Sigmund ‘Ziggy’ Jablowski, a Vietnam veteran in charge of the cabin. Two of the Anzac veterans returning on QF1915 were Ernie Guest and Jack Hazlett, both former Qantas engineers.
To make the departure easier for the veterans, Qantas had arranged for the aircraft to be boarded in a hangar at the Qantas Jet Base at Mascot using scissor-lift equipment to avoid the veterans having to climb the aircraft stairs.
There was a short ceremony at Mascot as a large gathering of VIPs farewelled the aircraft towards its first stopover at Singapore for a two-night stay, which included a visit to the World War II memorial at the former Changi prison. From there it was to be nonstop to Istanbul.
It soon became evident that this hardy band of men had not lost their sense of humour or their taste for a drop of refreshment. Nor had they lost the odd larrikin streak—one spotted pinching the backside of his female carer as she took him on an exercise walk down the aircraft’s aisle!
Pomp and ceremony prevailed on arrival at Singapore before the group was taken direct to their hotel to rest up before their first official engagement that evening, a pre-dinner drinks affair in a relaxed hotel atmosphere.
But there would be anxious moments when the group gathered for drinks and a head count revealed one of them was missing. The alarm was raised, and concern escalated when repeated calls to the old digger’s room and knocks on his door failed to get any response. Hotel management was quickly summoned with a master key and the worst was feared as the door opened. But to everyone’s relief there was our missing veteran, stretched out, fully clothed, flat on his back on the bed. Open nearby was the room’s mini bar, emptied of its contents. All the free liquor therein had obviously been too tempting to resist.
Neither was the Singapore departure without its dramas for the military contingent on the aircraft, when one of the soldiers failed to turn up for the bus ride to the airport and was left behind. Worse still, the treasured Gallipoli 1st Battalion flag had also gone missing during the transit and QF1915 was forced to leave without it. Fortunately, soon after the veterans departed, the flag was found, rushed overnight on another flight to Athens, then on to Istanbul, finally reaching the tour leader, retired army major Bill Hall, on the day before the dawn service.
Emotions ran high among the veterans as the aircraft taxied to a stop at Istanbul and, as the television crews and news photographers jostled to record the arrival, one of those memorable moments occurred which could never have been scripted. One of the veterans, short, wiry Jack Ryan, descended onto Turkish soil for the first time in three-quarters of a century and stepped forward to be introduced to a Turkish veteran of the campaign standing at the foot of the steps. Immediately clasping his former enemy’s hand, and using a vernacular long lost with his era, Ryan exclaimed: ‘It’s great to be back—as a cobber.’
Few who attended the dawn service at Gallipoli that April morning could be unmoved by the solemnity of the occasion, although one Turkish protocol officer was heard to wonder out loud ‘why Australians would spend so much effort remembering a defeat.’ One of the Australian journalists in the party tried to explain it, but soon gave up and turned back to his notebook.
Prime Minister Hawke delivered an emotional speech during the service at Lone Pine later that morning and, when the ceremony was over and the guard marched off to the strains of ‘Lili Marlene’, there was hardly a dry eye to seen.
A few days later the diggers were winging their way home, obviously flushed with pride that they had survived it all again. The only casualty turned out to be one veteran who slipped on the Istanbul hotel staircase as they were leaving for the airport, boarding the flight with his head heavily bandaged.
Asked by a crew member how he was feeling, he replied: ‘I’m okay. I had a bandage around my head the last time I left here too.’
21
HOW TO SMUGGLE A FUTURE PRINCESS
The story broke in the Sydney Morning Herald on 1 March 1981. It told how, with rumours rife that a royal engagement was in the offing, the world’s media was searching everywhere from the UK to Africa, for the future Princess Diana. In fact, she had been helping cut burrs on a family property, Bloomfield, near Yass in New South Wales.
When the media swarm finally descended on the Yass property, Diana’s mother, Mrs Frances Shand Kydd, repeatedly denied her daughter was there. In fact Mrs Shand Kydd may not have been totally telling fibs. Diana had also spent time at the beach on the New South Wales south coast.
The media finally gave up and things at Bloomfield returned to normal. By that time however, unknown to all but a handful of people, the future princess had been spirited out of Yass and onto a Qantas aircraft to London, virtually under the noses of the press.
What must rank as one of the Australian carrier’s most bizarre undercover operations, with its own secret codes, a clandestine roadside rendezvous in the middle of Sydney and hushed conversations in private rooms, began with a phone call to the airline’s then manager for New South Wales, Brian Wild, on an afternoon in early January 1981. Managing director Keith Hamilton wanted to see him urgently. Hamilton and Wild were close colleagues, both having worked together on the development of the airline’s international aviation policies in the 1960s and 1970s.
‘I’ve got a special job I want you to do. It involves getting someone out of the country quietly,’ said Hamilton even before Wild had closed the door behind him.
Handing Wild a handwritten note, Hamilton offered: ‘I don’t know much about it myself. Ring this government fellow in Canberra and he’ll brief you, then come back and see me.’
‘That was it,’ Wild remembered decades later. ‘He wouldn’t even tell me who the person was we had to get out.’
Wild’s call to Canberra didn’t fill in many details either, beyond ‘I can’t tell you the name at this stage but we have to get this person into the Sydney international terminal undiscovered and onto your flight to London.’
‘When?’ asked Wild. The question was particularly pertinent as Wild had another problem. The airline was in the middle of one of the most severe strikes in its history, after Australian unions had banned Qantas aircrew in support of cabin crew industrial claims.
Not only was the strike crippling the airline but Mascot’s airport terminal was being besieged on a daily basis by television crews and other media looking for the latest news on the strike. Getting a VIP out of the country undetected under these circumstances wouldn’t be easy, to say the least. ‘Probably in the next week,’ came the answer Wild didn’t really want to hear.
‘I’ll leave it to you as to how you get someone into the government lounge at the terminal,’ was the Canberra offering.
Canberra suggested Wild liaise with the airport’s manager, Reg Crampton, ‘who also knows something is going to happen.’ That heartened Wild a little as he and Crampto
n had been neighbours for years.
A phone call to Crampton confirmed that the airport manager hadn’t been told who they were dealing with either, but the two men agreed to meet at a hotel near the airport to talk. Crampton arrived with maps of the airport marking the gate they could use to enter away from public gaze, showing the access path to underneath the airport concourse and a lift that would take them directly into the lounge.
Back with Hamilton several days later, Wild now learnt that he was dealing with something that would be known as ‘The Reid file,’ the subject of which, a ‘Miss Reid’, would need to be on QF1 to London on the afternoon of 17 January. (Wild would never find out the reason for the ‘Reid’ title but surmised that John Reid, a prominent board member of the day, had been involved in the matter.)
Hamilton had more bad news as far as the media was concerned. That day’s QF1 might just be the first flight out with an all-volunteer staff crew, a burning issue with the striking workers and one guaranteed to attract a larger-than-normal media scrum to the airport.
Several more days were to pass until the man from Canberra let Wild in on the secret. The passenger would be Diana Spencer and further details of the operation would follow, he was told. Now, at least, Wild was able to piece a few facts of his own together, having read reports of the press trying to trace her from one end of the planet to the other. Later he learnt that Diana had quietly arrived in Australia to talk to her parents before the announcement of her engagement to Prince Charles.
What followed in the 24 hours in the lead-up to the QF flight to London had enough ingredients to merge a James Bond drama with a Mack Sennett comedy.
Wild was told to wear clothing that could easily be recognised and that he would need to be standing on the intersection of O’Riordon Street and Gardiners Road at 2.30 p.m. on 17 January to await the approach of a light-coloured Toyota Corona.
