In 1954 PG Taylor (Sir Gordon) bought a Short Sandringham flying boat in England and ferried her out to Sydney so as to do charters throughout the South Pacific as far east as Tahiti. He paid 20,000 pounds which was about one tenth of her value six years before when she was due to go into airline service but the increase in landplane services resulted in her going into mothballs instead. Through the Australian government he managed to get the charter out of Malta to Sydney of twenty-five Australian servicemen and their wives going home on maternity leave.
Not to decry in the slightest Centaurus's flare for capturing the essence of flight and fliers, here is a sample of PG Taylor at his most lyrical, for contrast, if you like. In his book about his years with the Sandringham (which he christened 'Frigate Bird 111') he described the take-off from Malta graphically -
"Heading back for the north-east corner of the bay with engines idling, holding a steady course down wind, I sought out the far corner of the deep water as a point to start the take-off. I had gone out in the crash-boat to check the depths in this corner and had found that an extra hundred yards could be used with enough water under the keel by coming in close to the brown stain of the shoal, turning short to port, and immediately coming up to wind. It was a close thing, and not part of the approved operating area, but I had lined up marks ashore to locate the aircraft safely in this area. It gave valuable extra yards of take-off run before the swells at the mouth of the bay.
She moved on down by the leading marks, but as we approached the corner the water was clear enough to locate the bank, so I let her go on with with the starboard float just clearing the edge. Then with the the shoal coming up close ahead I drew off all throttles but number four (the starboard outer, that is.). She slid quietly round, then, as she came up to wind, I came in with the port outer's throttle, all set to go, initially on the outer engines. As she began to rise up on the bow-wave I followed through with the inners as soon as the propellors were clear of the heavy water. She really began to go. I left the power now to our co-pilot, Harry Purvis. From the corner of my eye I saw his reliable hand against the throttle levers. I looked now only ahead to the open sea. She roared and thundered and blasted the water, and as Harry fed her the full take-off power, I felt the great surge from within her.
She was heavy and fighting hard in the beginning, but in a few hundred yards she started to go. Over the bow -wave, she straightened down . The hull was planing as the wing began to accept a part of the load. I held her, singing loud and clear and running free on the water, gathering speed as I watched the swell line coming in. A flash thought to the final decision. If in any doubt we must shut off now to stop before the rough water.
The thought passes as the aircraft acquires a new freedom beyond this point of no return. Committed now, I keep her level; a little touch on the tail trim; a glance at the ASI reading. Now she is really going, blowing the water from under the keel; but the swell is closing in, great heaving impulses from the sea rolling in, denying her further passage upon the water.
Now it must be the air. Another backward touch on the tail trim to balance her out, and I feel the elevator on the control column. I could drag her off, protesting, but I do not want her to go that way. There is still margin for those extra knots that will let her come away cleanly and in good shape.
I hold her now with terrific exhilaration as I know she will respond. The first swell is almost on the nose. It is time for her to go. I apply steady backward pressure to the control column and lift her away from the sea. She leans forward heavily onto the air to pick up speed for easy flight. I see the swells of the Mediterranean passing in another world without effect below her nose. "
Ten days after that departure from Malta, 'Frigate Bird 111' (VH-APG) put down on Sydney Harbour to be brought ashore at Rose Bay and made ready for her first 'Cruisebird' charter to Tahiti. Today if you want to see her you have to go to Le Bourget, to the Musee de L'Air.
VH-APG was a genuine double decker with a curving staircase, rather stylish furnishings and seating for 36 passengers. The main entrance was on the starboard side, aft. Inside the door a little entrance hall led to a choice of three directions you could go. To the left was the aftermost cabin for five people with a door to the cavernous cargo hold further aft. Ahead the curved staircase led to the upper deck with seats for about fourteen. This cabin ran forward as far as the rear main spar. This meant that the front row of seats had virtually no view outside. It was a poor design feature. Other fit-outs on other Sandringhams had this space as a galley. Turning right on entering the boat a few steps led down to into the bar. This was an elegant little curved walnut affair that fitted more or less under the stairs. Forward of this were two more cabins, plus the galley and toilet. From the foremost cabin there was access to the bow and a ladder to the flight-deck. In the mooring compartment in the bow were stowed anchor, drogues, mooring bollard, fog bell and other nautical paraphenalia.
Today, if you want to see any four-engined flying boat in Australia, you can't. Stupidly, disgracefully, we let the last one go in 1974.