Film 'review' with a difference: Danger Within

This isn’t a post about Australians in Stalag Luft III, but it does cover some of the universal aspects of the POW experience and so, it counts!

 

It is well acknowledged that popular perceptions of prisoners of war in Europe have been shaped by their filmic representation. I’ve only viewed three of the classics—Stalag 17 (1953) The Colditz Story (1955) and The Great Escape (1963)—and only through the perspective of light Sunday afternoon entertainment. Accordingly, I thought I should work my way through some of the classics of the prisoner-of-war genre just to see for myself what aspects of captivity have been presented to a film-living public. Thanks to Clare Makepeace, I have a list and I decided to start with the 1959 film, Danger Within and thought I would write up my ‘findings’.

 

 

There is no need for me to provide a detailed account of Danger Within’s plot and filmmaking—there are very good ones at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Danger_Within) and https://bloodymurder.wordpress.com/2013/10/29/danger-within-1959-tuesdays-overlooked-film/ —but I do discuss some important plot points and, while I don’t reveal the ‘bad guy’ I do drop a very big hint and there are lots of spoilers.

As far as I am aware, Danger Within has not been released on DVD and so I had the ‘joy’ of watching a very snow-ridden VHS that was close to the end of its useful life. The blurb on the VHS case exclaims ‘400 plan to escape—one plans to betray!’ and the liner notes claim that it is ‘an exciting drama set in an Italian POW camp during WWII’. Well, I don’t know if I would go quite so far as to say ‘exciting’ but I certainly enjoyed it, perhaps because of my research interest; I am not entirely sure I would have been enticed to watch it otherwise. Significantly for my research, the liner notes also state that the film is based on the true exploits of producer Colin Lesslie and writer Michael Gilbert, the author of the book on which the film is based. Gilbert joined the Honourable Artillery Company when war broke out and served in North Africa and Italy. He was captured in 1943, imprisoned in northern Italy and escaped after the Italian surrender. [https://www.theguardian.com/news/2006/feb/10/guardianobituaries.booksobituaries]

 

 

 

 I read Danger Within—released as Death in Captivity in Britain—a few years ago before I started my current research. I purchased it at a specialist crime fiction shop. Given the blurb ‘When a man is found suffocated to death in an escape tunnel under impossible conditions, British POWs turn detective’, I expected a classic ‘who dunnit’ but found it difficult going and less than engaging, so promptly put it at the back of my bookcase. From what I can recall, there are considerable differences between book and film, including some name changes, more of an interest in crime solving, and the name of the theatre production which covers the mass escape. Given I enjoyed the film, I must revisit the book at some stage if, for no other reason, than to see how the raw material of the book morphed into the aforementioned ‘exciting drama’.

Danger Within is a classic of the British prisoner-of-war film genre and sits alongside other iconic British productions of this era such as The Wooden Horse (1950) and The Colditz Story. I may be researching Stalag Luft III but it seems that there is little difference between this Italian camp and the Luftwaffe’s showcase prisoner of war camp for airmen. Indeed, with only minor script changes (and investment in air force uniforms) the film could very well have been set in Stalag Luft III. Like Stalag Luft III, this fictional camp is a veritable united nations. There are British officers, of course, a Greek officer, and a piano accordion-playing Frenchman. Vincent Ball, as Captain Pat Foster, in slouch hat and Aussie uniform doesn’t have to hide his accent. I spied Lieutenant Commander ‘Dopey’ Gibbon, RN (Andrew Faulds), ‘Doc’ Simmonds of the RAMC (Robert Bruce) and I recognised an ‘Airborne’ insignia but, because of the continual snow storm of my borrowed VHS copy, I can’t tell you who he was! Sadly, given my particular interest in air force history, the snow and erratic horizontal hold made it difficult to focus on background detail, so I couldn’t discern any air force officers.

 

 

The plot is simple. A series of escape attempts in an officers’ camp in Northern Italy, just before the Armistice in 1943, which should succeed, are discovered. The first escaper, who disguises himself as the one of the Italian commanders—so cleverly that not even Lieutenant Colonel Huxley (Bernard Lee) the Senior British Officer (SBO) is aware that it is one of his men in disguise—is caught by the very man he is impersonating just as he exits the compound. He is shot in cold blood in front of everyone, creating a near riot. The escape committee is convinced that they have an informer in their midst, until the likely suspect, Lieutenant Cyriakis Coutoules (Cyril Shaps), is found dead in an escape tunnel. Escape plans continue and the Italians continue to discover the attempts. It is not until the night before the grand scheme for the entire camp of 400 men to exit the tunnel in broad daylight is executed that they discover the traitor.

The camp spy pops up often enough in prisoner of war anecdote, but here, as with the similarly themed Stalag 17, the spy/traitor plays a major role in the narrative. The prisoners may dismiss his possible existence with the death of Coutoules, but his identity is revealed to the viewer quite early on. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been; it would have been much better to leave the great reveal until the very end, when Captain ‘Bunter’ Phillips (Richard Attenborough) discovers his identity. Even so, tension is created in not knowing whether the prisoners will discover him or whether their escape attempts will continue to be foiled, with deadly consequences. Although there is a spy in camp, and a murder, escape is at the heart of this film and it forms the basis for both narrative drama and narrative conflict. In one of the earliest scenes, the head of the escape committee, Lieutenant Colonel David Baird (Richard Todd) and Huxley argue over the importance of escape to prisoners of war. Baird is unequivocal in his belief that it was their duty to escape. Huxley is equally adamant that it is also their duty to stay alive. (The irony in Huxley not putting the highest priority on the duty of escape is that he had made a successful escape during the Great War.) This is a standard set piece to reinforce the central place of duty and survival in an active serviceman’s life, whether he is at the front or behind barbed wire.

Every aspect of prisoner-of-war life imaginable has been crammed into the 101 minutes playing time, including the ever-present guards in the watch towers,  and right from the beginning, this film demonstrates that the active serviceman does not languish in captivity but creates as much disruption as possible to the enemy. Not only that, he actively manages his captivity and displays incredible ingenuity. It also highlights the imperative to survive, not only to continue the war whether behind barbed wire or not, but so the men can return home to their families, poignantly illustrated by Bunter Phillips’ wedding band and photos.

The dual goals of escape and survival are not easy to attain because there is indeed, ‘danger within’. Front and centre, is the betrayal of their escape plans by one of their own. Then, there are the cruel murders of the escapers. Lester (Peter Arne), the first to attempt a brazen escape by walking out disguised as the sinister Capitano Benucci (also played by Peter Arne) meets his doppelganger lying in wait, just outside the gates. He shrugs, acknowledging that the game is up, but rather than being rounded up and sent inside as he probably expects, he is shot in cold blood. There are tunnel collapses, real and staged. There is also psychological danger. Capitano Benucci knows full well how much the men depend on their mail to reinforce their connections with home when he announces that much of the mail was destroyed by fire—again. The men take advantage of many coping mechanisms to stay fit and healthy but for the psychologically fragile, mail deprivation is a serious blow.

 

 

As is typical of British films of this era there is a strong thread of humour throughout the film. (Even a cursory look at wartime prisoner of war logbooks reveals that humour was an important coping mechanism in captivity; you can’t be depressed if you are busy laughing at yourself and your situation.) After the opening battle scenes, the camera fixes on a man lying face down, apparently dead. And then he starts scratching his back side. Dopey Gibbon, who sways wildly as he pours ‘vino’ from a teapot, later reveals himself as a competent pre-escape briefer. The SBO sparks a laugh as he offers his gloved hands for finger printing because he likes to keep his hands clean. I couldn’t help smiling at the heart-warming enthusiasm of the ‘sewer rat’, Lieutenant Meynell (Ronnie Stevens) as he talks about his passion for drains, hardly realising that the all-pervading miasma of sewage makes him socially unacceptable—that is, until he discovers an all-important electrical cable. I laughed out loud at the controlled madness of Major Charles Marquand (Michael Wilding) and his side-kick Captain Alfred Piker (Peter Jones) who criticise the typical British weather while stepping out into ‘the rain’, and then announce that they will have to call for a taxi. Reminiscent of Shakespeare’s clowns, those pseudo mad-types serve a double purpose: while providing light relief they also gently hint at one of the greatest fears of all prisoners of war, barbed wire psychosis (wire happy).

I’ve read a few prisoner of war memoirs in my time and have interviewed a number of former prisoners, as well as members of their families. One of the repeated motifs is a great love of and enthusiasm for Red Cross chocolate. It was a treasured commodity and extremely valuable for trade and suborning the guards. Not surprisingly, chocolate puts in an appearance in Danger Within in another deft scene which combines dry British humour, real-life prisoner-of-war experience, and my favourite character in the film, Bunter Phillips. Here, Phillips tucks into his chocolate and refuses to share it around. The selfishness is understandable as, Phillips explains to his friends, he ‘paid through the nose’ for the treat: ‘five cigarettes and a tablet of soap’. The whip-like retort was, ‘you can see you’re out of soap!’ 

 

 

One thing in which I am particularly interested is altruism. I didn’t have far to look in this film to find it. The Italians find ‘evidence’ that Captain Roger Byfold (Donald Houston) murdered Coutoules, the prisoner believed to be the traitor. Given the cold-blooded murder of Lester, it is patently obvious to the prisoners that the innocent Byfold will be tried and executed. The camp clowns, Marquand and Piker, who have a well-advanced escape scheme of their own, offer to take Byfold with them. Their invitation might have been flippantly issued but it was generous, particularly given that a third man lessened their own chances of success. Chocolate-loving Phillips shows that his selfishness is but an aberration as he gives up his tunnel to the greater effort of the mass escape: he places the common good of the camp above his own desire for a quick and easy exit which would maximise his chances of returning to his wife and child. When the mass escape was planned, it was agreed that lots would be drawn to determine the order of exit (reminiscent of the method used to determine the order for the Stalag Luft III’s Great Escape). Altruistic Phillips, however, did not go into that draw. He volunteered to join the rear party, and is one of the last to leave the camp. (A few years later, Attenborough swaps services and gains a promotion as he graduates from family man and altruistic tunneller in Danger Within to Big X, mastermind of the whole shebang, in the 1963 American film, The Great Escape.) Captain Tony Long (William Franklyn) also puts up his hand for the rear party, but his action is hardly altruistic.

The film’s other set piece, again featuring Huxley, demonstrates that altruism does not occur naturally. Despite the wishes of Captain Rupert Callender (Dennis Price), principal of the camp theatre group, the Rupert Callender Players, Huxley decides that an afternoon production of Hamlet will be used as a blind while the prisoners escape via the theatre hut. Callender claims the players are not ready and perhaps resents the fact that his art will not be appreciated by the audience it deserves. Huxley launches into his lecture: ‘What do you think this place is—a holiday camp?’ The words are no accident. Prisoners of war of all stripes in Europe resented the fact that the Red Cross presented images to their family, and the world, that equated their existence to that of a holiday camp. Huxley continues: ‘Now you listen to me Callender. There’s nothing glamourous about being a prisoner of war. Most of the officers here, including me, and you too, are only alive because we surrendered or because someone senior put their hands up for us. Maybe it’s not our fault but it’s nothing to be proud of just the same. Far from it.’ The upshot was that Callender had no choice. He had to perform whether he was ready or not, whether he liked it or not. His players, then, would be some of the last to escape down the tunnel. Callender was not the only one who resented the decision. One of the bridge players, waiting in the theatre wings, muttered that everything was ‘sacrificed to the cause’. Was this a slight dig at the fact that virtually every man in camp was required to play some role in the escape organisation—as did their real life counterparts in Stalag Luft III? Or just a neat reinforcement that altruism in not inherent in all, and altruistic behaviour for the commonweal often has to be forced.

It is clear that this film knows something about life in captivity and, given the personal wartime experiences of Michael Gilbert and Colin Lesslie, this is not surprising. Examples of ‘real’ prisoner of war experience are crammed in everywhere, as significant plot devices, to provide ‘colour’, and as realistic diversions to escape activity. The escape organisation’s security crew are on the alert shortly after the opening sequence. The watcher settles into his deckchair by the Rugger field, ostensibly reading his never-ending book as he nods the ‘all clear’, the mirror signal is flashed, the clean towel is flashed to signal that the escape work can get underway. (The look-outs are on duty right through the film.) The ‘keep fit-types’ play rugger and golf and keep trim doing PT. There are the gardeners and the circuit walkers. In one scene the artist paints the ever-present guard tower, in another the art class provides a plausible excuse for a pre-escape briefing session. The bridge players play continuously, and later reveal a half regret that they would soon be leaving the ‘security’ of captivity for an uncertain future as escapees and evaders when they remark that this would be their last game behind barbed wire. There’s even the camp pet, a potential table duck who receives a reprieve, ostensibly until Christmas.

Perhaps the most striking example of the legacy of personal experience in the form of significant plot device comes from the discovery Phillips makes after a sand fall in the tunnel where he is completely buried for a time. He couldn’t move his hands at all, and, as such, realised that Coutoules’ damaged hands had occurred not because he had tried to dig his way out of the sand fall but because he had been tortured before death.

I am often bowled over by the examples of ‘kriegie ingenuity’ that abounded in Stalag Luft III. Every aspect of Stalag Luft III’s Great Escape, for instance, highlights the prisoners’ prodigious creative and technical talents. Likewise, in Danger Within, and perhaps the most ingenious is the ‘applause machine’ which audibly disguises the theatre left empty as the prisoners made their exit en masse from the camp. Ingenuity provides an important Deus ex Machina solution. How can they move Coutoules’ dead body right under the noses of the Italians? Round up the keep fit-types, of course. They can display their manly physiques and athletic prowess despite months or years of captivity and, with a ruse of playing piggy-back, can easily whisk the body to a more innocuous place where it can be ‘officially’ discovered.  

There were two small aspects which I found particularly interesting. Indeed, I wondered if they had been drawn from the experiences of the men of Stalag Luft III and their mass escape, given details of if were well and truly in the public domain before either Michael Gilbert penned his 1952 novel or this film went into production, thanks to Paul Brickhill’s post war articles, Escape to Danger, which he penned with Conrad Norton in 1946 and The Great Escape which was published in 1950. Here in Italy, on the night before the escape, the men’s kit was to be inspected because, as the escape committee correctly assumes, there would be someone wanting to take along the kitchen sink, a poignant reminder perhaps that delays occurred in Stalag Luft III’s escape because luggage-laden men got stuck in the tunnel as they trolleyed down. (As it happened, the kitchen sink stayed behind in this effort, but the pet duck’s Christmas reprieve was extended indefinitely when its carer smuggled it out in his battle dress jacket.) The other thing that piqued my interest was that the committee monitored the letters going out before the escape. They wanted to prevent a deluge of ‘last letters’ tipping off the Italians. I haven’t pursued whether or not this occurred in Stalag Luft III, but I was surprised when I recently went through the letters of one Australian who was killed in the Great Escape and noted that the final letter his family received was written a few weeks before he exited camp, rather than in the days before, as I would have expected.

Letters in Danger Within have a dual function. They provide the means by which the traitor communicates his knowledge to Capitano Benucci, but they also signify the link to home and family. The prisoners might not talk about them in this film but family—and in particular wives—are revealed as very much a part of the captivity experience when we catch a glimpse of them in Phillips’ photos and the wedding band he always wears, even when digging. Women, always absent yet ever present in any prisoner-of-war camp, crop up frequently—and often humorously—in different guises, underscoring their significance to prisoners cut off from them physically while trapped in their homosocial environment. We catch a glimpse of tragic Ophelia, as the theatre-types rehearse, Gibbon jokes about old masters and old mistresses, in his pseudo art class, and, while packing his kit before departure, one man wonders if he can take along his photo of a shapely woman. His companion asks for her measurements and announces on hearing them that, at 41, 23, 38 inches, his friend ‘would never get her through the tunnel!’

Women, for prisoners of war, represent the past and the future. For the main part, it is too hard to dwell on either: you can’t relive the past and you can’t access the future until you are released. Even so, real life prisoners of war constantly dreamt of and planned for the future. They took courses, planned their future careers, gambled on when the war would end (usually before next Christmas) and some even designed the homes they would build and live in. In Danger Within, there is almost no reference to a future beyond barbed wire until the final preparations for the escape: ‘This time tomorrow we’ll all be outside’.

While Danger Within very much falls within the prisoner-of-war genre, the spy subplot has a satisfying resolution with the traitor receiving his just deserts. And I am not talking about a piece of Phillips’ chocolate. I won’t tell you how justice is served but, despite being accidental and administered by his ally Capitano Benucci, it reflects the real life punishment meted out to those who betray their countries in wartime. The finale, however, does not reflect the reality experienced by mass escapers. Here, the 400 do get out, and are last seen tearing through the Italian terrain to freedom. Real life mass escapes, however, failed dismally. But this is fiction, and the viewer is entitled to imagine a happy ending. (About 20,000 allied prisoners of war simply walked out of Italian camps after the armistice. Over 5000 traversed the Alps to neutral Switzerland, including 420 Australians. 

  (http://www.anzacpow.com/part_2__escape_from_italian_camps/chapter_1__the_italian_armistice) Some joined guerrilla groups. The majority were rounded up and sent to German prisoner of war camps, including 29 or so Australian airmen who found themselves in Stalag Luft III.) So, suspending any sense of reality, I am more than content to believe that Bunter Phillips will return to his family and, notwithstanding the fact that chocolate is rationed, will have as much as he wants, without having to sacrifice hygiene!

How then, did Danger Within present captivity and the POW protagonists to the moving loving public, 14 years after war’s end? Well, despite Huxley’s declaration, this particular camp did come across as a holiday camp, what with sport, theatre, endless bridge playing and vino on tap, or in tea pot. The prisoners were fit and healthy and had obviously not suffered from any rationing of food and vitamins, as evidenced by the PT boys and the energetic rugger aficionados. They obviously had a decent laundry service because all uniforms appeared neatly ironed and stain free. Indeed, there was no sign of any mismatched, pieced together ensemble. The active serviceman was always on the go, planning and executing escapes, creating diversions, and getting up the nose of their captors. Although there was ‘danger within’, it did look like a jolly-hockey-sticks existence, greatly at odds with the starker images and physical debilitation of the Japanese prisoner-of-war experience portrayed two years earlier in The Bridge on the River Kwai. Viewing Danger Within, I can well see how many at the time (and later) believed that prisoners of war in Europe had had a fairly decent time of it in captivity, and that any similar camp would have been considered a soft billet where everyone had been busily trying to escape.

 

 

(All images, except for the modern book cover, lifted from ‘the internet’.)

Andy Wright of Aircrew Book Review http://aircrewbookreview.blogspot.com.au/ is passionate about Second World War aviation and I consider myself fortunate that he deemed my first four books worthy of review. He has little interest in non-military aviation and so I did not think for a second that he would bother to even read Taking Flight. Not only did he read it, but he has put together a glowing review which takes into account both the book but also Lores Bonney's unrecognised (for so long) place in aviation.

 

In reviewing Taking Flight, Andy has the unequalled record of having reviewed ALL of my books. I am honoured. Here is the link to the review http://aircrewbookreview.blogspot.com.au/2016/07/taking-flight-kristen-alexander.html 

Aviation today doesn’t often make the headlines unless it’s bad news. Aircraft cross six of the seven continents hourly and usually do so to reach another continent on the other side of a vast ocean. Long distance flying is accepted if you want to see the world yet pilots of all ages still accept the challenge to tackle a route solo. Some do it in modern aircraft, some do it in vintage aircraft with or without a support crew. These flights remain remarkable achievements. If anything, today’s political and security landscape makes long-distance solo flights harder to plan let alone fly. This is especially so when trying to follow the flight path of a pioneer. Destinations have to be carefully picked and diversions assessed for their suitability and safety. Really, not a lot has changed since the early days of aviation. It is still an amazing effort to fly solo around Australia or fly to England in a Tiger Moth but, because of the airliners passing thousands of feet overhead, the mainstream don’t get it. It’s all been done before.

That’s the key point. Being the first to do something can’t be taken away. With the birth of aviation, everything was a challenge. That said, it still took something incredible to be lauded as a pioneer. There are two types of pioneer aviator. Those in the first group remain household names to some extent: Amelia Earhart, Amy Johnson, Jean Batten, Charles Kingsford Smith, Bert Hinkler, Charles Lindbergh, Wiley Post, Alcock and Brown etc. They have been extensively memorialised, their aircraft, or replicas thereof, reside in museums or attend airshows, books are still written about them and their likeness appears on currency. Then there’s the second lot. The unknowns. Those who have achieved just as much, perhaps more, but have been almost lost to history. Were they the less attention seeking perhaps? They might be remembered on a plaque somewhere or have had a book published, or written about them, that remains long out of print. To me, someone who inhabits the world of historic aviation, but who regularly wears blinkers out of necessity, Lores Bonney is one of the forgotten.

Well, with a bit of luck, and a good book, perhaps this will no longer be the case. One of Australia’s leading aviation biographers, Kristen Alexander, was asked by the National Library of Australia to write Bonney’s story using the library’s Lores Bonney Collection as the core. This collection, among various personal items, includes Bonney’s letters and diaries. Why is she significant? In a time when female pilots were regarded as somewhat of a novelty, Lores was determined to fly and, once she had achieved some semblance of proficiency, immediately started planning long distance flights. She first set a record for the longest one-day flight in Australia (more than 1,500 kilometres) and her second was a mere solo jaunt around the country. She was the first woman to achieve this. Mother England beckoned, as was its wont, so Lores set out to become the first aviatrix to fly there from Australia. Her trusty DH.60 Moth ‘My Little Ship’ was her companion on these first adventures and Lores, being the confident and driven type she was, trained as a mechanic and fitter so she was capable of maintaining the aircraft and effecting repairs. Husband Harry backed her flying financially but was always reluctant to let her go (although he did propose an idea that became her longest flight).

While she is credited with that first flight to England, a prang while landing to avoid weather in Burma’s very southern regions, led to Lores disassembling the Moth on the beach and having it transported, by barge and ship, to Rangoon and Calcutta respectively. It was a journey of more than 1,800 kilometres. Her timetable flew out the window as did her ability to get through the rest of the flight ahead of the known worsening weather en route. In typical Lores fashion, however, despite moments of self-doubt and frustration, she battled through and made it. It was 1933 and something no other woman had done before.

Lores followed the England flight up by becoming the first person to fly to South Africa, her country of birth, from Australia. This time she did it in a Klemm and the relative comfort of an enclosed cockpit. The destination was an inspired choice as, even by 1937, there were few aviation firsts to be conquered. The Klemm was falling apart and once again the weather played a big part in delays. Add in a little dysentery in India (and other health issues on the way) and bureaucratic bungling, and she didn’t arrive in the Union until mid-August, having left in April. What would be her final major achievement had been completed before her fortieth birthday.

Her plans for further adventures were scotched by, first, the loss of the Klemm, now fully rebuilt, in a hangar fire and, second, the outbreak of the Second World War. She continued to fly, but eventually gave it up in her early fifties, and kept travelling overseas exploring the world before her death in 1994.

To be honest, it is quite likely I would not have read this book if it were not for the author’s name on the front. It is outside what I like to think I specialise in (those blinkers again). That makes me a bit of an idiot as Lores Bonney was an unstoppable, albeit shy to a fault when out of the public eye, force of nature, her diminutive size belying an incredible fortitude that even managed to overcome her crises of confidence. With the resources available, I cannot think of a better author to tackle a new book (there is another, much older biography) on this pioneering aviatrix. The Alexander factor, as I like to call it, of teasing out personal minutiae, of tying together an inordinate number of threads, to sculpt an almost tangible image of a flyer long gone, is in full song here. Indeed, given it is a return to the individual biography for this author, after several years working on a collection of personalities, the Bonney work has captured a biographer at the top of her game. Having stepped away from wartime aviation and embracing the finicky, almost artisan, world of pre-war civil aviation, Kristen has got inside Lores’ persona and produced an insightful and revealing book.

A large format softcover of more than 270 pages, the endpapers include a very useful map of Lores’ travels in the Moth and the Klemm. The photos, at least one per two page spread, are reproduced well with the left-hand page being dedicated to either a full page photo (usually of Lores) or a smaller image accompanied by a detailed caption. Many of the better photos of Lores are well-selected, and enlarged, and often speak volumes particularly those featuring the aviatrix elbow deep in an engine or at large in one of her many destinations. The narrative, therefore, is limited to the right-hand pages and effortlessly combines excerpts from letters and diaries with details of Lores’ preparations, innermost thoughts, flying, failures, successes and adventures. It is an incredibly easy read and those personal photos of Lores really make an impression.

Will Lores Bonney’s history-making life emerge from the wilderness and into the mainstream because of this book? Probably not. Aviation enthusiasts will appreciate it and her name and achievements will continue to pop up because they will always maintain their sense of awe. She flew in the time of Johnson, Batten and Earhart, to name the obvious ones, two of whom were published authors, and remains overshadowed by these contemporaries. If, somehow, Lores Bonney does enter the public interest, it will be because of Taking Flight and, who knows, perhaps this book will be the genesis for the release of Bonney’s two unpublished (due to rejection!) manuscripts. Now that would be good news.

Anzac Day 1944 in Stalag Luft III

Anzac Day 1944 in SLIII

At 2.30 am on 25 April 1944, Minnie Archer and her daughter, Mavis, walked from Sydney’s Brighton Le Sands to Rockdale, where they caught a special train to Martin Place. Mrs Archer thought that only 3 or 400 would make the effort to attend the Dawn Service but ‘I got a shock when I saw so many people there. … Martin Place was crowded. 20,000.’ As well as honouring the war dead, it is likely that Mrs Archer would have prayed for the safe-keeping of her son, George, who had been a prisoner of war since July 1942. Apart from a 6 month stint in Oflag XXIB, he had spent all of his captivity in Stalag Luft III’s East Compound. ‘The service was beautiful’, she wrote in an airgraph to George a few days later. (He didn’t receive it until September.) ‘I was glad I went’.

Later that morning, during the Solemn Requiem Mass held at St Mary’s Cathedral on 25 April 1944, Father O’ Brien told the congregation that ‘Today Australia is deep in thought as well as in sorrow for the 70,000 men dead, prisoners of war, missing and wounded.’ If some of those prisoners were also deep in thought, they weren’t letting on. They were making the most of the day.

In Stalag Luft III’s East Compound, a church service was held in the theatre by Padre Thompson, a British Methodist padre who had been captured in North Africa. Almost certainly, George Archer was present at this service as he was one of the Camp Church stewards. Afterwards, the Australians and New Zealanders staged a sporting carnival which included basketball, soccer and golf. The prisoners of war may have been denied many liberties during their incarceration but the Australian sports lovers were better off than their home front compatriots: in early April, Prime Minister Curtin had announced in early April that organised sports meetings were prohibited on Anzac Day. Gerald Carroll, an army orderly was proudly nationalist and noted when the Australians beat their New Zealand opponents.

 

The Australians in North Compound also mixed faith and sport. There, Padre Walton—‘a Church Army type from NZ’, as Harry ‘Gobi’ Train recalled him—conducted a service for the Australians and New Zealanders. After that, Hauptmann Hans Pieber took some group photos. As well as gathering for the North Compound photo, the Australians divided into state groups, including the West Australians and New South Welshmen. For one New South Welshman, the day meant more than sport, community and commemoration: this was also Ronald Bowen Anzac Pender’s 29th birthday (and his second in captivity). He had been born on the very first Anzac Day.

Copies of Pieber’s photos appear in a number of books and the collections of many of the North Compound Australians such as Laurie Simpson, Ken Carson, Ronald Baines, Len Netherway, and Torres Ferres.

 

The ranks of those gathering for the group portraits were depleted by the five Australians who had recently been killed in what would later be called the Great Escape: James Catanach, John Williams, Tom Leigh (whose Australian connection would not be recognised for many years afterwards), Reginald Kierath and Albert Hake.

Their deaths were felt by all their fellow prisoners of North Compound, but their Australian friends in East Compound too felt the shock of their loss. On 8 May, George Archer sat down to write his monthly letter to his mother Minnie, his father, and the ‘rest of [the] gang’. Tumbled in among a catalogue of letters and parcels received, instructions to the family to send more parcels to his English friends, details of the basketball games he enjoyed playing in order to keep fit, and greetings passed on to friends from another prisoner, was an oblique reference to the deaths of two of the Australian Great Escapers: ‘Bill Catanach and Allan Hake met with an accident and were buried last March’.

It is not likely that someone who had worn a black armband to commemorate the deaths of fellow Australians, with whom he had shared a compound (they had been in East Compound with George when they first arrived at Stalag Luft III) would forget their names. George’s letters home had been censored in the past and so it seems he deliberately obscured the names to ensure the news slipped past the censors.

It would be a few months before Minnie Archer received this sad news, well after the kin of the Escapers had been notified.

 

In due course, their names were added to Australian casualty lists and, on 17 May 1944, Albert Hake’s wife received the telegram advising that her husband had lost his life on 25 March 1944—one month before his former friends gathered to remember all war dead—‘while attempting to escape from confinement of a prisoner of war’.

 

Noela Hake spent a life time remembering her young husband and her extended family also remembered Albert. A proud moment was when his great nephew and great niece honoured him on Anzac Day 1997.  

 

Book Review: Australia's Few and the Battle of Britain

I have long said that Australia's Few and the Battle of Britain is my best book. I put heart and soul into it for - what was it? - six years. I had a lot of initial teething problems sorting out the structure and I almost threw in the towel at one point when I received some ill-advised (and as it turned out, totally off-beam) feedback on a couple of early chapters. But I had faith in it, as did David and my friends, and of course, the families of 'my' Australian Few.

 

I have been privileged to receive some wonderful comments about the book (and you can see them at http://www.kristenalexander.com.au/media#283) and have a scrapbook full of reviews that have left me speechless (no easy feat). I am so pleased that those reviewers 'got' the book and what I was trying to do.

 

The book was published in Australia in August 2014 and in Britain in April 2015 so I probably won't receive any more reviews for it. If this one does turn out to be my last, well, it is a mighty fine one to go out on. There are so many accolades in this review that it is difficult to pick out the best but I think I would have to say 'exacting academic rigour' appeals most. As many of you know, I am strictly an amateur history writer. I never quite finished my arts degree back in the early 80s so cannot call myself any sort of historian. (That will change once I complete my PhD.) For Andy Saunders, with so much Battle of Britain research and writing behind him to comment on my 'exacting academic rigour' - well, that just means so much to me. Thank you Andy Saunders, Britain at War Magazine.

Britain at War Magazine, April 2016

Of the many books covering the subject that were published across the 75th anniversary of the battle of Britain this is certainly one of the most readable and engaging titles of the genre and Kristen Alexander, the author, is to be highly commended on this valuable addition to the literature dealing with the history of 1940.

 

In this volume, the author has not only used exacting academic rigour to compile what is a fascinating and worthy account of those Australians who participated in the Battle of Britain but she has also produced what is a most readable and engaging book.

 

To the reviewer, immersed in the hostory of 1940, the names of all the men Kristen has covered were more than familiar - although not their individual stories. In this respect she had the reviewer's rapt attention from page one abd it is fair to say that this particular reviewer is sometimes hard to please when it comes to books on Battle of Britain related topics! Not so with 'Australia's Few' ... [which is]  pacey, well-written, superbly researched and historically accurate in detail.

 

In her assembly of the facts, Kristen has also produced a book which is full of genuine empathy for her subjects and she has managed to construct a piece of work that stands not only as testament to the Australian 'Few' but also as a most useful reference source. Additionally, and importantly, it is also a truly excellent read. It is certainly a masterful piece of work and is one which is sure to be well-thumbed on this reviewer's book shelf over the coming years.

 

Nicely produced, and with a selection of evocative accompanying photographs, this book stands head and shoulders above many published in the Battle of Britain 'genre' across recent months and stands very firmly as this reviewer's favourite. Britain at War Magazine has no hesitation in recommending most highly this lovely book. 

 

 

Missed a couple of lines in the scan, but you get the gist! A fine review.

Aviatrix Lores Bonney’s Feminine Practicality

Originally published on NLA Publishing's blog on 1 March 2016 (Note 23 November 2023: no longer on line:)

When you write someone's biography, you try to find some common bond with your subject. Aviatrix Lores Bonney and I are unalike in so many ways but there is one thing we have on common. We both wear pearls! I laughed out loud when I read how she came to like this simple, elegant jewel.

It came about before the Great War, while still a student in Germany. One day, the girls were told that the Kaiserin would visit. It was a ‘great day of excitement'. Lores was throbbing with anticipation—‘She's going to speak to me, she's going to speak to me'—but the Kaiserin ‘stopped beside the girl next to me. And I really could have scratched her eyes out'. When she saw the empress' magnificent necklace, pearls instantly became Lores' ‘pet jewel'. They ‘have been an extravagance of mine ever since'. The adult Lores was often photographed wearing a strand or two and, I must confess, I am rarely seen without my own.

Lores in her pearls (left) and with a lace trim collar (right).

Lores was considered a women of taste. She often appeared in the ‘Best Dressed' newspaper columns and her costumes were described in detail, including the handmade French frock of cream net and lace that she wore at her party in honour of Bert Hinkler, after he became the first person to fly solo from England to Australia. Six months later, Hinkler was back in Brisbane and taking Lores up for her first ‘taste of the air' on 7 September 1928. For this life-changing occasion, she teamed an aviator helmet and googles with an elegant ensemble featuring a subtle touch of lace trim on her collar.

Three years later, Lores was learning to fly. Discovering a passion for long-distance flying, she set an Australian record for a one-day flight in 1931 and she became the first woman to circumnavigate mainland Australia by air in 1932. In 1933, she set her sights on becoming the first woman to fly solo from Australia to England. But what to wear? Lores commissioned her husband, a leather goods manufacturer, to make her a leather coat and suede overalls.

Lores in her leather flying coat (left) and dressed for comfort and practicality (right).

Fashion was important to Lores and she made every effort when preparing for her epic transcontinental flight to blend comfort, practicality and style. Space for personal items in My Little Ship, her Gipsy Moth biplane, was limited, yet the aviatrix had to cater for climates of great extremes. Ultimately, she planned a simple, modish wardrobe that was easy to maintain and manage. For cold weather, she packed her overalls and coat. For the tropics and deserts, she wore blouses and shorts. On landing, she would don a simple wrap skirt. She also considered what to wear when she wasn't flying. She selected a light floral dress for afternoon wear, which could be topped with a coatee. At night, she would add a bright sash or fresh flowers: ‘Presto! An evening frock'. As for jewellery, Lores never wore it during long flights, as she worried that treasured pieces might be stolen. The only exception was a simple white-gold band. The pearls, of which she was so fond, were left behind.

Taking Flight. Lores Bonney's Extraordinary Flying Career highlights the achievements of a pioneering aviator but does not forget that Lores was as much concerned with her identity as a feminine woman as well as a record-breaking pilot trying to establish her place in a man's world. When it is launched on 8 March 2016—International Women's Day—I will wear my pearls in Lores' honour.

(This next bit wasn't in the NLA blog post)

And how did I come to love pearls so much? Well, it was through my mother. My Godmother gave her a strand of pearls, which she loved. And I coveted. Mum allowed me to wear them when I got married and, on my last birthday before she died - almost 20 years ago now - she gave them to me. I am now rarely seen without them. And so, when I wear them at the launch, it will be in Lores' honour, but it will also be in remembrance of my mother, and in thanks to my Godmother.

My Mother and Godmother both wearing pearls at my graduation. I am pearl-less. And, although I am not green-eyed with jealousy, I am green-eyed. The opus stud is at least mum's.

Proudly wearing pearls (and husband) at my wedding.

There are the pearls again, round about when my first book was published, 10 years after Mum's death.

Still wearing them!

NLA Images:

Lores Wearing Pearls, Papers of Maude (Lores) Bonney, c. 1920–c. 1990, nla.gov.au/nla.ms-ms10127

Lores with Nance Hinkler, Papers of Maude (Lores) Bonney, c. 1920–c. 1990, nla.gov.au/nla.ms-ms10127

Aviatrix Lores Bonney Boarding Her Gypsy Moth at Charleville, c. 1933, State Library of Queensland

Lores Standing in Front of My Little Ship, Papers of Maude (Lores) Bonney, c. 1920–c. 1990, nla.gov.au/nla.ms-ms10127

Lores Bonney and International Women's Day 2016

International Women’s Day has been an annual event for over a century in some countries and many decades in Australia. The women of Brisbane—or at least some of them—were early supporters of it when, on 8 March 1924, the Women Workers’ Organisation held a dance and speech night. Details appeared in the popular ‘Tea-Time Talk’ column in Brisbane’s Daily Standard but, judging by Lores Bonney’s example, it seems as if media support for women’s endeavours did not extend much beyond the women’s pages.

The Daily Mail’s article of 12 August 1932, for example, was typical of the press treatment Lores received throughout her flying career. Despite acknowledging that she had made ‘two very creditable’ flights, it detracted from the accolade by attributing her ‘definite associations with aviation’ to her husband who, ‘though he himself does not fly, is a cousin of Hinkler’. The Mail continued to denigrate Lores’ achievements by waxing lyrical about her femininity: ‘Mrs Bonney proves that flying does not diminish womanly charm. She combines love of the air with a passion for her home, and is definitely a feminine type, dark [and] petite’. Descriptions of her non-flying wardrobe were intermingled with details of the prospective flight. The ‘vivacious brunette’, gushed the Mail, favoured ‘picturesque styles’ and outfits ‘chosen with true chic’.

Proving that little had changed in her press portrayal, the trend continued. In the lead-up to the Brisbane–Adelaide Centenary Air Race in 1936, scattered among articles proclaiming her aerial competency, were comments about her culinary prowess and instead of proudly showing off her flying leathers, she was photographed wearing a neat apron and reported as spending ‘some of her happiest hours in the kitchen’. The home-maker, not the record-maker, was the prevailing image. Is it any wonder that Lores was largely unsuccessful in her struggle to secure sponsorship for her transcontinental flights?

Lores Bonney’s femininity was as much a part of who she was as her accomplishments. It didn’t have to be denied but Lores should not have been defined by it, nor should her achievements be undermined because of it. Her femininity just needed to be placed in a proper context.

Certainly, I did not want to hide Lores the woman—nor did NLA Publishing. We wanted to reveal all aspects of a well-rounded personality, character and career. Stylish, house-proud Lores who deferred to her husband, was just as valid historically as Lores the record-breaking pilot. It says much about Lores and her success as an aviator that, despite the media’s dual depiction of her as a pretty little fashionista and competent pilot, the prevailing images now in the public domain—and Taking Flight, for that matter—are those of Lores the pilot, garbed in either suede flying kit or white overalls. Barely a pinny or picturesque frock in sight.

It was not easy to gain acceptance in the male-dominated aviation world of the 1930s. On the morning Lores embarked on her Australia–England flight, The Brisbane Courier’s journalist ‘wondered at and admired the courage of the frail little woman in what, to the lay mind, was a frail little machine’—and the next day shared those musings with the Courier’s readers. Happily, others recognised Lores the pilot rather than the fragile little petal. When she stopped off at Charleville, the proprietor of the hotel presented her with a bottle of whisky, the traditional gift to all pilots about to depart Australia. At Darwin’s Victoria Hotel, she was put up in the Aviator’s Room where all pilots were accommodated before hopping off from Darwin or arriving from foreign climes. She was accorded the same privilege as her male peers including Bert Hinkler and Charles Kingsford Smith.

Lores wanted to fly above all else, and she did indeed make it happen, using every means at her disposal. She relied on her husband’s good nature and finances, she drew on the experiences of other pilots, and she built on her own. She continually improved her flying skill and planned diligently. Things did go wrong—they always do—and you will read some horrifying accounts in Taking Flight—but even though Lores came close to death many times, she never gave up. Lores well proved that she was far from frail. Indeed, she had as much gumption as any man. Or any woman. As any pilot.

In 1990, aged 92, Lores recognised just how far women had come. Not just in aviation, but in all fields. ‘Isn’t it wonderful what women are doing these days?, she remarked. International Women’s Day lauds—and highlights—the achievements of all women, everywhere. I’m delighted that Taking Flight: Lores Bonney’s Extraordinary Flying Career, will be launched on this significant day. 

 

Taking Flight. Lores Bonney's Extraordinary Flying Career.

I am thrilled to announce that my fifth book will be released on 1 March 2016.

Taking Flight. Lores Bonney’s Extraordinary Flying Career celebrates the life and achievements of one of Australia’s foremost pioneering aviatrixes. Early 'buzz' is very favourable.

 http://www.kristenalexander.com.au/media#296

Taking Flight will be launched on 8 March, on International Women’s Day. https://register.eventarc.com/33002/book-launch-taking-flight

From her first taste of the air during a joy ride with Bert Hinkler, Lores Bonney was hooked.

With licence in hand and the full support of her husband, she took to the skies with relish and discovered a passion for long distance flying.

Her accomplishments were remarkable. In 1931, she set a new Australian record for a one-day flight by a woman and, in the following year, she was the first female to circumnavigate mainland Australia by air. In 1933, she was acknowledged as the first woman to fly from Australia to England and in 1937 she became the first person to fly solo from Australia to Cape Town, South Africa. She was regarded as perhaps Australia’s most competent aviatrix.

In 2011, Lores’ goddaughter donated to the National Library of Australia a number of artefacts and documents relating to the aviatrix’s flying career. The diaries Lores kept preceding and during her 1933 and 1937 flights are the cornerstone of this collection, and are at the heart of Taking Flight.

Important as those diaries are, I also draw on a broad range sources—many of which are in the National Library’s collection—including interviews, published recollections, contemporary newspaper accounts and official documents.

NLA Publishing have produced a magnificent book. It is full of illustrations from the National Library’s collection, some from my own albums, and from other aviation holdings. As well as the narrative, there are lots of detailed captions and text boxes, and extracts from Lores Bonney’s 1933 and 1937 diaries.

Taking Flight: Lores Bonney’s Extraordinary Flying Career enhances understanding of Australia’s era of pioneer aviation, and reinforces Lores Bonney’s reputation as a significant Australian airwoman. It includes details of Lores’ pre-flight life, her first flight and record-breaking flights, a close encounter with Charles Kingsford Smith, her role as one of Australia’s premier airwoman, participation in the Brisbane–Adelaide air race and the search for the missing Stinson. It includes brushes (and near misses) with famous Australian and international flying stars and details of her post-flying career.

Perhaps surprisingly, Lores diaries expose the woman behind the pilot who, like all of us, possessed strengths, weaknesses, virtues and vices. With the honesty associated with a private record, the aviatrix did not conceal her disappointments and fears, nor her psychological fragility towards the end of her African flight. All this is revealed in Taking Flight. Read it! And discover much about one of Australia's most significant female flyers.

RRP is $A39.99 but you can pre-order your signed copy for $A34.99 (plus p&p) via Alexander Fax Booksellers. (I will even inscribe it if you prefer!)

Just follow the links and we will let you know when stocks are available. http://www.kristenalexander.com.au/books/takingflight

If you can’t wait until the book is released, cast your eyes over the below edited extract from the Australia–England section:

A crowd of about 150, including close friends and Queensland aero club members, assembled at Archerfield aerodrome on 10 April. Lores’ face looked pale and drawn; she had had a sleepless night. Even so, she was ‘feeling all OK’. According to The Daily Mail, her husband gave her a ‘last word’. Snugly attired, with a scarf draped around her neck and a belted leather coat covering a blouse, she exchanged a few brief words with a well-wisher. Final farewells complete, the aviatrix climbed into My Little Ship, her Gypsy Moth aeroplane. According to The Brisbane Courier’s journalist, who ‘wondered at and admired the courage of the frail little woman in what, to the lay mind, was a frail little machine’, My Little Ship then coasted across the aerodrome as the aero club’s escort formed up behind. At 8.30 am, she ‘led the way into the upper air, and, after circling, was lost to view’, leaving behind her husband and friends, Brisbane, and Archerfield aerodrome which had witnessed the completion of her previous record-breaking flights. Five days later, she left Australia’s shores.

The first days of her epic journey were not without incident as she maintained a record-breaking pace. Her flying skills were sound and luck was on her side as she gamely battled through. Within days, however, good fortune abandoned her. After leaving Singapore on 20 April, Lores encountered ‘One storm after another & very rough going.’ Three hours out of Alor Star, she was ‘enveloped in it’. Buffeted by strong winds, Lores struggled to maintain control.

The sky darkened dramatically. Soon the gusts were so fierce ‘it became almost impossible to correct the bumps’. Lores was terrified that ‘my wings would be ripped off ’. The aviatrix’s Gipsy Moth biplane, My Little Ship, was ‘tossed about like a leaf in the gale’. One moment, it was ‘racing, nose down at breakneck speed’. The next, the airwoman was thrown onto the right side of the cockpit, then the left. Within a blink, ‘in a violent upward current’, the Moth was practically vertical, seemingly suspended from its upright nose; the machine was ‘hanging on her prop’. It was getting darker and darker as My Little Ship blundered through the monsoon. Clinging to the controls, Lores used all the strength of her petite frame and every skerrick of flying skill to maintain stability—and to stay airborne.

Lores battled for about 20 minutes then ‘lost all visibility’. She was ‘flying very low’ and ‘was afraid of barging into the many small islands’ that dotted the sea in the Mergui Archipelago. ‘I suddenly felt a vigorous jolt as though I had struck something. I found myself well over on my right wing, and it took me all my time to bring her back again.’ It may have been ‘just one of those violent currents’ but it made the airwoman feel ‘very uncomfortable’. Indeed, she was ‘decidedly terrified’. It was 5.30 pm, with heavy lightning ahead. She was only about 30 miles from Victoria Point but, with a sky ‘as black as ink’, she thought it best to land.

The aviatrix flew over a coastline. She ‘circled several times and decided the beach was best’ as there were ‘too many bushes on the land’. There were several buffalo about so she ‘side slipped down between the herds’. Lores was ‘just flattening out’ when she saw the ‘buffalo walking right into the path of the plane’. There wasn’t enough room to take off again to avoid them. As she landed, she: ‘tried to swing a little to the left, but unfortunately the beach sloped away … the wing caught the water & swung her round, the next thing I felt was the wheels dragging & big spray came up I felt a terrific bang on my forehead and my face was under water.’ My Little Ship had flipped over. Lores was trapped.

You’ll just have to read the book to find out what happens next!