A Day of Eagles

One day our family hotel received a terse telephone call from the Cairns Inspector of Police to let us know that the US Navy was considering commandeering the hotel for a Rest and Recreation Centre. A small group was to arrive late morning the following Thursday, and if selected we would have to vacate the premises in twenty-four hours, and Sergeant Mick would be on hand to enforce the order.

Promptly on time at the appointed day, two Navy vehicles pulled up outside the hotel and two teenage naval aviators came through the swing doors, but stood apart, having nothing to do with the main body, and engaged in pleasant conversation with the publican’s wife. In appreciation of their contribution to the war effort she had organised lunch for the visitors and they expressed their gratitude for her hospitality. Hearing Americans liked turkey, she had the youngsters catch the biggest in the fowl yard, and on learning this one of them, George Bush, came over and shook their hand. Earlier he mentioned he came from Milton, Massachusetts, and this struck a memorable note for we were studying John Milton in class at that time.

Later the party was ushered into the large panelled dining room and the huge turkey presented. There was an apology, which was ravenously overlooked, that it was not accompanied by cranberry sauce, as the grocery store had never heard of it, though a helpful customer swore it had been mentioned in a movie. Nevertheless the meal was a stunning success and George Bush made the unusual request to call for the chef, a situation which had never happened before or since at the hotel. Nick the cook reluctantly appeared in the dining room dressed in a greasy Jackie Howe, shorts and sandals, with an old sweat rag tossed over his shoulder, wondering what the commotion was about. All the diners, including the future American President, stood up and applauded him, and then the leader of the group turned to Nick and enquired if he was also Greek. Then followed an emphatic conversation in their native tongue, and to everyone’s surprise it was revealed they came from the same region, confirming the fact that one of Greece’s main exports in those days was the migrant. He then issued an invitation to Nick that if he ever wanted to join Uncle Sam’s Navy he would be proud to sponsor him, but this fell on deaf ears, as Nick had only recently escaped from his devastated homeland. 

With the escalation of hostilities, more overseas personnel arrived in the area, some flying along safe circuitous routes through colourful locations such as China, and they regaled everyone with stories of these exotic places. Fortunately the pub had secured the last shipment of whisky from Scotland due to the friendship of the proprietor with another Scot in the liquor trade, and this proved a magnet for the thirsty fliers. Some on leave from New Guinea booked in for a week at a time to escape the sultry heat, bad food and malaria of that island. The hotel was an oasis of friendship and kindness for these young airmen, far from their homes.

Some made it their second home, and would leave a small bundle of their personal effects before departing on a mission. On a couple of occasions the kindly mistress of the house, known to everyone in the district as Aunty Mary, would ask the children to locate strange places in their school atlas like Rapids City, and then tearfully send off a little parcel with a letter of condolence to a grieving mother in the Dakotas. This preyed on her mind, for her son was operating with Bomber Command as a pilot of one of the large black Lancasters flying on night missions over the hellish fairy-lights of the Ruhr. Daily she feared for the occasion when she might have a similar communication from some compassionate mother in Lincolnshire.

One day during school holidays it was announced that General Kenney, the commanding officer of the Fifth Air Force, would be coming to the hotel with six top generals for afternoon tea. The children were alerted to be nearby in the lounge pretending to be doing homework, so they could witness the occasion. This promised to be a prestigious event and compensated for their disappointment that General Douglas MacArthur, who had inspected the area on a number of occasions, had never called in. Although averse to frequenting taverns, the General was nevertheless impressed by the district, especially when he was driven over the shaky old bridge with wooden runners which spanned Macarthur Creek. Turning to his aide de camp, he commented how honoured he was to have a stream named after him in faraway Australia. Looking directly ahead, a tight-lipped General Sutherland acknowledged his point with a knowing nod of his head, but did not bother to further enlighten him that it was actually in memory of the surveyor of the road to Mareeba who had died on the job.

Promptly at three o’clock two command cars pulled up in front of the hotel entrance and parked on the wrong side of the road, as was usual with American vehicles with their perverse location of steering columns on the left-hand side. This was a nuisance when a farmer was trying to negotiate a herd of frisky heifers down the correct side of the street. The officers briskly descended and directly proceeded through inviting swing doors to the tea room, whilst the two drivers rustled about in the cabin arming themselves with tommy guns, as they were now transmogrified into bodyguards. This startled the friendly bystanders, who were inured to seeing military personnel wearing sidearms, but felt insulted that it was necessary to resort to carrying sub-machine-guns amongst friends. But then the drivers spotted two waitresses waving from the dining room windows, and recognised Cam Obear’s daughters Chantel and Sylvaine, who they danced with regularly at Friday night socials. They quickly exchanged their weapons for a hot brew and platefuls of the best scones which had been baked for their superiors.

Meanwhile the big brass, unaware of being under juvenile surveillance, seated themselves in the leafy tea room, which was a microcosm of the Palm Room at the Ritz in London. The waitresses, attired in similar uniforms to those worn at the famous hotel, commenced to serve high tea, but were waved aside by General Kenney, who demanded first double slugs of whisky all around, and then asked of his comrades, “Where’s Slim?” They told him that Slim, being an ardent admirer of nature, had stopped to view a nearby waterfall in the rain forest. They didn’t have to wait long for him, as he arrived just when tea was being poured and the silvered trays of scones with gooseberry and strawberry jam were eagerly being passed around. Amongst other items of interest, Slim told them of a chance observation he had made of two wedge-tailed eagles cavorting high in the sky. He said it had made his day.

There was something incongruous about this meeting, for Slim was very tall whilst Kenney was notably small. Apart from their obvious physical differences, Slim was dressed in a plain khaki uniform without a single identifying insignia or medal, and didn’t even possess a cap. He sat there in stark contrast to the air force Generals in their opulent regalia. Nevertheless, he was obviously held in great respect, even awe, by all of them, and they gave him centre stage.

The conference itself was a disappointment to us, composed of jocular bantering and much desultory conversation, and after an hour of this twaddle they returned to their open vehicles. Just after setting off, Slim stopped the driver, and drew everyone’s attention to the two large eagles effortlessly and buoyantly being carried heavenwards on a thermal. This caused one of the Generals to remark cryptically that it was the day of the meeting of eagles, when the Lone Eagle met his pair of wedge-tailed eagles.

It was only later I realised we had been visited by the Lone Eagle, Charles Lindbergh, during his visit to the South Pacific to instruct pilots flying Lockheed Lightning fighters. He taught them to conserve fuel by cruise control, allowing them to range much further on their missions. Due to his alleged sympathy for Nazi Germany, he had fallen into disfavour with President Roosevelt, and consequently when hostilities were declared, his patriotic offer to join the air force was snubbed. Somehow he had managed to get to the South West Pacific theatre of war, where his assistance proved invaluable to General Kenney, but he remained without rank for the whole of the war.