The Cannon Anson Saga
For documentation related to this story go to The Cannon Anson Saga - Related Documents
I suppose the saga of Cannon's Anson is my fault! During my ferry flight I should have wrecked her. Then the world would have been a less troubled place.
A silvery-tongued promoter would not have flown her to Burma. Our airline would not have bought an unsuitable aircraft. A splendid engineer would not have spent hours repairing her. A business man would not have lost his shirt. Our aviation bureaucrats would not have lost sleep.
During 1946 I worked for Eric Mclllree. He sent me to Narrandera to ferry an Avro Anson to Mascot.
I found her parked on the RAAF section of the tarmac. Everything seemed to hang where it should! I gave her wheels the mandatory kicks. Their tone seemed right and away I went for a test flight. She felt as a lady should; docile and soft to the touch.
I set an early departure. We would slip into Mascot just before lunch. They put her on the Australian Register as VH-BFL.
About a year later, three Ansons set off overseas. Ahead of them was a long trip. Eric Edward Mclllree would lead the formation. He was in command of VH-BFJ. The other two planes were VH-BFK and VH-BFL. The latter would become VR-HDU. She is the corner-stone of our story.
In November 1947 his formation arrived in Hong Kong. There he made proving flights to Macao for Cathay.
Two days before Christmas '47 they would slip onto Mingaladon, Burma. He made further demo flights. On the 27th we owned two Avro Anson planes. With Nashold's licence type endorsed they began work.
Captain Maurice Lothian would take over from Nasholds. Morrie had flown Ansons during his RAF service.
Trouble was not far away. The second Anson VR-HDX was written-off at Sandoway.
A silvery-tongued promoter would not have flown her to Burma. Our airline would not have bought an unsuitable aircraft. A splendid engineer would not have spent hours repairing her. A business man would not have lost his shirt. Our aviation bureaucrats would not have lost sleep.
During 1946 I worked for Eric Mclllree. He sent me to Narrandera to ferry an Avro Anson to Mascot.
I found her parked on the RAAF section of the tarmac. Everything seemed to hang where it should! I gave her wheels the mandatory kicks. Their tone seemed right and away I went for a test flight. She felt as a lady should; docile and soft to the touch.
I set an early departure. We would slip into Mascot just before lunch. They put her on the Australian Register as VH-BFL.
About a year later, three Ansons set off overseas. Ahead of them was a long trip. Eric Edward Mclllree would lead the formation. He was in command of VH-BFJ. The other two planes were VH-BFK and VH-BFL. The latter would become VR-HDU. She is the corner-stone of our story.
In November 1947 his formation arrived in Hong Kong. There he made proving flights to Macao for Cathay.
Two days before Christmas '47 they would slip onto Mingaladon, Burma. He made further demo flights. On the 27th we owned two Avro Anson planes. With Nashold's licence type endorsed they began work.
Captain Maurice Lothian would take over from Nasholds. Morrie had flown Ansons during his RAF service.
Trouble was not far away. The second Anson VR-HDX was written-off at Sandoway.
This is a grass field on the west coast of Burma. The accident had come during landing. There were no injuries. The damage was extensive around the front spar and under carriage. Lloyd's of London paid the claim without demur.
Soon Cathay could see the type was unsuitable. Their payload was too restrictive. The same problem Cobley had found.
Cathay lacked further use for VR-HDU. They parked her out of the way and forgot her. The heat and rain played havoc with her. Her spar began to rot and decay. Were her flying days at an end? It seemed a certainty. Fate had other plans!
Soon Cathay could see the type was unsuitable. Their payload was too restrictive. The same problem Cobley had found.
Cathay lacked further use for VR-HDU. They parked her out of the way and forgot her. The heat and rain played havoc with her. Her spar began to rot and decay. Were her flying days at an end? It seemed a certainty. Fate had other plans!
Major John Cannon
Major Arthur John Sinclair Cannon passed HDU one day. He stopped in admiration. The Lady Fate smiled; she had found her bunny.
Cannon fell hopelessly in love with that Anson. He dreamed of her. His thoughts barely left her. He had to have her.
Like most who love, realism was just around the corner. Cannon's troubles began the day he talked to Wing Commander Bunce.
Bunce was the C.O. of the small RAF mission at Mingaladon. He agreed to have some of his fitters look her over.
Their report would show that they could do the work. Everything they needed was in their stores.
Cannon rushed off to tell Smithy. Bob thought it was a good deal. He added that the price must be right.
In trepidation Cannon made an offer. Cathay closed the deal. Cannon's joy was boundless! He owned that splendid plane.
The RAF fitters now made a minute check. They found dry rot in the entire wing and spars. They backed off.
A dejected Cannon brought his woes to Smithy. He pleaded for his help. Bob felt beholden. His enthusiasm had probably decided Cannon to buy the plane. His resistance was merely token and Cannon flannelled him into doing the work.
Cannon fell hopelessly in love with that Anson. He dreamed of her. His thoughts barely left her. He had to have her.
Like most who love, realism was just around the corner. Cannon's troubles began the day he talked to Wing Commander Bunce.
Bunce was the C.O. of the small RAF mission at Mingaladon. He agreed to have some of his fitters look her over.
Their report would show that they could do the work. Everything they needed was in their stores.
Cannon rushed off to tell Smithy. Bob thought it was a good deal. He added that the price must be right.
In trepidation Cannon made an offer. Cathay closed the deal. Cannon's joy was boundless! He owned that splendid plane.
The RAF fitters now made a minute check. They found dry rot in the entire wing and spars. They backed off.
A dejected Cannon brought his woes to Smithy. He pleaded for his help. Bob felt beholden. His enthusiasm had probably decided Cannon to buy the plane. His resistance was merely token and Cannon flannelled him into doing the work.
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Right: 1952 - Mingaladon, Burma. Cutting the sections of plywood for front-spar back flange on web. (Photo: Bob Smith) |
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Left: 1952 - Mingaladon, Burma. Restoration work makes good progress. (Photo: Bob Smith) |
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Right: 1952 - Mingaladon, Burma. VR - HDU's wing removed. The dry rot is evident. (Photo: Bob Smith) |
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This was the beginning of Smithy's problems!
Bob Smith said. 'We had to import the spruce, birch and glue from England.The work became a nightmare.
'I had left Cathay by then. This allowed me full time to work on the Anson. Cannon was not paying me wages. He would give me bed and keep.
'I worked from dawn to dusk on that wing. The job took nine months. I was making the final touches when I got a job in Singapore.
A couple of days before I left Cannon arrived. Under his arm were the Anson's log books. He pushed them at me and told me to sign off the work. I was a bit fed up by this time. I reminded him he had not paid me a penny. He repeated that I should write up the maintenance work. He guaranteed to get me some dough the next day.'
I said. 'No money, no sign.' Early the next morning Cannon arrived and gave Smithy nine-thousand Rupees. Smithy did his block! His work had been worth one thousand rupees a month. Even a cleaner got more pay. Cannon told him he could get no more! Smithy grabbed it and then wrote off her log-books.
The RAF fitters hung the engines. Cannon's plane was ready for a test flight. Meanwhile, Bob Smith had left Burma. This should have been the end of the story. The best was still to come!
During the repairs Cannon haunted the hangar. His dogs were always with him. They seemed to understand the work more than their master. Did they know of their future? Were they making certain Smithy was doing the work correctly?
Loafie and Amber
1951 - 'Loafie' Cannon
Jean Cannon loved those dogs. 'Loafie was a beautiful black beast. He was massive and mostly Labrador. Yet fifty-seven varieties of Heinz had slipped in here and there!
Amber was a Boxer bitch. She had a beautiful character. Oh! So feminine with large limpid mauve eyes.
'She was the canine matriarch of the Cannon home.'
At the time Cannon's son was 19 years of age. His given name was also John. He was a flight cadet in the RAF.
They devised a simple code. One woven around things 'canine'. This would bring no suspicion. The Cannon's were known for their love of dogs.
The young John continues the intrigue. 'I had come to Rangoon to stay over Christmas. Agents of the Burmese Government were watching our home. My father was under close surveillance. He expected to get arrested at any moment.
'We arranged a code. One where we used the word dog for aeroplane. Speeds were page numbers of an animal care book. We both held copies.
'Dad had not flown for 14 years. Then it was only in a bi-plane. Now he owned a twin-engined machine. Could he fly her?
'The plane had a badly damaged main-plane. An airframe engineer had the work well in hand.
'We would talk of their making a flight to freedom. We felt it would come to this.
'He suspected they were tampering with his mail. Our letters must not show our hand. This was the reason we needed a code.
'Dad didn't have an Anson flight manual. I would have to get him the operating data. What could his plane do? Her take-off and landing speeds. What was her cruising speed? We lacked any knowledge of her fuel consumption. There was a hundred other things that he must know!
'I got him the data and wrote back about a dog. I would touch on its stamina. Of how fast it could run after being properly trained. I told him the minimum amount of food to keep it healthy.
'I emphasised that a fit dog had greater stamina. My meaning was to get her engines properly tuned.
'His plane hadn't flown for two years. This when coupled to his limited experience made the scheme dicey.
'One evening I would get our code message. Amber is pregnant. This meant they were leaving within 12 hours.
'Then I had a long nervous wait. Finally come his message of their safe arrival. 'Our canine code had done the trick!'
Amber was a Boxer bitch. She had a beautiful character. Oh! So feminine with large limpid mauve eyes.
'She was the canine matriarch of the Cannon home.'
At the time Cannon's son was 19 years of age. His given name was also John. He was a flight cadet in the RAF.
They devised a simple code. One woven around things 'canine'. This would bring no suspicion. The Cannon's were known for their love of dogs.
The young John continues the intrigue. 'I had come to Rangoon to stay over Christmas. Agents of the Burmese Government were watching our home. My father was under close surveillance. He expected to get arrested at any moment.
'We arranged a code. One where we used the word dog for aeroplane. Speeds were page numbers of an animal care book. We both held copies.
'Dad had not flown for 14 years. Then it was only in a bi-plane. Now he owned a twin-engined machine. Could he fly her?
'The plane had a badly damaged main-plane. An airframe engineer had the work well in hand.
'We would talk of their making a flight to freedom. We felt it would come to this.
'He suspected they were tampering with his mail. Our letters must not show our hand. This was the reason we needed a code.
'Dad didn't have an Anson flight manual. I would have to get him the operating data. What could his plane do? Her take-off and landing speeds. What was her cruising speed? We lacked any knowledge of her fuel consumption. There was a hundred other things that he must know!
'I got him the data and wrote back about a dog. I would touch on its stamina. Of how fast it could run after being properly trained. I told him the minimum amount of food to keep it healthy.
'I emphasised that a fit dog had greater stamina. My meaning was to get her engines properly tuned.
'His plane hadn't flown for two years. This when coupled to his limited experience made the scheme dicey.
'One evening I would get our code message. Amber is pregnant. This meant they were leaving within 12 hours.
'Then I had a long nervous wait. Finally come his message of their safe arrival. 'Our canine code had done the trick!'
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Right: December 1950 - Hong Kong. Diana and John Cannon visit Geoff Holland. Geoff's Catalina-crash scar is clearly visible above left eye. (Photo: Geoff Holland) |
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Cannon now owed the aviation people a fortune in hangar fees. There were business debts that he could not pay.
Army intelligence decided to investigate an old claim. Was he involved in a political plot? This allegedly happened when he was with MI5 during the war.
A crony of those days, would give him some vital news. There had been a warrant issued for his arrest. They were executing it on the morning of March 26, 1953.
In alarm, Cannon realised it was the next day.
Just after the witching hour he crept onto Mingaladon. His wife Diana and dogs were his accomplices. In the light from a hooded torch they topped-up HDU's fuel tanks. Then they carefully stowed extra fuel filled cans.
A few minutes before dawn he started her engines. Without lights he inched her onto the un-lit runway. He lined her up, opened the throttles, and set off for Malaya.
He had broken every rule in the book. The only breakage he had missed was his neck!
Jean has a tale of that flight. It concerns her step-mother. 'Things had settled down, yet Diana couldn't get comfortable. Her slacks were a bit tight. A bright frock might give her a boost!
'Diana was cast in an ample mould. There wasn't much space in the cabin. With her slacks at her knees, the engines spluttered.
'The fuel tanks had a cross-over switch. Dad had installed it at the front. With pants at half-mast she began her skip to the switch.
'The plane rocked madly. The dogs went crazy. The cabin was now in bedlam. Diana grimly cut through all obstacles. Loafie and Amber got swept aside like chaff.
'Dad swung around in alarm. He saw Diana hopping. Her pants were around her ankles. She tumbled over. Now all he could see was a big arse in peach bloom scanties. Sail-maker size! He fell forward with raucous laughter. His plane went out of control.
'This was the closest they would come to disaster. His plane would drop 2,000 feet before he regained control.
'Meanwhile Diana had turned on their reserve tanks. In a menacing silence she finished changing. With female logic she ignored her husband for the next 100 miles. John had made the male mistake of enjoying his wife's misfortune.
'She must have been a sight! 'Even today she tells the story without humour. John, of course, tells it with screams of delight. Then the atmosphere becomes icy. The house takes on the cheerful spirit of a cemetery at midnight.'
The flight seemed an endless grind. His nerves were at breaking point! He got a bout of the shakes. He could go no further.
Just ahead lay the RAF base of Butterworth. He made a bumpy landing and ended his roll just off the strip.
Butterworth burst into a frenzy of activity. Armed guards surrounded his Anson. They grabbed and bustled him off to the cells. His wife fared slightly better. The guards treated his dogs as honoured guests. How's that for equality!
Now Bob Smith comes back to the story. 'I was just cleaning my teeth when I got a phone call. It was from the Singapore Director of Civil Aviation. He was a friend named Johnnie Johnson. That morning his voice didn't sound friendly.
'He told me to get into his office right away. Not waiting for a response he slammed down the receiver.
'When I got there he glared. Then in a tone dripping menace quietly asked. "Do you know anything about Anson HDU?"
The mention of HDU pissed Smithy off! 'I know a hell of a lot about her!' He yelled. 'More than any other plane in the world. What do you want to know?
'My anger settled him down a little. My question then brought a tumble of words.
'The bloody thing is at Butterworth. A clown named Cannon broke their security and landed there. Do you know this bloke?'
Smithy told him that Cannon was her owner.
Johnson told Smithy to get hold of Gibson. Then get up there and bring HDU to Singapore.
Cables flew among four Civil Aviation Departments. They were terse, but never bitter. Never did they apportion blame. Their words thinly disguised an admiration for the villain.
Army intelligence decided to investigate an old claim. Was he involved in a political plot? This allegedly happened when he was with MI5 during the war.
A crony of those days, would give him some vital news. There had been a warrant issued for his arrest. They were executing it on the morning of March 26, 1953.
In alarm, Cannon realised it was the next day.
Just after the witching hour he crept onto Mingaladon. His wife Diana and dogs were his accomplices. In the light from a hooded torch they topped-up HDU's fuel tanks. Then they carefully stowed extra fuel filled cans.
A few minutes before dawn he started her engines. Without lights he inched her onto the un-lit runway. He lined her up, opened the throttles, and set off for Malaya.
He had broken every rule in the book. The only breakage he had missed was his neck!
Jean has a tale of that flight. It concerns her step-mother. 'Things had settled down, yet Diana couldn't get comfortable. Her slacks were a bit tight. A bright frock might give her a boost!
'Diana was cast in an ample mould. There wasn't much space in the cabin. With her slacks at her knees, the engines spluttered.
'The fuel tanks had a cross-over switch. Dad had installed it at the front. With pants at half-mast she began her skip to the switch.
'The plane rocked madly. The dogs went crazy. The cabin was now in bedlam. Diana grimly cut through all obstacles. Loafie and Amber got swept aside like chaff.
'Dad swung around in alarm. He saw Diana hopping. Her pants were around her ankles. She tumbled over. Now all he could see was a big arse in peach bloom scanties. Sail-maker size! He fell forward with raucous laughter. His plane went out of control.
'This was the closest they would come to disaster. His plane would drop 2,000 feet before he regained control.
'Meanwhile Diana had turned on their reserve tanks. In a menacing silence she finished changing. With female logic she ignored her husband for the next 100 miles. John had made the male mistake of enjoying his wife's misfortune.
'She must have been a sight! 'Even today she tells the story without humour. John, of course, tells it with screams of delight. Then the atmosphere becomes icy. The house takes on the cheerful spirit of a cemetery at midnight.'
The flight seemed an endless grind. His nerves were at breaking point! He got a bout of the shakes. He could go no further.
Just ahead lay the RAF base of Butterworth. He made a bumpy landing and ended his roll just off the strip.
Butterworth burst into a frenzy of activity. Armed guards surrounded his Anson. They grabbed and bustled him off to the cells. His wife fared slightly better. The guards treated his dogs as honoured guests. How's that for equality!
Now Bob Smith comes back to the story. 'I was just cleaning my teeth when I got a phone call. It was from the Singapore Director of Civil Aviation. He was a friend named Johnnie Johnson. That morning his voice didn't sound friendly.
'He told me to get into his office right away. Not waiting for a response he slammed down the receiver.
'When I got there he glared. Then in a tone dripping menace quietly asked. "Do you know anything about Anson HDU?"
The mention of HDU pissed Smithy off! 'I know a hell of a lot about her!' He yelled. 'More than any other plane in the world. What do you want to know?
'My anger settled him down a little. My question then brought a tumble of words.
'The bloody thing is at Butterworth. A clown named Cannon broke their security and landed there. Do you know this bloke?'
Smithy told him that Cannon was her owner.
Johnson told Smithy to get hold of Gibson. Then get up there and bring HDU to Singapore.
Cables flew among four Civil Aviation Departments. They were terse, but never bitter. Never did they apportion blame. Their words thinly disguised an admiration for the villain.
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Left: February I, 1957 - Department of Civil Aviation Staff Hong Kong, involved in the Cannon Anson Saga. L. to R. A.E. Bert Clifford (A.R.B. Surveyor); George Cannon (Chief Signals Officer); Ralph Winship (Depury D.C.A.). (Photo: Fred Lillywhite) |
Ralph Winship, was our Deputy D.C.A. Hong Kong. He knew his planes and he hated fools. He considered the two in combination made a lethal dose. We got a surprise with Cannon's lenient treatment. Ralph would show a side of his nature we never suspected.
A.E. Clifford, was our Hong Kong A.R.B. Surveyor. Bert was a complete contrast to Winship. His casual approach was misleading. The man missed very little. He revelled in the debacle.
Burma's Chief Technical Officer was O.S. Smart. He wrote to Clifford confirming Cannon's flit. He advised that Cannon was in the hands of the Malayan Police. The tone of his letter was almost apologetic!
Max Oxford was the acting Director of Civil Aviation, Malaya. He advised Winship that A.R. Gibson would fly Cannon's plane to Singapore. He noted that Gibby was type endorsed. Hong Kong had included Ansons on his Colony licence.
This was the only time Ralph got toey. He could find no record of Gibby. His cable demanded. 'Who's this Gibson?' Gibby went through a few anxious hours. Finally, they found his record.
The commanding-officer Butterworth took over the Cannons' welfare. A moment of weakness he would regret.
He cut their detention to open arrest. This would give them the run of the station. He forgave John his caddish arrival.
Cannon's social status began a meteoric rise. Soon it would stand just a smidgen below that of Loafie and Amber. Meanwhile, Diana seems to drop from contention. Later we learned she was busy unifying the female members of the base.
John quickly disrupted the entire station. Diana and the CO's wife formed an alliance. They lead the women in agitating for reform. The final straw was their dog Loafie. The animal had gone native! Loafie had lurked in forbidden pastures. The CO finally had enough. He had to get them off his base.
They were still officially under detention. This left the C.O. holding the bag. He must find them suitable quarters. He put them into the Crag Hotel. This was on the near-by island of Penang.
The C.O. knew it would cost him! He knew John's enjoyment of the better things in life. Using the resources of another helped gild the lily.
Now there was a stretch of sea between them. By hard work, and a few hangings, he might get his station back to normality.
On April 29, 1953, Cannon wrote a report of the whole affair. Naturally, he made himself look good. I would have done the same. It would give details of which I knew little. I have reproduced this letter.
A.E. Clifford, was our Hong Kong A.R.B. Surveyor. Bert was a complete contrast to Winship. His casual approach was misleading. The man missed very little. He revelled in the debacle.
Burma's Chief Technical Officer was O.S. Smart. He wrote to Clifford confirming Cannon's flit. He advised that Cannon was in the hands of the Malayan Police. The tone of his letter was almost apologetic!
Max Oxford was the acting Director of Civil Aviation, Malaya. He advised Winship that A.R. Gibson would fly Cannon's plane to Singapore. He noted that Gibby was type endorsed. Hong Kong had included Ansons on his Colony licence.
This was the only time Ralph got toey. He could find no record of Gibby. His cable demanded. 'Who's this Gibson?' Gibby went through a few anxious hours. Finally, they found his record.
The commanding-officer Butterworth took over the Cannons' welfare. A moment of weakness he would regret.
He cut their detention to open arrest. This would give them the run of the station. He forgave John his caddish arrival.
Cannon's social status began a meteoric rise. Soon it would stand just a smidgen below that of Loafie and Amber. Meanwhile, Diana seems to drop from contention. Later we learned she was busy unifying the female members of the base.
John quickly disrupted the entire station. Diana and the CO's wife formed an alliance. They lead the women in agitating for reform. The final straw was their dog Loafie. The animal had gone native! Loafie had lurked in forbidden pastures. The CO finally had enough. He had to get them off his base.
They were still officially under detention. This left the C.O. holding the bag. He must find them suitable quarters. He put them into the Crag Hotel. This was on the near-by island of Penang.
The C.O. knew it would cost him! He knew John's enjoyment of the better things in life. Using the resources of another helped gild the lily.
Now there was a stretch of sea between them. By hard work, and a few hangings, he might get his station back to normality.
On April 29, 1953, Cannon wrote a report of the whole affair. Naturally, he made himself look good. I would have done the same. It would give details of which I knew little. I have reproduced this letter.
Cannon's flight was an achievement. It was stupid, but still an achievement.
Smithy had seen his log book. It put his total flying experience at sixty hours. It was all on a Mark I Moth. The type was scarcely bigger than its name-sake.
It was a long hop for an Anson. It just didn't have the range. The plane lacked a fuel cross-feed facility.
His knowledge of cars would stand him in good stead. He loaded several spare cans of fuel. Then he connected them with a wobble pump. Every now and again Diana would give it a pump. This way she kept the fuel tanks full.
Smithy said. 'I was then working for Gibson in Nan Yang Airways. We were operating Ansons. Gibby and I discussed getting his plane to Singapore. I felt if we nursed the engines there would be little danger. We let Johnson talk us into the ferry flight.
At Butterworth I inspected the rocker-boxes. I found the grease had congealed. It looked like silver paint. This made me a bit nervous. We would have to be careful!'
Later he asked Cannon how he had operated his engines. 'I didn't have any real plan. There was a gauge there. I didn't know its purpose. It had a needle that hovered round the 2 mark. Now and again it would go further to the right.'
Smithy asked how long the needle was to the right. The blithe spirited Cannon said. 'Oh! Not too long. Maybe it was an hour or so!'
His engines were at take-off power all that time. The makers put a limit of five minutes at that value. He had been near to disaster. An engine exploding can mean fire or airframe damage. Four engines blowing together would have been an interesting spectacle!
'I asked how he knew he was flying level.'
'I just put the nose on the horizon.' He said.
Bob couldn't believe his ears. 'You mean you put her nose on the horizon? The nose outside? Cannon nodded with pride. Smithy spluttered. 'You were really climbing.'
John had suspected something was not right. Every now and again it would get cold. Then, he would pull off the power and the plane went down. When he felt warm again he would push the throttles open.
His flight had been a series of climbs and descents. He had a vague idea that his altimeter had read 12,000 feet.
What a trip that must have been! A pilot who lacked the ability to read engine gauges. Always passing through opposite traffic levels.
Here was the classic example of a plane flying a pilot.
At Kallang, Smithy dismantled the engines. Cannon had ruined every bearing. Smithy,s ferry-flight had been more dangerous than he had calculated.
The Cannons were back in Singapore. Smithy welcomed them as his house guests. Then he lived in Still Road.
John had a good name in the motor trade. Before long he found work with a quality car firm. As service manager he was in his element. His future seemed assured.
His Anson had come onto the Malay Register as VR-RCE. The date was July 1953.
He owned an aeroplane. Here, surely was a man of means! His bank gave him a big overdraft.
Grief, mostly self inflicted, continued to dog his steps. Soon he owed massive debts. Several department stores cut off his credit.
They began to take out Court Orders. The Court confiscated his beloved Anson. She sold at auction for the paltry sum of four-hundred Strait's dollars.
The aviation pundits seemed reluctant to bring Cannon to account. They never disclosed their reasons.
They quietly dropped all charges. This ended the infamous moonlight flit.
Shortly after he lost his Anson they would take his passport. Then they deported him home. His temporary travel documents bore the word adventurer. This is a serious category. Once so labelled no passport is ever reissued.
No longer would he cast a shadow in the Far East.
Smithy had seen his log book. It put his total flying experience at sixty hours. It was all on a Mark I Moth. The type was scarcely bigger than its name-sake.
It was a long hop for an Anson. It just didn't have the range. The plane lacked a fuel cross-feed facility.
His knowledge of cars would stand him in good stead. He loaded several spare cans of fuel. Then he connected them with a wobble pump. Every now and again Diana would give it a pump. This way she kept the fuel tanks full.
Smithy said. 'I was then working for Gibson in Nan Yang Airways. We were operating Ansons. Gibby and I discussed getting his plane to Singapore. I felt if we nursed the engines there would be little danger. We let Johnson talk us into the ferry flight.
At Butterworth I inspected the rocker-boxes. I found the grease had congealed. It looked like silver paint. This made me a bit nervous. We would have to be careful!'
Later he asked Cannon how he had operated his engines. 'I didn't have any real plan. There was a gauge there. I didn't know its purpose. It had a needle that hovered round the 2 mark. Now and again it would go further to the right.'
Smithy asked how long the needle was to the right. The blithe spirited Cannon said. 'Oh! Not too long. Maybe it was an hour or so!'
His engines were at take-off power all that time. The makers put a limit of five minutes at that value. He had been near to disaster. An engine exploding can mean fire or airframe damage. Four engines blowing together would have been an interesting spectacle!
'I asked how he knew he was flying level.'
'I just put the nose on the horizon.' He said.
Bob couldn't believe his ears. 'You mean you put her nose on the horizon? The nose outside? Cannon nodded with pride. Smithy spluttered. 'You were really climbing.'
John had suspected something was not right. Every now and again it would get cold. Then, he would pull off the power and the plane went down. When he felt warm again he would push the throttles open.
His flight had been a series of climbs and descents. He had a vague idea that his altimeter had read 12,000 feet.
What a trip that must have been! A pilot who lacked the ability to read engine gauges. Always passing through opposite traffic levels.
Here was the classic example of a plane flying a pilot.
At Kallang, Smithy dismantled the engines. Cannon had ruined every bearing. Smithy,s ferry-flight had been more dangerous than he had calculated.
The Cannons were back in Singapore. Smithy welcomed them as his house guests. Then he lived in Still Road.
John had a good name in the motor trade. Before long he found work with a quality car firm. As service manager he was in his element. His future seemed assured.
His Anson had come onto the Malay Register as VR-RCE. The date was July 1953.
He owned an aeroplane. Here, surely was a man of means! His bank gave him a big overdraft.
Grief, mostly self inflicted, continued to dog his steps. Soon he owed massive debts. Several department stores cut off his credit.
They began to take out Court Orders. The Court confiscated his beloved Anson. She sold at auction for the paltry sum of four-hundred Strait's dollars.
The aviation pundits seemed reluctant to bring Cannon to account. They never disclosed their reasons.
They quietly dropped all charges. This ended the infamous moonlight flit.
Shortly after he lost his Anson they would take his passport. Then they deported him home. His temporary travel documents bore the word adventurer. This is a serious category. Once so labelled no passport is ever reissued.
No longer would he cast a shadow in the Far East.
Map of South East Asia (Including Cannon's Flight)
Apparently, they relented. Thirty years later, Smithy would get a call from him. He was in Sydney. They saw each other the next day.
'He was the same irrepressible John. At 78 years he looked splendid. From afar I saw him pick his way along Martin Place. He was wearing kilts and sporran. He jauntily swung a knobby walking stick. Harry Lauder would have been proud of him. Here was the complete Scotsman, at peace with himself and the world.
'Tucked under his arm was your book. I had to sign all the pages mentioning his Anson.
'Our talk was of our Burma days. I felt the years drop away. We were reliving those past times. It was great to see him again.
I watched him turn and swagger away. As he passed from my sight I felt the present return.'
What has become of the other main players?
Bob Smith retired to Newcastle, just north of Sydney. His once knowing hands now riddled with arthritis. As he put it. 'The arthritis sometimes gives my hands some hurry-up.' Otherwise he is in high spirits. His mind is as sharp as a razor!
Martin Willing is a senior captain on Cathay's B747 fleet. He is also an author of note. Martin has the last word on Anson HDU. 'To prevent her causing further trouble she met an abrupt end. She was bulldozed into an unmarked grave!'
In mid-1991, Jean wrote. 'Dad has just had his 85th birthday. He is in a home where they give intensive care. His brain is sharp but his body is frail. He is as forceful as ever. I have to sit on him occasionally. He still tries ordering me around the place.
'Diana and he divorced many years ago. They keep in touch. His fourth wife is Beverly an American. She stays in the States while he is here.
'Someone stole my Father's treasured copy of your book. We cannot replace it!'
Why would anyone nick such a dog-eared book? Perhaps to stop him bragging?
That moonlight flit was one man's crowning adventure. It was worth some self acclaim. I can imagine the old rogue milking it for all it was worth!
Jean's 1992 Christmas Card brought this news. Another year gone. It was a very sad one for me. 'My Father's last months of life was no fun for him. When he died at 85 I was glad for him that it was over.
'His spirit lives on in Kobe, Japan. There he had spent much of his youth. In Kobe he won many trophies for athletics. He was a wonderful sportsman. The Japs were thrilled to have his memorabilia bequeathed to them. His Club now has all his silver medals and silk pennants. Also the newspaper cuttings that reported his pre-1939 records. They used an entire wall to display the photographs of his achievements.'
In March 1992 the main actor made his final curtain call. His death is a fitting end to this chapter.