On Wednesday, 27 May 2020, I was privileged to give a seminar to the Contemporary Histories Research Group at Deakin University on my aerial theatre research — via Zoom, as is the current fashion. I really enjoyed giving it, and I think it was a great success (and thanks to everyone who listened in and […]
Last year I looked at a couple of fantastic photographs from the State Library of South Australia’s collection, taken at Harry Butler’s ‘Aviation Day’ display at Unley on 23 August 1919. They’re fantastic because they focus not on the flying but on the crowds watching it. Now I’ve found two more photos taken on the
Resuming from where I left off with Modern Wonder — here are some rather fantastic French and British ‘battle planes’ from the cover of the 23 April 1938 issue. I’ve never seen these designs before and I’m sure they never got off the drawing board — if, that is, there was even any drawing board
This must be one of the first ever photographs ever taken of an air raid, simply because it was one of the first ever air raids, during the Italian invasion of Ottoman Tripolitania of 1911-12. It appeared in the Illustrated London News on 31 August 1912 with the following caption: PHOTOGRAPHED FROM THE DIRIGIBLE WHICH
The default explanation for the Australian mystery aeroplane panic of 1918 was a conspiracy theory: they were enemy aircraft, deployed by German merchant raiders operating off the Australian coast, or perhaps flying from secret aerodromes deep in the bush. Either way they were thought to be collaborating with German spies on shore, as evidenced by
Critical Survey has just published an early access version of my peer-reviewed article ‘William Le Queux, the Zeppelin menace and the Invisible Hand’ — that’s right, no subtitle! — here. Here’s the abstract: In contrast to William Le Queux’s pre-1914 novels about German spies and invasion, his wartime writing is much less well known. Analysis
Although the war had been over for more than a year by this point, in 1920 the editor of Sea, Land and Air issued a rather hysterical warning of the danger of foreign pilots being allowed to fly in Australia.1 The passenger-‘plane of to-day may be the bomber of to-morrow. It depends on the man
Shortly after the declaration of war Londoners lifted fearful eyes to the skies, as it seemed that bombs might be about to rain down on them from the skies…
Michael Molkentin. Anzac and Aviator: The Remarkable Story of Sir Ross Smith and the 1919 England to Australia Air Race. Crows Nest: Allen & Unwin, 2019. [Disclaimer: Michael is a friend of mine. But I wouldn’t have agreed to review his book if I wasn’t confident, based on everything else that he has published, that
Tim Sherratt pointed out this remarkable image, PRG 280/1/24/108 in the State Library of South Australia’s collection. The description reads: A large crowd of spectators packed into stands around a show ring looking up into the sky as they watch for the arrival of the local aviator Harry Butler’s aircraft. The date is given as
