The Sun 42 WYNDHAM STREET AUCKLAND SATURDAY, MAY 24, 1930 QUEEN OF THE AIR

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 980, 24 May 1930, Page 8

The Sun 42 WYNDHAM STREET AUCKLAND SATURDAY, MAY 24, 1930 QUEEN OF THE AIR

STILL uncrowned with final achievement, but now, at the moment of writing, no farther away from it than a bird might fly between darkness and the dawn, Miss Amy Johnson, the English girl flier, already is Queen of the Air. Already, the lone adventurer has spanned half the woi-ld in eighteen days and left ten thousand miles behind her in a wake of resplendent romance. All that is required for coronation, as it were, is a quick, last, and rather fearsome flight over the hyaline Sea of Timor, deserted like a desert save for wandering birds on the waters and a valiant bird high in the mottled sky, and then safe and soft repose on the ample bosom of Australia. Alone and above all other maids today this rover from Old England is the bright “star of boyhood’s fiery thought.” No one, and least of all any commentator whose duty is to lash political mugwumps and other irrepressible muddlers, need make apology for being lyrical about her and a great exploit that has excited the world’s imagination. Is it not a fact that offers of marriage, possibly a dubious reward, have flown on covetous wings to the dauntless lass? And is it not more certain that when she, God willing, alights at Darwin, a waiting mail over which a special postal guardian has been appointed, will contain a thousand missives of admiration, affection, and that spontaneous youthful love which makes hero or heroine worship a lovely virtue? So let us all, whether staid as bankers or more sentimental than spring poets, frankly and sincerely admire this goddess of the modern Athenians or, to be precisely correct, aviators who, in a chariot of the air, is coming from Zeus to men, pay tribute to her courage, and even to pray for a happy triumph. And what an adventure the brave girl’s long flight has been - —a feat that marks a vivid milestone in the affairs of women and the daring march of femininity in a world that for ages has been a hunting-ground for valorous and vain men. Nineteen days ago Miss Johnson, bored beyond endurance by the arid life of a girl-clerk in a lawyer’s office, soared from Croydon and flew away on the far trail to radiant Australia. It is true that the trail had been blazed for her in a similarly lonely way by Bert Hinkler who, in February 1928, flew the 10,340 miles in fifteen days and a-half, but what difference did that splendid exploit make to an intrepid woman, except to serve as an inspiring lure, a mighty challenge to bold successors. If there be any folk with doubt about it let them reflect on what gulping courage is required even for the average man setting out on a first flight over the Auckland Isthmus. On this journey Miss Johnson has made distance as fleet as the hour and given to imagination the magic carpet of the fable, skimming high over lands and seas of mystery and ancient allurement. London and its crowded life in the flush of springtime; Vienna and the rare beauty of noble boulevards and gardens; the minarets and domes of Constantinople; Aleppo and over the desert to Bagdad with all the glamour in the haunts and cradle of history; Bunder Abbas and Karachi, the marking place of a flying record from the Occident to the Orient; Allahabad, Calcutta, Insein, and memories and fears of steaming rains, jungles with lurking beasts of prey; thence onward, after delay and vexation, to magical Bangkok; Singora, Singapore, Tjomal in Java; Samarang, Sourabaya, and Timor Island—a string of pearled names for sonneteers. Then today, all the world hopes with honest yearning, a gallant dash to Darwin. Why, it is greater, more thrilling than this Empire Day with flags flying over cities innumerable throughout a Commonwealth of nations possessing in peace and high purpose almost one-fifth of the whole area of the globe. Today, five hundred million people who owe and should enjoy allegiance to the Empire Throne salute the King’s Flag. They might well also salute Amy Johnson, Queen of the Air, for she, a trim girl given pardonably a little to the hysteria and haunting fears of her imaginative kind, symbolises in her splendid achievement the grit, the inflexible determination which built up the greatest Empire in history, giving it for service to mankind, eleven Dominions (including the self-governing States of Australia) and sixty different other units or dependencies governed excellently from Whitehall. Four hundred years ago the roving spirit of British Islanders founded a colonial empire. It sent gallant adventurers over far seas to new lands. Down all the years since the same highspirited explorers and treasure-seekers have wandered to the ends of the earth, penetrating, conquering, always achieving. Today, in our own time, the track of achievement is with a new element in a higher realm. Romance has wings. Through stormwrack and sea-mist, over lands beautiful and regions desolate, above seas and a myriad of alluring islands, high adventure flies nearer to the heavens. And for the moment, a lonely girl, risking detith but never daunted, soars over an Empire’s tremendous history of deeds and daring, speeding to a shining goal. If victory be gained as it seems assured, she will have achieved something that has never been achieved by a woman since the creation of Eve.