Dr Jean White

KNOWING THE SHARED HISTORY OF OUR ANCESTORS

Salome Jean White (1905 - 15 July 1974)

When Jean White graduated as a Doctor of Medicine at Melbourne University in 1929. It was a man’s world in which she found herself Australia’s first woman Flying Doctor. Young Anthropologist Ursula McConnell travelled on horseback to Aurukun around the same era in the 1930’s. Things were not easy for women like Jean White and Ursula McConnell, one in a plane and the other on horseback. They were both strong and wilful women.

The young Doctor was posted to Normanton Hospital in 1937 and soon found herself in trouble for speaking her mind on arrangements in the Aboriginal ward there. Rev. John Flynn found her a position at Croydon where she became well liked throughout the region in those first years of the Royal Flying Doctor Service. She had a big region to cover and although she returned to Melbourne to establish herself back in Victoria not long after the crash, she clearly loved the people and bush work, and the people loved her. Some were worried about her flying around with her pilot Captain Doug Tennant over country where there were few roads and airports that were often very rough. The airport at Mitchell River Mission had been completed soon after 1937 providing a mail service and the new RFDS. The new strip would also become a surveillance Base in the 1940’s during World War 2 when it was upgraded to take light defence aircraft. The Flying Doctor Service’s Doctor and the little two-winged Fox Moth ran a very busy service that often started as soon as the pilot could see the instruments in the early dawn light. It is clear from her account of the day they force landed on their way to Mitchell River Mission that she was a very special person. A section from a book is being reprinted for readers to enjoy. That both Doctor and Pilot survived the cash and were able to be rescued in February was sheer luck on their part. At that time of year often the geese are laying in the wetlands and the Magnificent Creek could have been flooded making travel to the landing very risky if not impossible. The Editor has printed the story as it was written and anyone who knows the country must excuse obvious errors about people and country but it is a clear and wonderful account of what happened.

Same kind of biplane that crashed in 1939

Jean had collected medicine bottles from Lotus Vale Station and had visited various places on the Cape York Peninsula. It was January 27th and the sky was clear and the weather calm when the Fox Moth lifted from the airstrip at Delta Station bound for the Mitchell River Mission.

Ever alert, Captain Doug Tennant had seen an ugly storm building ahead of them, so changed direction to fly around it. This used up valuable fuel. Then powerful north west winds in the cyclone caused the storm to race back over their path. Soon their route to the Mission was cut off. He kept circling, waiting for the storm to moderate.

Now running short on fuel, he tried a desperate run into the storm to try and penetrate it but was tossed about violently by the winds. Visibility dropped to zero. He turned the plane and strong gusts spat them out. He was most relieved to escape the maelstrom in one piece.

No fuel

The engine rattled and misfired, warning Tennant that his fuel was coming to an end. “What was that Doug?” Jean called out through the intercom, trying to hide her concern.

“Check your safety belt is tight. Our fuel is nearly finished. I will have to put her down soon”. Tennant’s eyes scoured the terrain as he spoke, looking desperately for a clearing on which to crash. The thick tree cover gave little hope. This was mangrove and swamp country, heavily wooded and sparsely populated. As their height dropped, Tennant saw the wide Mitchell River below them and noticed a sandy oasis in the expanse of water, Cocomungin Island Sic. Here, at least, was hope providing they could find a stretch without trees or rocks Sic.

Jean felt no fear, just mild apprehension, as they glided towards the island.

Tennant put the plane down as slowly as he dared. Any slower and the engine would have stalled. The ground rushed up at them with frightening speed. The wheels ran smoothly along the sand at first, a testament to the pilot’s skill, but the rain had produced some soft patches.

Crash on sandy place

The wheels caught in one of these while they were moving quickly, tipping the nose of the plane into the sand. Jean felt herself being lifted high, then turning right over and, finally crashing down. The plane had dug its nose in, somersaulted and flipped onto its back. The Doctor found herself upside down and crushed under a weight of tangled gear: wireless equipment, medicine bottles, cases, tinned foods and potatoes. Her right arm was in great pain and she could not release her safety belt with her left hand alone.

Was Tennant badly injured, perhaps killed?

Nobody killed

Her instincts were to do what she could to reach him, but her struggles only increased her pain. She was well and truly pinned down. She stopped struggling for a few seconds to catch her breath. In the silence she heard noises above her. It was Tennant forcing open the cabin in order to reach her.

Next thing he was tossing out the gear that was pressing down on her. The Mitchell in full flood where Tennant flew over the river in 1939 onto Kokomnjen Island near Minh Pengr thilaat what is now known as the Five Ways (centre photo).

Once free, she was surprised how shaken she felt. Nevertheless, she managed to ask rather breathlessly, “are you all right, Doug”? “Yes, a bit battered, but otherwise fine. Your arm doesn’t look too good to me.” “No, it’s not.” Her arm right arm hung limply. She examined it quickly using the fingers of her left hand.

Cuts and bad bruises

“Can I do anything for it?” “No thanks. It’s not broken, just crushed. It will become mobile again in a while. Here, let me give you a checkup.” Tennant did not argue Doctor White had always impressed him with her no-nonsense approach.

He submitted to her medical examination.

When she was satisfied that he was only bruised and had no broken bones or obvious internal injuries, she inquired, “what’s our situation here?”

“That’s a good question. The plane is out of commission, quite obviously, so we’d best sit tight until the storm has blown itself out. I’ll set us up a crude shelter, then radio for help.” Both were soaked through already and rivulets streamed down their faces and dripped from their fingertips, but the water was warm and exposure posed no immediate threat.

Jean discovered her right arm remained fairly useless as they rigged up a rough shelter using branches and a tarpaulin scavenged from the aeroplane. “It will only have to last us a day or two so we needn’t make it too fancy,” Tennant observed.

Radio not working

Tennant removed the radio from the aeroplane and set it up by a tree. He hung the long aerial wire in the branches. It would not transmit.

He turned the dial to receive. Radio chatter came faintly through. He turned to transmit again, but that circuit was dead. He returned to the crude shelter to discuss their position with Jean.

“The radio was damaged in the crash and I can’t repair it,” he told her grimly. “We are some distance off our intended flight path, so it will take rescuers a while to locate us, if at all.” They would need to settle down and wait for rescuers to come, so they returned to the upended aeroplane and dug around inside.

Sardines and Potatoes

They pulled out tins of sardines, a few tins of vegetables and a number of loose potatoes.

“The bright side is that we have enough food to last us several days,” Tennant observed, putting as good a spin on it as he could. “Providing we can find us fresh water to drink, I think we should sit tight and see what transpires. If they haven’t found us by the time our food runs low, we’ll try to walk out. I don’t fancy that because there are very big crocs in the Mitchell, some of the biggest in the world, and also tangles of creeks and mangroves and thick bush between civilization and us. Our best hope is that someone’ll find us first.”

Water is found Water

Tennant went in search of potable water, the river being estuarine and too salty to drink. To his delight he found good fresh water about three kilometres from the crash site.

He also discovered the island was bigger than he had supposed, though uninhabited. When he returned to the makeshift camp dusk had arrived and with swarms of ravenous mosquitoes. The two crash victims found themselves helpless against the hordes of stinging insects. By 11.00 pm their arms legs and faces were swollen and they were desperate.

“I can’t stand this anymore’” Jean said. “Let’s look in the plane for something to cover our heads with, even boxes of paper bags would help. I won’t last the night with all the stings I am getting.” They ransacked the cargo by moonlight, tearing open the parcels impatiently. Doctor White let out a squeal of delight.

Dunbar mossie nets

“Hey look at this,” she said holding something aloft in triumph. It tumbled down from her hands and glowed a silvery white in the moonlight like a bridal veil…mosquito netting! The nets had been intended for Dunbar Station. “How I thanked God when I saw those nets,” she wrote later. She did not mean it flippantly.

Wula’ (Water Place) west of Yumanvm where Pilot Doug Tennant would have found water after the crash at Tha lewvn just two kilometres from the western end of the lagoon which in the days before cattle was permanent water and key to life on the island.

Photograph by Viv Sinnamon

They draped the nets over and around themselves the best they could and had relief from the relentless stinging for the first time in hours. Jean took grim pleasure in the angry whining of the frustrated mosquitoes as they attacked the net time and again, but without success.

“What’s that noise?” she asked Tennant later.

“Crocodiles thrashing around.” “Are we safe here?” “We are far enough away from the riverbank, I think,” was his laconic reply.

Blue skies and waiting

Saturday and Sunday passed. The cyclonic storm had abated and the skies were blue, but empty. It was especially frustrating to hear the radio messages exchanged between search parties out looking for them, as they were unable to transmit their position. Tennant began to its attention. think seriously about crossing the Mitchell and walking out.

A plane overhead

Then on the Monday, a plane droned overhead. They waved their arms and shouted, but failed to attract its attention.

“Damn, I thought they would have seen our crash (site). We must organize ourselves better to signal an aeroplane, if we are lucky enough for another to come close. I’ll stack a fire to light when we hear one coming.” “Isn’t the bush around here too wet for that.” The next day they heard the plane before they saw it. Their frantic attempts to light the fire failed. Tennant then grabbed Jean’s hand mirror and flashed it in the sun. They both stood in a clearing and Jean waved her left arm frenetically, her right being too tender.

Note to stay put

The pilot, Swaffield, saw the flashes and dropped low to investigate. They now both waved madly. The pilot waggled the wings of the plane to show he had seen them, then banked and executed a wide circle before dropping rations and a message. They were to stay where they were and a search party would be sent out at once. The rescue attempt was held up until Constable McNaught was located. He was the man with the local knowledge Sic. needed to lead a party of men through the bush to Cocomungin Island sic. On arrival there, high tidal waters that teemed with saltwater crocodiles thwarted them. Undaunted, Constable McNaught lashed together a raft for the crossing. Two Aboriginal searchers followed behind him, each bravely paddling on logs.

Croc at crossing

When part way across, Constable McNaught heard a yelling behind him. He swiveled to see a long dark shape gliding through the water towards the two Aborigines! He yelled out to them to change direction. The crocodile swirled around and headed towards McNaught instead. Knowing an attack on the raft would tip him into the water, he raced back furiously towards the bank again. The crocodile hesitated when the water became very shallow. McNaught leapt off and dragged the raft up to the land. When he had caught his breath sufficiently, he radioed a message to search headquarters to send out more men and equipment.

All Australia celebrated their safe return.

Doctor Laver after discussions with an exhausted Jean, wrote an interesting report to AIM Headquarters. Among other things, he recommended the single engine Fox Moth be replaced by a twin-engine Dragon. He was also critical of the particular wireless used, which he stated had a reputation for unreliability, quoting no less authority than Fergus McMaster. “It often required coaxing to make it work properly and is too delicate to survive a crash. A more rugged expensive and less temperamental set should be used.” Flynn moved at once on both these suggestions. The following day a second party arrived that included Flying Doctor, John Laver along with Fergus McMaster and others. Protected by guns, they and McNaught made the crossing at low tide when attack by crocodiles was far less likely.

Jean and Doug saw their rescuers at 8.30 am on February 1st, a full five days since their crash.

After brief greetings and inquiries, Doctor Laver insisted on examining both Doug and Jean. He immobilised Jean’s bruised arm in a plaster cast o that she would be able to walk out without too much pain. She told him sheepishly, “we’ve been too busy for me to notice it much until now.” The party then turned back toward the river, needing to cross before the tide rose again.

Ex Police Tracker The Late Geoffrey Phillip 1930-40’s The crossing at Larr Lowpnhnan where Rock Cod a Yir Yoront man was taken by a crocodile in 1930 and the crossing used to get to the crash site at Tha lewen.

Photograph s by Viv S innamon

During the late 1930’s and 1940’s The Late Geoffrey Phillip, a Yir Yoront man and older brother to Jerry Mission worked as a tracker with Policeman McNaught who was based in Coen.

We are almost certain that he would have been with McNaught when the rescue party went out to the crash site at Tha lewen and would have known the traditional walking pad through the mangroves at Larr lowpnhan to Yumanvm.