Robert Henry Maxwell Gibbes, DSO, DFC & Bar, OAM.
REGULAR FEATURES
A Truly GREAT Australian
Robert Henry Maxwell Gibbes, DSO, DFC & Bar, OAM.
By Al Finegan
I
n 1969, as a recently graduated Air Traffic Controller (ATC), I was transferred to Goroka, Papua New Guinea. Goroka was the main hub and airfield for the Eastern Highlands and the Waghi Valley. Goroka Tower was controlled by a three-man team on shift work seven days a week, for daylight hours operations only. Goroka, at 5,500 feet, is in a valley surrounded by mountain ranges averaging about 10,000 feet. Entering the
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in an outpost. Thus this rather cranky, entitled Englishman, with a loathing of all things Aussie, was my boss. One afternoon while on duty, a flight plan arrived on the teleprinter giving the details of a Piper Twin Comanche, registration RHG, for a flight from Madang. I quickly calculated that this aircraft could not possibly arrive before the legally required planned ETA of twenty minutes before last light. Before I could react, the teleprinter informed me that RHG was on its way. I immediately advised the fire crew to prepare and lay the flare path, kept for emergencies. In the tropics there is no twilight. In a few minutes it goes from daylight to darkness, and with at least ten minutes before RHG was to arrive, it went dark. Should I declare an emergency? Regulations said I should, but as I pondered, a cheerful voice radioed, “Goroka Tower, Romeo Hotel Golf, Bena Gap inbound”. Within minutes RHG landed in the flare path and taxied to its hangar. Soon after I heard someone stomping up the stairs to the tower. With a broad grin and a hearty handshake, I met Bobby Gibbes, who said, “I say old chap, you won’t make a fuss of this, will you, and after you shut down, meet me in the bar at the “Bird of Paradise hotel”. This I did, and on entering I was guided to a little alcove where Bobby sat. The surrounding wall was covered with WW2 memorabilia, including his war medals. With many a booming laugh, he answered my questions.
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valley by plane after dark, through mountain passes was dangerous at best, and suicidal at worst.
Not long after settling in with my young family and taking up duty, I was to meet, and become friends with, one of the most charismatic men I have ever known. How I got to know him was both exciting and career threatening. The boss of our three-man team was an English chap named Frank, recently a Squadron Leader with the RAF. As the Department of Civil Aviation (DCA) urgently needed more ATCs, they heard about the UK downsizing the RAF. They sent recruiters to the UK who hired about a hundred ex-pilots and after a six-month course, appointed them as ATCs, with the caveat that they had to spend two years
The Bribie Islander
Over the next 2 years, we had many a beer together while this quintessential "Aussie larrikin" entertained me with his endless war stories. Before the war he was a stock and station agent in northern NSW. I learned that Bobby was an Australian fighter ace of WW2, and the longest-serving wartime CO of 3 Sqn which he commanded in North Africa from February 1942 to April 1943, apart from a brief period when he was wounded. He shot down or destroyed more than 12 aircraft, had up to another 14 probables, and damaged 16. In return he was shot down twice. 3 Sqn remains the highest scoring fighter squadron of the RAAF. After leaving Africa he served in northern Australia and Asia. A fact not often
