Australian Aviation Barrister

Pub Crawling in a Bell 47 on Lemon Squash:

The very machine – Agusta Bell-47 VH-FLI

Many years ago, in the 90s on a bright, still, spring morning, Louis Sheather dragged his Bell 47 helicopter out into the open from inside a shed. He checked it out, pumped some fuel into the tanks, lubricated parts of the tail rotor tail shaft drive and cleaned the front canopy. Casey and I stood by watching this show, feeling like students attending their first day at a new school. Louis had specially obtained the rego FLI.

Louis got in, strapped himself up on the left side before starting the motor. After a while of warming her up he took off flying to a clear area nearby. There he came down to about two metres off the ground and hovered for a while before putting her gently on the ground. Then he took off and hovered again before putting her down again. This time when he took-off he went for a short fly around the nearby paddocks around Little Billabong, a bit north of Holbrook. In those days he still owned “Murrumbung.”

On returning Louis put the machine down in front of us. With the motor running, he beckoned us to come on board. Casey sat in the middle next to Louis. I occupied the end of the bench seat leaving my right knee out in the open for extra room. There were no doors. Seat belts on, we lifted into the still air. I remember well the feeling of shock on Louis getting to a height of about 10 metres, straight up, before he tipped the machine forward to a pronounced and scary forward angle. We then moved forward after initially losing some height.

We flew to Tooma. There a pub sits almost alone on flat ground. Louis knew it well. I think he said it was once owned by cousins of his. The flight there was wonderful. The country was green, the hills were clear of cloud and the air was fresh - fresh it was, with the air moving freely between both open sides of the cabin. We hovered low over the pub. It was about 11.30am. Out the back of the house next to the pub, a yard had a clothes line in it. The paddock next to it was clear, if with a good length of grass. Louis very gently put her down in this paddock.

We walked to the fence and climbed through and walked to a door at the back of the building. It was the residence. A kind lady was standing at this door. Louis knew her. We walked through to the front and next door into the pub. Before entering, Louis announced “You blokes can have a drink, I’ll just have a squash.” Louis had been taught to fly a helicopter by Myles Tomkins. He must have instilled the fear of God to not mix alcohol and flying – no small task. The publican was not surprised to see us, greeting Louis as if he saw him yesterday. Casey and I had a Carlton draft each. We chattered generally about life’s issues and what we were going to do next. It was decided we would fly onto Khancoban for a meal. There was no discussion about where we would land, just that we would go to the pub for a counter meal.

After thanking the publican, we walked back to the machine but I recall walking out the back of the pub and not the house. We climbed straight up, turned towards the direction of Khancoban before the same forward tip. It was such a lovely flight. The pondage was clearly visible in the sun, with a lovely backdrop of the main range. There is a runway at Khancoban, but Louis announced it was too far for him to walk on his dodgy hip. He put her down in the car park in front of the pub. I have been there since. When we landed there were not the trees there today. On shutting down, Louis went to a locker at the back and pulled out a set of wheels with a handle. He clipped these on to a part of the undercarriage. We then pushed the machine into a car slot after securing the blades with a strap. The main bar was merely across the road and up a short slope where cars parked. We had a nice meal while Casey and I had a shout of beers. Louis stayed on his squash. I knew him well; I could see the look of envy in his eyes.

After about an hour Casey said something like “We better go home so Louis can have a drink.” As we walked out to the helicopter, Louis said “A good thing we are leaving, the ants were following me.” On wheeling the machine out, now with a small crowd of onlookers, we stored the items and took off.

Louis at the Bridge Hotel - 14 July 2015

Louis flew to the Tintaldra Hotel. He didn’t need a map. He knew where the pubs were. At Tintaldra we had a close look but did not land. The pub was well patronised with a line of vintage cars outside. We then flew very low down the Murray to the Bridge Hotel at Jingellic. Louis knew this place very well. He said we would not land - just have a good look. It was so still that he put the landing skids into the tops of the poplar trees out the back on the road. It was then that we noticed a long line of motor bikes carefully lined up facing the road. There were two blokes sitting outside presumably watching the bikes. As we hovered in the trees Louis suddenly and loudly shouted a couple of words he used a lot, but not in polite company. I looked down to see these two blokes bending over with their pants down exposing their backsides at us. Louis changed his plans. After swearing some more he flew towards the back of the pub next to the Murray River. There was a small flat area on the other side of a creek. We landed. It didn’t take long to walk up to the back of the pub. On entering, the place was empty! We walked through to the front bar. The publican stood alone behind the bar - “Bloody hell Louis, they thought you were the drug squad.” Casey and I were obliged to have a couple of beers.

The last leg home was uneventful if faster than the trip out. Louis had a fridge in the shed.

C. McKeown © 2021

(Louis died 21 September 2018 – see some words I delivered at his funeral here).