Flying Boat Pilot in War and Peace, Disaster and Survival
The Extraordinary Life of Captain M.J.R. ‘Roly’ Alderson
by Mark Alderson
“At the age of twelve, upon hearing that Sir Ross Smith had broken the England–Australia aero record in a Vickers Vimy, Roly Alderson decided that he wanted to fly. Denied a secondary education, orphan Roly was an accomplished engineer by the time he arrived at Cambridge in his home-built car. He left with a degree, a racing Bentley and a pilot’s licence.”
Lots of interest here: that home-built car was a three-wheeler Bentbeam (so named because it incorporated Bentley and Sunbeam features), that racing Bentley was a 1923 3L (chassis 449), and that pilot’s license is something this “quiet and retiring” fellow—even his funeral notice referred to him as “A Very Private Man”—elsewhere described here as “brooding” just never made any fuss about even though it had once garnered him worldwide news coverage. If you don’t remember any January 1939 headlines about a huge international Search and Rescue effort in the Atlantic you’ll just have to read about it here for the first time!
If you are into vintage aircraft you’ll love reading about how it all started and finding unexpected references such as the Gypsy Moth in the movie Out of Africa.
But first of all make a mental note that the book’s author shares a surname with the protagonist: he is his son, a man of many talents, amateur aviator being one of them. As a flyer himself he can properly appreciate the elder Alderson’s (1907–1993) considerable aviation achievements, and as a son he has unfettered access to family papers and recollections. Early on in the book he remarks that he had no intention to write this story but it remains unclear what exactly made him amenable to having “his arm twisted,” some three decades after his father’s death. At any rate, he means for the reader to be “transported back in time” and he ably weaves together fact and adventure, tragedy and romance. Non-British readers will probably puzzle over small matters such as dropping out of school but still being able to get into Cambridge, and fellow pilots will wonder at how quickly Alderson built up flying hours. While today an Airline Transport Pilot is usually seen as only a glorified bus driver, back in the day a commercial pilot enjoyed something akin to “hero status.” Add words like transatlantic or air boat (as flying boats were once called) to the CV and you’re just about out of boxes to tick.
If you saw the scene on the top right, you wouldn’t give it a second thought. Judging by the length of the wing the men are not standing far away from the aircraft. The same aircraft is also shown on the spread below. The caption refers to a barely visible shape on the viewer’s left, just behind the blown-out tire as an “engineer.” Both his lower legs are visible so he’s not crouching, meaning the wheel is way taller than he is. Would you have guessed that size from the photo top left?
As most biographies, this one is best read in order, front to back. On subsequent rounds on the hunt for specific topics you will be ably guided by endnotes and a superbly well subdivided index that slices and dices the contents any which way, including, for instance, separate listings by aircraft registration number or engine type. (There is also a bibliography and a list of abbreviations.)
While that headline-making crash is of course covered in the book, and at some length, a few factors ought to be singled out simply to whet readers’ appetite: it occurred only a day after Alderson had made yet another report—that no one paid attention to—of a dangerous condition know as carburetor icing and that is exactly what caused his airliner to plunge into the Atlantic, from 11,000 ft, with all four engines erratic, on a cold night and into cold waters. Hair-raising stuff.
From his first flight in an Avro Lynx biplane—six months after Lindbergh crossing the Atlantic solo—to leading BOAC’s “Comet Development Unit” this book covers the whole arc of aviation development.
- Procedurally speaking, that reference in the opening quote to Ross Smith as “Sir” is imprecise because he was knighted in recognition of that 1919 flight so couldn’t have been one while on the record attempt. Incidentally, he was also a pilot for one Lawrence of Arabia.
Seen any oxen on the tarmac lately? This is 1947 Egypt.
Copyright 2025, Sabu Advani (speedreaders.info).
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