The Granny Plane

The Granny Plane (Aka The Trans-Pacific Maple Syrup Bulk Carrier)

Legend has it the plane was constructed from plans first devised by the Brothers Wright of Kittyhawk, USA, for the expressed purpose of transporting the pancake topping known as maple syrup from its place of origin in Maple Grove, Vermont. It travelled via the Pacific Ocean to The Pancake Parlour Restaurant at Forest Hill in Victoria, Australia.

The gingham-covered aircraft (over a frame of aluminium salvaged from the wreck of the ill-fated Hindenberg airship) has been involved in several incidents worth noting.

The most interesting of these was the timely and gallant action which resulted in the demise of that Scourge of the Skies over France, Baron Von Richtofen, otherwise known as the Red Baron, in 1917. It was also involved in the search for the missing aviatrix Amelia Earhardt just before World War II.

The aircraft gains its motive power entirely from the pedal connected by mechanical advantage to two largish propellers (ex-Hindenberg), which have seen the elderly aircraft and its aged suffragette pilot, known affectionately only as “Granny”, cross the Pacific innumerable times, always at the mercy of the elements.

The large oak barrel slung under the aircraft containing the bulk Maple Syrup was originally in use in William Randolph Hearst’s famous mansion, “San Simeon”, during the Prohibition Era.

 Peter Von:

 When a great stack of surplus aluminium tube arrived in the scrap yard, it took me milliseconds to see its potential as an aircraft built to the same standards as a real plane and powered by a granny pedalling! I could see it all: the granny from the jam label bringing maple syrup from Vermont, her plane covered in blue-check gingham and a giant maple syrup barrel slung under, of course, a wheel chair. With a phone call to the Corner Paddock Antique and Bric-A-Brac shop in Victor Harbour, I acquired a genuine 19th century American wheelchair in reasonable nick. I stripped it and re-coated it in a satin finish. Then I wondered how do I model up a granny? ... My wife’s mother of course as a model!

Next were the measurements, plywood, rubber foam, skateboard bearings and a head modelled by an art student. (I can’t do everything!)

Now for the fun: the plane itself. A matching pair of aluminium propellers, once some sort of food processor, lay in the scrap yard mud. Painstakingly, I reshaped them with a rubber mallet, stripped off the paint, cut the ends off and fitted them with elaborate brass trimmed hubs – beautiful when polished!

Slowly it dawned on me that I could do just so much. What do I know about mechanical engineering?

Mindful that the completed plane would be hanging in a public space, in Victoria, no less than the home of litigation, I found Kingsley White. He was no academic, but an engineer with a mechanics outlook. He built the bits that connected everything, using cables with lovely shiny turnbuckles and coaxed electrical motors into cute polished granny-type caned boxes. I riveted the wing tubing, hand bending the aluminium tubing into perfect wings, ready for Tom The Gun upholsterer to painstakingly cover with plasticised gingham. I later sewed the LOVELY! Lady symbols into padded logos for the wings and the tail.

In a second-hand shop, I found some heavy leather piano mover straps that had been hanging up unloved for years, perfect to hold the giant maple syrup barrel slung under Granny’s plane. After hours of polishing, they were baby’s bum supple and glowing.

Now the barrel itself: styrene foam! The world’s lightest building material, the faux wood grain was done so convincingly by my Paint Finishes teacher from Trade School (I said I can’t do everything!) that it even fooled the inspector from the Dept. of Trade and Industry, who was initially appalled at the safety idea of a great barrel slung under the plane and nearly canned the whole thing! Old brass bed knobs trimmed the lovely curved bracket with its piano straps.

Steve, a bikies welder (he of the tattoos, the biceps, the black German Shepherd dog and the girlfriend more frightening than him), welded the aluminium scaffold tube frame for the air speed indicator, the compass and the clock ... all so important to an elderly granny pedalling all the way from the US.

It’s not obvious but granny’s steering wheel is little more than the bottom round wooden rung off an old Brentwood chair finished to match the wheelchair, and sitting around a polished spoked belt-drive wheel from a washing machine. Her instruments on stalks from some old machine are brass trimmed short lengths of tube and the curved glasses from dirt-cheap kitchen clocks. Being the 1980s, granny’s boots were leftovers from the swinging ’60s I found in an op shop, from the granny look era ... you know, all long hair, round glasses and limpid over-made-up eyes.

I actually made the giant maple syrup barrel (as indeed I made the rest of the plane) in my house, in what most folk would call the family room, but which we pompously call the ‘north wing’. The whole plane sat rather comfortably complete in this big room, the wings stretching out into the passage with just enough room to walk under, looking so grand and charming with Granny straining away at the front.

At one stage, Tom the upholsterer was parked out the front when two observant police, suspicious of the van, knocked at the door demanding to know why it was out there, suspecting (obviously) a robbery. On being invited in they were amazed, both at the fact that the plane was actually in the house but more at the fact that my wife allowed it! Consequently, we became good friends and one of the policemen years later would still call in to see the latest.

Back to the polystyrene barrel ... I nearly wrecked the bloody thing, after mis-measuring and discovering it wouldn’t fit through the back gate. So I manhandled the light but awkward bundle over the 4 metre-tall lattice into next door on my own, much to the annoyance of the neighbour’s dog.

The positioning of the Granny Plane out over the void from the balustrade at the Forest Hill Shopping Centre was a mammoth effort. First, it was incredibly hot when Kingsley White and I finally bundled the plane and Granny into the largest truck we could hire without special licenses. It was late because Granny wouldn’t fit through the access door or window and had to be stripped of all her special fittings and wheels! Of course we didn’t find that out until the last minute. We then found that the locally hired trucks engine was so worn that 60 kph was the best we could expect, all the weary way to Melbourne, where we finally arrived at the Forest Hill Chase Shopping Centre where Allen had assembled with the lads.

At Forest Hill Chase, a couple of days before, brackets had been welded up in the glass and steel roof by two brave souls who actually abseiled into the totally inaccessible space to fit them. The Velcro flaps in the gingham covering the wings gave us access to all the assembly points and, as the all-but-empty shopping centre lights came on that night, in an atmosphere of jolly banter, the grand old lady’s bright and beautiful aeroplane stood ready to take off.

Then the trouble started ... Dogs barked, cockies screeched and chooks chortled as we carried the whole package to the edge of the balustrade. All 10 of us! Blokes draped with leather belts laden with every tool imaginable hung posed at the hanging points in the roof and a giant scissor lift stood on the next level down, poised for action. Yellow ropes were attached, hooked over points and all together we tugged – and she sat resolutely unmoving, too heavy to lift.

Allen and I looked at each other, Kingsley White swore and we all tried again. Impossible. Out came customers from the restaurant intrigued by what we were attempting and fascinated by the whole thing, until we had almost 15 people on various ropes – nothing. She wasn’t going anywhere.

Then the security guards arrived reminding us that the shopping centre lights went off at 2am and we had only until 7am to complete the job. Answers! Some bright spark remembered a friend who was an army rigger. A quick phone call was made. In a jiffy, he was there all ropes, boots and attitude. Now, amidst loud sighs of relief we tried again, all hands to the ropes! She lifted all right and, virtually uncontrolled, swung out into the space, the tail dipping and smacking the long row of giant artificial plants arranged decoratively around the whole inside of the balustrade. Down they went, shedding fronds, filling and broken pots onto the rows of Christmas trees at the ground level. The noise had to be heard to be believed. The security guards were not amused, but there was more to come … much more!

Without too much drama, the chains were fitted, the blokes in the roof abseiled down, we all stood back congratulating each other when I decided she didn’t have enough tilt to one side to look natural. If looks could kill! In an atmosphere of raw agro, the poor riggers went out and up again, struggling to adjust the plane to suit the ‘bastard’ from Adelaide with the cracked glasses and mentally added another outrageous sum to their already considerable charges.

Now all that needed to be done, before we sat down for a great batch of pancakes and cold beer to celebrate, was to fit the giant barrel and the wheels of the wheelchair, and connect the electrics. Piece of cake! The scissor lift was activated, the barrel was ready to lift out over the balustrade and the next part of the drama unfolded as, suddenly, all the shopping centre lights went out.

Swearing is seldom pretty and that coming from blokes in the scissor lift cage swaying over the void out on its farther-most extension was no exception. Fortunately, the restaurant lights were still on, the only lighting we were able to use from now on, virtually the most dangerous part of the whole exercise. To this day I simply don’t understand how something dreadful didn’t happen.

Basically two lads, fortunately best of mates, had to somehow fix the barrel to its support under the plane. Virtually standing, balancing, facing each other on the scissor lift cage top edges, grasping each other’s belts with their free arms around the big awkward barrel, holding it against their chests, they fumbled to put the bolts in without actually being able to see what they were doing as the barrel was in the way and it was so dark anyway! You could have cut the anxious silence with a knife; even the normally voluble security blokes were appalled and silent.

In the early light of dawn, we switched on the power and Granny with a great lurch began her endless journey. She gratifyingly swayed gently as the gleaming propellers, connected by motorcycle racing chains to the motors, spun at just the right speed to match the pedalling. Granny was bent purposefully over her steering wheel poised on the edge of her seat, gleaming black boots and yellow bloomers pumping slowly up and down. It was all a grand, exhausting success, and it was just coming up to the 7am deadline.