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The Missing Man: From the outback to Tarakan, the powerful story of Len Waters, Australia's first Aboriginal fighter pilot
He was our first Aboriginal fighter pilot, he flew multiple sorties during Australia's World War II Pacific campaign, and he should have had a world of opportunity ahead of him at the war's end, but Len Waters became the missing man in the country's wartime flying history.
'You were the master of the machine...you were an airman.' Flying Officer Bob Crawford
Len Waters was a Kamilaroi man. Born on an Aboriginal reserve, he left school at thirteen and by twenty was piloting a RAAF Kittyhawk fighter with 78 Squadron in the lethal skies over the Pacific in World War II. It was serious and dangerous work and his achievement was extraordinary. These would be the best years of his life. Respected by his peers, he was living his dream.
The war over, it should have been easy. He believed he could 'live on both sides of the fence' and be part of Australia's emerging commercial airline industry. He had, after all, broken through the 'black ceiling' once before. Above all, he just wanted to fly. Instead, he became a missing man in Australia's wartime flying history.
Peter Rees rights that wrong in this powerful, compelling and at times tragic examination of Len Water's life. He also tells us something of ourselves that we need to hear.
'You were the master of the machine...you were an airman.' Flying Officer Bob Crawford
Len Waters was a Kamilaroi man. Born on an Aboriginal reserve, he left school at thirteen and by twenty was piloting a RAAF Kittyhawk fighter with 78 Squadron in the lethal skies over the Pacific in World War II. It was serious and dangerous work and his achievement was extraordinary. These would be the best years of his life. Respected by his peers, he was living his dream.
The war over, it should have been easy. He believed he could 'live on both sides of the fence' and be part of Australia's emerging commercial airline industry. He had, after all, broken through the 'black ceiling' once before. Above all, he just wanted to fly. Instead, he became a missing man in Australia's wartime flying history.
Peter Rees rights that wrong in this powerful, compelling and at times tragic examination of Len Water's life. He also tells us something of ourselves that we need to hear.
360 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 1, 2018
7 people are currently reading
57 people want to read
About the author
Peter Rees
74 books10 followersPeter Rees was a journalist for more than forty years, working as federal political correspondent for the Melbourne Sun, the West Australian and the Sunday Telegraph. He is the author of The Boy from Boree Creek: The Tim Fischer Story (2001), Tim Fischer's Outback Heroes (2002), Killing Juanita: a true story of murder and corruption (2004), and The Other Anzacs: The Extraordinary story of our World War I Nurses (2008 and 2009) and Desert Boy: Australians at War from Beersheba to Tobruk to El Alamein (2011 and 2012). He is currently working on a biography of Charles Bean to be published in 2015.
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
December 31, 2018
‘They could take a bullet but not share a beer.’
Peter Rees has done an extraordinary job with putting together The Missing Man. On the one hand, this book is a biography on Len Waters, but on the other, it’s a commentary on racism throughout our Australian history. Through his navigation of the life of Len Waters, Peter Rees demonstrates the many ways in which our bureaucracy has let down Indigenous Australians. This is a book where the history very much speaks for itself.
“Unexpectedly, the Japanese attacks caused a backlash against Aborigines, with a widespread belief that they were likely to side with any Japanese invasion force. Many Aborigines were relocated to ‘control camps’, and restrictions were placed on their movements, especially those of women. Word spread that there were orders to shoot Aborigines should an invasion take place.”
Len Waters really was an incredible man. Born on a mission, he left school at the age of fourteen, despite being offered a scholarship to a Brisbane grammar school. He was a hardworking young man, quick to pick up skills on whatever job he turned his hand to, and rather ambitious, with dreams of bettering his situation and that of his family. The war gave Len an opportunity to do exactly what he wanted and it was not an opportunity Len was about to waste. From enlistment through to sitting in the cockpit of a Kittyhawk, Len worked harder and smarter than all of his contemporaries. Peter has done well at giving us an insight into the type of man Len was. This exchange between Len and a superior at his RAAF selection interview to determine his granted position brought a smile to my face:
‘Have you ever considered yourself a wireless air gunner?’ I said, ‘No.’ He said, ‘Just close your eyes and just sit there and imagine yourself sitting in the tail of a Halifax or a Lancaster with four .303s in front of you. Well,’ he said, ‘how do you look?’ I said, ‘I’ve got a very disappointed look on my face, sir.’
Aviation enthusiasts will draw a lot of enjoyment from this book. Peter has presented a very well informed account of the ins and outs of being a RAAF WWII fighter pilot.
While in the RAAF, Len experienced no racism, although he witnessed a fair bit on the part of the Americans within their own force. It seemed as though this was more apparent to Len owing to the absence of it within his own experiences. Despite this, Peter demonstrates through historical records that Len’s experience was unique because racism against Indigenous Australians was in full force on the home front.
‘Therein lies the nub of Waters’ experience during his years in the RAAF from August 1942 to January 1946: he was that rare thing, an Indigenous Australian who made it into the ranks of fighter pilots at a time when discrimination based on race had created a two-tier society in which Aborigines were not expected to enter the upper level. In civilian society they were held back. Circumstances had given him a unique opportunity to break the mould, and he had grabbed it.
Waters could not imagine that the egalitarianism he had experienced in the war years would not continue. But he was wrong.’
This book has generated a lot of deep thought within me and it honestly has made me really sad. Peter has given us a face to the experience of racism throughout our history, and while many may point out that he shouldn’t have to, the fact that he has, and the power of this, cannot be questioned. I’ve learnt a lot about Australia’s history from the pages of this book. When I think about the way Len’s life panned out after the war, and even worse, the way he died, I feel a fullness, a bitterness within me. It’s more than a shame on our nation, it’s a blight. The following passage shows how Len was robbed of continuing his aviation career after the war:
‘Howe was willing to pay for Waters to acquire his civilian pilot’s licence, and also to purchase an aircraft capable of ferrying up to eight passengers to major towns in outback Queensland. Waters was optimistic, but first he had to get his civilian pilot’s licence, the permit for which was under the jurisdiction of the Commonwealth government’s Department of Civil Aviation.
Gladys recalls that her husband applied five times for the required permit from Civil Aviation, giving full details of his service as a RAAF fighter pilot. Importantly, she remembers that in each application he wrote that he was born at Euraba Aborigines’ Reserve.’
The Missing Man is such an important book. After his death, much was made of Len Waters as the first and only Indigenous Australian fighter pilot. He was buried with military honour, became a face on a stamp and a name on street signs, parks and a RAAF fighter jet. Sadly, this did little to change the fact that from the end of the war up until his death in the early 1990s, Len’s career ambitions suffered for his Aboriginal heritage with great consequence to his mental and physical health, leading to a premature and undignified death. He deserved better.
‘Waters had glimpsed the future only to have it denied him. That was his tragedy – and also Australia’s.’
Thanks is extended to Allen and Unwin for providing me with a copy of The Missing Man for review.
Peter Rees has done an extraordinary job with putting together The Missing Man. On the one hand, this book is a biography on Len Waters, but on the other, it’s a commentary on racism throughout our Australian history. Through his navigation of the life of Len Waters, Peter Rees demonstrates the many ways in which our bureaucracy has let down Indigenous Australians. This is a book where the history very much speaks for itself.
“Unexpectedly, the Japanese attacks caused a backlash against Aborigines, with a widespread belief that they were likely to side with any Japanese invasion force. Many Aborigines were relocated to ‘control camps’, and restrictions were placed on their movements, especially those of women. Word spread that there were orders to shoot Aborigines should an invasion take place.”
Len Waters really was an incredible man. Born on a mission, he left school at the age of fourteen, despite being offered a scholarship to a Brisbane grammar school. He was a hardworking young man, quick to pick up skills on whatever job he turned his hand to, and rather ambitious, with dreams of bettering his situation and that of his family. The war gave Len an opportunity to do exactly what he wanted and it was not an opportunity Len was about to waste. From enlistment through to sitting in the cockpit of a Kittyhawk, Len worked harder and smarter than all of his contemporaries. Peter has done well at giving us an insight into the type of man Len was. This exchange between Len and a superior at his RAAF selection interview to determine his granted position brought a smile to my face:
‘Have you ever considered yourself a wireless air gunner?’ I said, ‘No.’ He said, ‘Just close your eyes and just sit there and imagine yourself sitting in the tail of a Halifax or a Lancaster with four .303s in front of you. Well,’ he said, ‘how do you look?’ I said, ‘I’ve got a very disappointed look on my face, sir.’
Aviation enthusiasts will draw a lot of enjoyment from this book. Peter has presented a very well informed account of the ins and outs of being a RAAF WWII fighter pilot.
While in the RAAF, Len experienced no racism, although he witnessed a fair bit on the part of the Americans within their own force. It seemed as though this was more apparent to Len owing to the absence of it within his own experiences. Despite this, Peter demonstrates through historical records that Len’s experience was unique because racism against Indigenous Australians was in full force on the home front.
‘Therein lies the nub of Waters’ experience during his years in the RAAF from August 1942 to January 1946: he was that rare thing, an Indigenous Australian who made it into the ranks of fighter pilots at a time when discrimination based on race had created a two-tier society in which Aborigines were not expected to enter the upper level. In civilian society they were held back. Circumstances had given him a unique opportunity to break the mould, and he had grabbed it.
Waters could not imagine that the egalitarianism he had experienced in the war years would not continue. But he was wrong.’
This book has generated a lot of deep thought within me and it honestly has made me really sad. Peter has given us a face to the experience of racism throughout our history, and while many may point out that he shouldn’t have to, the fact that he has, and the power of this, cannot be questioned. I’ve learnt a lot about Australia’s history from the pages of this book. When I think about the way Len’s life panned out after the war, and even worse, the way he died, I feel a fullness, a bitterness within me. It’s more than a shame on our nation, it’s a blight. The following passage shows how Len was robbed of continuing his aviation career after the war:
‘Howe was willing to pay for Waters to acquire his civilian pilot’s licence, and also to purchase an aircraft capable of ferrying up to eight passengers to major towns in outback Queensland. Waters was optimistic, but first he had to get his civilian pilot’s licence, the permit for which was under the jurisdiction of the Commonwealth government’s Department of Civil Aviation.
Gladys recalls that her husband applied five times for the required permit from Civil Aviation, giving full details of his service as a RAAF fighter pilot. Importantly, she remembers that in each application he wrote that he was born at Euraba Aborigines’ Reserve.’
The Missing Man is such an important book. After his death, much was made of Len Waters as the first and only Indigenous Australian fighter pilot. He was buried with military honour, became a face on a stamp and a name on street signs, parks and a RAAF fighter jet. Sadly, this did little to change the fact that from the end of the war up until his death in the early 1990s, Len’s career ambitions suffered for his Aboriginal heritage with great consequence to his mental and physical health, leading to a premature and undignified death. He deserved better.
‘Waters had glimpsed the future only to have it denied him. That was his tragedy – and also Australia’s.’
Thanks is extended to Allen and Unwin for providing me with a copy of The Missing Man for review.
November 10, 2019
In late 1931, Don and Grace Waters saw the need to load their children into the old Chev, to drive away from the hated Toomelah Aboriginal reserve and head to a new life at Nindigully.
The Missing Man in an outstanding biography by Peter Rees is the Waters’ son Len, the only confirmed Aboriginal fighter pilot of World War Two. But Len Waters did not go missing due to enemy action, rather through society’s almost universally poor attitude to indigenous servicemen on their return from war, for “…few Australians thought of Aborigines in terms other than ‘protection’ or ‘segregation’.” Or that later in-vogue word, ‘…assimilation.’
Young Len had a questing mind. With his brothers, he would strip down and rebuild the family car’s engine. Beyond that, he would spend time studying how boomerangs remained in the air, observe wedgetail eagles hovering high on thermals, and build model aeroplanes from the thin, light pine taken from packing crates. He badly wanted to understand the mystery of flight.
A bright lad, he nonetheless left school at 14 to help eke out his family’s existence, missing out on the educational path being arranged for him by his school master, someone with enormous faith in the young man’s potential. By August 1942, once he turned 18, Len was accepted for service in the RAAF, initially training as a flight mechanic. When qualified – including the ability to rebuild a Tiger Moth engine blindfolded – he was assigned to the air force base at Mildura. In the following April, right place, right time, he applied to train as aircrew and was accepted.
Len graduated and became a fighter pilot, joining 78 Squadron to fly Kittyhawks in a tour of duty bombing and strafing islands in the South West Pacific area. Greatly admired and respected by his peers, the exceptional pilot returned to Brisbane when demobbed in 1946, and a life he expected to be one of equal opportunity. He had experienced “…a golden time when childhood dreams took flight, when, despite the horrors of war, there was a certainty of role and an equality of race.” He truly believed the egalitarian experience of the war years would continue in civilian life.
It did not.
Missing out on the chance to join Ansett, who sought pilots specifically with multi-engine experience, a St George entrepreneur, Norman Howe, offered to finance Len into a fifty-fifty business operating an aerial taxi service. On several occasions, Len applied to Civil Aviation for his civil licence but never received the courtesy of a reply. Through lack of a licence, the opportunity fell through and the Kamilaroi, man who’d flown and fought for his country, had no recourse other than to turn to manual work. He became a gun shearer but that, in itself, created further problems over the years to come. The Missing Man tells his story.
Peter Rees, as ever, has researched brilliantly, in this case with the assistance of the Waters family and others who knew Len over the years. One of those was Len’s wife, Gladys who, despite a frequently tempestuous relationship and eventual separation, loved her man to the end.
I think it only fitting to conclude this brief report with a quote that explains the book’s title, in one part at least: During Len’s funeral at St George “…a bugler sounded the Last Post, and …the booming sound of nine F/A-18 Hornets flying overhead filled the air. Abruptly, one of the combat fighters peeled away in ‘missing man formation.’
“Len Waters was that missing man. He had, in many ways, been missing since 1946.”
I shed a tear. This is a book every Australian should read.
The Missing Man in an outstanding biography by Peter Rees is the Waters’ son Len, the only confirmed Aboriginal fighter pilot of World War Two. But Len Waters did not go missing due to enemy action, rather through society’s almost universally poor attitude to indigenous servicemen on their return from war, for “…few Australians thought of Aborigines in terms other than ‘protection’ or ‘segregation’.” Or that later in-vogue word, ‘…assimilation.’
Young Len had a questing mind. With his brothers, he would strip down and rebuild the family car’s engine. Beyond that, he would spend time studying how boomerangs remained in the air, observe wedgetail eagles hovering high on thermals, and build model aeroplanes from the thin, light pine taken from packing crates. He badly wanted to understand the mystery of flight.
A bright lad, he nonetheless left school at 14 to help eke out his family’s existence, missing out on the educational path being arranged for him by his school master, someone with enormous faith in the young man’s potential. By August 1942, once he turned 18, Len was accepted for service in the RAAF, initially training as a flight mechanic. When qualified – including the ability to rebuild a Tiger Moth engine blindfolded – he was assigned to the air force base at Mildura. In the following April, right place, right time, he applied to train as aircrew and was accepted.
Len graduated and became a fighter pilot, joining 78 Squadron to fly Kittyhawks in a tour of duty bombing and strafing islands in the South West Pacific area. Greatly admired and respected by his peers, the exceptional pilot returned to Brisbane when demobbed in 1946, and a life he expected to be one of equal opportunity. He had experienced “…a golden time when childhood dreams took flight, when, despite the horrors of war, there was a certainty of role and an equality of race.” He truly believed the egalitarian experience of the war years would continue in civilian life.
It did not.
Missing out on the chance to join Ansett, who sought pilots specifically with multi-engine experience, a St George entrepreneur, Norman Howe, offered to finance Len into a fifty-fifty business operating an aerial taxi service. On several occasions, Len applied to Civil Aviation for his civil licence but never received the courtesy of a reply. Through lack of a licence, the opportunity fell through and the Kamilaroi, man who’d flown and fought for his country, had no recourse other than to turn to manual work. He became a gun shearer but that, in itself, created further problems over the years to come. The Missing Man tells his story.
Peter Rees, as ever, has researched brilliantly, in this case with the assistance of the Waters family and others who knew Len over the years. One of those was Len’s wife, Gladys who, despite a frequently tempestuous relationship and eventual separation, loved her man to the end.
I think it only fitting to conclude this brief report with a quote that explains the book’s title, in one part at least: During Len’s funeral at St George “…a bugler sounded the Last Post, and …the booming sound of nine F/A-18 Hornets flying overhead filled the air. Abruptly, one of the combat fighters peeled away in ‘missing man formation.’
“Len Waters was that missing man. He had, in many ways, been missing since 1946.”
I shed a tear. This is a book every Australian should read.
September 24, 2018
This could have been a great read: good subject, good research, humanity, drama... But for me it just missed the mark. Perhaps it was the detailing of every single ride Len Waters took as a fighter pilot, all 95 of them. It just got to be tedious. And then there is the repetition of his whole life story and all the odds stacked against him because he was aboriginal every time something didn't fall his way. Telling us what his aspirations were and that which could have been is one thing, its part of the story, but basically recounting it all from day one over and over rather spoilt it to a point where my eyes glazed over.
There is no denying that the Aboriginal population has been treated appallingly from the time England decided to turn the country into an open prison, but is this book the forum to make social comment and criticism of White Australia's treatment of the Aborigines, or is it to celebrate Len Waters and his remarkable life?
To me it feels like the author has climbed onto his soap-box in the name of Len Waters and then used the forum to ram down our throats how bad all of our forebears were in their treatment of the Aborigine. In the end, there was no 'positive' to take away from the book, for all I know, all of those social injustices that were detailed so explicitly and so often are still extant.
So, I'm probably trying to say that I picked the book up to read about a fair-dinkum Australian hero but instead got another lesson on the injustices of the world.
There is no denying that the Aboriginal population has been treated appallingly from the time England decided to turn the country into an open prison, but is this book the forum to make social comment and criticism of White Australia's treatment of the Aborigines, or is it to celebrate Len Waters and his remarkable life?
To me it feels like the author has climbed onto his soap-box in the name of Len Waters and then used the forum to ram down our throats how bad all of our forebears were in their treatment of the Aborigine. In the end, there was no 'positive' to take away from the book, for all I know, all of those social injustices that were detailed so explicitly and so often are still extant.
So, I'm probably trying to say that I picked the book up to read about a fair-dinkum Australian hero but instead got another lesson on the injustices of the world.
October 6, 2020
A remarkably talented and determined man, cruelly shunned by white Australia after the war.
Only near the end of his life was he discovered by a writer and celebrated for a few months.
A well-researched and written. The occasional touch of humour.
It forcefully brings home how appallingly the aboriginals have been treated and marginalised in Australia.
p6, On the road to into Nindigully there is now a sign pointing to the pub and another reading, ' 'Free Beer Yesterday'.
p35, His parents ran a household steeped not just in love but in solid values,
p42, ... the scrub was so thick I couldn't even open my pocketknife.
p193, Darcy went to the Squatter's annual ball wearing pyjamas, announcing deadpan that this it was his 'breeding suit'.
p270, ' ... the white man forces you to think about so many things with just aren't that important, so much so that you forget what really is important!' ... 'Understanding gravity doesn't make an apple taste any nicer— it's still falls from the bloody tree ...'
Only near the end of his life was he discovered by a writer and celebrated for a few months.
A well-researched and written. The occasional touch of humour.
It forcefully brings home how appallingly the aboriginals have been treated and marginalised in Australia.
p6, On the road to into Nindigully there is now a sign pointing to the pub and another reading, ' 'Free Beer Yesterday'.
p35, His parents ran a household steeped not just in love but in solid values,
p42, ... the scrub was so thick I couldn't even open my pocketknife.
p193, Darcy went to the Squatter's annual ball wearing pyjamas, announcing deadpan that this it was his 'breeding suit'.
p270, ' ... the white man forces you to think about so many things with just aren't that important, so much so that you forget what really is important!' ... 'Understanding gravity doesn't make an apple taste any nicer— it's still falls from the bloody tree ...'
November 21, 2018
A fascinating, albeit tragic tale.
June 21, 2020
A great book with a story that will astound. Very well researched and written.
March 2, 2023
A great read and enlightenment of the plight of indigenous people back then and still happens, even today.
March 28, 2019
A remarkable story about a remarkable man.
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews