Latest news with #Antipodes
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Business
- Yahoo
Stockton Rush Was Dedicated to Ocean Exploration. His Cofounder Still Is Despite the Deadly Risks
"Hearst Magazines and Yahoo may earn commission or revenue on some items through these links." Here's what you'll learn when you read this story: In June 2023, the OceanGate Expeditions submersible Titan imploded while descending to the wreckage of the Titanic. All five passengers died. Company cofounder Guillermo Söhnlein has publicly defended his late business partner, OceanGate CEO Stockton Rush, and ocean exploration more broadly. A year after the disaster, Söhnlein announced plans for his current company to explore Dean's Blue Hole in The Bahamas. On June 16, 2023, OceanGate Expeditions CEO Stockton Rush and four other passengers left the coast of Newfoundland, Canada, for the thrill of a lifetime—a submersible dive to the sunken Titanic. Tragically, none of them returned to shore. 'They knew what they were getting into,' OceanGate cofounder Guillermo Söhnlein said. 'And yeah, and it's just, it's a sad thing that they died doing something that they were passionate about.' Streaming June 11, the Netflix documentary Titan: The OceanGate Disaster takes a closer look at the titular craft's deadly underwater implosion and the events preceding it. It also examines the business practices of Rush and whether they ultimately played a role in the accident. While Rush's company has drawn intense scrutiny, Söhnlein has rendered a different image of his former business partner—insisting his commitment to exploration is worth continuing. Rush and Söhnlein cofounded OceanGate in 2009 in Seattle. Similar to space tourism brands such as Blue Origin and Virgin Galactic—created by Jeff Bezos and Richard Branson, respectively—the company's mission was to make undersea exploration more accessible. According to Söhnlein, he and Rush planned to purchase a 'fleet' of submersibles capable of diving at least 4,000 meters. The craft could be used for a variety of purposes, including tourism, military operations, and scientific research. 'The whole intent was to create these work subs and, in that way, as our tagline was in the early days: Open the oceans for all of humanity,' Söhnlein told Sky News in 2023. The company's first five-person submersible, Antipodes, followed this model and was used primarily by researchers and what Söhnlein called 'citizen scientists'—or regular people fully trained as crew members for their respective excursions. In June 2011, Antipodes successfully explored the wreckage of the S.S. Governor off the coast of Washington. But by 2013, Rush determined OceanGate needed to build its own craft to explore greater depths as originally intended. That same year, Rush became CEO when Söhnlein left the company, though he maintained a minority stake. He testified that as of September 2024, he had approximately 500,000 common shares but 'basically resigned myself to the fact that I'm probably never going to see anything out of that equity stake.' That's because of what would happen a decade later in the North Atlantic Ocean. In July 2021, OceanGate made its first successful dive to the wreck site of the Titanic, the massive ocean liner that sank on April 14, 1912, and resulted in more than 1,500 deaths. Rush and his team used the company's Titan submersible, which had a unique carbon fiber hull to make it lighter and less expensive to build. But during the expedition in June 2023, team members lost contact with the Titan. After a frantic days-long search for the craft, investigators recovered debris on June 22 and determined the submersible suffered a catastrophic implosion. All five passengers—including Rush, 61, and Titanic expert Paul-Henri Nargeolet, 77—died. The U.S. Coast Guard (USCG) later determined that layers of the Titan's carbon fiber hull had begun to delaminate, or break apart, a year prior—ultimately compromising the craft's integrity. This, along with testimony from a former employee saying an accident was 'inevitable,' led to scrutiny of Rush's business and safety practices as company CEO. The Netflix documentary promises to look at 'technical challenges, moral dilemmas, and shockingly poor decisions' that led to the implosion. However, Söhnlein, who has never been on a Titanic dive, has publicly defended Rush. He denied leaving OceanGate over safety concerns and told CTV News that OceanGate 'operated as safely as possible and we had a very safety-conscious culture' prior to his 2013 departure. Then in September 2024, Söhnlein testified to a USCG panel that Rush performed the first manned test dive of Titan on his own and recalled their conversation beforehand. 'He goes, 'I don't want anyone else in the sub. If anything happens, I want it to only impact me. It's my design, I believe in it, I trust it, but I don't want to risk anyone else,'' Söhnlein said. Söhnlein will offer his full thoughts about the Titan tragedy with the November 2025 release of his book, Titan Unfinished: An Untold Story of Exploration, Innovation, and the OceanGate Tragedy. In the wake of the accident, OceanGate suspended 'all exploration and commercial operations.' But Söhnlein, undeterred by his friend's death, has continued to advocate for underwater exploration. In June 2024, he announced plans for his own company, Blue Marble Exploration, to launch a craft to Dean's Blue Hole, an underwater sinkhole located in The Bahamas. Scientists have measured its depth at 663 feet, but no humans have ever reached the bottom. However, Blue Marble Exploration's website currently doesn't include any information about the company or planned excursions to the blue hole or elsewhere. Although it's unclear what the future holds for his company, Söhnlein has expressed hope that the Titan implosion won't deter other explorers and said future missions would be a way to honor the five victims. 'Those of us who work in the deep-ocean community know that there are risks. We know that working down there is difficult,' Söhnlein told the Seattle Times in 2023. 'And yet we all believe in what we're doing. We believe that what we're doing is greater than us.' Titan: The OceanGate Disaster begins streaming Wednesday, June 11, on Netflix. Tudum has confirmed the project includes new testimony about OceanGate and 'footage from the company's early days.' You Might Also Like Nicole Richie's Surprising Adoption Story The Story of Gypsy Rose Blanchard and Her Mother Queen Camilla's Life in Photos
7NEWS
19-05-2025
- Health
- 7NEWS
You've never glowed like this before: the $75 golden face mask that's about to go viral
Antipodes has done it again. The cult Kiwi skincare brand is back with a shimmering, skin-loving showstopper that's set to replace every sheet mask in your bathroom drawer. The Aura Gold Mānuka Honey Radiance Mask isn't just skincare, it's a weekly golden ritual. And it really is gold. Launching nationally on June 2nd, this decadent vitamin C-powered treatment is already generating buzz from beauty editors and skincare sleuths alike. At $75 for 75ml, it's worth the price tag, as it might just be the one that finally delivers that elusive 'glow from within' look without a facialist on speed dial. So what makes this creamy mask a contender for cult status? What's inside the gold For starters, Aura Gold is powered by export-grade New Zealand mānuka honey, ethically sourced from Grafter's Honey, a sustainable bee farm literally next door to Antipodes' founder Elizabeth Barbalich. Combined with Kakadu plum (which boasts one of the highest concentrations of vitamin C in nature), this mask is a glow-up in a tube. You'll also find plant-based hyaluronic acid to plump, ceramides to support your skin barrier, and gentle lime caviar AHAs that exfoliate and boost collagen production. Skin that feels fresh, hydrated, and noticeably more radiant. Oh, and did we mention the texture? It's buttery, velvety, and golden, like applying a very fancy custard to your face. In the best way. But does it actually work? According to a four-week in-vivo trial, 98 per cent of users agreed it felt luxurious, and 87 per cent said their skin looked visibly more radiant. Those are the kind of numbers that usually come with high-end spa treatments, not an at-home mask. It's also housed in recyclable aluminium packaging with FSC-certified outer packaging, so your skin and the planet both get a little love. Why you'll be seeing this all over your feed Aura Gold fits right into the soft life trend that's dominating your TikTok 'For You' page, think less hustle, more pampering, slow beauty rituals, and skincare that feels indulgent and intelligent. It's the kind of product you pull out on a Sunday night when your skin needs a reset and your brain needs a break. It gives expensive without the spa bill. And while it may look pretty on your vanity (and it does), this mask backs up the aesthetic with science-led ingredients and visible results. Whether you're treating yourself, hunting for the perfect gift, or replacing your go-to sheet mask stash with something smarter and more sustainable, Aura Gold might just become your next skincare non-negotiable.
Yahoo
08-05-2025
- Sport
- Yahoo
The pivotal British and Irish Lions pick that will set the tone for Australia tour
A great deal has changed in the 137 years since a rag-tag band of nascent rugby players first set sail for the Antipodes. The 1888 tour of New Zealand and Australia, retrospectively considered the first in the Lions lineage, spanned nearly six months and featured 35 games, beginning and ending on the SS Kaikoura in the docks of Gravesend, with a travelling party that included the only Manxman ever to wear the British and Irish colours. Initial tour captain Robert Seddon did not even make it home, meeting a sad demise after running into difficulty while sculling on the Hunter River. One does not even look that far back to chart the changing course of a perhaps antiquated concept. As recently as 1997, those selected were left waiting for a Lions letter, with a mischievous Austin Healey hiding the invite of flatmate Will Greenwood, leaving the then uncapped centre to find out about the honour of a lifetime from a Sky Sports reporter in the Welford Road car park. Things will be rather different on Thursday afternoon as the 2025 hopefuls discover their fate. Across a two-hour live show at the O2 Arena in front of perhaps more than 2,000 fans, Andy Farrell's squad will be unveiled in the latest step in the rampant commercialisation of one of rugby's best-performing and enduring brands. Alongside those who have paid for the privilege to hear 38 or so names read out by Ieuan Evans, a great many more will tune in via the Lions' broadcast partners for a grand meeting that could have been an email; an administrative necessity given the pomp and platform that the quadrennial adventure demands. Just one of the selection will be in the arena in full knowledge of their fate, the Lions captain – presumed to be England lock Maro Itoje – joining Farrell and Evans to begin the considerable duties expected of the chosen pride leader. Waiting anxiously elsewhere will be the 70 or so thought to have been under consideration by the management team. While the dissemination of selection may have changed over the years, making this assembly remains one of the sport's greatest honours. For many, it will be a once-in-a-lifetime chance; for Taulupe Faletau and Owen Farrell, a fourth tour is perhaps within reach. News of recent days has only strengthened Faletau's case. The desperately unfortunate timing of the injury to Caelan Doris is a bitter blow for the Ireland No 8, presumed captain-elect mere months ago but now seemingly likely to miss the trip entirely. While Seddon would perhaps chuckle from on high at describing this as the cruellest of twists, it is a grand shame for Doris – even if Itoje had perhaps edged ahead in a battle to be named skipper. Faletau, England's Tom Willis or Scotland's Jack Dempsey are well placed if Farrell can find a place for another No 8 among the scattered scavenging sevens likely to form the bulk of his back-row group. The case of the other potential four-time tourist is rather more interesting. The Owen question has loomed over his father ever since Andy's announcement as Lions head coach, unfair nepotistic suggestions faced many times before by the former England assistant and yet brought fully into focus again. The thought was that Farrell Sr might get ahead of the story, removing the millstone from his neck by taking his son off the table. There would have been reasons to do so: Farrell's injury woes and mixed form at Racing 92, for one; his taking of an international sabbatical before moving to Paris, another. Yet no suggestion that the 33-year-old is out of contention has been broadcast or briefed. The younger Farrell would clearly add plenty were he to earn inclusion again; his ability to play 10 or 12 would be valuable on a trip like this, also his experience and competitive edge. Both Johnny Sexton, an assistant for this tour, and Finn Russell have spoken of how much they enjoyed working with the Englishman – his ability to drive standards would no doubt be desirable to a coaching team that includes a former half-back partner in Richard Wigglesworth. No 10 is always an area of intense debate in these infrequent elections, yet this is perhaps the most intriguing group yet. Of the four constituent unions, only one began and ended the Six Nations with the same fly-half in harness – whatever Russell's differences with Sexton, it would be a serious shock if the Scot is not named. Fin Smith's coming-of-age continued with an ideal final audition in an Investec Champions Cup call-back, the Northampton playmaker outshining Leinster rival Sam Prendergast, perhaps up for the same part. One cannot rule out either of Smith's compatriots, namesake Marcus and a resurgent George Ford, while there is also late momentum behind Tom Jordan – a United Rugby Championship (URC) winner at 10 but offering potentially vital versatility. The task of projecting Farrell's thinking is tricky for several reasons, an occasionally unconventional selector likely to throw a curveball or two. Equally, it is slightly unclear exactly how many players he will pick. Take too many – as Clive Woodward did in 2005 – and the group can become unruly and unwieldy; take too few, as Warren Gatland eventually concluded he had in 2017, and the head coach risks an unedifying repeat of the 'Geography Six' saga, and accusations of cheapening the shirt. Also at the forefront of Farrell's mind will be a few injury frets. Can he afford to take someone like Immanuel Feyi-Waboso, yet to play in 2025 but perhaps back in action pre-tour? Mack Hansen, Duhan van der Merwe and Blair Kinghorn are all currently sidelined with issues of varying severity – availability can be one's best ability at this stage. For those on the outside looking in, come Thursday afternoon, staying sharp would be wise: it is, unfortunately, statistically likely that several of those selected fail to make it to the first Test. Any omissions need only remember the tale of Alex Corbisiero, called up as an injury replacement for Cian Healy at the urging of forwards coach Graham Rowntree in 2013 to have a pivotal impact in the Tests against the Wallabies. All hope will not, then, be lost for those forced to digest difficult news on Thursday. But for the lucky few selected, a place in the pride will be an honour to last a lifetime.
Sydney Morning Herald
24-04-2025
- General
- Sydney Morning Herald
The year the Anzacs came: the little-known story one English village still tells its children
Tucked away in the southern end of the Cotswolds, this English village may seem, at first glance, like a quiet postcard of rural life unchanged by the passage of time. Yet beyond its historic stone cottages and charm lies a history that binds it across oceans and generations to Australia. In a quiet corner of the church cemetery rest almost two dozen young members of the Australian Flying Corps, whose lives were cut short not in battle – but in the skies above Gloucestershire, where they trained to fly. These white headstones, set against the rolling hills and neatly trimmed yew hedges, do not mark the fallen of Gallipoli or the Somme. Instead, they tell a no less tragic story of the cost of preparation – for a war that would already be over by the time some perished. In early 1918, eight months before the Armistice, Australia, seeking to establish its own air arm, sent hundreds of men from the 7th and 8th Training Squadrons of the AFC to Leighterton. Here, on the grounds of Bowldown Farm, a grass aerodrome sprouted, its portable timber and canvas hangars sheltering fragile flying machines from English rain and wind. For villagers – who had never seen an aircraft before – the loop-the-loops and barrel rolls performed by sunburnt young men from the Antipodes must have seemed like wizardry. But flight, in those early years, was as deadly as it was daring. Of the 23 Australians buried at Leighterton, 18 were killed in training – five of them in mid-air collisions. Others succumbed to pneumonia and Spanish flu, and one to a car accident. Their average age barely crept above 22. Among them was Sergeant Thomas Llewellyn Keen, who had survived Gallipoli and the deserts of Palestine, where he was awarded a Military Cross. He had exposed himself to exceptionally heavy rifle and machine-gun fire to run messages between squadrons of the Light Horse. Keen was killed in a training crash in March 1919, mere weeks before he was due to return home. Lieutenant Geoffrey Dunster Allen, just 21 and from Haberfield in Sydney, died when his Sopwith Camel nosedived during a manoeuvre. His family erected a unique gravestone, adorned with a carved propeller and the biblical phrase: 'Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.' This cemetery is not just a resting place, but a storybook of interrupted lives. Lieutenant Patrick George Walsh, a rugby player and bank clerk from Toowoomba, was one of several who had already seen service on the Western Front before dying in an English field. His family received by post a painstaking account of his final hours, right down to the vicar's words and the mourners who stood beside his grave. It's not just their deaths that echo here, but the lives they built briefly in Gloucestershire. Alan Vaughan, a local playwright and historian who grew up near the old Minchinhampton aerodrome, has spent decades documenting the Australians' time here. 'Some of them married local girls,' he says. 'One fellow, a Sergeant Nick Reyne, started a bus company. The kangaroo emblem on the buses is still remembered in the district. They didn't just pass through – they became part of the village.' Vaughan notes that their presence here marked the beginning of modernity in this pocket of England. In a region still reliant on horse-drawn carts, the thrum of engines and the sight of aircraft overhead were transformative. Boys and girls watched with awe the men they regarded as latter-day pop idols. Village fetes were enlivened by 'the flying kangaroos' – a band of talented airmen who staged music-hall style revues, singing and joking their way through the strain of training life. The Australians played cricket against villagers and rugby the 'Aussie way'. In Stroud, one romantic pilot was known to swoop low over town to drop love letters to a terrified young woman below. Another was said to have flown under a railway bridge in an attempt to impress her. But high spirits occasionally came at a cost. Stroud's magistrates, in one memorable case, sentenced three Australians to return 'forthwith to the front' for stealing a pair of boots. More notoriously, in April 1919, two Australian mechanics and a civilian stood trial for stealing a pig from an RAF captain's farm. The courtroom scene included five witnesses, three policemen and the pig's body. Despite these misadventures, the Australians were deeply woven into the social fabric of the area. Church records, newspapers and village gossip preserve their time here not just as military trainees, but as young men full of vitality. Robert Bryant-Pearson, warden at the village church, St Andrews, says the community remains proud of that connection. 'I can assure you the village community holds dear the fact that the brave lads buried here died serving the British Commonwealth in a country far away from their native homes,' he says. 'These young guys who lost their lives far away from home ... far away from their relatives. So local people step up to remember them ... We honour that every year.' He said the local Royal British Legion branches deserved credit because, with so many British forces buried 'in far-flung places', they'd chosen to pay respect to the fallen here 'in the hope others are doing the same elsewhere'. That honour takes shape most poignantly each April, on the Sunday closest to Anzac Day. A parade winds through Leighterton's narrow lanes, led by a brass band. Children from the primary school, who are taught about the bravery of the Anzacs in their classrooms, lay wreaths, and the Australian and New Zealand high commissions send representatives to pay their respects. A service, led by the St Andrew's vicar, has been annually held since 1931, except for the years 1940-45. The Commonwealth War Graves Commission, with the help of village volunteers, keeps the cemetery immaculate. The Portland stone shines white in the Cotswolds sun. I trace my fingers along the names etched into the stones, each telling of a young man who never returned. Lieutenant Jack Henry Weingarth of Marrickville, who died instructing a student near Yate. Second Lieutenant Oscar Dudley Shepherd of Goulburn, a beloved cricket captain and tennis player, whose SE5a disintegrated mid-flight. Roy Lytton Cummings, a Gallipoli veteran turned instructor, who died with his pupil in a horrific mid-air collision that killed three. Charles Clarence Frederick, an American-born mechanic from Leongatha, Victoria – via Peking – whose Sopwith Camel came down near Rodmarton. The training was brief, intense and perilous. After just a dozen 15-minute flights with an instructor, cadets were sent solo. The Camel, with its reputation for spinning out under novice hands, claimed many lives. 'Some pilots died doing dangerous stunts,' Bryant-Pearson says. 'Others were simply caught by bad luck or mechanical failure.' The training aerodrome is long gone and fields returned to quiet farmland. The hangars, barracks and mess halls dismantled, sold off or left to rot. But the legacy endures – in gravestones, in memorials, and in memory. A stone monument, unveiled in 1994 by the then Prince of Wales, stands near the cemetery. The now King Charles III is a neighbour, his Highgrove home not far away. A plaque installed in 2009 by P&O Cruises, whose ships once carried the men back to Sydney, also marks the site. And beneath it all, the story of the First Training Wing lives on. Not all who died were buried at Leighterton. Some, with family nearby, were laid to rest in Tetbury, Cirencester or Lasborough, where the officers' mess was once located at Lasborough House. One former Digger, Edward Baron Broomhall, who stayed in Gloucestershire as a car salesman, asked to be buried among his mates after he died of cancer in 1930. The epitaphs on their graves speak of pride and grief. One family wrote simply: 'An Anzac – He Did His Duty.' Another left a line asking the reader to remember that this young man had died 'not in vain'. The grave of Cadet Ernest Howard Jefferys, who died in that mid-air collision that also claimed the lives of Cummings and his student, Lieutenant Charles William Scott, is perhaps the most poignant. Loading To mark his grave, his parents, Peter and Rose, chose:'To live in hearts of those we love is not to die. Our Son, an Anzac.' A century and more since these young men flew above the hedgerows and villages, their story continues to be told where they trained, lived, laughed, loved and then left. It is etched into stone, into memory, and into the heart of a village that adopted these young men as its own.
The Age
24-04-2025
- General
- The Age
The year the Anzacs came: the little-known story one English village still tells its children
Tucked away in the southern end of the Cotswolds, this English village may seem, at first glance, like a quiet postcard of rural life unchanged by the passage of time. Yet beyond its historic stone cottages and charm lies a history that binds it across oceans and generations to Australia. In a quiet corner of the church cemetery rest almost two dozen young members of the Australian Flying Corps, whose lives were cut short not in battle – but in the skies above Gloucestershire, where they trained to fly. These white headstones, set against the rolling hills and neatly trimmed yew hedges, do not mark the fallen of Gallipoli or the Somme. Instead, they tell a no less tragic story of the cost of preparation – for a war that would already be over by the time some perished. In early 1918, eight months before the Armistice, Australia, seeking to establish its own air arm, sent hundreds of men from the 7th and 8th Training Squadrons of the AFC to Leighterton. Here, on the grounds of Bowldown Farm, a grass aerodrome sprouted, its portable timber and canvas hangars sheltering fragile flying machines from English rain and wind. For villagers – who had never seen an aircraft before – the loop-the-loops and barrel rolls performed by sunburnt young men from the Antipodes must have seemed like wizardry. But flight, in those early years, was as deadly as it was daring. Of the 23 Australians buried at Leighterton, 18 were killed in training – five of them in mid-air collisions. Others succumbed to pneumonia and Spanish flu, and one to a car accident. Their average age barely crept above 22. Among them was Sergeant Thomas Llewellyn Keen, who had survived Gallipoli and the deserts of Palestine, where he was awarded a Military Cross. He had exposed himself to exceptionally heavy rifle and machine-gun fire to run messages between squadrons of the Light Horse. Keen was killed in a training crash in March 1919, mere weeks before he was due to return home. Lieutenant Geoffrey Dunster Allen, just 21 and from Haberfield in Sydney, died when his Sopwith Camel nosedived during a manoeuvre. His family erected a unique gravestone, adorned with a carved propeller and the biblical phrase: 'Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.' This cemetery is not just a resting place, but a storybook of interrupted lives. Lieutenant Patrick George Walsh, a rugby player and bank clerk from Toowoomba, was one of several who had already seen service on the Western Front before dying in an English field. His family received by post a painstaking account of his final hours, right down to the vicar's words and the mourners who stood beside his grave. It's not just their deaths that echo here, but the lives they built briefly in Gloucestershire. Alan Vaughan, a local playwright and historian who grew up near the old Minchinhampton aerodrome, has spent decades documenting the Australians' time here. 'Some of them married local girls,' he says. 'One fellow, a Sergeant Nick Reyne, started a bus company. The kangaroo emblem on the buses is still remembered in the district. They didn't just pass through – they became part of the village.' Vaughan notes that their presence here marked the beginning of modernity in this pocket of England. In a region still reliant on horse-drawn carts, the thrum of engines and the sight of aircraft overhead were transformative. Boys and girls watched with awe the men they regarded as latter-day pop idols. Village fetes were enlivened by 'the flying kangaroos' – a band of talented airmen who staged music-hall style revues, singing and joking their way through the strain of training life. The Australians played cricket against villagers and rugby the 'Aussie way'. In Stroud, one romantic pilot was known to swoop low over town to drop love letters to a terrified young woman below. Another was said to have flown under a railway bridge in an attempt to impress her. But high spirits occasionally came at a cost. Stroud's magistrates, in one memorable case, sentenced three Australians to return 'forthwith to the front' for stealing a pair of boots. More notoriously, in April 1919, two Australian mechanics and a civilian stood trial for stealing a pig from an RAF captain's farm. The courtroom scene included five witnesses, three policemen and the pig's body. Despite these misadventures, the Australians were deeply woven into the social fabric of the area. Church records, newspapers and village gossip preserve their time here not just as military trainees, but as young men full of vitality. Robert Bryant-Pearson, warden at the village church, St Andrews, says the community remains proud of that connection. 'I can assure you the village community holds dear the fact that the brave lads buried here died serving the British Commonwealth in a country far away from their native homes,' he says. 'These young guys who lost their lives far away from home ... far away from their relatives. So local people step up to remember them ... We honour that every year.' He said the local Royal British Legion branches deserved credit because, with so many British forces buried 'in far-flung places', they'd chosen to pay respect to the fallen here 'in the hope others are doing the same elsewhere'. That honour takes shape most poignantly each April, on the Sunday closest to Anzac Day. A parade winds through Leighterton's narrow lanes, led by a brass band. Children from the primary school, who are taught about the bravery of the Anzacs in their classrooms, lay wreaths, and the Australian and New Zealand high commissions send representatives to pay their respects. A service, led by the St Andrew's vicar, has been annually held since 1931, except for the years 1940-45. The Commonwealth War Graves Commission, with the help of village volunteers, keeps the cemetery immaculate. The Portland stone shines white in the Cotswolds sun. I trace my fingers along the names etched into the stones, each telling of a young man who never returned. Lieutenant Jack Henry Weingarth of Marrickville, who died instructing a student near Yate. Second Lieutenant Oscar Dudley Shepherd of Goulburn, a beloved cricket captain and tennis player, whose SE5a disintegrated mid-flight. Roy Lytton Cummings, a Gallipoli veteran turned instructor, who died with his pupil in a horrific mid-air collision that killed three. Charles Clarence Frederick, an American-born mechanic from Leongatha, Victoria – via Peking – whose Sopwith Camel came down near Rodmarton. The training was brief, intense and perilous. After just a dozen 15-minute flights with an instructor, cadets were sent solo. The Camel, with its reputation for spinning out under novice hands, claimed many lives. 'Some pilots died doing dangerous stunts,' Bryant-Pearson says. 'Others were simply caught by bad luck or mechanical failure.' The training aerodrome is long gone and fields returned to quiet farmland. The hangars, barracks and mess halls dismantled, sold off or left to rot. But the legacy endures – in gravestones, in memorials, and in memory. A stone monument, unveiled in 1994 by the then Prince of Wales, stands near the cemetery. The now King Charles III is a neighbour, his Highgrove home not far away. A plaque installed in 2009 by P&O Cruises, whose ships once carried the men back to Sydney, also marks the site. And beneath it all, the story of the First Training Wing lives on. Not all who died were buried at Leighterton. Some, with family nearby, were laid to rest in Tetbury, Cirencester or Lasborough, where the officers' mess was once located at Lasborough House. One former Digger, Edward Baron Broomhall, who stayed in Gloucestershire as a car salesman, asked to be buried among his mates after he died of cancer in 1930. The epitaphs on their graves speak of pride and grief. One family wrote simply: 'An Anzac – He Did His Duty.' Another left a line asking the reader to remember that this young man had died 'not in vain'. The grave of Cadet Ernest Howard Jefferys, who died in that mid-air collision that also claimed the lives of Cummings and his student, Lieutenant Charles William Scott, is perhaps the most poignant. Loading To mark his grave, his parents, Peter and Rose, chose:'To live in hearts of those we love is not to die. Our Son, an Anzac.' A century and more since these young men flew above the hedgerows and villages, their story continues to be told where they trained, lived, laughed, loved and then left. It is etched into stone, into memory, and into the heart of a village that adopted these young men as its own.
