ACUFO:

Flying Saucers in 1931?

FRANCIS CHICHESTER is known to many as an expert navigator. He is also known as the author of two very good books of flying adventure, "Solo to Sydney" and "Seaplane Solo," published by Faber and Faber. The last mentionned, which was published in 1933, recounts his trip from New Zealand to Australia across the Tasman Sea in his Moth "Madame Elijah" - converted for the occasion into a floatplane.

During that flight he had some great adventures and suffered severe strain. Some of his observations at the time seemed impossible to explain, except that they were hallucination induced by fatigue. But some people reading the record to-day may think different.

However, readers must judge for themselves.

The complete passage which follows is part of Chichester's account of his flight over the last lap, from Lord Howe Island to Australia. When the passage begins he has been flying for five hours.

"Always, I flew on west; I had been flying west and I always should be. I sighted land ahead and somewhat to the right. Purple-colored lowland on two sides of a great estuary. The water on the estuary gleamed in the sunlight. Ahead in a roll of white weak clouds a bright light flashed. What was that? Nothing could glitter and flash in a cloud but an aeroplane. I watched the spot intently for a time. More flashes occurred, but I could see no plane.

"Turning to the land, I found that they had disappeared. At the place, a long purple-hued cloud lay on the sea at a great distance. Another illusion? It thrust me down in the deepest depth of depression. When I looked back at the flashing light, that too had disappeared. There was not a sign of it. Yes, suddenly it caught my eye 30 degrees to the left front. Then vivid flashes in several places like the dazzle of a heliograph. That, it could not be. It must be a flight of planes. They could hardly be connected with me?

"Then I saw advancing - great heavens! - the dull grey-white shape of an airship. Airship! Impossible! However, there was no doubt about it, and indeed how should I be mistaken in an airship? It nosed towards me like an oblong pearl. Nothing but a cloud or two was visible in the sky for miles. I looked left, sometimes catching a flash or a glint there. Turning again to the airship, I found it had completely vanished.

"I screwed my eyes, unable to believe them, and twisted the plane this way and that, thinking that the airship must be hidden by a blind spot. There was scarcely a wisp of a cloud anywhere near. 'Heavens,' I thought, 'am I seeing things?' Or was I just [?] tantalized? Dazzling flashes continued in four or five different places to the left, but I still could pick up no planes.

"It drew steadily closer until perhaps a mile away when, right under my gaze, it suddenly vanished. I was astonished.

"But it reappeared close the where it had vanished. I watched it angrily with fixed intentness. It drew closer. I could see the dull gleam of light on nose and back. It came on, but instead of increasing in size, it diminished as it approached! When quite near, it suddenly became its own ghost. For one second I could see clear thought it and the next, so quickly as a flame can vanish, it had vanished. A diminutive cloud formed perfectly to the shape of an airship and then dissolved. I turned to the flashes; these too had now disappeared. I felt stranded in solitude; it was intolerable."

FLYING SAUCERS
FIRST SEEN BY NEW ZEALANDER

For 19 years Mr Francis Chichester, airman, navigator and author, has pondered an apparently supernatural mystery. The flying saucer articles have given him food for deeper thought, states the “Sunday Express,” London.

In 1931, Chichester, a New Zealander, astonished aviators all over the world by flying alone in a little open-cockpit Moth across the Tasman Sea. On the last lap of his dangerous journey he became, he thinks, the first man to see the weird objects now called flying saucers. Soon afterwards, in his book “Alone Over the Tasman Sea”, he recorded what he had seen. He told of flashes in an empty sky, moving erratically, coming and going with astonishing speed.

One object - “like a silver pearl” - Chichester took for an airship. It nosed up to his plane, then, in front of his astonished eyes, faded into thin air.

It is the now-familiar tale of seemingly tangible objects first flashing like heliographs, next drifting, next accelerating with lightning speed, and finally disappearing altogether. Chichester accepted the phenomenon as something which would never be explained. Now he is wondering again.

At this moment, I will go no farther back than to the year 1931, which will be within the memory of the present generation. In that year, Francis Chichester, well known as an airman and navigator, took off from New South Wales, alone, in a little Moth airplane which had an open cockpit. He attempted what was then a very dangerous flight of 1,650 miles across the lonely Tasman Sea to New Zealand. All alone, over this waste of waters, with not a ~ sign of smoke from any steamer, right across to the horizon, with nothing below his cockpit but the rolling waves, and nothing in the sky save his own airplane, he was startled by sudden flashes, moving mysteriously in the sky. They moved erratically, and came and went at amazing speed. Then, an object which he afterwards described as "like a silver pearl," ranged up to his plane. It came in front of the nacelle, and then it suddenly and inexplicably seemed to fade out!

To say he was astonished is to put the matter mildly. He did not suppose that what he was witnessing, over the lonely Tasman Sea, was a vanishing trick denoting, perhaps, command of some cosmic, or unknown ray, rendering an object invisible to terrestrial vision, or the existence of an order of beings whose wave-length, or frequency of "etheric vibration" is very different from that of our own world. Nor did he know that this phenomenon had been seen from the ground, and not in the air, by many sane people, long before the year 1931. Mr. Chichester could offer no explanation of the mysterious affair, but he clearly did not think he had been "seeing things." No doubt, he did not suppose that anyone would believe his story, or regard it as any more than a hallucination induced, perhaps, by mental and physical strain in a very dangerous solo flight of that time, 23 years ago.

He said the mysterious object Hashed with the brilliance of a powerful searchlight, or a heliograph. It moved with astonishing velocity, then it slowed down, and again accelerated, to vanish with the speed of lightning, or like the phantasm of a haunted house.

Round the storm we flew into calm air under a weak lazy sun. I took out the sextant and got two shoots. It took me thirty minutes to work them out, for the engine kept back firing, and my attention wandered every time it did...

Suddenly, ahead and thirty degrees to the left, there were bright flashes in several places, like the dazzle of a heliograph. I saw a dull grey-white airship coming towards me. It seemed impossible, but I could have sworn that it was an airship, nosing towards me like an oblong pearl. Except for a cloud or two, there was nothing else in the sky.

I looked around, sometimes catching a flash or a glint, and turning again to look at the airship I found it had disappeared.

I screwed up my eyes, unable to believe them, and twisted the seaplane this way and that, thinking that the airship must be hidden by a blind spot. Dazzling flashes continued in four or five different places, but I could not pick out any planes.

Then, out of some clouds to my right front, I saw another, or the same, airship advancing. I watched it intently, determined not to look away for a fraction of a second: I'd see what happened to this one, if I had to chase it. It drew steadily closer, until perhaps a mile away, when suddenly it vanished. Then it reappeared, close to where it had vanished: I watched with angry intentness.

It drew closer, and I could see the dull gleam of light on its nose and back. It came on, but instead of increasing in size, it diminished as it approached. When quite near, it suddenly became its own ghost - one second I could see through it, and the next it had vanished. I decided that it could only be a diminutive cloud, perfectly shaped like an airship and then dissolving, but it was uncanny that it should exactly resume the same shape after it once vanished.

I turned towards the flashes, but those too had vanished. All this was many years before anyone spoke of flying saucers. Whatever it was I saw, it seems to have been very much like what people have since claimed to be flying saucers.

It was a perfect shape, it was, it was shaped sort like a pearl, with a tail, er, you know, just a blimp of pure brilliance, you know, all right, and I watched this thing and, and it suddenly disappeared.

And I was, I thought, well am I... er, seeing things?

I had a very grueling flight, I'd be waiting for an engine travel, I've been waiting for us, expecting to get into the sea, you know.

And, however, suddenly this thing reappeared. They're coming towards me now, what, I'm not gonna let it go this time, and I kept, er... my look fixed on it and it's approaching fairly fast and then suddenly, gradually rather, it began to thin out, and... it vanished, in front of me, before my eyes, it became a sort of ghost, I could see the water, the waves and the sea through it, one instant, and then it vanished.

In 1931, a Mr. Chichester, who was flying above the Tasman Sea from New South Wales to New Zealand in his private plane, saw an object resembling a silver pearl flashing like a bright beacon and going very fast, then losing speed, accelerating again and vanishing.

1931

The late Sir Francis Chichester, the famous yachtsman, was in his earlier days an equally known airman who made many daring flights in his Moth plane.

In 1931, he took off on a flight across the Tasman Sea from New South Wales, Australia, to New Zealand. He was alone in his tiny Moth aeroplane with an open cockpit.

There was nothing in the sky except for one or two clouds. Suddenly, he saw what looked like a dull grey-white airship approaching him. It was pearl-shaped, flashing brightly; periodically vanishing, re-appearing, accelerating and finally disappearing. 76

Chichester Made a UFO Sighting Over Tasman in 1931

SIR Francis Chichester - aviator, navigator, ocean racer, author - is also a pioneer in another field: the sighting of unidentified flying objects.

Britain's sprightly old man of the sea, in Wellington for the first time in 30 years, told “The Post” last night of an experience he had well before flying saucers came into vogue.

Flying the Tasman to Australia in 1931, Chichester gazed out of the cockpit of his Gypsy Moth aircraft to see what he described as a “grey-white airship shaped into an oblong pearl.”

There was nothing else in the sky. Chichester says he saw several of the mysterious objects.

“At the time, I was quite prepared to swear that several airships were approaching me,” said Sir Francis.

Chichester had never heard of anything like the sight he witnessed. Flying saucers had not been sighted at that time and the expression hadn't even been thought up.

“But the sight seemed to tally with many things people have seen since,” said Chichester.

No 'Invaders'

However, after many years in which to ponder the unusual sighting, Chichester is firmly convinced that the visions did not contain any advance party of “The Invaders,” or anything nearly as exciting.

In fact, he doesn't believe in flying saucers.

Chichester is in Wellington to discuss business matters with his partner since 1919, Mr. Geoffrey Goodwin. He is especially keen to see a large stand of trees which he helped plant at Silverstream. The trees are a testimonial to the infrequency of Chichester's visit to New Zealand. The last time he was there they had just been planted - yet many of them have been milled in the last 12 years.

Sir Francis is looking as fit a man of 67 could possibly be. He is tanned, and although his figure is slight, he has shoulders which would do a prize-fighter credit.

An aspect of his appearance one would not expect to find on a man of Chichester's distinction are long sideburns.

Dressed in a nattily-tailored light-grey suit, Chichester aired views at last night's Press conference which underlined his individualistic nature.

When asked how he thought Wellington has changed during his 30-years absence, Chichester said he disapproved of the city's sprawling growth.

He made a comparison with Sydney, which he said had grown naturally. On his return to Sydney he had found little difference because that city had been able to grow naturally.

Wellington had grown “unnaturally.” Wellington's expansion had meant spreading into the Hutt Valley and “filling in half the harbour.” He had trouble finding his way.

Britain's Welfare State system came in for a lashing from Chichester, British youth's initiative and natural love of adventure was crying out for expression, but the Welfare State was frustrating these urges, Chichester said.

The youth of Britain had touched rock-bottom six or nine months ago, but Chichester said he could sense a change of attitude.

“If we can only get a leader - it would have to be a political leader - we can become a virile country again,” he said.

At the moment, the British people were robbed of all incentive to make a big effort.

“You're penalized so much if you succeed in business that you plan to be literally unsuccessful.”

New Book

Typical of the drive and vigour of Chichester is his latest effort in the literary field.

After writing books on flying, ocean racing and navigation, he is soon to present to the public a book on physical fitness.

He is not yet sure of a title. Last night Chichester suggested “How to Keep Fit, by One Who Has Never Succeeded in Doing So.”

SIR FRANCIS CHICHESTER
SAW UFO IN 1931

IN his book, “The Lonely Sea and the Sky”, published in 1964, on page 185, Sir Francis Chichester describes an event occurring in 1931 during his solo flight from Lord Howe Island to Sydney and about 140 miles out from Sydney. The excerpt reads as follows:

“Suddenly ahead and 30 degrees to the left there were bright flashes in several places, like the dazzle of a heliograph. I saw a dull, grey-white airship coming towards me. It seemed impossible, but I could have sworn that it was an airship nosing towards me like an oblong pearl. Except for a cloud or two, there was nothing else in the sky. I looked around, sometimes catching a flash or glint, and turning again to look at the airship I found that it had disappeared.

“I screwed up my eyes, unable to believe them, and twisted the sea-plane this way and that, thinking that the airship must be hidden by a blind spot. Dazzling flashes continued in four or five different places, but I still could not pick out any planes. Then, out of some clouds to my right front, I saw another or the same airship advancing. I watched it intently, determined not to look away for a fraction of a second. I'd see what happened to this one, if I had to chase it.

“It drew steadily closer, until perhaps a mile away, when suddenly it vanished. Then it reappeared, close to where it had vanished. I watched with angry intentness. It drew closer and I could see the dull gleam of white on its nose and back; it came on, but instead of increasing in size, it diminished as it approached. When quite near, it suddenly became its own ghost, one second I could see through it, the next it had disappeared.

“I decided that it could only be a diminutive cloud, perfectly shaped like an airship and then dissolving, but it was uncanny that it should resume exactly the same shape after it [reappeared]. I turned towards the flashes, but those, too, had vanished.

“All this was many years before anyone spoke of flying saucers. Whatever it was I saw, it seems to have been very much like what people have since claimed to be flying saucers.”

- 1931: The famous solitary navigator Francis Chichester, to whom Queen Elizabeth II recently awarded the title of Sir for his multiple exploits and his crossing of the Atlantic, was in his youth a solitary aviator, on a small Moth. That year he left New South Wales, Australia, to land in New Zealand; and it was above the Tasman Sea that he suddenly saw an “aerial ship“ of spherical shape, of whitish gray color, whose luminosity appeared in flashes, which disappeared and reappeared at intervals, then which accelerated its pace and disappeared. He reported his sighting in his book The Lonely Sea and the Sky.

1931: Sir Francis Chichester, known to all of us through his sailing feats; was crossing the Tasman Sea in a small plane. He saw an object of silver-pearly colour, flashing brightly, going very fast then decelerating, accelerating again and finally vanishing.

After another four-year lull, U.F.O.s. reappear in the sky in 1931.

That year, Francis Chichester, the future solitary navigator, saw above the Tasman Sea a whitish gray “air ship”, spherical in shape.

In 1931, navigator Francis Chichester reported that a whitish spherical object appeared above the Tasman Sea, accelerated and disappeared.

In his book “The Lonely sea and the sky”, the famous aviator Sir Francis Chichester recounts an adventure he experienced during the same year 1931. Chichester left New South Wales (Australia) to land in New Zealand, at the end of a journey of more than 2,600 km. While he was flying over the Tasman Sea in his small plane (Moth type), he saw a spherical “air ship”, whitish gray in color, with a luminosity that appeared in flashes. At intervals it would disappear and then suddenly reappear; it soon accelerated and was gone in a second.

That truly remarkable man, the late Sir Francis Chichester, en countered an inexplicable aerial phenomena, while making the first solo plane flight across the Tasman Sea, between New Zealand and Australia, in 1931. From his beautiful book, “The Lonely Sea and the Sky”, we follow his encounter. At 3.00 p.m., on June l0 th, just after seeing the S. S. Kurow battling its way through heavy seas below him, Chichester decided to fly north-west, to avoid facing a storm that lay in his path: “Round the storm we flew into calm air under a weak lazy sun. I took out the sextant and got two shots. It took me thirty minutes to work them out, for the engine kept back firing, and my attention wandered every time it did... Suddenly, ahead and thirty degrees to the left, there were bright flashes in several places, like the dazzle of a heliograph. I saw a dull grey-white airship coming towards me. It seemed impossible, but I could have sworn that it was an airship, nosing towards me like an oblong pearl. Except for a cloud or two, there was nothing else in the sky. I looked around, sometimes catching a flash or a glint, and turning again to look at the airship I found that it had disappeared. I screwed up my eyes, unable to believe them, and twisted the seaplane this way and that, thinking that the airship must be hidden by a blind spot. Dazzling flashes continued in four or five different places, but I still could not pick out any planes. Then, out of some clouds to my right front, I saw another, or the same, airship advancing. I watched it intently, determined not to look away for a fraction of a second: I'd see what happened to this one, if I had to chase it. It drew steadily closer, until perhaps a mile away, when suddenly it vanished. Then it reappeared, close to where it had vanished: I watched with angry intentness. It drew closer, and I could see the dull gleam of light on its nose and back. It came on, but instead of increasing in size, it diminished as it approached. When quite near, it suddenly became its own ghost - one second I could see through it, and the next it had vanished. I decided that it could only be a diminutive cloud, perfectly shaped like an airship and then dissolving, but it was uncanny that it should exactly resume the same shape after it once vanished. I turned towards the flashes, but those too had vanished. All this was many years before anyone spoke of flying saucers. Whatever it was I saw, it seems to have been very much like what people have since claimed to be flying saucers.” (18)

(18) “The Lonely Sea and the Sky” by Sir Francis Chichester (1964).

That truly remarkable man, the late Sir Francis Chichester, encountered an inexplicable aerial phenomena, while making the first solo plane flight across the Tasman Sea, between New Zealand and Australia, in 1931. From his beautiful book, “The lonely Sea and the Sky”, we follow his encounter.

At 3.00 p.m., on June 10, just after seeing the S.S. Kurow battling its way through heavy seas below him, Chichester decided to fly north-west, to avoid facing a storm that lay in his path: “Round the storm we flew into calm air under a weak lazy sun. I took out the sextant and got two shots. It took me thirty minutes to work them out, for the engine kept back firing, and my attention wandered every time it did... Suddenly, ahead and thirty degrees to the left, there were bright flashes in several places, like the dazzle of a heliograph. I saw a dull grey-white airship coming towards me. It seemed impossible, but 1 could have sworn that it was an airship, nosing towards me like an oblong pearl. Except for a cloud or two, there was nothing else in the sky. I looked around, sometimes catching a flash or a glint, and turning again to look at the airship I found that it had disappeared. I screwed up my eyes, unable to believe them, and twisted the seaplane this way and that, thinking that the airship must be hidden by a blind spot. Dazzling flashes continued in four or five different places, but I still could not pick out any planes. Then, out of some clouds to my right front, I saw another or the same, airship advancing. I watched it intently, determined not to look away for a fraction of a second: I'd see what happened to this one, if I had to chase it. It drew steadily closer, until perhaps a mile away, when suddenly it vanished. Then it reappeared, close to where it had vanished: I watched with angry intentness. It drew closer, and I could see the dull gleam of light on its nose and back. It came on, but instead of increasing in size, it diminished as it approached. When quite near, it suddenly became its own ghost - one second I could see through it, and the next it had vanished. I decided that it could only be a diminutive cloud, perfectly shaped like an airship and then dissolving, but it was uncanny that it should exactly resume the same shape after it once vanished. I turned towards the flashes, but those too had vanished. All this was many years before anyone spoke of flying saucers. Whatever it was I saw, it seems to have been very much like what people have since claimed to be flying saucers” (18).

THE LONE FLIER'S SIGHTING
Famous airman encounters UFOs

TYPE: Close encounter of the first kind

PLACE: Tasman Sea, between Australia and New Zealand

DATE: 1931

BACKGROUND

Although Francis (later Sir Francis) Chichester will always be best remembered for his epic 119-day single-handed round-the-world voyage in the yacht Gypsy Moth IV in 1966-67 when he was nearly 65 years old, he began his career as a pioneering aviator, and in 1931 he made the historic first solo flight from Australia to New Zealand across the Tasman Sea.

THE EVENTS

During the course of the flight, Chichester was suddenly startled by flashing lights moving erratically at high speed in the sky. He described one of them as being 'like a silver pearl', and flashing 'like a searchlight or a heliograph.' This strange object approached his aircraft, moved in front of the engine nacelle, then faded away again as suddenly and unaccountably as it had appeared.

ASSESSMENT

Although Chichester could not explain what he had seen, he did not attribute the sighting to fatigue during his long, demanding and undoubtedly dangerous flight from Australia to New Zealand.

1931 June 10, afternoon, Tasman Sea, Sir Francis Chinchester [sic]. “A flashing airship” seen from a converted “Gypsy Moth” aircraft.

Chincherster [sic] first published his account first in 1932.

Source: THE OZ FILES, William Chalker
THE LONELY SEA AND THE SKY, Sir Chinchecster [sic] (Pan, London, 1964,), page 185.

1931 - On a flight from Australia to New Zealand in his Tiger Moth biplane, Sir Francis Chichester encounters and chases a teardrop- shaped UFO over the Tasman Sea.

1931

AUSTRALIA, above the TASMANIAN Sea

Solo navigator Francis Chichester set sail from New South Wales to New Zealand that year. Above the Tasman Sea he suddenly saw an aerial ship of spherical shape, whitish gray in color, whose luminosity appeared in flashes, which disappeared and reappeared at intervals, then which accelerated its pace and disappeared. He reported his observation in his book The Lonely Sea and the Sky (Henry DURRANT: “Le livre noir des S.V.”, Laffont 1970, p.74-75)

1931, June 10

AUSTRALIA, Tasman Sea

In the afternoon Sir Francis Chichester saw a boat “flashing” when he flew in his plane “Gypsy Moth.” He first published his observation in 1932. (THE OZ FILES, William Chalker; THE LONELY SEA AND THE SKY, Sir Francis Chichester, Pan, London, 1964, page 185.) (Source: Chapter 16 “Return To Australia” in The Lonely Sea and the Sky by Francis Chichester (4th printing Pan Books 1967 pp 184-186 of paperback edition) Chichester was flying to Sydney, Australia across the Tasman Sea during a fierce storm. He was many miles off-course to the south. There was a possibility he would miss Australia altogether or run out of fuel before reaching land.) I thought I saw land away to the northwest, purple foothills with a mountain range behind, but when I looked for it again later it had disappeared; land was still 160 miles away. At the foot of a great storm-cloud I saw smoke of a ship. It offered me a new lease of life, and I immediately turned toward it. It lay at the edge of the storm like a duck at the foot of a black cliff. I swooped down and read the name Kurow on the stern. it was an awesome sight. The bows slid out of one comber, and crashed into the next, to churn up a huge patch of seething water. When a cross swell struck her, she lurched heavily, slid into a trough and sank, decks awash, as if waterlogged; but wallowed out, rolling first on one beam and then the other, discharging water from her decks as though over a weir. There was no sign of life on board, and I could not imagine anything less capable of helping me. I felt as if a door had been slammed in my face, turned and made off north-west to round the storm. I felt that I would rather go fifty miles out of my way than face another storm. I had been only four hours thirty-five minutes in the air: it seemed a lifetime. Round the storm we flew into calm air under a weak hazy sun. I took out the sextant and got two shots. It took me thirty minutes to work them out, for the engine kept backfiring, and my attention wandered every time it did so. The sight in the end was not much use; the sun was too far west, but I got some self-respect from doing the job. Suddenly, ahead and thirty degrees to the left, there were bright flashes in several places, like the dazzle of a heliograph. I saw a dull grey-white airship coming towards me. It seemed impossible, but I could have sworn that it was an airship, nosing toward me like an oblong pearl. Except for a cloud or two, there was nothing else in the sky. I looked around, sometimes catching a flash or a glint, and turning again to look at the airship I found that it had disappeared. I screwed up my eyes, unable to believe them, and twisted the seaplane this way and that, thinking that the airship must be hidden by a blind spot. Dazzling flashes continued in four or five different places, but I still could not pick out any planes. Then, out of some clouds to my right front, I saw another, or the same, airship advancing. I watched it intently, determined not to look away for a fraction of a second: I'd see what happened to this one, if I had to chase it. It drew steadily closer, until perhaps a mile away, when suddenly it vanished. Then it reappeared, close to where it had vanished: I watched with angry intentness. It drew closer, and I could see the dull gleam of light on its nose and back. It came on, but instead of increasing in size, it diminished as it approached. When quite near, it suddenly became its own ghost - one second I could see through it, and the next it had vanished. I decided that it could only be a diminutive cloud, perfectly shaped like an airship and then dissolving, but it was uncanny that it should exactly resume the same shape after it had once vanished. I turned towards the flashes, but those too had vanished. All this was many years before anyone spoke of flying saucers. Whatever it was I saw, it seems to have been very much like what people have since claimed to be flying saucers. I felt intensely lonely, and the feeling of solitude intensified at every fresh sight of “land”, which turned out to be yet one more illusion or delusion by cloud. After six hours and five minutes in the air I saw land again, and it was still there ten minutes later. I still did not quite believe it, but three minutes later I was almost on top of a river winding towards me through dark country. A single hill rose from low land ahead, and a high, black, unfriendly-looking mountain range formed the background. A heavy bank of clouds on top hid the sun, which was about to set. (anomalistic list rowlf@paradise.net.nz)

1931: June 10, afternoon, Tasman Sea. Sir Francis Chichester

“A flashing airship” seen from Chichester's converted “Gypsy Moth” aircraft.

Chichester first published his account in 1932.

A/C Code: P

(Converted "Gypsy Moth") GXE codes: _ _ E

Sources:

The OZ Files, William Chalker (Duffy & Snellgrove, Australia, 1996) page 34

THE LONELY SEA AND THE SKY, Sir Francis Chichester (Pan, London, 1964,), page 185.

03 Project 1947 Reports, newsclippings and documents (cases from Jan Aldrich and Barry Greenwood)

381: 1931/06/10 15:00 1 160:00:00 E 35:00:00 S 3331 OCN PAC TSS 6:6
??/TASMAN SEA:SIR F.CHICHESTER/PLANE:DULL GRY-WHT AIRSHIP:FLASHES:/r65p15
Ref#174 CHALKER,BILL: The OZ FILES. Page No. 34:IN-FLIGHT

10 June 1931 Tasman Sea

Aviator Francis Chichester was undertaking the first solo flight between New Zealand and Australia when:

Suddenly, ahead and to the left, there were bright flashes in several places, like the dazzle of a heliograph. I saw a dull grey-white airship coming towards me. It seemed impossible, but I could have sworn it was an airship, nosing towards me like an oblong pearl. Except for a cloud or two there was nothing else in the sky. I looked around, sometimes catching a flash or a glint, and turning again to look at the airship. I found it had disappeared. I screwed up my eyes, unable to believe what I was seeing, and twisted the seaplane this way and that, thinking that the airship must be hidden by a blind spot. Dazzling flashes continued in four or five different places, but I could not pick out any planes. Then, out of some clouds, I saw another or the same airship advancing. I watched it intently, determined not to look away for a fraction of a second. I'd see what happened to this one, if I had to chase it. It drew steadily closer, until perhaps a mile away, when suddenly it vanished. Then it reappeared, close to where it had vanished. I watched with angry intentness. It drew closer, and I could see the dull gleam of light on its nose and back. It came on, but instead of increasing in size, it diminished as it approached. When quite near, it suddenly became its own ghost - one second I could see through it, and the next it had vanished. I decided it could only be a diminutive cloud perfectly shaped like an airship and then dissolving, but it was uncanny that it should exactly resume the same shape after it once vanished. I turned towards the flashes, but those too had vanished. All of this was many years before anyone spoke of flying saucers. Whatever it was I saw, it seems to have been very much like what people have since claimed to be flying saucers.

Source: Chichester, Francis. 1967. The Lonely Sea and the Sky. London. Pan. p185.

June 6 - Aviator Francis Chichester sees a dull gray-white “airship” as he is making the first solo flight in a Gypsy Moth seaplane from New Zealand to Australia over the Tasman Sea. (Francis Chichester, The Lonely Sea and the Sky, Hodder and Stoughton, 1964, p. 165; Keith Basterfield, “Aviator Francis Chichester's Classic Sighting: Is the Date Wrong?” Unidentified Aerial Phenomena–Scientific Research, May 29, 2018; Patrick Gross, “Francis Chichester Sighting, 1931”)

1931

- On a flight from Australia to New Zealand in his Tiger Moth biplane, Sir Francis Chichester encounters and chases a teardrop- shaped UFO over the Tasman Sea.

Haines [Richard F. Haines] also catalogs in his book Project Delta: A Study of Multiple UFO a sighting made in 1931 by Sir Francis Chinchester [sic] over the Tasman Sea. While flying, Chinchester allegedly saw “a flashing airship” and provided an account of this encounter in 1932. These kinds of unexplained encounters would become more common and well documented during WWII.