Damien Lay’s 'Of Air and Men' Unravels One of Aviation’s Greatest Mysteries

When Australian filmmaker and explorer Damien Lay first set out to uncover what happened to Sir Charles Kingsford Smith—the world-famous pilot who vanished in 1935—he never imagined the journey would consume two decades of his life, 18 expeditions, and nearly cost him his own. His forthcoming book Of Air and Men (Busy Bird Publishing), out November 7, coinciding with the 90th anniversary of Kingsford Smith’s disappearance, is the culmination of that extraordinary odyssey: a sweeping, deeply human narrative that bridges history, heroism, and heartbreak.

Kingsford Smith, affectionately known as “Smithy,” was once one of the most celebrated men alive. He was the first person to circumnavigate the globe by air, the first to fly across the Pacific from the United States to Australia—and then the first to fly back again. “He was acknowledged by both Amelia Earhart and Charles Lindbergh as the greatest flyer of all time,” Lay says. “He was on our twenty-dollar bill. Our Sydney international airport bears his name. Yet over time, his story faded.”

That story took a tragic turn on November 8, 1935, when Kingsford Smith and his co-pilot Tommy Pethybridge vanished en route from England to Australia in their Lockheed Altair 8D aircraft, Lady Southern Cross. The pair had been attempting to break the flight speed record between the two countries. Their last contact came at 1:30 a.m. over Burma; they never arrived in Singapore. The world waited for news that never came.

For decades, the disappearance of the Lady Southern Cross remained an enduring mystery. Theories abounded, clues surfaced over the decades, yet were largely ignored but no proof surfaced—until Lay came along. “In 2009, I located what I believed to be the aircraft,” he explains. “It was about two miles off the Burmese coast, a hundred feet underwater. Over the next few years, we recovered forty-five pieces of wreckage—fuel lines, timber, components—all matching our sonar imagery.”

Finding those fragments was no small feat. “We were diving in the most dangerous conditions imaginable,” Lay recalls. “Strong currents, near-zero visibility, political turmoil, pirates, militias—it was like operating on another planet. We had no medical evacuation, no safety net. Just determination.” The challenges were compounded by Myanmar’s shifting political climate; permissions that once took years to obtain could vanish overnight.

But for Lay, who has spent a career chasing the intersection of mystery and truth, the mission was never just about the wreck. It was about legacy. “Australia has a legacy terrible habit of forgetting its heroes,” he says. “Unlike in America, where you still celebrate Lindbergh and Earhart, figures like Kingsford Smith are largely lost to time. I wanted to change that.”

Through Of Air and Men, Lay not only resurrects Kingsford Smith’s legend but also gives voice to those who lived in his shadow—particularly his son, Charles Arthur Kingsford Smith, now 92. “He was just shy of his third birthday when his father disappeared,” Lay says quietly. “The flight was meant to bring Smithy home for his son’s birthday. But he never made it.”

For the younger Kingsford Smith, growing up meant learning about his father through history books that often misrepresented him. “Those accounts dismantled his legacy,” Lay says. “They painted him unfairly and perpetuated false theories about his disappearance. When I first met Charles twenty years ago, I could sense the hurt. Over the years, this project became as much about restoring his father’s honor as solving a mystery.”

That relationship lies at the emotional heart of the book. Lay’s storytelling moves fluidly between the pioneering days of early aviation and his own modern-day expeditions across treacherous seas and political frontiers. “It’s not just a story about planes or pilots,” he says. “It’s about fathers and sons, loyalty and loss, and the human drive to seek closure even decades later.”

By the end of his quest, Lay had not only pieced together the likely fate of the Lady Southern Cross but also forged a bond that transcended generations. “It’s taken me twenty years to rewrite the history for Charles,” he says. “To convince him that his father’s end was heroic, not tragic—that he died doing what he loved, pushing the limits of what was possible.”

It’s a theme that resonates through all of Lay’s work. Known for his acclaimed documentary The Battle of Long Tan—still the highest-rated program in Australian pay-TV history—and the feature film Game of Aces, Lay has built a career telling stories that blend historical rigor with cinematic intensity. Yet Of Air and Men may be his most personal project yet. “I’ve had six near-fatal incidents doing this,” he admits. “By the last expedition, I was the only one left diving. My Team, one by one realized the danger. Everyone else had given up. But I couldn’t. You don’t walk away from a promise.”

The book spans continents—America, the United Kingdom, Australia, New Zealand, and Asia—and draws sharp contrasts between national cultures and values. “Smithy’s achievements were made possible through American innovation and generosity,” Lay notes. “The aircraft itself was a Lockheed Altair, model 8D Special model built by Lockheed in Burbank, and designed in consultation with Smithy with U.S. support. His story belongs to the world.”

Ultimately, Of Air and Men is more than the resolution of a mystery—it’s an act of resurrection. Lay brings history back to life with compassion, tension, and reverence for truth. “Even though these events happened ninety years ago,” he says, “they still touch lives today. History isn’t as far away as we think.”

And when readers reach the final pages? “I haven’t met one person who hasn’t shed a tear,” cried,” Lay confesses. “It’s adventure, it’s tragedy, it’s love—it’s everything. It’s the story of men who flew too far, and one man who refused to let them be forgotten.”

Of Air and Men is available now through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and booksellers worldwide.