Bonney was planning a flight around the world when the start of World War II effectively ended her flying career. She offered her services to the Australian government as a flight instructor or ferry pilot. After making just one delivery flight to an Royal Australian Air Force flying school, she was informed that the military had no use for women pilots.

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By war's end, 48 years old and out of practice flying, Lores Bonney hung up her goggles. A year earlier she had finally learned to drive a car, once again taking lessons in secret. Savoring the memory, she told me with a grin: 'Hubs [her husband] felt it was dangerous for women to drive. I finally let the cat out of the bag one morning when I casually said it was a pity that I didn't have a car. Jokingly he tossed me his keys and said if I could drive his car I could have it. Imagine his surprise when I jumped in, started it up and drove off.'

By that time the marriage was not going well. Lores and Harry Bonney separated shortly after World War II ended. In 1963 she visited South America — but the normal tourist route was not for Lores Bonney. Instead, accompanied by a guide and Indian bearers, she canoed up the headwaters of the Amazon to study the primitive Yagua Indians. Later, after spending four years — much of it in Japan — learning the art of bonsai, she taught the technique to students at the University of Queensland.

In 1988, accompanied by acting U.S. Consul David Seal, a nephew of Charles Lindbergh, 90-year-old Lores Bonney was invited to launch the Hinkler Australian Bicentennial Air Race at the Queensland Museum. The media was out in force that day and made a beeline for her. She held court surrounded by reporters sitting cross-legged at her feet. 'My first flight? It was in that plane 60 years ago this month,' she told the press, pointing to the nearby Avro Avian in which she had flown with Hinkler in 1928. An hour later the reporters were still there, cameras were still rolling. The press was entranced by Bonney's charm, wicked wit and lionhearted spirit. No one wanted to go home.

I remember one of our last meetings, not long before Lores Bonney died. Nearby, we could see hang-glider pilots soaring from a headland. She seemed frail that day, but I still sensed that she was a mental powerhouse. As we watched the hang gliders together, I sensed the spirit of her nonconformist longing — her urge to just once more break out of the constrictions of societal norms and take to the sky. In her heart she was airborne with them, searching out the air currents, emulating the birds. 'Oh if I was only 10 years younger,' she sighed. 'That must be as close as one could ever come to real flying.'

This article was written by Terry Gwynn-Jones and originally published in the May 2000 issue of Aviation History. Gwynn-Jones, who writes from Australia, is a contributing editor for Aviation History. The narrative in this feature is taken from tape recordings Gwynn-Jones made with Lores Bonney for her biography, Pioneer Aviator: The Remarkable Life of Lores Bonney, published by University of Queensland Press in 1988. For more on her life, read: Along Came the Sky, a part fiction/part fact study by R.D. Lappan.

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