By Roselyn Fauth and father Geoff Cloake
Family portrait of the Clarke sisters, including Louie Johnson (née Clarke) seated on the left. Taken in Timaru by photographer P. Cuthbert. She was a respected local whose clear eyewitness account of Pearse’s 1903 powered flight became crucial to his aviation legacy, helping lift it from hearsay to credible history.
We went for a Sunday drive with our young kids and my parents. One of the stops was the Richard Pearse monument on Main Waitohi Road. The kids tried out the brass rubbing plaque there, and as we were standing beside the memorial, Dad casually told me something I had never heard before.
He had once been interviewed by the BBC. They were working on a programme about the race to be the first to fly in the world, and were searching for credible witnesses to help find the truth. That’s when he told me his great aunty was one of those witnesses.
Pearse’s story is not a simple one. For over 100 years people have argued over the dates, distances, and whether his brief hops really counted as “flights” before the Wright brothers’ famous moment at Kitty Hawk. This is not one of those arguments. This is about a woman who lived in the community, who gave her own clear account of what she saw, and who had a life full of experiences before and after that day in 1903...
From Oamaru to Seadown, introducing a key witness to Pearse's flight.
Before she became a key witness to one of New Zealand’s most remarkable early flights, Louie Johnson’s life was rooted in daily farm life of rural South Canterbury.
Ellen Lavinia Eliza “Louie” Johnson (née Clarke) was born at the Manse, Waimate, in 1876, the daughter of William John and Ellen Clarke (née Gardner). She was the first in her family to be born in New Zealand after her parents made the long voyage from England.
Ellen Lavinia Eliza “Louie” Johnson (née Clarke, 1876–1966) was the sister of my great-grandmother, Ellen (Ella) Jane Clarke (1882–1964). That means she was my father Geoff Cloake’s grandmother’s sister — his great aunt. Tracing our family history on my dad’s side leads back through the Clarke line to their mother, Ellen Gardner, who married William John Clarke in England before they emigrated to New Zealand. By the 1870s, they had settled in South Canterbury, making Ellen Gardner one of the earliest women in our family to put down roots in the Timaru area.
Through my Clarke–Gardner line, my family’s connection to Timaru now spans six generations. Their daughter, Ellen (Ella) Jane Clarke, was born in 1882 in the Waimate–Timaru area. Ella’s daughter, Doreen Helen Stocker, was born in Timaru in 1918, followed by her son, Geoff Cloake — my father — in 1954. I was born in Timaru as the fifth generation, and my children, also born in Timaru, are the sixth generation to call the district home.
The Clarkes later lived at Clarke’s Hill, Oamaru. In the mid-1880s, when Louie was still a young girl, the family settled at Seadown, a farming district 11 kilometres north of Timaru. Flat, fertile land stretched in every direction, edged by shelter belts of macrocarpa and gorse, with drains cut to keep the paddocks dry.
When the new Seadown School opened in 1890, it quickly became a hub for the district. The following year, Louie became its first pupil teacher. This was a role given to older students who had finished their own schooling and were now training to be teachers while helping instruct younger children. It was a mix of learning and teaching, a big responsibility for a teenager, and a sign of the trust the community placed in her. Louie would go on to teach there in later years, and her brother Robert would one day ring the school bell at its first-decade celebrations.
The clipper Mermaid, painting by John Scott (1802-1885), National Maritime Museum. On 16th February 1864, the Mermaid sailed into Lyttelton Harbour, New Zealand, after leaving from Gravesend, England 93 days earlier. On board were 358 passengers and 48 crew. We think Ellen Jane Gardner arrived in Timaru on the Clipper Mermaid, London to Lyttelton, Oct 1864 - Jan 1865 Voyage. There was also a William Clarke on the same sailing ship. This newspaper article has a list of passengers, and we wonder if Ellen's name was mispelled. I wonder if they met on the ship, or had already known each other. https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/CHP18650123.2.4
These were the years of fast change... telegraph poles were installed along the roads, steamships shortened journeys, and new inventions filled the pages of the newspaper – changes that would set the scene for the extraordinary moment Louie would one day witness.
I remember reading somewhere that at one point the US patent office closed because they believed that everything that could be invented had been invented. I remember having a strong conversation with my nana, that I would never witness the same kind of revolutionary changes that she did in her lifetime. With the birth of internet and artificial intelligence... we will just have to wait and see.
For a bit of context to what what Timaru was like when Pearse was tinkering on his plane... Timaru was a thriving South Canterbury port town, serving as a commercial hub and exchange for the surrounding farms and industries. The harbour bustled with grain, wool, and frozen meat exports, while Stafford Street's architecture reflected the growing prosperity. Beneath the progress, daily life could still be tough, and women’s public roles were limited, though movements like women’s suffrage were beginning to shift social expectations. (New Zealand women won the right to vote on 19 September 1893 and first voted in the 28 November election that year.)
In early 1903 when she saw Pearse fly, Louie Johnson was a 27-year-old farmer’s wife, living and working in the close-knit rural community of Seadown and Waitohi. Her days would have been a rhythm of raising family, practical chores and social ties and helping with seasonal farm work.
Her view of the district then, would have included horses pulling carts along gravel roads, When Richard Pearse made his short powered hop in early 1903, motor cars had only just arrived in Timaru, with the first one appearing in 1902. They were so rare that people would stop to watch them pass, and most travel was still by horse, bicycle, or train. So when Louie Johnson heard that strange buzzing sound, it would have stood out immediately... it wasn’t the chug of a 1890s traction engine or the thud of hooves, but something entirely new in her rural world.
It was in the midst of this ordinary rural backdrop that she happened to see something extraordinary. Richard Pearse’s strange contraption of bamboo, wire, and cloth lifting itself off level ground, wobbling uncertainly into the air before coming down on a gorse hedge. For Louie, it may have been an unexpected interruption to a day of routine, but the memory of it would carry far beyond that moment, eventually placing her at the heart of one of New Zealand’s most debated achievements. I would love to know why she was there to see the event that day.
Replica of Pearses' plane at a Waitohi Monument - Photo Roselyn Fauth 2021
In the early 1900s, Richard Pearse was quietly working in rural South Canterbury on something that looked unlike anything else in the district. His neighbours saw him riding unusual bicycles of his own design, tinkering in his shed, and sometimes wheeling out a strange framework on three wheels. What they did not yet know was that Pearse was attempting to build a powered flying machine at a time when most people believed air travel would only ever be possible by balloon or airship.
From what I understand, Richard Pearse’s life at Waitohi was never really about making money. Although at 21 he was given the use of a 100-acre farm to support himself, farming seemed more a backdrop than his true calling. I can't find records of his income, but those who knew him recalled that he poured far more time into engineering and tinkering than into producing crops or stock. In my own research, I’ve stumbled on a surprising connection... Pearse was one of David Clarkson D.C. Turnbull’s first customers, buying seed for his Waitohi farm. (I had a complete nerd out when I held that handwritten ledger in my hand by the way!). I’ve also read in old newspapers about him visiting engineer and motor cycle, and car inventor Cecil Woods in his Stafford Street workshop in Timaru, and that they worked together on metal components for his aircraft. Wood used to sell bikes, for a long time I new the shop as Absolute Flowers. And the owner Alice at the time, showed me around the property. It's tiny. I found it amazing to imagine how they built a car in that space. And I loved thinking about all the footsteps and converstations that were held over all those years in the workshop and store. It makes me wonder... after collecting his parts or supplies in town, did he stop for a beer and a yarn, or wander into the local mechanics’ institute to read the latest journals about scientists and inventors pushing the boundaries of what was possible?
The Strange Machine in the Paddock
By the early 1900s, people in Waitohi and Seadown had begun whispering about Richard Pearse. He was said to be a quiet, inventive farmer who worked away on odd contraptions in his shed. What he was building looked nothing like the airships and balloons that most people thought would be the future of flight. His machine had wings like a bird, a frame like a bicycle, and a motor of his own design.
We know what happened next from recorded eyewitness accounts, passed down through local testimony and historical interviews. On a day in 1903, Ellen Lavinia “Louie” Johnson, my fathers great aunt was 27 year old living nearby, later recorded in aviation history as Mrs T. Johnson. She heard a new sound. It was not the thud of hooves or the chug of a traction engine. It was a high, buzzing whine. She saw Pearse coaxing the machine forward in the air.
Looking up under the replica plane and imaging what the witnesses saw that day. - Photo Roselyn Fauth
They say the plane lifted. Not far, not long, but enough to make people gasp. It travelled in the air for about 100 metres before coming down in a gorse hedge. People rushed over the grass to see if Pearse was hurt.
For Pearse, I think this was probably not yet the “aerial navigation” he dreamed of. I imagine his goal would have been as a pilot, to could set off from one place, fly a set course, and land neatly at another. But for Louie and the others watching, it was proof that something extraordinary had happened in their peaceful rural district.
Years later, Louie Johnson (by then known in the records as Mrs T. Johnson) swore an affidavit describing Pearse’s monoplane lifting off from level ground and coming down on a high gorse hedge, noting its shaky, undulating motion after take-off. That statement became one of the key pieces of evidence supporting Pearse’s place in aviation history. The original affidavits, along with other witness accounts collected by aviator George Bolt, are now held at the Walsh Memorial Library at MOTAT in Auckland.
By Archives New Zealand from New Zealand - Richard Pearse's Fantastic Flying Machine, CC BY 2.0, commons.wikimedia.org This design for an aircraft was created by aviation pioneer Richard Pearse (1877-1953). Pearse had built and experimented with aircraft for several years previously, and was reported to have achieved sustained flight at some point during trials on his farm in South Canterbury. An exact date for this successful flight is uncertain, but common consensus identifies it as 31 March 1903. Pearse patented this design in July 1906 [patent number #21476], and it is held within a later patent application file for an aircraft designed by Pearse in the 1930s [patent number #87637]. Meanwhile his American contemporaries, the Wright Brothers, were also experimenting with flight at the same time and they succeeded in patenting their design before him, on the 22 May 1906. While Pearse may have flown before the Wright Brothers, only circumstantial evidence exists to corroborate the details of this first successful flight. However his biographer Gordon Ogilivie contends that ‘whether or not Pearse flew in any acceptable sense, and regardless of the exact date, his first aircraft was a remarkable invention embodying several far-sighted concepts’, and remnants of this monoplane are now held at the Timaru Museum. Archives reference: ABPJ W4832 7396
A representation of Pearse's early monoplane originally built for the 1977 New Zealand International Trade Fair, Auckland,[64] on display at South Canterbury Museum, Timaru. By Karora - Own work, Public Domain, commons.wikimedia.org
Richard Pearse built his own engines, designing and constructing lightweight internal combustion models from scratch, using castings and parts he made himself on his Waitohi farm.
He was entirely self-taught, learning from scientific journals, patents, and magazine articles, many of which he likely accessed through the Timaru Mechanics’ Institute or by mail order.
His 1903 aircraft was a hybrid design years ahead of its time, with a tricycle undercarriage, ailerons for roll control, and a propeller mounted at the front in a “tractor” configuration, unlike the Wright brothers’ “pusher” design.
Pearse never stopped inventing — in later life he worked on a “convertiplane” that could switch between fixed-wing and helicopter modes. It never flew, but parts of it survive in museums.
He was also modest to a fault. Pearse rarely promoted himself and even downplayed his own achievements.
In a 1940 interview, he said he didn’t consider his 1903 flight “sustained” enough to claim the first-flight title, though later historians argue otherwise.
When Richard Pearse died in 1953, he was remembered locally as a shy, eccentric inventor, and only years later—thanks to witness accounts and research—was he recognised as a global aviation pioneer.
I wonder if we would remember Richard Pearse at all without his witnesses. Without people like Louie Johnson, who took the time to give a clear, honest account of what she saw, his story might have slipped away into local gossip and half-remembered tales. It’s those grounded, credible voices that kept his achievements from fading, turning them into a part of New Zealand’s (and the world’s) aviation history.
Thank goodness for the researchers and writers who have worked so hard to find Pearse’s place in aviation history. Even if there is still debate around the exact details, there is no doubt that what he achieved was remarkable. Their work has ensured that his story – and the voices of those who saw it happen – are not lost to time.
The debate around Richard Pearse today is mostly about when and how far he actually flew, and whether those flights count as the world’s first. Some say he may have flown months before the Wright brothers in 1903, others think it was later. The question is whether short, powered hops without full control should count as “first flight.” With no sponsors or official witnesses, Pearse’s story relies heavily on local testimony like Louie Johnson’s, making the definition of “first to fly” as much about interpretation as fact.
His achievement remains remarkable, even if history hasn’t given him the official title.
By looking closely at the Richard Pearse story, we have seen how easily women’s voices can fade from the official record, and how vital they are in shaping credible history.
Ellen Lavinia “Louie” Johnson was not an engineer or an inventor, but her clear, factual eyewitness account has become one of the strongest anchors in proving Pearse’s early flight. Without her, much of the story could rest on rumour. Thinking critically about this reminds us that history is rarely built by lone geniuses. It is a network of inventors, observers, record keepers, and everyday people whose experiences give weight to the evidence. Bringing women like Louie back into the story not only restores their place in the narrative, it also gives us a fuller, truer account of the past... one where the quiet witnesses matter as much as the celebrated pioneers.
View over Waitohi from Waitohi Reserve - Photo Roselyn Fauth
By Unknown author - Yarwood, Vaughan (October–December 1999). "The Birdman of Upper Waitohi". New Zealand Geographic. No. 44. Auckland: Australian Consolidated Press New Zealand, Public Domain, commons.wikimedia.org
Right... so if you have read a few of my blogs... you'll know by now I like to wriggle around and go down all kinds curious driven rabbit holes and side quests. I used to think this was not the way to research or learn, but the side hunt is the bit that I really enjoy and I end up finding all kinds of dots to join back into the story, help validate information... and give me a wider view for context and thinking critically about the past for my own reflection...
So if you are interested read on for some of the side quests I went on to pull this story together.
Side Quest – Pearse vs the Official First to Fly
When you grow up in New Zealand, Richard Pearse is one of those names that hovers around the edge of history. You hear whispers that maybe, just maybe, he flew before the Wright brothers. From everything I have read, and from piecing together Louie’s part in the story, I have my own thoughts on why Pearse is remembered so differently from the Americans who officially hold the title.
The Wright brothers, Orville and Wilbur, were bicycle makers from Dayton, Ohio, who became obsessed with solving the problem of human flight. They studied the work of earlier pioneers, built their own wind tunnel to test wing shapes, and refined the concept of three-axis control, which allowed a pilot to steer effectively in all directions. On 17 December 1903, at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, they achieved what is officially recognised as the first controlled, sustained, powered flight. Orville piloted the first hop, covering 120 feet in 12 seconds. They repeated the feat three more times that day, with Wilbur’s final flight lasting 59 seconds over 852 feet.
Their achievement is celebrated not just because it worked, but because it was carefully documented. They had photographs, precise measurements, multiple credible witnesses, and—importantly—backing. They had access to funding, sponsors, and networks of support that gave them the materials, expertise, and the means to test and refine their designs. They also understood the value of publicity, and within months their story was front-page news.
Pearse, on the other hand, was a lone inventor in rural South Canterbury, designing and building his own monoplane in a shed by the Waitohi River. He had no sponsors, no wealthy patrons, and no formal engineering team—just his own ingenuity, resourcefulness, and a willingness to keep tinkering until something worked. His aircraft was astonishingly advanced for its time, with a tricycle undercarriage, lightweight bamboo frame, a self-built engine, and control surfaces that would not become standard for decades. Eyewitness accounts suggest that in early 1903, possibly months before the Wrights, he achieved short powered hops. But they were brief, difficult to control, and not formally recorded beyond local memory.
This is where Louie comes in. Without affidavits like hers, Pearse’s work might have been dismissed as a rural myth. Her clear, measured account gave researchers the credible evidence they needed to anchor Pearse’s story in fact. While the Wrights had photographs, Pearse had neighbours. And in the end, those neighbours and the researchers who sought them out saved his place in history.
Pearse’s achievement becomes even more fascinating when you consider the contrast—two brothers in the United States with funding, resources, and national attention versus one farmer-inventor in a quiet corner of New Zealand, building world-class aviation technology from scratch. He didn’t have the spotlight then, but thanks to witness testimony, archival digging, and the quiet persistence of people like Louie, he is remembered today as one of the world’s great “what if” pioneers, a man who dreamed just as big as the Wrights, even if the world didn’t notice until decades later.
Side Quest: The BBC Comes Calling
In the 1990s, the BBC was working on a documentary about the race to be the first to fly. While the Wright brothers’ 1903 Kitty Hawk flight was well known internationally, there was growing curiosity about Richard Pearse’s claims from rural New Zealand. The producers wanted credible evidence — not folklore, not second-hand yarns — so they began tracing the original witnesses, or, where time had made that impossible, their descendants.
That search brought them to my dad, Geoff Cloake. One day, out of the blue, the BBC contacted him. They had learned that his great aunty, Ellen Lavinia “Louie” Johnson (née Clarke), had given one of the clearest and most important eyewitness accounts of Pearse’s 1903 flight. Dad agreed to the interview, talking about Louie, her life in Seadown, and the affidavit that had helped secure Pearse’s place in aviation history.
For me, hearing this story years later while standing beside the Pearse monument, it felt as though our family had been quietly holding a missing puzzle piece in an international mystery — one that researchers had been chasing for decades.
Side Quest: Louie Johnson’s Testimony in Context
Many people in the district had caught glimpses of Pearse’s machine on the ground or heard rumours of a flight. A few, like Amos Martin, claimed to have seen him become airborne. But much of what survived into the historical record was hearsay, vague recollections, or second-hand stories. Louie Johnson’s affidavit stood apart. She was specific about what she saw – the take-off from level ground, the short airborne run, the shaky and undulating flight, and the landing in the gorse hedge. She was respected locally, and her statement was given weight by aviation researchers decades later.
Without Louie’s clear and credible testimony, Pearse’s achievement might have been dismissed as a rural legend. Her account anchored the story in first-hand observation, helping shift it from folklore into serious early aviation history.
Waitohi Valley. NZ Heritage Maps Platform, accessed 10/08/2025, https://maps.recollect.co.nz/nodes/view/900
Side Quest: Did Her Account Matter?
When aviation historians and documentary makers began piecing together the Pearse story decades later, Ellen’s account was clear and consistent. She remembered the date, the sound, the distance, and the crash into the hedge. She had no reason to make the story bigger than it was.
More than 40 people gave statements about Pearse’s early flights. Around 20 of them described seeing him lift into the air on March 31, 1903. But women’s voices were especially important. In rural communities, women were often the keepers of memory. They noticed details and retold events around kitchen tables and at church gatherings.
Without those accounts, Pearse’s achievements might have faded into local rumour.
She was the first woman teacher at Seadown School and later became the first postmistress at Waitohi. Screen shots of Newspaper articles sent to my by my dad. The digitising of information is making it so much easier to learn about the past with today's lens. Newspaper articles are absolute gold for history hunting, helping to share information, facts and opinions.
Side Quest: Women in the Margins of Aviation History
The names most often remembered in aviation are the builders, pilots, and public figures. Yet behind those moments are the women who kept the stories alive, who made sure events were passed on accurately. Ellen was not an engineer or a publicist. She was a farmer’s daughter, and later a farmer’s wife, who happened to be there on the day Pearse’s machine lifted from the ground. Her clear testimony helped to bridge the gap between memory and record.
Side Quest: Importance of Passing the Story On
At the Pearse monument that Sunday, my children heard this family story for the first time. They will probably remember the odd shape of Pearse’s plane on the signboard, or the feel of the brass plaque under their paper. I hope they will also remember that history is not only about the person in the cockpit. I think it is also about the woman in the paddock, watching until the machine hit the hedge, and then telling the story for the rest of her life. Because without her, we might never have believed that in a windswept corner of South Canterbury, a farmer’s machine really did leave the ground.
Side Quest: Were There Other Women Witnesses
Ellen was not the only woman to give an account of Pearse’s flights. Local oral histories and newspaper interviews in the mid-20th century record several women who recalled seeing the machine lift off. Some had been schoolgirls walking home. Others were working on farms nearby. Their statements, often treated as secondary to those of men, carried the same clear details of date, distance and location.
Side Quest – Where Did Pearse Get His Ideas?
How does a quiet farmer in a small rural district end up experimenting with technology at the very edge of human possibility? Richard Pearse’s path to aviation was not shaped in a university workshop or an inventor’s laboratory, but in a Waitohi farm shed.
He had no formal engineering training, yet he absorbed ideas from wherever he could find them. Newspapers, magazines, and agricultural journals brought news of bicycles, engines, and early aviation experiments from overseas. Places like the Timaru Mechanics’ Institute, with its shelves of technical books and access to overseas periodicals, may well have been a treasure trove of diagrams, inventions, and mechanical “how-to” articles for him. It is likely Pearse also ordered books and parts by mail, studying patent drawings and tinkering with new materials as they arrived.
On the farm, he honed his skills repairing machinery and building his own, applying lessons learned from the pages of journals to the realities of paddocks and sheds. His tricycle undercarriage drew on bicycle design, but with innovations of his own.
In this way, Pearse’s workshop was never entirely cut off from the world. Through the printed word and his own mechanical curiosity, he was part of a global network of inventors, all chasing the dream of flight.
Side Quest – The Timaru Mechanics’ Institute
In the days before public libraries and free online learning, towns like Timaru relied on places like the Mechanics’ Institute for education, news, and a sense of connection to the wider world. Founded in the 1860s, the Timaru Mechanics’ Institute was part of a global movement that began in Britain, designed to give working people access to books, lectures, and practical classes.
Its reading rooms stocked newspapers from New Zealand and overseas, and its library held reference works and novels that would have been far too expensive for most households to own. Locals could attend talks on everything from science and engineering to literature and politics, or take part in debates and exhibitions. In an era when formal schooling often ended early, these institutes helped fill the gap, offering a pathway to self-improvement and new skills.
The Timaru Mechanics’ Institute became an important hub for community life, a place where curiosity was encouraged and where ideas could be shared across social classes. Over time, its functions were absorbed into Timaru’s public library system, but for decades it stood as a reminder of the belief that learning should be within everyone’s reach — a belief that fuelled many of the technological leaps of Pearse’s own lifetime.
Side Quest – Did the US Patent Office Actually Close?
I had once read that the US Patent Office closed its doors because “everything that can be invented has been invented.” It sounded like such a perfect example of human short-sightedness that I never questioned it. Later, I learned it was a myth — one that has been repeated so many times it feels like it should be true. The quote is usually attributed to Charles H. Duell, Commissioner of the US Patent Office in 1899, but he never said it.
In reality, Duell was anything but pessimistic. In 1902 he wrote that “in my opinion, all previous advances… will appear totally insignificant when compared with those which the present century will witness.” The patent office never closed, and there was no official declaration that invention had run its course. The story seems to have started as a joke or satirical comment in the mid-20th century, later picked up in books and speeches until it became accepted “fact.”
It is a good reminder of how easily a tidy, memorable quote can outlive the truth — and how attitudes towards invention have always been a mix of doubt, excitement, and the unknown.
My Reflection: The Witness Who Helped the World Believe
It is a strange feeling to realise that my family, in some small way, is woven into an internationally significant story. Louie Johnson, Ellen Lavinia “Louie” Gardner, was my relative, my dad’s great aunty, and our first birth link to the land and immigration story. Her life might have passed quietly into history if not for one day in 1903. She was not a pilot, an engineer, or an inventor. She was a young woman living in a rural farming district, going about her day, when she became an eyewitness to something extraordinary.
Her affidavit describing Richard Pearse’s short, shaky flight is now one of the key pieces of evidence supporting his claim as a pioneer of powered flight. Without it, Pearse’s story would rest on a far less secure foundation, leaning on rumour and second-hand reports that could easily have been dismissed as local myth. Instead, thanks to Louie’s clear, measured account, historians and researchers have a credible anchor point in their timeline.
In my early twenties, I used to drive out to Russell Brodie’s farm for flying lessons. I absolutely loved being in the air, seeing the world spread out below in miniature. One flight took us above the fog, and I saw our little plane’s shadow on the clouds with a rainbow circling it. After landing, we’d share a cuppa and Russell would tell me stories about his life and flying. Sometimes others would drop in, land, have a sip, and take off again. Flying was social, recreational, and practical all at once. I didn’t realise back then how lucky I was to have such access to aviation, a legacy that traces back to Pearse and those who followed him. If you’re reading this, thank you Russell, for taking me up in your plane all those years ago — I loved it.
Planes have taken me to so many places since — joy rides over my home district, visits to family and friends, and adventures to the other side of the world. I can’t imagine life without flight. My great-great aunt took months to reach these shores by ship. I can make the same journey in less than a day. That is the gift of the pioneers and tinkerers who worked away in sheds, chasing an idea that seemed impossible at the time.
It makes me reflect on how history is built. We often celebrate the inventor or the leader, but behind every achievement are countless others — witnesses, record keepers, and community members whose quiet contributions keep the story alive. Louie could not have known that her act of remembering and recording would ripple out over the decades, helping to secure Pearse’s place in the history of world aviation.
History is not only made by those who build and fly the machines. It is also shaped by those who see, tell, and preserve the truth of what happened. Our family’s link may be tiny, but it is part of a chain that connects a Seadown paddock to the story of flight itself.
I love flying. I love being up high and seeing the world from a birds perspective. Roselyn Fauth Learning to fly with Russell Brodie in 2008.
From the dessert of Morroco, to the lush fiords of Norway, flight has enabled me to travel, explore, connect to my families, my ancestors homelands and learn more about myself and the world around me. - Photos by Roselyn Fauth 2011
Side Quest: Learning my about my family
Family portrait of the Clarke sisters, including Louie Johnson (née Clarke), later remembered as an eyewitness to Richard Pearse’s early flight. Aunty Louie Johnson (née Clarke), Aunty Edie McFadden (née Clarke), and Aunty Sarah Baker (née Clarke), with the fourth believed to be Mrs Currie, also née Clarke. The mount bears the handwritten dedication “Mrs Currie from L. E. Clarke” along with the photographer’s imprint P. Cuthbert of Timaru, New Zealand.
Louie lived a long life after witnessing Pearse’s flight in 1903. Her testimony remained a key piece of evidence supporting his legacy — even as the world moved on. She passed away quietly in 1966 and was laid to rest in Temuka, just a stone’s throw from where Pearse took to the air.
It’s strange to think of Louie growing up in that changing world... moving from the gravel roads of Seadown to a time when steamships, telegraph wires, and political change were altering the pace of life. She was just a teenager when she stepped into the role of Seadown School’s first pupil teacher, and a young woman I wonder if she signed her name of the Suffrage Petition ir was one of New Zealand's first women cast their first votes. All of this formed the backdrop to the day she would witness an invention that seemed to belong to the future.
In 1893, when the suffrage petition was signed, Louie was 17 — freshly out of school, already a pupil teacher at Seadown, and living through a time of rapid change for women in New Zealand. Although the vote was granted only to women aged 21 and over, girls and young women of any age could sign the petition in support. Louie could have added her name even if she wasn’t yet old enough to cast a ballot, and it wasn’t unusual for teenagers to do so.
Left: These are my fathers (Geoff Cloake) grandfathers parents Thomas Head and Hepzebah Stocker. Center: These are my dads grandmothers parents. Married on the 8th April 1868 she was Ellen Gardener. They were married in Christchurch NZ, the story goes, that they met on the boat coming to NZ. Right: These are my fathers mothers parents lisle Loveridge Stocker and Ellen Jane Stocker née Clarke.
Who Was Mrs T. Johnson? Ellen Lavinia “Louie” Johnson was a young woman living near Waitohi in 1903 when she witnessed Richard Pearse’s short powered flight. In later records she appears as “Mrs T. Johnson” after her marriage. Her clear and detailed affidavit became one of the most credible pieces of testimony supporting Pearse’s place in aviation history.
Side Quest: Did a crowd gather or did people randomly see pearse fly?
From the available accounts, it doesn’t seem that Richard Pearse ever staged a public demonstration where a large, intentional crowd gathered to watch. Instead, most people appear to have seen him fly (or attempt to fly) by chance... neighbours, passers-by, or local residents going about their day in the Waitohi district.
Pearse was known for being secretive and somewhat reluctant to publicise his work. This meant there were no big announcements or planned showings. Witnesses like Louie Johnson and Amos Martin happened to be nearby and saw the flights in progress, often from paddocks, roads, or neighbouring properties. Their chance observations became the key sources for what we know today.
This is also why the testimonies carry a certain raw credibility. They weren’t prepared statements for a spectacle but spontaneous recollections from people surprised to see a local farmer’s contraption lifting into the air. Without these incidental witnesses, Pearse’s story could easily have faded into unverified local legend.
Amos Martin recalls seeing Richard Pearse’s flying machine lift into the air on what he remembered as May 2, 1903, in the early afternoon. His account is one of the clearest firsthand descriptions of Pearse’s work, giving the story a level of credibility that second-hand reports cannot match. He describes the aircraft rising to a height of about 10 to 15 feet, flying roughly 50 yards, and then crashing into a gorse fence when the engine lost power.
Martin also links the flight to the “year of the Big Snow”, providing historians with an additional clue for dating the event. This connection helps place the sighting firmly in early 1903, rather than 1904, and aligns with other witness testimonies from the same period.
Accounts like Martin’s are important because they anchor Pearse’s story in specific, detailed memories rather than hearsay. His description offers tangible details — the height, the distance, the loss of power — that help bring the scene to life. Alongside witnesses such as Louie Johnson, his evidence strengthens the argument that Pearse achieved short, powered hops before the Wright brothers’ famous flight, and ensures the event is remembered as part of credible early aviation history.
Who Was Richard Pearse, Really?
Richard William Pearse was born on 3 December 1877 in Waitohi, South Canterbury, the fourth of nine children in a farming family. His parents, Digory Sargent Pearse and Sarah Anne Brown, had emigrated from Cornwall, England, and worked hard to establish themselves in New Zealand’s rural south. Richard grew up among rolling paddocks, clear streams, and the practical, self-reliant culture of a farming district.
The family valued education and mechanical skill. Even as a boy, Richard had a habit of dismantling and reassembling farm machinery to understand how it worked. He was a capable cyclist and had a keen interest in new technologies. That curiosity soon turned to flight.
To the locals, Pearse’s reputation was a blend of admiration and amusement. He was seen as intelligent and eccentric, happiest tinkering in his shed rather than making small talk. Some thought of him as an impractical dreamer... why waste time building “flying machines” when there was farm work to be done? Others recognised his rare mechanical genius.
Those who knew him best described him as quiet, determined, and somewhat shy. He had few close friends, never married, and preferred the company of his tools and inventions. Yet he was not a recluse. People remembered his polite manner, dry sense of humour, and willingness to explain his ideas if asked in earnest.
The myth of Pearse as the solitary genius, unrecognised in his own time, has grown over the decades. The reality is more nuanced. His neighbours did notice what he was building, and a handful (like Louie Johnson) witnessed what may have been the first powered flight in the world. But Pearse himself seems never to have claimed the title. In his later years he was modest about his work, suggesting his early hops were not true controlled flights, and openly admiring other aviation pioneers.
The legend we know today was pieced together from these two sides: the visionary inventor working alone in rural New Zealand, and the grounded, quietly determined man known to his family and neighbours. Both are true, and together they make Richard Pearse a figure as human as he is historic.
Side Quest: Legacy Discovered Too Late
When Richard Pearse died in 1953, the news did not make national headlines. There were no soaring tributes to a genius inventor, no front-page stories claiming he might have beaten the Wright brothers into the sky. In fact, most New Zealanders had never heard his name, let alone his achievements.
At the time, the Wright brothers’ December 1903 flight at Kitty Hawk was firmly fixed in global memory as the official birth of powered flight. Pearse’s experiments were remembered only in passing by locals in South Canterbury, often as colourful rural stories rather than serious history.
It was only in the decades that followed that his reputation began to change. In the 1950s and 1960s, aviation pioneer George Bolt set out to track down surviving witnesses, like Louie Johnson, who had seen Pearse’s machine lift off. Bolt collected sworn affidavits, photographs, and fragments of Pearse’s work. These pieces of evidence began to shift the conversation, recasting Pearse not as a local eccentric, but as a man who might have made the first powered flight.
By the time his name began to be recognised, Pearse was long gone. His legacy had to be pieced together posthumously, from the memories of others. Today, he is far more widely known than he ever was in life—a pioneer whose achievement was almost lost to history.
Side Quest: How Pearse Has Been Remembered
When Richard Pearse died in 1953, his achievements were still largely unknown beyond his immediate community. It was only through the work of researchers like aviator George Bolt, who actively sought out and recorded eyewitness accounts, that Pearse’s place in aviation history began to take shape. Bolt’s interviews in the 1940s and 1950s captured the voices of people who had actually seen Pearse’s machine lift off the ground — including Louie Johnson’s detailed affidavit. Without these first-hand testimonies, Pearse’s story might have remained a footnote in local gossip rather than a credible chapter in world aviation.
Thanks to this preserved evidence, Pearse has become a celebrated figure in New Zealand’s history. The Timaru airport was renamed Richard Pearse Airport in 1970. In 1979, a memorial with a full-size replica of his aircraft was erected at Waitohi, near the field where he is believed to have flown. He was posthumously inducted into the New Zealand Sports Hall of Fame in 1996, and his aircraft designs are on permanent display at MOTAT in Auckland.
Pearse’s story has been retold in documentaries, books, and exhibitions, and in 2003 he appeared on a New Zealand postage stamp marking the centenary of his reputed flight. Every one of these moments of recognition is built on a foundation of carefully preserved records, and on the words of those who saw for themselves what Pearse achieved in a quiet paddock in South Canterbury.
Timeline: Louie Johnson the witness and Richard Pearse the neighbour and inventor
(Louie’s family lived close enough to Pearse’s farm for her to witness his experimental flight in 1903)
1876 – Lavinia Ellen “Louie” Gardner born at the Manse, Waimate, New Zealand, to William Clarke and Ellen Gardner.
1879 – Family moves to Weston, Oamaru.
1882 – Ellen (Ella), Louie’s sister and your grandmother, is born.
1886 – Family moves to Seadown, north of Timaru.
1890 – Seadown School established.
3 December 1877 – Richard William Pearse born in Temuka, South Canterbury, New Zealand, the fourth of nine children to Digory and Sarah Pearse (née Brown).
1890s – Pearse develops a reputation as a mechanically minded farmer in Waitohi, designing and building innovative contraptions.
1899–1902 – Pearse develops his own petrol engine and constructs a bamboo-and-canvas monoplane with tricycle undercarriage and wing control surfaces.
1903 – Louie Johnson (then Ellen Lavinia “Louie” Gardner), living near Waitohi, witnesses Pearse’s short powered flight, about 100 metres, ending in a gorse hedge. This becomes one of the most credible eyewitness accounts in aviation history.
18 March 1904 – Louie’s family ballot for land at Rosewill Estate; marks the latest likely date of her sighting of Pearse’s early flights.
1906–1907 – Pearse files patent 21476 for his aircraft design.
1909 – Louie marries Thomas Johnson; becomes Mrs T. Johnson in official records.
1933 – Pearse moves to Auckland and works on vertical take-off aircraft concepts.
29 July 1953 – Richard Pearse dies in Auckland at age 75, largely unrecognised outside local circles. Buried at Mangere Cemetery.
1970 – Timaru Airport renamed Richard Pearse Airport.
1979 – Replica Pearse aircraft installed at Waitohi Memorial.
1980s–1990s – Renewed national attention on Pearse’s achievements through documentaries, exhibitions, and historical research.
1996 – Pearse inducted into the New Zealand Sports Hall of Fame.
10 August 1956 – Louie Johnson dies in Timaru, aged 80. Buried at Timaru Cemetery, Block L, Plot 216.
2003 – Pearse commemorated on a New Zealand postage stamp marking the centenary of his reputed flight.
Geoff Cloake's family tree
Sarah and Bertie Thomas Cloake. Dress up visit to the cemetery during Covid Lockdown 13 April 2001. Medinella and Annabelle Fauth with their G G Grandparents.
Lisle Loveridge Stocker, and Matilda (Tilly) Elizabeth Stocker.
Thomas Head Stocker and Hephzibah Stocker
Ellen Clarke, William Clark, Son William John, and Annie Clarke. Medinella and Annabelle Fauth in 2001 at the Timaru Cemetery with their ancestors headstone. Photo Roselyn Fauth
Seadown Schools History and connection to Louie
She was the first woman teacher at Seadown School and later became the first postmistress at Waitohi.
Ellen Lavinia “Louie” Johnson (née Clarke) – the young woman whose clear eyewitness account of Richard Pearse’s 1903 flight became a cornerstone of his aviation story – had roots in the district. She was born in New Zealand in 1876, the daughter of William Clarke and Ellen Gardner, who had both arrived in 1867 and were the first members of the family to settle in the country. Louie grew up in Seadown and lived nearby from a young age. In 1891, a Miss Louie Clarke was appointed as a pupil teacher at Seadown School, with Miss Hornbrook as sewing mistress. While there is no definitive record confirming Louie’s role at the school. In local memory and in the school’s history, her name bridges two legacies: a pioneering role in education at Seadown and a pivotal role in recording one of New Zealand’s most remarkable early flights. Louie became Ellen Lavinia “Louie” Johnson after marrying Thomas Johnson 1905. I wonder if she had to leave the teaching profession once she married, as I have seen rules at that time did not allow married women to teach. They had seven children together.
OBITUARY MRS L. F. JOHNSON
The death occurred yesterday at her home, 8 Brunswick Street, Timaru, of Mrs Louisa Frances Johnson, widow of the late Thomas Johnson, at the age of 84 years. Mrs Johnson was born at Waimate and came to Timaru in her early girlhood. She had resided here ever since. She was an early member of the Seadown Methodist Church and was associated with the choir for many years. Mrs Johnson had a keen interest in the affairs of the Methodist Church, both at Seadown and in Timaru. She is survived by three daughters; Mesdames C. G. McLeod (Timaru), W. G. Talbot (Temuka), and G. S. Reid (Timaru) — and one son, Mr H. L. Johnson (Timaru). There are six grandchildren and two great-grandchildren. The funeral will leave her late residence tomorrow at 2 p.m. for the Timaru Cemetery.
Ellen Lavinia Eliza “Louie” Johnson (née Clarke)
- Born in 1876 at the Manse, Waimate.
- Daughter of Mr and Mrs William John Clarke — the first of her family to immigrate to New Zealand.
- Moved to Timaru at a young age with her parents.
- Witnessed historic shipwrecks: Benvenue at Timaru and later the Elginshire at Kingsdown.
- First woman teacher at Seadown School.
- Also taught at Kingsdown and Washdyke schools.
- Present at Seadown School’s first-decade celebrations, where her brother Robert Clarke rang the bell for the roll of first-decade pupils.
- Married Thomas Johnson, a farmer of Waitohi, in 1898.
- Continued teaching after marriage and served as Waitohi’s first postmistress.
- Postmistress role was remunerated in stamps.
- Often wrote letters for settlers who could not write.
- Rode the first woman’s bicycle through the streets of Geraldine.
- One of the few eyewitnesses to Richard Pearse’s pioneering aeroplane flight at Waitohi in 1904.
- Her affidavit later became key evidence supporting Pearse’s place in aviation history.
- Sent her recollections to England in later years to add to the historical record.
- Remembered the flight vividly: short, shaky, ending in a crash-landing on a fence, which led witnesses to think Pearse was “mad.”
- Later in life, was a regular visitor to Talbot Hospital, known for cheering patients.
- Died in Timaru aged 90.
- Survived by five daughters, two sons, 36 grandchildren, and 39 great-grandchildren.
History Reviewed
To the student of contemporary history there is perhaps no more engaging subject than the study of education relative to the growth of South Canterbury. The abstract nature of its wholesome influence may lessen its value in the eyes of casual observers, but thinking people accord education a high, if not the foremost place among the factors contributing most to the development of the province. In this respect the Seadown School which will celebrate its golden jubilee at Easter deserves the thanks of the people of the district, as it has played a worthy part in moulding the lives of many pupils, some of whom to-day fill responsible administrative positions. The Roll of Honour in the school bears the names of many ex-pupils who offered their services in the Great War while a number have already joined the colours in the present
The real history of the settlement of the Seadown district dates back to the early ’sixties, but it was not till early in 1889 that definite steps were taken to establish a school. In March of that year some of the settlers approached the South Canterbury Education Board to obtain a school and Mr S. Cain offered to sell three acres of his land near Hornbrook’s corner for a site. About 12 settlers offered £25 and by September 1889, arrangements had been made to purchase and survey the site. The first school committee was elected in that year and comprised Messrs John Hedley (chairman), Robert Campbell, D. Scott, P. O’Connell, T. King and J. Teahen. This committee was responsible for the first work of preparation. The first annual householders’ meeting was held on April 28, 1890, at Mr Hornbrook’s house when the following committee was elected: Messrs J. Hedley (chairman), R. Campbell, P. O’Connell, D. O’Connell, J. Teahen, W. Clarke and E. Hornbrook. From this date the committee worked to have everything in readiness for the building of the school, which was completed in November 1890.
School Opened
Mr Alex. Bell was appointed the first master and he opened the school on December 22. The roll number was 44 and this total increased to 60 by April 1891. In February of that year Miss L. Clarke was appointed pupil teacher and Miss Hornbrook sewing mistress. In the development of school facilities there was still much hard work to be done, and early records show how committees and parents worked together, often under great difficulties, to secure materials, cart shingle, form paths, plant trees, and organize concerts to raise funds for the school. Names which appear among the earliest committees include Messrs S. Cain, C. Hanifin, J. McKenna, C. Flynn and F. O’Connell, together with those already mentioned, and to these the district owes a deep debt of gratitude for their untiring work in seeing the school firmly established. By the end of 1895 there were 60 pupils on the roll and the Board granted permission for an extra room (the present senior room) to be erected. At this time it was considered that Seadown had one of the finest school buildings in South Canterbury, and it was at this time that Miss Beattie was appointed first mistress, a position she held for ten and a half years. By 1895 there were more than 100 pupils. It was in September 1896 that representations were made to the Education Board for a school master’s residence and early in 1897 the work of building was completed. Mr Gillespie succeeded Mr Bell in 1895 and on his death in 1896 Mr J. P. Kalaugher was appointed head teacher. The school continued to progress steadily under able teachers and loyal committees until 1912, when the roll number fell considerably and the mistress, Miss Ellis, was transferred. Mr Schmedes, who had succeeded Mr Kalaugher in 1902, carried on as sole teacher till 1919. During this period several difficulties had to be faced. The master’s residence had been burned down and Mr Schmedes journeyed daily from Temuka. From 1918 onwards the committee made strenuous efforts to have the master’s residence rebuilt, and for a short time Mr Lucas lived in a tent. In spite of their efforts and those of Mr Armitage—the Board member—the Department could not see its way clear to make the necessary grant.
Invaluable Service
Any record of the school would be incomplete without mention of the services of the late Mr S. Cain, who with his family gave such invaluable service over a long number of years. Mr Cain first joined the committee in 1891 and was chairman from 1894 to 1902. From 1914 to 1918 he acted as commissioner, having control of the school through these difficult times. One of the last duties he performed at the school was the switching on of the electric light in the building on the new site.
It was in 1922 that a public meeting was held to test the feeling of the residents in regard to shifting the school to a more central position. There was naturally opposition but in 1925 the present site was obtained from Mr F. Oldfield. The year 1925 really marks a new page in the school’s history, for it was then that the residents subscribed more than £100 and the Canterbury Education Board agreed to move the school. This was accomplished by cutting the building in two and the work was carried out successfully, the committee holding its first meeting on the new site in March 1926. That committee comprised Messrs T. Hide (chairman), H. P. Brosnahan (secretary), R. J. Edgar, W. Kennedy and R. Hewson. Much work now faced the committee and residents, for the school was in an open paddock. Once again parents rallied round the committee and since that time there has been continued progress. A master’s residence was built in 1927, the committee working to cart the material. Working bees were held to erect fences, lay drains, fill and level ground and to lay the first tennis court. In addition, £130 was raised at a gala day in the school grounds. During more recent years the grounds have been drained and sown in lawn, trees and shrubs have been planted, a basketball court laid, and gardens set out, so that the school and grounds might be an attractive place in the district.
Present Committee
Members of the present committee have held office over long periods. The list reads: Mr Edgar (1924–40) and chairman since 1928; Mr Brosnahan (1918–40), and secretary since 1924; Mr W. Kennedy (1925–29); Mr S. Cargo (1931–40); Mr M. J. Fitzgerald (1931–40). The chairmen have been Mr J Hedley (1889–91 and 1893–94); Mr R. Campbell (1891–93); Mr S. Cain (1894–1902 and 1903–12), and Commissioner (1914–18); Mr F. Oldfield (1902–03); Mr N. Parker (1912–14); Mr R. Mayne (1918–19); Mr A. G. Hooper (1919–20); Mr J. Aberley (1920–22); Mr T. E. Hide (1922–28); Mr R. J. Edgar (1928–40). A list of head teachers is as follows: Mr A. Bell (1890–95); Mr J. Gillespie (1895–96); Mr J. P. Kalaugher (1896–1902); Mr C. F. Schmedes (1902–19); Miss Burnside (1919–20); Mr Lucas (1920–21); Mr A. Lindsay (acting 1921–23); Mr J. Southward (1923–32); Mr A. G. Williams (1932–35); and the present headmaster, Mr L. F. N. Ward (1936–40). Assistant teachers: Miss Beattie (1892–1903); Miss Olliver (1903–08); Miss Stewart (1908–10); Miss McKay (1924–27); Miss Seyb (1927–40).
Jubilee Committee
The Jubilee Committee is as follows: Mr S. Cargo (chairman), L. F. N. Ward and R. L. Edgar (joint secretaries), H. P. Brosnahan (treasurer), Mesdames Edgar, Cain, Ward, Kennedy, Brosnahan, Misses Topham, Edgar; Messrs R. J. Edgar, W. Cain, W. Kennedy, W. Spring, C. Hewson, W. Divan, E. Oldfield, J. Pemberton, G. Dunnett, T. Hide, W. Smith and C. O’Connor.