Winds of Destruction: The Autobiography of a Rhodesian Combat Pilot

No 2 Squadron

ON RETURN TO DUTY I was told that I had been posted, together with Dave Thorne and Keith Corrans, to a re-formed No 2 Squadron. This squadron was to handle all future student training on both piston and jet aircraft. Dave and I were to become instructors on Provosts, Keith on Vampires. The prospect of instructing so early in our careers was both disappointing and pleasing. The disappointment came from having to leave the easygoing lifestyle of an operational squadron; the pleasure was in being considered worthy to become instructors.

Flight Lieutenant Bob Woodward being an ex-RAF Central Flying School instructor was a natural choice to command No 2 Squadron with Flight Lieutenant Chris Dams as his second-in-command.

For the first two months we did very little flying and instructor training was limited to groundwork. This left us with a fair amount of time on our hands, which we occupied in other interests. One of these was fashioning aerobatic model aircraft from balsa wood. Bob Woodward introduced this rather dangerous hobby that involved high-speed launching of these gliders, fashioned to resemble well-known jet aircraft. A five-metre length of heavy elastic line propelled the small aircraft at initial speed somewhere in the region of 250 knots. One man held one end of the elastic with arm stretched high above his head whilst the launcher walked backwards holding the model aircraft. When the elastic was at full stretch some twenty-five metres from the launcher, he made sure wings were level and released the model. Usually the aircraft passed well above the launcher’s head as the aircraft pitched up into a high loop.

One of my gliders, fashioned to look like an RAF Lightning interceptor, failed to climb when Randy du Rand, visiting from No 1 Squadron, was holding the elastic for me to launch. The aircraft failed to climb immediately and its heavily leaded nose struck the peak of Randy’s Air Force cap, splitting it in two and leaving Randy with a nasty blue lump on his forehead.

Another activity involved building a ladies’ bar in the grounds of the Officers’ Mess. The Officers’ Mess of RAF times was in the middle of the Married Quarters but the Ministry of Education had commandeered it as a school for retarded children. It was known as Glengary School. The RAF Sergeants’ Mess had been damaged by fire in RAF days and, when refurbished in mid-1958, it became the Officers’ Mess. Close by in the garden of this mess was a building that had become completely overgrown by scrub and bramble.

Bob and I cut our way through the vegetation to find out what this building was all about. We discovered that it had once been a billiard room that had also suffered fire damage though the walls and roof remained sound. With the blessings of Group Captain Jock Barber, who was Station CO at the time, we set about refurbishing the building.

In a remarkably short space of time the entire structure and its surrounds took on a new look. Because of my experience in carpentry, it fell to me to build a decent-size bar, construct requisite shelving and install comfortable wall seats. Upon its completion, Bob requested all officers on Station to make submissions from which to select a name for the ladies’ bar. Over a hundred names were offered and one of my submissions was chosen. From then on the ladies’ bar was known as ‘The Grog Spot’; a name that became well known to thousands of military and civilian visitors who enjoyed its special atmosphere and superb parties.

Death of Jack Roberts

JACK ROBERTS OF NO 11 SSU had only served on No 1 Squadron as a Staff pilot for six months when, on 1 July 1960, he was reported overdue from a low-level, cross-country flight. An air search was about to be mounted when a telephone call was received from a ranch south of Belingwe mountain. The rancher reported that the sight of a wheel bouncing past him at high speed had shaken him and his trailer-load of workers. When he located the wheel he realised it must have come from an aircraft. In fact it had travelled an incredible distance from Belingwe mountain peak where Jack Roberts had met his death.

The Board of Inquiry into this incident established that Jack, flying an FB9, had encountered low cloud on his first leg from Thornhill but had left the decision to climb above it a fraction too late. His aircraft impacted a vertical rock face a mere three feet from the summit of Mount Belingwe and disintegrated.

The four 20mm Hispano cannons remained deeply embedded in the rock face but most of the airframe debris, including the engine and undercarriage, passed over the summit. The Army kindly provided fifty territorial trainees from Llewellin Barracks to assist our technicians recover the scattered wreckage.

There were no helicopters available in those days so there was no way around the long climb up the mountain to recover every piece of wreckage which had to be manhandled or dragged down the difficult slope. Fortunately very heavy items, such as engine, main planes and undercarriage, were near the foot of the mountain and were accessible to four-wheel drive vehicles. The four cannons could not be extracted from the rock and were left in situ. They are probably still embedded there to this day!

Sabotage

IN OCTOBER 1960 THERE WAS a great deal of political manoeuvring by black organisations seeking the dissolution of the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland. Because this caused much industrial unrest in Southern Rhodesia the Federal Government decided to get a message to all the black folk by air-dropping leaflets, as most of the people in the remote areas did not have radios.

Nos 2, 3 and 4 Squadrons were tasked to fly Provosts, Dakotas and Pembrokes to do the drops. Each aircraft was allocated a specific area to ensure full coverage of the country without overlaps. I had to cover a sector to the north and east of Gwelo before returning to the industrial area of Gwelo at 5 p.m. when workers would be streaming into the streets from the factories.

Flight Lieutenant Charlie Tubbs, the Senior Air Traffic Controller at Thornhill, asked if he could accompany me on this four-and-a-half-hour sortie. With thousands of leaflets in bundles behind our seats and tucked in every accessible, safe location we set off with Charlie, an ex-RAF pilot, making the take-off. Once airborne he asked me if he could try his hand at landing on return to base. I agreed he could.

Charlie did most of the flying to allow me to map-read and record every village with the number of leaflets dropped as we moved from place to place in a pre-planned pattern. Our final drop was over the black townships of Gatooma. We then turned for Gwelo remaining at low level. The Provost was purring along when I turned to Charlie and said, “Isn’t it amazing how reliable engines are nowadays. Here we are flying along, never worrying that the fan might fail on us." Charlie was horrified. “Don’t say that, you might regret your words.”

We arrived at Gwelo’s industrial area on time. The canopy was rolled back and we had just commenced dropping leaflets when the sight and stench of smoke preceded severe vibration from a faltering engine. The canopy was rolled forward then immediately re-opened because of blinding, foul-smelling smoke in the cockpit. When the engine quit I was already aiming for the zigzag roof of the Bata Shoe Factory just ahead of us because there were too many power lines about and the roadways were crowded.

I put out a hurried ‘Mayday’ call to Thornhill Approach just as we were about to touch down on the factory roof. But happily the engine powered up again just long enough to allow us to wallow past the factory to the edge of the disused wartime RAF base, Moffat Airfield. The engine then quit completely and I was able to put down quite smoothly in very high grass. As the aircraft sliced through the grass, I prayed we would not strike any hidden antheaps or antbear holes that were common to this area. Blindly we rolled over rough ground for some distance before emerging smack bang on a grass runway that had recently been trimmed by the Gwelo Gliding Club.

When we climbed down from the aircraft Charlie’s hands were shaking as he groped for his cigarettes. After a couple of hard drags Charlie said in a stern voice, “You promised to let me try my hand at landing”, whereupon we both burst into near-hysterical, relieved laughter.

This was the first of a number of incidents involving sabotage of Royal Rhodesian Air Force aircraft. A 30mm steel ball bearing had been introduced into the engine casing and had settled at the rear of the number six-cylinder piston. There it had banged away with every revolution of the engine until eventually it broke through the piston head. Once the piston was holed, the whole engine casing became highly pressurised, forcing all the engine’s oil to dump to atmosphere through the crankcase breather pipe.

Two days later another Provost suffered engine failure for the self-same reason. I think it was Flight Lieutenant Ken Edwards who put down safely with no damage to the airframe in Seke Reserve near New Sarum. An inspection of all the Leonides engines revealed that another four engines contained loose 30mm ball bearings.

The next incident involved a Canberra. Flight Lieutenant Ozzie Penton, a man of small build, was conducting his pre-flight inspection when he came to the port engine where, with fingers around the shroud, he could pull up as he jumped just high enough to check the lower turbines of the jet engine. He noticed something unusual and called a tall technician over to take a close look. There, between the line of static vanes and the first impeller blades, lay a socking great bolt that had obviously been placed there to damage the engine on start-up.

Initially it was believed that the sabotage was by black hangar Staff acting for the Zimbabwe African Peoples’ Union who continued to create unrest throughout the land. But then an incident occurred which made it obvious that ZAPU agents were not involved.

One of the black hanger workers at New Sarum called the Warrant Officer in charge of No 3 Squadron to come and inspect the undercarriage of a Dakota. He told the WO that when he was cleaning the aircraft’s oleos the wheel axle retainer nuts did not feel right, even though they looked normal. The WO soon established that the nuts were indeed visually normal but felt wrong. They had perfect shape, threads and all, but had been fashioned from compressed paper and glue, sanded smooth and painted silver.

Though never proven, it was concluded that one or more of a number of RAF technicians on secondment to our Air Force were acting against our interests, possibly for MI6 in London. The seconded men returned to Britain shortly after these incidents and others that involved two Canadairs of No 3 Squadron. These incidents are covered later.

With ongoing unrest in the Shona areas, there was concern for the safety of the tribal chiefs who had become targets of youths stirred to action by ZAPU. Ground-to-ground communication with soldiers protecting the chiefs and their families were so poor that it became necessary for the Air Force to overfly all chiefs’ kraals twice daily. To assist the pilots, each army protection unit laid out a white sheet on the ground. If nothing was overlaid on the sheet all was well. If, however, the unit had a problem, three orange strips could be laid on the white sheets in any one of a number of patterns set out in a booklet to convey their situation to the pilots who passed these on to local Army commanders. The flights were long and generally enjoyable, though I couldn’t help worrying that my aircraft engine might have been sabotaged again.

Flying Instructors School

THE FLYING INSTRUCTORS SCHOOL (FIS) was, for me, a real drag. The need to fly very accurately was not so much the problem as the patter (what one needed to say whilst demonstrating to a student). I found this tedious, boring and somewhat confusing.

Bob Woodward would teach me a patter sequence in one style, but for the same sequence Chris Dams gave it differently. Soon enough it became obvious that the other QFIs (Qualified Flying Instructors) were giving different versions of patter that suited their own personalities and flying experience.

Every aspect of instructing was repeated and repeated ad nauseam with QFIs and between student instructors. My problem, as I saw it, was how I was going to satisfy Bob Woodward during progress tests and the all-important final test. Near the end of the course Flight Lieutenant Dickie Dives, an ex-RAF Central Flying School officer serving as an Air Traffic Controller at Thornhill, flew with me and gave me his brand of patter, encompassing every exercise in the book. I believe I learned more from Dickie Dives in two hours than in all the 150 hours I had flown with other QFIs and fellow students. I cannot say if Dickie was a good instructor for others, but he certainly made everything so much clearer and easier for me, just when I needed it. Thanks to him, I passed my final test without stress because I had learned to ignore parrot-fashioned patter and use the words that suited mood and action.

The flying side of our FIS commenced at the beginning of August 1960 and was completed in time for the commencement of the BFS for No 14 PTC (Pilots Training Course).

For those who watch for sequential numbering it will be obvious that Nos 12 SSU and 13 SSU are missing and that SSU had given way to PTC. This was partly due to political thinking and partly to superstition.

The Federal Government had become disenchanted with the Short Service Commission arrangements because too-high a proportion of trained pilots had opted to leave the force on completion of expensive ‘free training’. Furthermore, most of them had taken up employment with airlines and moved beyond the borders of the Federation, thereby breaking their undertakings to be immediately available in times of need.

It was decided instead that all future student pilots would sign up for two years of training followed by a mandatory ten years’ Medium Service Commission. In the event of a student’s failure at any stage, Air HQ’s only obligation was to offer him alternative training as navigator, technician or administrator. This new scheme was renamed Pilots Training Course (PTC) as prefix to the course number.

12 SSU should have commenced training in 1959 but, because no training occurred that year, the number was dropped. Considering that superstition for the number ‘13’ might present difficulties, Group HQ, by now Air HQ operating from Dolphin House in Salisbury, decided to bypass it. No 14 Pilot Training Course (PTC) started their ground training at the beginning of January 1961 and came to 2 Squadron for the BFS in May.

Paul Mark

SIX MONTHS PRIOR TO THIS, on the 30 November 1960, Beryl came to fetch me at the usual knock-off time of 1.30 pm She was seven-and-a-half months’ pregnant with our second child and was in absolute agony. With difficulty I got her into the passenger seat and drove her straight home. Getting her to the living room was a major effort.

She could not sit properly as pains in her abdomen were overwhelming her. Beryl’s gynaecologist, Doctor Deuchar, who happened to live directly across the road from us, came to Beryl’s aid immediately. He was not happy with what he saw and called Doctor Comline to come over urgently. Together the doctors concluded that Beryl was suffering from kidney failure necessitating immediate hospitalisation and the removal of her baby to save her life. I was taken aside and told that, following the operation, Beryl should be fine but the baby’s chances of survival were not good.

I took time off work next day to look after Debbie and was playing with her whilst awaiting a call from the hospital. It was 9 am on 1 December when Debbie took her first faltering steps unaided; but the occasion was all but lost because I was so concerned for Beryl and baby.

A few minutes later Doctor Deuchar phoned to say Beryl would be fine and that our little boy had been transferred to Gwelo’s Birchenough House Nursing Home. Not twenty minutes later, when I was dressing for a visit to the nursing home, I received a call from a Church of England padre. Very clumsily he asked in what names he should christen the baby who was not expected to survive another hour. Completely taken aback I blurted out “Paul Mark.”

By the time I reached the nursing home the padre had left and the matron took me through to see my son. He was in an incubator and seemed fine enough to me until matron pointed out that he was breathing by stomach action with no signs of normal rib-cage movement. Five days passed after his birth before the doctor said Paul would be fine because his breathing had normalised. But nineteen vital days elapsed after his birth before Beryl was allowed to hold her baby.

Death of Eric Cary

ON THE 9 FEBRUARY 1961, I was instructed to get over to OC Flying Wing, post-haste. When I walked into Squadron Leader Dicky Bradshaw’s office I saw Tol Janeke standing in flying overalls by the side of his desk looking pale and shaken.

OC Flying, seated behind his desk, looked more stern than usual. In a quiet steady voice he said, “PB I have bad news for you. Your coursemate Eric Cary has crashed and I want you to go and find the site to guide the doctor and fire vehicles to it." I was given brief details and set off to the squadron where Flying Officer Pat Meddows-Taylor said he would accompany me. We were airborne when Squadron Leader Frank Mussell, flying a Canberra, told me he had located the crash site on the south bank of the Umniati River, upstream from the bridge on the main road to Salisbury. He said there was no need for a grid reference, as I would see the rising smoke from some distance.

When we reached the crash site we saw that impact had occurred in a disused cattle kraal where the aircraft disintegrated. Wreckage of varying sizes littered the crash line for over a kilometre to a stream. Beyond this lay the still-flaming magnesium wheels and the smouldering engine.

We had been flying around for a couple of minutes before noticing a lone black male who was waving at us frantically and pointing to the top of a large tree just off to the left side of the debris line. We concluded this might mean Eric’s body was lodged in the tree but the foliage was too dense for us to Confirm this.

After an age we spotted the far-off dust trails from a red fire Jeep and white ambulance. I could not raise the fire Jeep because, as I learned later, it had radio failure. Pat unstrapped and stood up (highly illegal) to make himself visible to the lead driver. By flying over his vehicle and waggling my wings I gave the fireman changes of direction to avoid difficult ground and Pat kept emphasising these changes with hand signals, a difficult thing to do in the powerful slipstream.

When, eventually, the vehicles arrived at the crash site Doctor Dorber came up on the radio, loud and clear. He had not responded to our calls to the fire Jeep “not wanting to interfere”. The mind boggles! Anyway we asked him to drive over to the large tree where we suspected Eric’s remains might be. There was no sign of the black man by now as he had obviously given us up when we flew off out of his sight to guide the vehicles.

Having reached the tree, the doctor confirmed Eric’s body was there and appeared complete save for the loss of a leg that was soon discovered near by. It was almost unheard of in a crash of this nature for a pilot’s entire body to be available for burial considering the location of a Vampire’s engine.

Tol Janeke was tried by court martial following this accident and was found guilty of contravening Air Force Regulations for unauthorised low flying outside the prescribed training area. His punishment of eighteen months’ deferred promotion was probably harsh in the circumstances. Eric had persuaded his junior to follow him on a low-level inspection of the Umniati River to establish if the water level was suitable to repeat a canoeing trip he and Tol had made down the same river the previous year.

Eric led the downstream reconnaissance. At the road bridge on the main road leading to Salisbury he turned to fly back up the river. Then by waggling his wings, so as not to give away his position to Thornhill Approach Control, Eric passed lead to Tol.

As Tol was about to pass, Eric in typical fashion did a slow roll that did not work out as so many had before. In the second half of the roll the aircraft scooped and so ended a very capable young pilot’s life.

After his military funeral our course held a private party as a send-off to Eric.

First students

AT THIS TIME NO 14 PTC had completed the GTS phase and were ready to commence flying training on Provosts. I was allocated Officer Cadets Doug Pasea and Terry Ryan and set about putting my instructor training into practice.

Teaching a student who knew nothing about flying seemed easy, though I soon realised I was ‘pattering’ just what I had been taught but without the pressure of practising it on someone more experienced than myself.

Doug Pasea learned quicker than Terry Ryan and I considered him fit for solo after about twelve hours. Bob Woodward who, for reasons I never established, disliked Doug Pasea even taking him on his solo test. Unbeknown to me Bob had already decided that Pasea was not going to pass BFS, no matter what! Doug was not only ‘failed’ on this test, Bob also disallowed him the benefit of further training with a second solo check; so I pleaded with Chris Dams to intervene. This he did, but to no avail! Having ‘failed’ BFS, Doug Pasea was sent to Britain to train as a Canberra navigator. He did splendidly and became an outstanding officer who gained respect throughout the force.

When Terry Ryan was reaching maximum hours allowed for solo he was taken on a progress check by Bob Woodward. Though not a patch on Doug Pasea as a pilot, he was sent solo off this very sortie. I was pleased for Terry Ryan’s sake but very displeased at losing Doug Pasea. This was my first experience of unfair prejudice by a senior officer against a junior. Unfortunately I would see close friends suffer from this human failing in the years ahead.

In June I was given Officer Cadets Tony Smit and Keith Clarke in exchange for Terry Ryan. Tony Smit was under threat of being scrubbed and his instructor had suggested that a change of instructor might be helpful. Keith’s instructor asked for the change on the grounds of incompatibility, but he gave me no difficulties. But I was very conscious of the fact that Tony Smit was the same age as me, the maximum age for student pilots having been elevated from twenty-one to twenty-four.

A couple of hours with Tony showed me that he had the potential but lacked concentration and was trying to ‘fly by numbers’ (meaning he was not yet using natural senses and every muscle in his body was as tight as an over-wound spring). Tony’s problem with flying reminded me of my father-in-law’s problem with dancing. Whether waltz, quick-step or tango he always moved his feet to his loudly whispered “one two three—one two three—one…”

I gave Tony a very hard time even though it was not in my nature to do this. Determined not to have another of my pupils fail, I drove him mercilessly. Then it dawned on me that, in my early stages of learning to fly, I had overcome the natural tendency to tense up by deliberately relaxing the muscles of my buttocks. This I had been taught by my father as a youngster learning to ride horses. By repeatedly telling him, “Relax your butt”, Tony’s main problem of tensing was overcome and soon enough he started to fly well.

For me Tony’s success has been something of a private triumph because he went on to give excellent service in Rhodesia and in the South African Air Force. He also qualified on a large number of aircraft types, including WWII fighters and bombers and became a member of the Confederate Air Force in the USA. However my success with Tony turned out to be a problem because I lost good students in exchange for difficult ones. In consequence I gained the questionable reputation of being a hard-arsed instructor, like Mick McLaren.

Fire Officer

DURING 1961 I WAS APPOINTED Station Fire Officer over and above my flying duties and found Flight Sergeant Jimmy Dumas and his crew of fire-fighters easy men to work with. My job was to ensure that their training was brought to the highest standard and that they were adequately equipped to deal with aircraft accidents and domestic fires.

Within a week of my appointment, and by prior arrangement with Air Traffic Control, I called for a practice ‘fire rescue’ of Sergeant Taffy Dowell and me from the cockpit of our Provost, which I had stopped in the middle of the runway after landing.

What an experience this turned out to be! Taffy and I, still strapped into our seats, were slumped forward holding our breath and simulating unconsciousness as black firemen climbed up to ‘rescue’ us. One big strong guy put his feet on the canopy rails then, placing his hands under my arms, nearly dislocated my shoulders because I was still firmly held down by the seat harness.

Flight Sergeant Dumas shouted instructions to release the harness, which in itself was a fiasco. Finally I was lifted clear and inadvertently dropped head first off the trailing edge of the wing before flopping onto hard tarmac. Taffy suffered similar mishandling and we were both lucky to get away with a few scratches and bruises.

Right away I decided to polish up on rescue training but to use firemen, complete with parachutes and helmets, in place of aircrew. Under my supervision they practised crew rescue, ad nauseam, from Provosts, T11s, FB9s and Canberras until procedures and techniques were slick and safe.

Canberra belly-landing

SQUADRON LEADER CHARLIE GOODWIN WAS the Senior Technical Officer at Thornhill. One morning he came rushing into the squadron asking to be taken up for an in-flight inspection of a Canberra whose right main undercarriage refused to respond to pilot selections. He wanted a Provost rather than a Vampire and I was instructed to make the flight.

Squadron Leader Frank Mussell was flying the Canberra in question. He reduced speed to 120 knots to allow me to come into close formation directly under his right wing. It was immediately clear that the ‘D’ door had closed out of sequence ahead of the main wheel which was pressed hard against the outside of the ‘D’ door. The nose wheel and left main wheel were extended and locked down correctly.

A Canberra’s undercarriage was controlled by sequence valves which were designed to lift the main wheel into its bay then close the ‘D’ door under the wheel to provide continuity to the wing surface for high speed flight. In this case the ‘D’ door sequenced before undercarriage and there was no way of overcoming the problem by selecting undercarriage-down because the sequence valve was trying to open the ‘D’ door first but it was held fast by the stronger hydraulic jack of the undercarriage. The history of sequence-valve failures on RAF Canberras was known to Charlie Goodwin who told Frank Mussell that he had no option but to tuck away the other wheels and land the aircraft on its belly.

For a landing of this nature it was necessary to burn off fuel to the lowest level possible, preparatory to a high-friction belly slide along the tarmac runway. The period required to burn off the fuel gave ample time for every person in camp to get up to the flight lines to join many excited spectators awaiting the event.

Frank put the aircraft down very gently. A magnificent dense plume of white sparks fanned upwards from the Canberra which, holding a straight course, slid along the hard surface for about 1,200 metres before coming to rest, wings still level. When jacked up, the undercarriage was lowered and the aircraft was towed away for inspection. The damage, mainly to bomb doors, was considerably less that expected and the aircraft was declared fit for a one-time, wheels-down flight to New Sarum.

At New Sarum, Master Technician Les Grace and his crew in the Stressed Skin Section of the Aircraft Servicing Flight repaired the Canberra in quick time. Les was a superb, softly spoken man who always wore a smile and had a great deal to talk about. He was also a good listener. His skills and those of the men he taught were proven hundreds of times over. They not only beefed up airframes and mainplanes of aircraft to meet operational stresses their designers had never considered, they also repaired aircraft damaged in accidents and in later years by enemy action. The work done was so perfect that only an expert eye could detect the sites of these repairs.

Practical jokers

AS WITH ANY FORCE THE RRAF had its fair share of practical jokers. Keith Kemsley was the best known at Thornhill, though I heard it said he was better at giving than in receiving.

Hi-fi was new to Rhodesians and John Mussell seemed to be the most knowledgeable man on station about the technicalities and strange terms introduced with the equipment. Woofers and tweeters sounded more like Goon Show terms than serious electronic ones. Nevertheless John was a relatively wealthy bachelor who only bought the very best of equipment on the market. Keith was well aware of this when he met up with a Gwelo salesman of recently imported Hi-fi equipment. Keith asked the young man if he would be interested in coming over for dinner with him and his wife Pat so that he could meet a pilot who was looking for the tops in Hi-fi.

The salesman accepted the invitation keenly before Keith told him that John Mussell was a great guy who was suffering some level of deafness from flying jets. “You will find he shouts loudly. Do not be embarrassed by this, just shout back. John has plenty of money so it’s worth your while.”

Keith then asked John if he would be interested in coming over to his house where he and Pat had a Hi-fi fundi visiting for dinner. John leapt at the opportunity and accepted Keith’s warning that; “This guy is so into powerful speakers that he has become very deaf. Ignore the fact that he shouts and simply shout back.”

John got to Keith and Pat’s home first. When the salesman arrived, Keith shouted introductions whereupon his guests responded more loudly and were immediately immersed in a shouted technical conversation. Keith, battling to keep a straight face, asked them to sit down and excused himself on the pretext of having to give Pat a hand in the kitchen. From there Keith heard the shouted conversation mounting in volume, just as he had hoped.

After some time John turned his head away and muttered something to himself in a low voice. Immediately the salesman asked, “What was that”? in an equally low voice. Keith’s game was up; not that it spoilt a pleasant evening. But John left the Kemsley home determined to get his own back on Keith. He consulted Flight Lieutenant ‘Porky’ MacLaughlin on how best to do this.

In the meanwhile Keith continued with his practical jokes, many of which were aimed at his beloved wife. The story goes that he sent Pat to the hardware store where she was instructed to ask the salesman for ‘a long wait’. She got it all right, but had given the salesman hell for bad service before realising that her husband had set her up. On another occasion Pat was told to buy a pint of white-on-purple polka-dot paint. “Remember, white on purple—not purple on white." Again, Pat had been set up. When, however, Keith asked her to get a real item – a two-pound ball-and-claw steel-shafted hammer—Pat thought the description sounded too much like another of Keith’s pranks. Consequently he was not too pleased that his instruction had been ignored because he really needed the hammer for a job he intended to do that very day.

Then one Friday afternoon, at the very moment all Government departments closed down for the weekend, Keith and Pat received a hand-delivered registered envelope from the Registrar of Births, Marriages and Deaths. The enclosed document stated that, due to some error in paperwork at the time of their marriage they had never, in effect, been officially married. This meant that in the eyes of the law their children were illegitimate. An early visit to the offices of The Registrar of Births, Marriages and Deaths was strongly recommended to put matters to right.

Keith and Pat were beside themselves with concern for the entire weekend, just as John and Porky had hoped. Keith arranged a flight to Salisbury to be at the Registrar’s office the moment its doors opened on Monday morning. He presented the letter to the receptionist and waited while the appropriate file was being sought from registry. A puzzled attendant kept appearing and disappearing, saying the file reference group seemed correct but that the final digit corresponded to a file that could not be located. Eventually the penny dropped and Keith realised that the joke against him had been so well prepared that even the Registrar’s Office had been fooled.

John enjoyed this experience so much that he decided to pull a fast one on all officers at Thornhill. We received an official-looking questionnaire purporting to have come from Air Headquarters. It started with the usual Rank, Name, Number, Date of Birth, Date of Attestation etc. and required individual Flying Log Book records be broken down into components that required hours of work. The spaces to be filled were such that little space was given where the entry would be long and large spaces for entries requiring little space; typically Government! However, the questions went on and on and even asked for domestic details including such things as how many pets one kept, their names and food brands.

It only fooled those who were in the habit of filling in forms as they read each question. Those of us who read through the questionnaire first, smelled a rat and threw it into the waste bin. Unfortunately, two senior officers who had little time to spare put in a lot of work before realising a prankster had caught them out. There was hell to pay.

Before an official investigation could progress too far, John Mussell owned up to being the one who had prepared, printed and issued the questionnaires. For his troubles he received a severe reprimand and had to replace all the paper that had been wasted.

When my course reported to New Sarum for the pilot selection process in 1956, we all noticed that the cover flap on one toilet seat in the ablution block of the officers single quarters had been elaborately painted with a poem set inside a floral wreath. As I recall it, the poem started with the words “In loving memory of Mike Saunders who did’st on…”

Mike Saunders was well known for naughty deeds right from the start of his flying career. He was a junior pilot when he went into a toilet and waited there until the other three adjoining ones were occupied. At this point he lit a short fuse affixed to a commercial detonator. As soon as the fuse was burning, Mike dropped it into the toilet and flushed. He expected the water to transport the fuse and detonator into the external sewerage pipe where detonation would pressurise the system and blow the contents of the toilet bowls upward onto the bare butts of his unsuspecting mates.

Mike’s plan failed. The fuse and detonator were too heavy for the water to carry over the bowl’s water trap. The flush was complete before detonation occurred, shearing the toilet bowl at floor level. Mike’s error cost him all the repair expenses and his colleagues rubbed this in with the painted remembrance wreath and poem on the new wooden seat.

Some time during the ’60s, Alex Roughead had become a menacing pyromaniac. He revelled in explosives and set many traps for his mates. One of his pranks involved substituting a small wad of magnesium cotton in place of the filament of a broken light bulb. Upon entering their own rooms his friends would receive quite a fright and become temporarily blinded when they switched on the main light. He had done this at New Sarum so many times that all of his friends had learned to look away and expect a bang when they switched on ceiling lights.

Alex decided he should change the position and set up a larger charge on a bedside light. Having heard nothing during the night nor received any abuse at the breakfast table next morning, he felt disappointed. So he went to inspect the bedside light he had doctored and found it as he had left it. Alex switched on the light, but nothing happened. He could not understand this. Next he went to the main electrical board in the passageway where he found a thermal breaker had dropped out. As he switched it on an almighty explosion occurred.

Alex returned to his friend’s smoke-filled room to discover that the bedside cabinet, light and most of the bed had been destroyed. Huge black burn marks covered two walls and the ceiling. Realising that his friend might have been killed or badly hurt if the thermal switch had not tripped out the previous night, Alex abandoned pyrotechnic trapping.

Unrelated to Air Force were stories of a commercial pilot serving with Central African Airways before that airline became Air Rhodesia. He had been trained by Air Force and delighted in teasing old ladies and brand-new airhostesses. Walking backwards from the flight deck, drawing out two lengths of string, he would come to an old lady and hand her both strings requesting that she fly the aircraft whilst he slipped off to the loo.

Targeting a new hostess on her first flight he gathered up all the salad on his lunch plate and placed it inside an airsick bag. With the connivance of the skipper, he rang the service bell for the hostess. When she arrived on the flight deck she found the second Dickey doubled up and noisily puking into the sick-bag. He turned and apologised for asking her to take the bag from him. As the hostess reached for the bag the captain grabbed it saying, “I love my salad warm" whereupon he hand-scooped salad into his mouth. The hostess, with hand over mouth, left the cabin retching.

On another occasion this naughty pilot dug a hole in the paper plate on which his lunch had been served. He undid his fly and pulled the head of his twin through the hole and set salad neatly around it. When the new hostess responded to the cockpit service bell, he pointed to the centre of the salad pile and asked, “What’s the meaning of serving this with my salad”? The panicking hostess apologised, took the fork from the plate and stabbed the offending item, which promptly bled profusely as cries of agony emitted from its owner. Not surprisingly, this pilot became more circumspect in future pranks.

15 PTC

WITH THE INTRODUCTION OF CANBERRAS and the impending arrival of Hunters, the RRAF was running short of pilots. Following the 1960 break in pilot training, it was decided to make this up in 1961. No 15 PTC was brought forward to mid-1961 to follow close behind 14 PTC, which was then midway through BFS.

When 14 PTC moved on to Vampires, I was allocated three 15 PTC students. They were Officer Cadets David Hume, Doug Patterson and Bruce McKerron. Patterson did not do well. I put him up for a scrub check and he returned to Civvy Street. McKerron was a cocky young fellow who was too familiar for my liking, but once he knew where he stood he did well and I enjoyed teaching him.

Hume came from Umtali where I had known his parents and brother Peter before I joined the Air Force; but I had only noticed young David in passing.

From his very first gentle flight Dave Hume was airsick and sortie after sortie had to be cut short to get the honking cadet back on the ground. It was obvious to me that David had potential and should make a good pilot, so long as the airsickness problem could be overcome. Feeling sure his was not a physical problem, I set out to cure him.

Most of the students had flown about eight hours but Dave Hume had less than half of this time. As usual, he reached for his ‘honk packet’ twenty minutes into the flight. Once he had heaved up, I told him to tighten his seat belt and hold tight to see what he must eventually endure if he was to become a pilot. For about fifteen minutes I conducted non-stop aerobatics with lots of positive and negative ‘G’, plenty of fuel fumes and a couple of naughty flick rolls that even made me feel a bit queasy. When I stopped, Dave had half his face in the honk packet and his knees were up by his ears as he wretched noisily and repeatedly, but with nothing coming from his stomach. Back on the ground he staggered back to the crew-room bathed in sweat and so pale I became worried that I might have overdone things. When he eventually recovered I said to him, “Hume, you have experienced and survived much harsher flying than you will face at any stage of your flying training. What you have to go through to reach solo is very, very gentle, so stop worrying about your stomach and let’s get on with the job." Dave never had a moment’s trouble from then on and went solo with time to spare. He eventually gained the Sword of Honour as best student when he and his course members received their wings.

Some time after the last solo had been flown I was given Officer Cadet Harold Griffiths, due to ‘non-compatibility’ with his first instructor. He had joined the ground-training phase of his course late because, as a member of the Churchill School Pipe Band, Griffiths (Griff) had been given special dispensation by Air HQ to accompany the band on a tour of Scotland. His introduction to flying with the RRAF was unusual and might have put a lesser man right off flying as a career.

The Churchill School Pipe Band was well known to all Rhodesians for its excellence in Scottish piping dress and drills. So their invitation to participate at the Edinburgh Festival was wholly supported and the RRAF undertook to fly the band to Scotland and back.

OC 3 Squadron, Squadron Leader Harry Coleman, captained the aircraft with Flight Lieutenant Bill Smith as his co-pilot. They were in for a Tough trip because the work of professional saboteurs showed up again. Just prior to crossing the Zambezi River on the northbound leg, the port outer engine had to be closed down due to total loss of oil pressure. This necessitated turning back to Salisbury where a standby Canadair was available to resume the long flight to England. Two engines on this replacement aircraft also suffered the selfsame problem as the first. Fortunately these both occurred in the UK costing much wasted time and money. The aircraft eventually returned to New Sarum safely and disgorged a very relieved bunch of pipers.

Each of the three Rolls Royce Merlin engine failures occurred when high-pressure oil hoses fractured. The replacement engines acquired and fitted in England were fne. But back in Rhodesia all Canadairs had been grounded to find out why relatively new, high-quality hoses had failed.

This led to the discovery that some hoses, all in different locations on affected engines, had been cut with a fine blade right up against the steel sleeve of a coupling. The cuts ran all the way around the lip of the coupling, penetrating two of the three braided reinforcement layers. The cut lines were so fine that they were undetectable until subjected to severe bending. The saboteurs knew their business because it would have been impossible for any technician conducting a routine pre-flight inspection to see the cuts.

Returning to Harold Grifths. Hisfirstinstructor had passed him to me because of his cocky attitude. I had to agree that Grif seemed to be a bit too sure of himself, but I experienced no difficulties and found him to be a good student who learned quickly and few well. In time to come Grif and his lovely wife Linda became special family friends.

Fire-fighting cock-up

THORNHILL WAS OPENED TO THE public one Saturday for static displays of aircraft and equipment, flying displays, guard-dog displays and, horror of horrors, a fire-fighting demonstration.

As Station Fire Officer I had to arrange a meaningful display involving a fuel fire sufficient in size to radiate enough heat to force spectators to keep a respectable distance. For this, a three-foot barrier in sheet metal was erected and filled with plenty of old tyres, rags and half drums of aviation fuel. Immediate upon ignition, huge fames shot up to considerable height with masses of fame, heat and boiling black smoke.

First and second rehearsals by the fire section had the flame extinguished in quick order and Flight Sergeant Dumas assured me that his men would do even better on the day of the show. I had my doubts because experience had shown me that success in practice, with no hitches, often results in cock-ups and major embarrassment.

At the appointed time, with everyone’s attention focused by the public address system, Flight Sergeant Dumas walked up to the tank and initiated the fire. Spectators had moved back from the intense heat as the main Rolls Royce fire tender arrived and firemen commenced connecting their hoses. Immediately my doubts turned to concern because I could see that the black firemen, with so many spectators watching them, were overacting in typical African fashion.

As the fire hoses were rolled out to their correct positions, Flight Sergeant Dumas signalled the tender to provide foam. Seconds passed before a tiny trickle of liquid emerged from the nozzles where firemen stood braced for the pressure that failed to come.

The flames got bigger and hotter with spectators taking a few more paces backwards. Some of the hose tenders left their stations to seek out possible kinks in the line when suddenly full pressure came through to the nozzles. This threw the men who had remained at the nozzle ends straight into the air before the hoses broke loose and whipped around showering white foam over everything but the fire.

When the foam-soaked men regained control of their hoses and placed the gushing foam where it was intended, the fire went out. I was deeply embarrassed by such an appalling demonstration, but the crowd roared, “Encore! Encore!”

Congo crisis

DURING A VISIT TO SOUTH Africa, the then British Prime Minister, Harold Macmillan, had made his famous ‘winds of change’ speech in Cape Town. I can remember telling Beryl that he should have used the words, ‘WINDS OF DESTRUCTION’ because we could already see that the dismantling of the British Empire was doing no good at all to those African states that had been granted independence. Infrastructures were collapsing and ordinary peoples’ standards of living were declining whilst the political ‘fat cats’ got fatter and military coups became order of the day. But it was not only Britain’s Empire that was being given away.

In mid-1960, chaos and savagery broke out in the Belgian Congo when the Government of Belgium handed control to unprepared black politicians. New names appeared in the papers—Lumumba, Kasavubu, Bomboko, Mabuto and Tshombe being the most prominent ones. Large numbers of soldiers of the Force Publique, who had previously been highly efficient and disciplined under white Belgian Officers, were suddenly leaderless and refused to take orders from any black politician.

Throughout the country the gendarmerie broke loose from their barracks with their weapons and went off on a spree of looting, rape and murder. The outrages, particularly against missionaries and nuns, were widespread and unbelievably cruel in nature. Seeking to escape the confusion and threat to their lives, thousands of white refugees fled into Northern Rhodesia.

Initial RRAF involvement was limited to the air transportation of distraught refugees from Ndola to Salisbury where huge transit facilities were established. After the last of the refugees had left, mainly bound for Belgium, the situation settled for a while but then it went from bad to worse.

Moise Tshombe, who was President of the Provincial Government of Katanga Province, attempted to take the initiative to regain control of the situation in his province. Realising that the Central Government had lost control he sought to save copper-rich Katanga that, by virtue of its socio-economic and geographical position, could stand alone.

Having gained some semblance of control, Tshombe declared Katanga independent which had the effect of drawing Katangese gendarmerie to his cause. Along with this came many white volunteers and mercenary officers to head the newly formed Katangese Army.

Tshombe was known to be pro-West whilst Patrice Lumumba, head of Central Government in Leopoldville, was pro-communist. A United Nations force was sent to Congo to help restore order and for reasons known only to himself, Kasavubu—President of the Congo—had Lumumba arrested. Lumumba was half dead through maltreatment by the time he was dumped off at Elizabethville, in spite of Tshombe’s refusal to accept him on Katangese soil. Lumumba was murdered by Katangese villagers soon thereafter with Tshombe becoming the scapegoat for his demise. With UN attention now focused on Katanga there existed a threat to peace in Northern Rhodesia and the Federation.

Federal troops and the RRAF were called to readiness though at no time was there any question of entering Katanga or any other part of Congo. Considerable political manoeuvring ensued and at one point it appeared as if Tshombe’s own initiatives might succeed. It was agreed that provinces would be given autonomy whilst Kasavubu’s Central Government retained a neutral stance on purely provincial matters. However, as has become common in African politics, Kasavubu ignored an agreement made at Tananarive in Malagasy and had Tshombe arrested at Qoquilhatville, the venue for a meeting intended to ratify the Tananarive Agreement. Tshombe was later released.

Following this, a real tragedy developed when the so-called ‘peace-keeping force’ of the United Nations was used with the aim of returning Katanga to the control of Central Government. Yielding to a multiplicity of communist and non-aligned demands, Tshombe’s voice of democracy was ignored and the UN, whose real character became fully revealed, systematically blocked all his efforts.

The true colours of this world body were exposed again when, acting behind a screen of western press outcries at the building of the Berlin Wall, the UN implemented the most shameful abuse against the freedom-seeking Katangese people. Irish, Indian, Swedish and Ghurkha troops used appalling armed force. The Katangese soldiers were not willing to meekly surrender their arms however, so the bloody conflict that then ensued threatened to spill over the Federal border and the RRAF moved two squadrons forward to Ndola.

A full-scale UN Offensive launched at 04:00 on Wednesday 13 September 1961. As a direct consequence, just four days later, the secretary-general of the United Nations, Dag Hammarskjold, died in an air tragedy whilst approaching to land at Ndola Airport for talks with Tshombe who was waiting there to meet him. Had Dag Hammarskjold lived, it is conceivable that some sense might have been brought into the UN’s Congo policy. Instead the situation worsened.

Following a tenuous Ceasefire the UN force under Brigadier Raja of the Indian Army launched a second Offensive against the Katangese. This opened at 13:45 on 5 December. Canberra bombers of the Indian Air Force and Saab fghters of the Swedish Air Force bombed and strafed the Katangese airbase at Kolwezi the next day. All-out war had been initiated against Katanga whose crime had been to seek independence under its western-oriented, multi-national government. For its part, the UN sought nothing short of all-out control by the ultra-left Central Government.

Incredibly this whole tragedy was largely USA-inspired for its own greedy interests in Congo’s minerals. In fact, successive US governments fully supported their corruptible puppet, Mabuto Sese Seko and for many years ignored his tyrannical rule and blatant corruption against his people just so long as US interests in Congolese minerals were met.

Pilot training at Thornhill was temporarily suspended when all the instructors were attached to No 1 Squadron to make up pilot numbers for Vampire operations. For me this was a most welcome break from instruction. No 3 and No 4 Squadrons had already been operating out of Ndola and northeastern Zambia for some days when we arrived.

A Central African meteorological condition known as the ITCZ (Intertropical Convergence Zone) develops in the summer months when warm moist ‘Congo air’ converges with the cool air masses driving up from the south. This creates a deep belt of rainy weather with low cloud that can persist for many days and nights.

The ITCZ usually moved between central Congo and Southern Rhodesia’s southern border. During the time we were at Ndola for ‘the Congo Crisis’, however, the ITCZ remained almost stationary over Katanga and the northern sectors of Northern Rhodesia. This made flying difficult and even dangerous, as proven when the over-tired aircrew of Dag Hammarskjold’s DC6 aircraft crashed in line with, but way short of Ndola’s active runway.

The crash site was discovered the following morning by one of the Provost pilots sent out to search for the missing DC6. The aircraft had been heard by all of us in the early hours of the morning as it passed over Ndola Airport on its procedural NDB let-down. But on the inbound leg for landing the pilot few into a 100-foot-high forested ridge five miles from the airfield. Inspection of the crash site, where a number of local charcoal producers lived within the forest, showed that the aircraft had met with the trees, wings level, in a shallow descent. Had the cloud base not been so low, the crew would have picked up the lights of Ndola and arrived safely. Instead the aircraft descended below the check height given on the International let-down chart for Ndola. However, a United States Air Force Jeppesen manual, found clipped open at the Ndolo (Congo) section, happened to be 1,000 feet lower than Ndola (Northern Rhodesia).

Dave Thorne and I, flying Vampire FB9s, operated as a pair for the entire period of our stay. Our task, along with those of other Vampires and a couple of Provosts based at Ndola, was to make the RRAF’s presence known along the western Katangese border and keep an eye open for any trans-border movement of refugees and foreign armed forces. All flying had to be conducted under persistent low cloud, which in places was no more than 100 feet above the trees. This made map reading particularly difficult on our small-scaled 1:1,000,000 maps.

Beyond the built-up areas, tarmac roads and railway lines linking the Copper Belt towns there existed nothing but a sea of magnificent tall trees that stretch for hundreds of miles in every direction. A few dirt roads were marked but no physical features existed to defne the international boundary line. In consequence we strayed across the border on occasions, once with Dave leading us as far beyond it as the rail-line just east of the UN-occupied base at Kolwezi. This was some forty nautical miles north of where we thought we were. Fortunately the weather was so bad that we seemed not to have been noticed.

A second deep penetration occurred with me leading. We had come upon a large convoy of vehicles at the border post of Kasumbuleza. Having orbited to identify vehicle types and numbers I rolled out to fly along the roadway leading to the Northern Rhodesian town of Bancroft. We had flown some distance when Dave Thorne radioed “Cheeky!” at the same moment I saw the black smoke ahead caused by fighting in Elizabethville. We did a smart turn about and retraced our route to Kasumbuleza.

It was only then that I realised that the road, power-lines and hills on the right side of the road from Kasumbuleza to Elizabethville looked exactly the same as those from Kasumbuleza to Bancroft. Considering there was no sun to give an automatic sense of direction, I had been remiss in relying on hills, road and power-lines without also checking my compass heading.

When out of radio range of Ndola Approach, we often switched over to the Elizabethville Approach Control frequency to listen in on UN aircraft chatter. We had heard ’Tiger formation’, four Indian Air Force Canberras, a couple of times before something unusual occurred one morning.

We had just switched over to listen to UN natter when Tiger Leader came up on Elizabethville Control, “Tiger, check-in.” Spontaneously the usual “Tiger 2”—“Tiger 3”—Tiger 4” check-in occurred. But this time it was immediately followed by “Tiger 5”—“Tiger 6”—“Tiger 7”—“Tiger 8”; all in typically Indian accents.

The formation leader, showing annoyance transmitted, “Tiger, do not be playing foolishly, check-in”, whereupon Tigers three to four were followed smoothly by the phantom Tigers 5 to 8. The leader obviously realised someone was interfering so he instructed his formation to QSY (change frequency) to their operational channel.

Next day Tiger Leader was bringing his formation back to base. Having come onto the Elizabethville Approach Control frequency the formation checked in normally and, sure enough, the phantom Tigers 5 to 8 checked in too. The leader ignored the interference and asked Elizabethville Approach for a QDM (heading to steer to base) whereupon the Approach Controller, another Indian voice, asked Tiger Lead for an unmodulated transmission. This is a radio transmission with no voice inclusion that allows the directional sensing apparatus to receive a smooth (unmodulated) carrier wave on which to sense.

As Tiger Leader transmitted, screeching in our headphones told us that a second aircraft was transmitting at the same time. The approach controller told Tiger his transmission had been blocked and asked for another unmodulated transmission. Again the screeching of an overlaid transmission disallowed the controller from establishing a heading for Tiger Lead to steer. His directional indicator needle would have been flicking randomly around its 360-degree dial.

This situation repeated itself a few more times before Tiger 2 told his leader he was low on fuel and breaking away for an independent recovery to base. In a relatively short time the obviously angry Canberra leader was on his own, the other Canberras having also broken formation. Two days later we heard Tiger Formation once more showing that all Canberras had made it safely back to base. By this time the 4 Squadron pilot responsible for interfering with Tiger Formation had been exposed and given a flea in the ear. He did not interfere with Tiger Formation again.

The Katangese forces were fighting the UN forces with all they had and one colourful French pilot’s exploits came to our notice. We knew him as Max and I only met him once. He operated a Twin-Dornier out of a small bush strip, Kipushi, whose 1,000-foot runway was half-inside Northern Rhodesia and half-inside Katanga Province. Most nights Max got airborne for his one-man air war against the UN. Crudely applied green and brown poster paint seemed to handle the rainy weather remarkably well and the camouflage effect was excellent. He employed crudely made bombs that were hand-dropped through an opening cut in the floor of his aircraft. Using the gas flame that emitted from its high stack at the Union Minière copper-smelting plant near Elizabethville, Max made timed runs to drop two bombs off each pass across the blacked-out UN airbase. He ignored ineffectual searching ground fire and made run after run against unseen aircraft on the ground. His efforts were well rewarded; in particular the destruction of a UN Globemaster was high return for such crude and inexpensive effort.

When he could, Max drank at bars in Elizabethville where UN forces were present. What guise he employed I cannot say but his objective was to find out how his bombing had affected the UN air effort and to glean whatever other information he could. In doing this he befriended a helicopter technician who agreed to take him onto the airbase and show him over a small Bell helicopter. Max’s casual questions were answered and he found out how to start the machine. He then awaited an opportunity to steal it.

When the right moment came, Max started the engine and, never having flown a helicopter before, heaved the Bell into the air and wobbled and swayed into forward flight. There were no difficulties with the low-level bolt to the border and Kipushi airstrip. But landing a helicopter is no simple matter as Max found out when his attempt to hover for the landing ended in a big mix-up as rotor blades beat the airframe to destruction. Max survived the experience and was airborne again that same night in his Dornier to bomb UN planes.

On 18 December the instructors were released from Ndola to return to normal duties. Most of the flight back to Thornhill was in bright clear skies, which was wonderful after the awful weather around Ndola. However, this changed as we approached Thornhill where we had to make independent radar approaches through torrential rain in severe thunderstorms. Bulawayo and Salisbury were experiencing similar conditions so there were no question of a diversion. Flight Lieutenant Ron Vass directed me by radar to the point where I was handed over to the Precision Radar Controller whose voice I recognised as that of Squadron Leader Bat Maskell. Without hesitation I requested to be passed to Flight Lieutenant Mac Geeringh. As always Mac guided me right onto the runway whose lights I did not see until Mac instructed me to look up for touch-down.

Having just settled down in the crew-room with a cup of coffee, I received a call from OC Flying who asked why I had insulted Squadron Leader Maskell by asking for Mac for the final radar talk-down. I explained that there had been no intention of insulting anyone but that a few weeks earlier on an instrument let-down in clear sky conditions my student, reacting correctly to Bat Maskell’s directions, would have reached ground well to the right of the runway. The experience had badly affected my confidence in him. Mac Geeringh, on the other hand, had a very reassuring voice and a special way of coaxing a pilot down the glide slope. For me, this had always ended up smack on the runway centre-line. Considering the weather conditions during this let-down I needed this confidence. OC Flying was satisfied, I heard no more about the matter and my personal relationship with Bat seemed unaffected.

The return to Provosts and instruction after jet flying seemed boring but it had its rewards because Dave Hume, Griff and Bruce McKerron were coming along well. But then I was very annoyed when told I would be losing my best student, Dave Hume, to take on Officer Cadet Dave Becks whose instructor had engineered a direct swap of students.

Gwelo Gliding Club

OUR METEOROLOGIST, HARVEY QUAIL ALWAYS provided very accurate forecasts of weather conditions until his deep involvement with the Gwelo Gliding Club, which he founded, seemed to rob him of his forecasting talent.

In 1962 he persuaded me to join his club as its Chief Flying Instructor. I accepted the position on condition that all flying members were grounded until they had undergone full instruction in spin recoveries with a Bulawayo instructor who owned a Tiger Moth. This was because, in 1961, two learner pilots had inadvertently entered spins and died because they had not been taught how to avoid or recover from this flying hazard. I would have preferred to do the instruction myself but our trainer, a Slingsby T31, was not suited for the purpose.

Every flight I ever made in a glider gave me special pleasure, even the simple instructional ones. I particularly enjoyed flying high-performance, single-seater machines. So far as I was concerned, gliding could not be compared with powered flight. It possessed a magic all of its own and two particular flights stick in my mind.

Mrs Mungay (pronounced Mingay), a great enthusiast who was always on hand to make tea for anyone needing refreshment, asked me to take her up on a short jolly. We made a normal cable-winch launch in the Slingsby T31 tandem trainer for what was intended to be a simple circuit and landing. However, on this occasion we entered strong lift just before the normal cable-release point so I cut free and entered into a tight turn to hold the thermal.

The initial rate of climb was impressive and, amazingly, it kept increasing. The T31 was considered to be more like a streamlined brick than a performance glider but our thermal was so potent that we climbed with ease to 11,000 feet where it was bitterly cold.

Being in an open cockpit dressed in shorts and a light shirt did not concern me because I was concentrating on climbing as high as possible. However Mrs Mungay, using the old-fashioned voice tube shouted, “My fanny is frozen." I laughed and ignored her problem until at 11,600 feet she was pleading with me to get her back on the ground. I rolled out of the turn to break from the thermal but the aircraft just carried on climbing. A little short of 12,000 feet I placed the glider in a full sideslip that did the trick and we descended down through ever-warmer air until finally we were back on the ground.

Since there had been no intention to do more than fly one circuit, the aircraft had not been fitted with a barometric recorder to prove the height achieved. So there was no point in complaining that I might have been denied the opportunity to claim a world height record for a Slingsby T31, simply because my passenger’s fanny was frozen.

My second memory is of a failed attempt to fly a Slingsby Swallow from Gwelo Gliding Club to the Salisbury Gliding Club. Progress was fine initially thanks to a starting height of 14,300 feet over Gwelo. But in the Redcliff area near Que Que I could find no thermals at all. In desperation I made for the Rhodesian Iron and Steel Company works to pick up lift around a smoke column rising from the factory. The acrid smoke made me cough and splutter and I experienced eye-watering burning of my eyes. As soon as I had sufficient height to make for Que Que I broke out into clean air. On two occasions I flew towards hawks soaring in weak thermal conditions but eventually I was forced to land in a farmer’s field and await collection. Any hope of becoming a proficient high-performance glider pilot was short lived. Club life was robbing me of time I needed to spend with my family and the cost of gliding was becoming too high.

16 PTC

IN JULY 1962 NO 16 PTC commenced their BFS and I was allocated Officer Cadets Graham Cronshaw, Prop Geldenhuys and Chris Dixon. All three progressed normally and I made it known that I did not wish to have any of these students taken from me to satisfy any other instructor’s will. This only worked for three and a half months before my favourite student, Prop Geldenhuys, was taken away. I was given Officer Cadet du Toit who had not been shaping up with his first instructor.

I had a very soft spot for Prop Geldenhuys for more reasons than his good nature; we had experienced two serious incidents together. The first of these was when I was demonstrating recovery from engine failure on a short-field take-off.

A short take-off required full power against brakes before rolling and forcing lift-off at around 65 knots with a steep climb out. No recovery from engine failure was possible below 200 feet, which made me wonder why this exercise that I had demonstrated many times was considered necessary. Anyway, at 200 feet I chopped the engine and pitched the nose down sharply. Talking to Prop all the time, the airspeed was increased to 85 knots before the first of two attitude changes was made to reduce the descent rate and glide angle preparatory to a normal round-out for landing.

When I made the first check the aircraft attitude changed but the descent rate and angle remained unaltered. Full throttle was applied, but the engine did not respond and even full flap failed to prevent the aircraft from slamming heavily into the ground. This fully compressed the main wheel oleos that then forced us to rebound back into the air. Immediately the motor roared to full power, lifting the aircraft precariously with insufficient runway remaining to put down again safely. The Provost was staggering along when I realised the wings were badly distorted. Aileron control was all but lost, necessitating the use of rudder to lift the port wing. To achieve the correct climbing speed, the nose had to be depressed well below its normal climbing attitude because the distorted wings were now set at a higher than normal angle to the airframe.

I was still sorting myself out when Prop blurted out, “Sir, this wing is coming off." I looked down my side and could see that the wing root fairing had separated from the leading edge and that there were stress wrinkles on the mainplane. Obviously Prop’s side looked the same but sun reflections on the ripples, from his perspective, must have given him an impression of imminent structural failure.

Having assured Prop we would be okay, I waited until we were above a safe bail-out height before telling him to be prepared to jettison the canopy and abandon the aircraft without hesitation if I told him to do so. Very limited aileron movement was available at each end of full application because the control cables had become slack within the distorted wings. Elevator and rudder control responses were normal so I continued climbing to 10,000 feet with a view to establishing the stalling speed and to conduct low-speed handling checks preparatory to a landing that I felt sure would be possible.

Bob Woodward came up to inspect our Provost and reported that, apart from severely bent wings, the port tyre had burst and the tail wheel had disappeared into the fuselage. He formated on me as I reduced speed to check my damaged aircraft’s slow-speed handling characteristics. When it felt as if we were near to stalling, my airspeed indicator read 100 knots whereas Bob said his was reading 85 knots. We concluded this had something to do with changed geometry of the airframe.

The landing was fine, the wings did not come off but the burst wheel, even with a fair amount of right-wheel braking, pulled the aircraft into a wide turn before we came to a dusty halt.

I had just climbed out of the cockpit onto the wing with my parachute slung over my shoulder when Group Captain Jock Barber drew up behind the aircraft in his Staff car. Looking directly towards the CO, I took the normal step down from the trailing edge of the wing and nearly broke my neck and back when my foot met ground about two feet closer than usual because the trailing edge of the wing was so much closer to ground. This bad jolt, and possibly the high-impact landing, initiated spinal problems that were to plague me for twenty-four years until an orthopaedic surgeon eventually performed a successful lower lumber fusion in 1986.

Chris Dams and Dave Thorne conducted tests in which they discovered that the Leonides engine’s response to full throttle application failed when rpm was reducing close to idling speed. This was taken to be the reason for my engine not giving full power at a critical moment. But it was the technicians who pinpointed the primary cause of the accident. The airspeed indicator on my side of the cockpit was over-reading by 10 knots. Had I been using the student’s airspeed indicator, as I should have done when instructing, a costly accident would certainly have been avoided.

The second incident with Prop occurred during a take-off run. Prop had applied too much elevator when lifting the tail. Because the nose was too far down, I placed my hand on my control column and, easing back slightly, said “Not so much!”, whereupon Prop applied full brakes, pitching the nose down violently. Fortunately my hand was already on the control column so I was able to yank back and prevent the propeller from digging into the runway. In so doing the aircraft was forced to stagger into flight prematurely.

I climbed and had turned down wind for a landing to have the tyres inspected when I noticed that Prop had his hand on the control column, still with brakes fully applied. A gentle tap on his arm made him let go. Even before lining up with the runway we could see the two lines of torn grass down the centre of the runway. They were later paced out at sixty-eight yards.

Prop explained that he thought we were already airborne when he applied the brakes; anyway we had been very fortunate. Had the propeller dug into the ground at speed and full power a serious situation might have resulted.

Pat Meddows-Taylor and Dave Thorne, seeing that I was somewhat shaken by the incident, offered me a cigarette. Not having smoked in my adult life I declined their offer; but both of them insisted I take a couple of puffs to calm me down. Foolishly I took the lighted cigarette and, under guidance, inhaled smoke. There was no coughing so I took another and then another drag before becoming dizzy.

The first incident with Prop Geldenhuys led to major spinal problems and the second one set me off on cigarette smoking; two awful afflictions that can be blamed on nobody but myself.

Officer Cadet Strnad, a student on 16 PTC, was one of the most troubled youngsters I had ever met. He was not my student and I only flew with him once on IF. Like the rest of his course, Strnad was not used to alcohol but, when he did drink, he became very weepy and needed to talk to anyone who would lend a sympathetic ear. In Beryl and me he found sympathy, not that either one of us could make sense of his ramblings until Beryl managed to get to the root cause of his distress. His father was practising incest on his sister who was a very unwilling participant. Not long after this Strnad, after his release from the RRAF, returned to South Africa where he murdered his father to protect his sister and then changed his name. He was imprisoned but later released when an Appeal Court judge ruled in his favour.

RAF Trappers

NO 1 SQUADRON CONTINUED TO undertake annual detachments to Aden and the Canberras made their contribution to Middle East Commonwealth defence by training with RAF bombers based at RAF Akrotiri in Cyprus.

Although our Canberra pilots were Rhodesian-trained, most of the navigators had been recruited from the RAF and the South African Air Force. Rhodesian determination to turn in top results in all they did obviously rubbed off on the navigators because No 5 Squadron gave the RAF Canberra boys quite a hiding during annual bombing competitions. This seemed to intrigue the RAF hierarchy who, with the concurrence of our Air HQ, decided to look into Royal Rhodesian Air Force flying standards.

Central Flying School of the RAF ran a team of testing officers nicknamed ‘The Trappers’. The team was comprised of highly rated instructors who roamed RAF squadrons testing other instructors as well as fighter, transport, bomber and helicopter pilots. When the Trappers arrived in Rhodesia to test our pilots, absolutely nothing was known of their presence or purpose until, unannounced, they appeared in every squadron crew-room.

Two testing officers came to 2 Squadron, one to test Vampire instructors and the other to test Provost instructors. Each selected three of us at random and I was one to be tested by Flight Lieutenant Grimson. He asked for pre-flight briefings on three nominated flight exercises prior to flying. In the air he tested my teaching techniques on the entire range of daytime exercises, excluding formation and navigation. In the Officers’ Mess bar that evening I found him to be a very pleasant individual, quite unlike the austere Trapper I knew in briefing room and cockpit. He uttered not a word to anyone about his assessment of those he had tested and would not be drawn to express opinion of our flying standards.

From Central Flying School our Headquarters received detailed reports revealing that, with the exception of No 4 Squadron, RRAF flying standards were equal to those of the RAF. The report made recommendation that an instructor be posted to 4 Squadron with a view to bringing its pilots up to standard. I was selected for this task and was posted to New Sarum.

No 4 Squadron

JUST PRIOR TO MY LEAVING Thornhill, my very first student Terry Ryan, then serving with 4 Squadron, was killed whilst flying unauthorised low-level aerobatics to impress his friends who were visiting the Snake Park near Salisbury. Apparently he was attempting a left-hand stall-turn that went pear-shaped and the aircraft slammed belly first into the ground close to the main Salisbury road. This was a sad prelude to my arrival on the squadron whose commander was Squadron Leader Ozzie Penton. Until this time I had only known him as a short cocky man who flew Canberras and revelled in baiting navigators and pilots who were six foot and over. From pilots serving under him I learned that he was tops as a squadron commander.

Ozzie Penton had flown Spitfires during WWII and became one of the most colourful individuals in our force. His small build, cocky attitude and loud voice were endearing characteristics of a man who shunned administrative posts and only wanted to fly aeroplanes.

He made me feel welcome the minute I reported for duty and insisted that my corrective instruction would start with him. He said that between the two of us we would raise squadron standards to the point where 4 Squadron would be the next winner of the Jacklin Trophy. This we succeeded in doing.

Ozzie claimed that he was the ugliest man in the force and established the ‘Uglies Club’ with Doug Bebbington as his first though somewhat unwilling member. When six-foot-tall Canberra navigator Flight Lieutenant Don Brenchley suggested to Ozzie that his looks qualified him for Uglies Club membership, Oz raised himself to everything of five foot four inches and answered Don with spaced words loudly spoken saying, “Not a bloody chance mate! We may be ugly but we do have our standards!” Had Don been a pilot or technical man this would have been different!

My task in bringing flying standards up to scratch was a pleasant one that required no more than two months of fairly intensive effort. Under Ozzie’s unique style of leadership the squadron’s discipline was tightened and already high spirits amongst air and ground crews soared.

Flight Lieutenant Ted Brent was both ‘A’ Flight Commander and Pilot Armament Instructor responsible for all weapons training. He arranged a ten-day weapons training camp at Kutanga Range for all pilots using all twelve Provosts on squadron strength. This was my first introduction to the delivery of weapons from a Provost.

I was very dissatisfied with the squadron’s poor gunnery results and wondered what I could do about it. Then, upon close inspection of the .303 Browning machine-guns, I found that they whipped about in poorly designed wing mountings. This problem was the consequence of the manufacturer having to convert Provost T1 trainers to MkT52 in too great a hurry to meet contract deadlines. I knew exactly what needed to be done and asked my OC if I could fix the problem. Not only did Ozzie approve this; he turned the issue into an official instruction to be certain I received maximum assistance from the Station Armoury and other technical sections at New Sarum. Initial resistance to a pilot leading the technical work came from two technical officers but Ozzie, who took absolutely no nonsense from anyone, sorted this out.

The mountings I designed were manufactured and fitted and ground-firing tests showed a great improvement in the accuracy of the guns. More important than this, from my own point of view, was the fact that I had established close relations with all the technical officers and technicians with whom I dealt; all were really top-line operators.

A task Ozzie pinned on me was to become the RRAF’s low-level aerobatist on Provosts; my first exhibition at an Air Show occurring at Lusaka on 26 May 1963. Of all the low-level aerobatists who ever flew for the Air Force, I was certainly the least enthusiastic. Nevertheless my display at Lusaka and many to follow went off well enough.

A couple of years later I was pleased to hand this task over to Spaz Currie, a gifted young pilot who not only flew better aerobatics than me, he enjoyed it. I flew with Spaz on low-level aerobatic instruction, but it was really Dave Thorne who had brought him to the standard of excellence for which Spaz became well known. Dave Thorne and I were rated above-average pilots but it seemed to me that, as instructors, we both had the gift of being able to teach others to fly better than ourselves.

Almost any person can be taught to fly an aircraft but few people are ‘born pilots’ possessing natural flying ability. Yet, every now and then there arise those who possess a God-given ability to handle aeroplanes with amazing precision. So far as I can recall the ‘born pilots’ of our force were Charlie Paxton, Colin Graves, John Mussell, Mark Smithdorff, Keith Corrans and Spaz Currie. Bob Woodward was rated as a top line aerobatist but when flying with him I found his control movements to be incredibly harsh.

The RRAF was somewhat under-manned for situations requiring deployment of squadrons into the field. To cater for this a Volunteer Reserve (VR) force was established under Group Captain Charles Green, himself a volunteer. He had seen service during WWII and distinguished himself when commanding 266 (Rhodesia) Squadron operating Typhoon fighter-bombers that specialised in ground-attack. As a consequence of his extreme aggression against German tank concentrations during General Patton’s push in the Ardennes campaign, Charles was shot down and became a POW.

In the initial stages there were so many Rhodesian Greek volunteers that some of us nicknamed the VR ‘The Hellenic Air Force’. Four VR officers were attached to 4 Squadron for orientation purposes, though none of them was Greek. They were Derrick Whelehan, Brian Patton, Derrick Purnell and Trevor Ruile. Their arrival coincided with my request to introduce flying exercises designed to hone pilot skills in low-level map-reading, powers of visual observation and mental retention. Our technicians were to be included in most exercises as were the four attached VR Officers. Ozzie Penton’s permission was enthusiastically given before he turned things around and, in typical Ozzie fashion, ordered me to do exactly what I had asked for. I set about preparing exercises for counter-insurgency operations even though I knew absolutely nothing about COIN operations. I had to rely entirely on my imagination and plan accordingly.

A points system was established for all these exercises which engendered a strong sense of competition amongst the participants, making the training seem more like a game than serious business. There were continuous variations introduced into the exercises, all flown at low level to simulate worst operating weather conditions.

A typical single flight task might be to: (1) find the most suitable site for float plane operations in clear water having a straight run of 800 yards within thirty nautical miles of nominated place; (2) identify features at grid references a, b, c and so on; (3) make a single pass on the bridge at grid reference so and so and have a sketch and written report on the bridge air-dropped to police station such and such.

The British South Africa Police were very helpful in providing observers at bridges, or any other place involving a single pass. Aircraft numbers were recorded and passed to the squadron so that anyone making more than one pass would be spotted and disqualified.

In the initial exercises there were wide variations in results but, with persistence, we reached a point where all results matched, thereby indicating that good standards in map-reading and recce observations had been achieved.

We returned to Kutanga for another weapons camp. The gunnery results improved unbelievably. Pilots who had previously scored around 15% hits were recording better than 60% and Ted Brent managed to score 100% on one of his solo flights. Air HQ was well pleased with the marked improvements in our gunnery, rocket and bomb results. This precipitated a visit to Kutanga by the Director General Operations, Group Captain John Deall.

During WWII at the tender age of twenty-three, John Deall relinquished his command of No 266 Squadron to take over a wing of Typhoon and Spitfire squadrons, including 266 Squadron. Later he returned to Rhodesia as a Wing Commander with five proven victories, a DFC, a DSO and the Netherlands Flying Cross.

Though of small build, Johnny Deall was a giant in all respects and greatly revered by all ranks. He always remained cool, was softly spoken and had an ability to admonish men with very few words. By far the worst chiding I ever received from anyone came from John Deall in the mid-1970s when he was Chief of Air Staff in the rank Air Commodore. He called me to his office and, holding a draft paper in front of him, simply said, “I feel let down PB. I expected better of you!” I was floored and deeply embarrassed by the quietly spoken words. I received his apology the moment he realised that I was not the writer of the paper. Nevertheless, I left Johnny Deall’s office feeling decidedly crushed.

John Deall had not flown for some years when, at Kutanga, he went up with Ted Brent to try his hand at firing rockets from a Provost; a far cry from Typhoons and Spitfires. After a couple of dummy runs he fired four rockets, one off each of four live passes. We were all stunned because he scored direct hits every time. When invited to try his hand again, Johnny declined saying he would be a fool not to quit whilst he was on top.

Warrant Officer Tommy Minks headed 4 Squadron’s technical team, made up of a lively bunch of mischievous men. One of these was Marlow Sharp, a foul-mouthed ex-Fleet Arm type who delighted in taking the mickey out of pilots and using bad language to shock young ladies.

When our beaten-up old Bedford van arrived from Que Que with a bevy of girls escorted by the unmarried guys they were met by Ted Brent. Always the perfect gentleman, Ted lifted the wet hessian screen that served as back door and dust trap. Then, one by one, he greeted each young lady and holding her hand helped her down the back step. Once inside the large marquee tent containing bar, food and chairs, Ted would satisfy himself that every lady was attended before retiring to his tent for a full night’s sleep. It was in the marquee that I first witnessed Marlow Sharp’s naughty antics.

Pilot Officer Henry Elliott had a reputation for snaffling the prettiest girls before any one of the other single fellows could make a move. However, on this particular evening, Marlow decided to turn things around. He went to a small group of girls, who he had seen sneaking looks at Henry, and said something along the lines, “Do not look now, but that good-looking pilot by the centre tent pole—such a pity about his malady. His ears are healed now. Only the deep holes behind the ears remain from where the disease started. It has moved down to his chest now, but do not be put off by that, he is well covered with special dressings so you will not smell the rotting skin." With that Marlow excused himself and left.

In no time at all every girl had learned about Henry’s ‘rotting flesh’. As it happened Henry had deep wells behind his ears and though these were part of his natural make-up, the girls had surreptitiously checked them out. Poor Henry could not figure out why his usual ability to attract girls was failing; each one he approached found reason to drift off somewhere else. Henry’s weapons results over the following two days were pathetic until Marlow told him why the girls had avoided him. Henry’s smile returned and his weapon scores improved.

Federal break-up

DURING MY TOUR ON 4 Squadron the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland was dissolved by the British Government to meet black nationalist demands. Northern Rhodesia and Nyasaland, having originally been British protectorates, were both granted independence by Britain. Respectively, they were renamed Zambia and Malawi. Southern Rhodesia had been self-governing since 1923 and reverted to this status with her name reduced to Rhodesia. Britain had guaranteed that, for agreeing to the dissolution of the Federation, Rhodesia would be given full independence at the same time as Zambia and Malawi. Sadly however, the true nature of Britain’s political expediency and its policy of appeasement, as witnessed in Chamberlain’s dealings with Hitler, became fully revealed when black governments in Africa successfully pressurised Britain into reneging on this solemn undertaking. This was but the first of many broken promises and agreements that Rhodesians were to face throughout eighteen long years of communist-inspired political turbulence.

When it came to sharing out Federal assets one of the thorniest issues was the matter of what was to be done with the RRAF. The British Government realised that the Air Force, having been built into a well-balanced force, could not simply be split three ways—this was neither practical nor sensible. It was also recognised that the majority of the costs in creating the Air Force had been borne by the people of Southern Rhodesia who, in any event, were more capable of operating the Air Force than either Zambia or Malawi. An equally important consideration was the matter of its serving personnel who had either been born in Southern Rhodesia or had set up permanent homes there.

The only component of Air Force eventually affected by share-out was No 3 (Transport) Squadron. Six of the squadron’s aircraft, four Dakotas and two Pembrokes, were allocated to Zambia. Nothing was given to Malawi.

Although the Federation was officially dissolved on 3 December 1963 the Royal prefix to Rhodesian Air Force was to remain until March 1970 when Rhodesia became a republic. In the meanwhile all members of the force were given three options before the break-up. These were to remain under their existing contracts, to join the Zambian Air Force with attractive incentives or, to leave the force permanently.

The latter option was disgustingly close to an invitation to quit the service because of the excellent terminal benefits offered. To placate those who remained in service, guarantees were given that men who accepted a ‘golden handshake’ would never be accepted back into the force. These guarantees were later ignored when Rhodesia needed experienced men in troubled times. Many were allowed to rejoin and, considering the times, this was perfectly acceptable to those who had remained. What was irksome, however, was that too many returnees were coerced into rejoining with the same rank and benefits they would have enjoyed had they not left.

Federation had been a great success yet its destruction had been forced on Rhodesia to appease black politicians bent on personal gain. Like my colleagues, I chose to ignore the dire warnings given by politicians and news media and simply put my head in the sand, got on with my work and hoped for the best. I was not alone because the majority of white Rhodesians ignored anything they preferred not to hear. Life had changed little after ten years of Federation. The beer was good, we still had the finest beef in the world and there was no shortage in any of life’s comforts.

I recall that my biggest concern in those times was that Beryl had been incapacitated by chronic asthma for the ten months since we moved from Thornhill to Salisbury. Any amount of medical effort had been given to resolve her problem but nothing helped. Then, out of the blue, my father suggested we visit Leslie Shaw, the chiropractor. We were willing to try anything at that stage and despite our doubts paid him a visit. Beryl’s asthma was so bad that she was hardly able to take four steps in succession over the short distance from our car to his rooms.

Leslie amazed us by saying that 90% of asthmatic problems stem from spinal misalignment. He asked me to wait for twenty minutes whilst he took Beryl off for X-rays of neck and spine to determine if her problems lay there. Happily they did and, after three further visits to Leslie Shaw over a period of ten days, he corrected Beryl’s misaligned neck and upper spine. This put an end to Beryl’s inhibiting asthmatic problems. Thanks to Leslie Shaw, and indirectly to my Dad, they have not recurred for the thirty-five years leading to this time of writing.

Return to Thornhill

FOLLOWING THE DISSOLUTION OF THE Federation, the RRAF found itself short on manpower, necessitating many adjustments. At the same time Salisbury Air Traffic Control was seeking a reduction in an existing high level of slow aircraft movements to improve safety and control in the face of ever-increasing volumes in jet traffic. This brought about the move of 4 Squadron back to Thornhill. At the same time Nos 5 and 6 Squadrons were amalgamated into No 5 Squadron and the Canberras moved to New Sarum. For a while, No 6 Squadron did not exist until it eventually took over 2 Squadron’s role in pilot training for BFS and AFS with 2 Squadron retaining responsibility for weapons training only.

Beryl and I were pleased to be returning to Thornhill. However, the wind was taken out of my sails the moment the squadron taxiied into dispersals where the Station Commander, Group Captain Doug Whyte, met us.

Having welcomed our OC, Squadron Leader John Mussell, he came to me with a broad grin on his face to say he had both good and bad news for me. The bad news was that he was taking me from the squadron for an indefinite period to be his Station Administration Officer, a post that had hitherto not existed. The good news was that I would be doing a limited amount of flying, most of which would be developmental testing of locally manufactured weapons.

Doug Whyte had been Station Commander in the rank of squadron leader when Thornhill was taken over from the RAF in 1955 and he remained there until my course had reached solo stage on BFS in mid-1957. Now he was back in command of a much larger station and had many things he wanted doing to get things running his way. Working directly under him was fantastic and I did not miss flying as I thought I might. The tasks I was required to perform were clear-cut, wide-ranging and quick in coming. One of these was to prepare Kutanga Range for an air weapons demonstration for cabinet ministers, African chiefs, the Army, the British South Africa Police and the press.

Kutanga Range was well known to every pilot who underwent weapons training because all had performed Range Safety Officers duties and all had enjoyed this task. Warrant Officer Nobby Clarke was the Range Warden who had a small permanent staff. One of these was John MacKenzie (Kutanga Mac), an excellent ranger who would later replace Nobby.

The Fire Section supplied a fire Jeep and crew who were housed on the range during their seven-day stints on range duties. Three domestic workers and six labourers with their wives and children lived on the range permanently whereas Nobby and John commuted daily to their homes in the town of Que Que.

Surrounded by large cattle ranches, Kutanga Range was more like a game reserve than an air-weapons range. It had large expanses of mopani bushveld and an abundance of small game, the largest species being kudu. About 3,000 acres of bush had been cleared eastward from the northern boundary fence to give visibility to widely dispersed targets. Though primarily intended for air-weapons training, Army used Kutanga for field gun, armoured car, mortar and jungle-lane training. The BSAP also used the range occasionally.

Sleeping accommodation existed for ten people and the large kitchen was able to handle many additional people whether on day visits or camping in tents. One tarmac runway and a grass runway catered for piston-engined aircraft and both could accept fully laden Dakotas. Three high, brick-under-iron roof structures, widely separated and known as quadrant huts, were used to take bearings of each rocket and bomb strike. The hut nearest the domestic area was the ‘master quadrant hut’ where the Range Safety Officer resided with radio communications to aircraft. Telephones linked it to the two secondary quadrant huts.

Two bearings were necessary to plot the position of each projectile’s impact point. The Range Safety Officer took one bearing and received the second bearing from one or other of two secondary quadrant huts. The two bearings when applied to a plotting board gave the strike position. Each result was passed to a pilot by radio within ten seconds of his strike. When the datum lines of both quadrant huts were ‘zero’, a pilot was given one or other of the following calls: “Direct hit”, “DH” or “Coconut”. These were music to every pilot’s ear but as often as not impact error would be given along the lines “six yards, four o’clock”. Errors given at 12 o’clock were overshoots along the attack line whilst 6 o’clock errors were undershoots on the same line.

Six three-metre-square elevated frames, numbered and set in a line, were covered with cardboard for Provosts firing .303 guns. Individual scores were recorded by physically counting the number of stick-on patches used to cover fresh bullet holes. Vampire 20mm gunnery targets were the same except that the frames were covered with stretched hessian. Scoring was also by physical count but paint was used to daub fresh strikes.

The same gunnery targets could not handle Hunter 30mm shoots because a single strike on any section of the frame collapsed the target. Because of this, Hunter gunnery was done on the rocket target with reliance being placed on the Range Safety Officer’s ability to judge Effectiveness of each strike. Kutanga Mac was better at this than any pilot, so Hunter gunnery training was usually deferred on those rare occasions when Mac was not available.

The rocket and dive-bombing target was one and the same, sited about 800 metres from the master and closest secondary quadrant huts. The ‘Bull’s eye’ aiming point was a simple circular pyramid of earth that was regularly covered with whitewash. This pyramid lay at the centre of a broad-lined circle whose radius was fifteen metres. The Canberra bombing target was two-and-a-half kilometres from the master and farthermost secondary quadrant huts. It comprised a single, high pyramid of earth covered with white rocks to make target acquisition possible for the long distances involved in high and medium level bombing.

Weapons demonstration

THE DATE OF THE AIR-WEAPONS demonstration was set for 12 May 1964. The guest of honour was to be the Prime Minister, Mr Winston Field, whose Rhodesian Front (RF) Party had come to power following an overwhelming victory at the polls in December 1962. Well-known Federal personalities such as Sir Roy Welensky, Sir Godfrey Huggins and Edgar Whitehead had gone and a new breed of politicians was firmly in control.

Every RF minister had seen military service in WWII and many were farmers. With the RF still settling in to govern a country facing uncertain times, Rhodesian citizens’ morale needed boosting. A demonstration of the country’s air power was expected to be helpful in this regard, though Air HQ was aiming more at establishing itself with the new breed of politicians who appeared to understand the importance of balanced military strength.

With the able assistance of Warrant Officer Nobby Clarke, I established the lay-out of targets, seating design and location, a public address system, catering plans, parking areas for aircraft and cars and so on; all of which the CO approved. With Nobby’s men and input from Thornhill’s workshops, all targets and adequate spectator benches were constructed with time to spare. There was, however, a need for extra hands to mix mud and to hand-plaster pole and thatch structures that constituted some of the targets. I asked for and got all officer cadets of both courses then undergoing pilot training.

No 17 PTC, being the senior course, was hoping to give 18 PTC most of the hard graft but I scotched this by separating their tasks and locations during working hours. But, out of working hours, the members of 18 PTC had a pretty torrid time. Wherever this junior course went its members had to carry teddy bears, all having personal names. No matter who a junior cadet met, he was obliged to introduce his teddy by name, then introduce teddy to the individual. This and other demeaning impositions certainly had the desired effects. The juniors so hated their seniors that they had become welded into a unified group.

Beryl, Debbie and Paul came out to Kutanga to visit me one day and were taking tea when the junior course, having showered away mud from their bodies and dressed in clean clothes, came in for refreshments. They set themselves up in a line to introduce their teddies to Paul then Beryl and finally Debbie. I was amused to see that every teddy was being placed at Debbie’s feet, all gifts for the little girl! Things changed when the senior course arrived. In reverse order each member of the junior course came to Debbie, apologised for his error, and retrieved his teddy, much to Debbie’s disappointment.

Notwithstanding their clean clothing, the junior course was ordered to bury a three-foot snake that the senior course had killed out on the range. First a narrow vertical grave had to be dug. When the grave was ready we watched the solemn funeral procession for a snake being borne horizontally by every hand of the junior course to the site of its vertical burial. As they marched slowly along they sang a mournful dirge composed by the senior course, their dislike of their seniors showing clearly on every face.

Group Captain Whyte was very pleased when he flew to Kutanga to inspect the entire set-up but became annoyed when press photographers arrived, uninvited. They gave the CO a bit of a run-around wanting to film aircraft in their attack dives because this would not be possible on the day of the demonstration. The CO obliged by arranging for Nos 1 and 2 Squadrons to lay on a Hunter and a Vampire for the purpose. He then asked me to fly my Provost on both high- and low-level attack profiles. For the low-level profile the CO told me to make sure one particular photographer would be put off asking for anything else.

The ‘particular’ photographer was waiting as I descended to pass over him low and fast. I could see him all the way and hoped he would chicken out because my wheels were almost in contact with the ground during the final run of 300 yards to where he stood; but I was forced to pitch up very, very, close to him. Apparently he did not budge an inch when the propeller passed over him at about three feet. He simply swung the camera around to film the aircraft climb away.

On the very day of the weapons demonstration we learned that a new man had replaced Winston Field as Prime Minister. None of us knew who Ian Smith was at that time and had no way of knowing how this WWII pilot would influence everything we did and thought.

However he did not attend the weapons demonstration because he knew that Winston Field was really looking forward to the event, having been invited as guest of honour.

On a small knoll comfortable padded seats were set out for VIPs in the shadow of a secondary quadrant hut. Below this, row upon row of fixed wooden benches provided seating for the African chiefs and other guests.

The first demonstration was announced as four Provosts peeled over in line astern diving steeply, each to deliver eight British-made 28-pound fragmentation bombs against the closest target that was about 500 metres away. The loud crrrumping denotations of each cluster of bombs following close upon each other had all the African chiefs and African soldiers diving for cover with loud cries of fear. When the Provosts cleared, they all rose cheering, dusting themselves off, laughing loudly and slapping each other on the back.

For the next two hours ever-noisier attacks had the spectators enthralled, but none more than our black countrymen who, to the end, bubbled and babbled after every noisy airstrike. Following the last bang spectators were moving off for drinks and lunch when four Hunters came in from the rear of the stands flying very low close to supersonic speed. This gave everyone the greatest fright of all and even caused that ‘particular’ photographer to drop his camera. The entire demonstration had proved a resounding success.

Early weapons testing

WHILST PREPARING FOR THE WEAPONS demonstration, I was required to fly a number of tests for Wing Commander Sandy Mutch who was then Staff Officer Operations at Air HQ. Working for him was a private engineering company seeking to improve two locally manufactured weapons and develop a new one. Twenty-eight-pound fragmentation bombs and their equivalent practice units were undergoing tests to prove new impact and airburst fuses. My involvement in this was straightforward because these bombs had been in use for some time.

The use of locally designed and manufactured fragmentation and practice bombs resulted in considerable savings in both cost and foreign currency. The fragmentation bombs were specifically intended for Canberras but could be delivered by any weapon-carrying aircraft. Ninety-six of them could be dropped from a Canberra bomb bay in a rippled release from a locally designed and manufactured carrier device nicknamed the ‘bomb box’. The practice bombs, which fired a small smoke marker charge on impact, were used for training by all the strike aircraft.

The Staff Officer Armaments, Squadron Leader Ken Gibson, and two assistant armourers had brought all the bombs and fuses to Kutanga Range. Use of a dedicated Provost piloted by me and operating out of Kutanga made loading, air releases and on-site inspection quick and simple.

Included for first tests were eight prototype sixteen-gallon napalm bombs that had not previously been used by the RRAF. Napalm was considered an excellent weapon for bush warfare but its use invariably attracted considerable criticism from a number of world bodies. In an attempt to disguise the real purpose of these units, they were referred to as ‘frangible tanks’, giving rise to the abbreviated term, ‘Frantan’. The early Frantans comprised of three sections fashioned from 1.5mm mild steel sheeting. These were a short conical nose, a central cylinder incorporating filler cap and suspension lugs and a tail cone incorporating a fuse pocket. Welded together these formed the 1.8-metre-long Frantan. In early tests Frantans were filled with reject aviation gas and soap flakes that together produced a sticky gel. I was very concerned when I learned that the test units were fitted with modified phosphorus grenades to ignite the gel.

The use of phosphorous igniters was what concerned me more than the fuel gel, though I did not know why at the time. Four sorties were to be flown with two Fantans per sortie delivered singly at low-level onto open ground. All went well with the first three sorties though I was surprised by the high level of radiated heat on the back of my neck.

On the last sortie one of the Frantans refused to separate from the carrier even when high ‘G’ and excessive yawing was applied. There was nothing I could do but land with the ‘hang up’. Having touched down and rolled along the grass runway for some distance the Frantan came away from the carrier, bounced up into the tail plane and ignited. A fiercely hot fireball engulfed the fuselage right up to the cockpit for just a moment but I rolled to the dispersal area none the worse for the experience. Apart from mild scorching of my neck, similar to sunburn, and blistered paint on the aircraft’s rear fuselage, fin and tail plane no real harm had been done. Had the Frantan dislodged at slower speed the outcome might have been serious.

A close inspection of components revealed that the suspension lug, upon which the Frantan hung on the carrier hook, had been the cause of the hang-up. This was rectified and I flew many further Frantan tests after locally designed ‘multi-directional inertia pistols’ had been fitted to fire the flash-powder charge that assisted in bursting the tank to free and ignited gel.

During these trials I got to know Wing Commander Sandy Mutch better than before. Though still bulldoggish in manner, he listened to my opinions about our air weapons in general and grudgingly agreed that most were totally unsuited to the type of conflict we seemed headed for; counter-insurgency warfare. I committed these same opinions to writing and, through Group Captain Whyte, the paper was submitted to Air HQ.

The result was that the CO received a reply asking, “What does that puppy PB know about weapons effectiveness? Had he seen how 60-pound rockets destroyed German trains and how 1,000-pound bombs blew buildings to smithereens, he might be wiser." I knew very well that our weapons were effective in conventional warfare but nobody seemed interested in considering anything beyond the small fragmentation bombs and Frantans I had been testing for bush warfare. Twelve long years were to pass before I was taken seriously and, eventually, given authority to develop locally manufactured weapons that better suited our needs.

Deaths of Bruce McKerron and Henry Elliot

ON THE AFTERNOON OF 22 June 1964 I was returning to Thornhill from Salisbury cruising at 15,000 feet. Strictly speaking the Provost was not permitted to operate above 10,000 feet because the unpressurised cockpit was not equipped with oxygen. However, out of curiosity, I was establishing the aircraft’s performance at that level. I suffered no ill effects and watched my nails continuously to make sure there was no bluing of the cuticles, an early sign of oxygen deficiency.

When I switched radio channel from Salisbury Approach Control to Thornhill, I was asked to divert to the Jet Flying Training Area. A mayday call had been received from Bruce McKerron who was flying an FB9 but nothing had been heard from him since. I made a long, full-powered descent directly towards a major feature named Umgulugulu where I intended to commence my search. Along the way I called Bruce repeatedly whilst scanning for any sign of smoke.

There was no reply and I saw no smoke. Over the massive granite dome of Umgulugulu, I looked down on the white painted numbers made by successive Pilot Training Courses. The smallest simply read ‘14 PTC’ and each PTC number was larger than the preceding one. 18 PTC was the largest and whitest having recently been put there above the others.

I looked at 15 PTC, which was McKerron’s course, and for some unaccountable reason sensed from it that Bruce was dead. It took me a while to spot the thinnest wisp of white smoke rising way back along the route I had just come. With nothing else to work on I flew to this point where a small fire was burning along a thin line of grass half way up the slope of a granite outcrop.

Looking back along the line of burnt grass I could see a black smudge on a flat rock surface at the base of the outcrop but could see nothing resembling aircraft wreckage. Then, a little way off, I noticed a group of men signalling wildly and pointing to a pyramid of newly cut branches. I made a slow low pass over six men who were all waving with one hand and pointing at the pyramid with the other. This, I was certain, was where the body of my ex-student lay so I returned to Thornhill having passed the men again waggling wings to signify that I had seen them.

Our Alouette III helicopters had recently arrived in Salisbury and by pure chance one had just landed at Thornhill. I was asked to accompany Flight Lieutenant Rex Taylor and Doctor Kirk to the crash site. Not the best occasion for my first helicopter flight!

Upon landing we were met by four African males who all talked at the same time. In their own language I requested them to take down the branches to reveal Bruce’s body that was covered by a brand-new raincoat whose owner made sure we knew this. He gladly accepted a £5 note to have it cleaned.

On removal of the coat we were met with a very dismal sight. Bruce’s parachute was still strapped to his body, the ‘D’ ring still firmly set in its retainer pocket. Apart from Bruce’s legs having being pushed into his torso, his head was flat and both blue eyes were bulging out. This was clearly the result of a very high-speed impact with ground. The thing that struck me immediately was that every joint in the right arm had dislocated and the arm lay out to twice its normal length. This could not possibly be attributed to ground impact. Rex agreed with me that Bruce had bailed out in a steep descent, probably a stabilised spin, and his right arm had caught the tail plane. With such damage to the arm we were certain that Bruce had been knocked unconscious and knew nothing thereafter.

Keith Corrans headed the Board of Enquiry whose findings concurred with our assessment. I remember how frustrated Keith was with the verbal evidence given by many Africans who claimed to have seen the aircraft come down. Not one story fitted another so Keith was forced to submit a report based on his reasoned assessment of events.

Exactly six months after this tragedy, one of Bruce McKerron’s coursemates, Henry Elliot, died in another FB9 accident. He was returning to Thornhill from the Bulawayo area at night and was under Thornhill Approach Control. He was given a heading to steer and instructed to contact Radar Control when level at 6,500 feet. The radar controller observed the aircraft approaching on the correct heading before the blip disappeared off his screen.

Henry did not respond to Approach Control or radar calls so another Vampire was guided by radar to the point Henry’s aircraft had last been seen. Immediately he arrived in the area the pilot located a fire making it clear to all that Henry had flown straight into the ground. We learned later that Henry had not been feeling well before this flight but, refusing to let this be known, went ahead with his navigational training flight instead of going to bed.

Henry Elliott had dated Beryl’s sister Yvonne for some time but this changed and he was then courting a lovely girl. Wendy Miller was well known to Beryl and me so the CO requested that we go to her home to break the news to her. Wendy was in bed and had been asleep for some time when we woke her. This was my first experience of conveying bad news and it was every bit as hard to handle as I had imagined.

First terrorist action

FIVE MONTHS EARLIER ON 4 July 1964, when Americans were celebrating Independence Day, a brutal act heralded the start of terrorism and savagery in Rhodesia. A gang of thugs of the Zimbabwe African National Union (ZANU), styled the ‘Crocodile Gang’ and led by William Ndangana, set up a simple roadblock with rocks and tree branches on a mountain section of the Melsetter road. It was late at night when Petrus Oberholzer and his family, travelling in their VW Kombi, were forced to a halt.

As Petrus alighted from the vehicle he was attacked by some of the gang with knives and was mortally wounded. Other members of the gang were attempting to drag his wife and children from the vehicle but Petrus somehow managed to get back to the driving seat to bulldoze his way through the road obstruction. He drove a short distance before dying at the wheel. The vehicle impacted the low verge of the road and stalled to a halt just short of a steep drop off the mountain’s edge. By this time all the doors had been locked from inside.

The terrified survivors knew the gang was back from their shouted abuses as they made an attempt to force open the doors. When this failed, the gang tried to light fuel streaming from the fuel tank damaged by the road obstruction. Thanks to wet matches and the timely approach of another car, the attack was broken off and the gang disappeared into the night.

Petrus Oberholzer was the first white man to die in an act of war since the Mashona Rebellion sixty-seven years earlier. The ZANU men responsible for his death were not yet armed with guns although these had become available to their Zambian-based rival ZAPU back in 1962. We knew that ZANU had started training in China in September 1962 so, considering the nature of the attack, it was feared that Mau Mau-styled operations might be opening up. These fears faded with time and armed offensives held off for twenty-one months.

Flying Wing Adjutant

IN AUGUST 1964 MY JOBS for Group Captain Whyte had been completed and I returned to flying instruction. My students were Officer Cadets Barry Roberts, Terry Jones, Blake Few and Steve Kesby. Teaching three of the students was straightforward but Blake Few suffered badly from airsickness.

I decided to apply on Blake Few the same treatment that had worked so well for Dave Hume. This time it was a dismal failure and I probably did Blake more harm than good because he continued to be sick, though less frequently. Nevertheless, this was enough to place his flying career in question. He transferred to Air Traffic Controller duties until, some years later, he returned to flying having overcome his motion sickness problem.

During the period of this course I flew two sorties with Officer Cadet Bill Buckle who I heard had the reach of an orang-utan. The average pilot had to undo his shoulder harness lock to reach over to the far side of the instrument panel to select two magneto switches for engine start-up. Bill could do this without unlocking shoulder straps, so far was his reach. Nobody could work out how he did it because he was a man of average height and his proportions were normal.

I had become bored with flying instruction and was longing for a posting. It came at the beginning of 1965 when I was moved to the newly established post of Flying Wing Adjutant. I was in this post for only nine months but enjoyed the break and was able to fly whenever I felt like doing so. I was also called upon to fly with Harold Grifths and Brian Jolley who were undergoing instruction in the Flying Instructors School.

Deaths of Barry Matthews and Sandy Trenoweth

ON 24 MARCH 1965 ELEMENTS of 4 Squadron were returning from a short camp at Tjolotjo where they had been involved in an exercise with the Army. Leading a flight of four aircraft, Mike Reynolds climbed out straight ahead until all aircraft were airborne then turned back to bid farewell to the Army guys camping next to the runway. He ran in and executed a barrel roll at too low an altitude for the inexperienced pilots following behind. The next in line, Barry Matthews, attempted to follow Mike’s manoeuvre but failed to make it through the bottom of the roll and slammed into the ground, belly down. The aircraft disintegrated and both Barry and Warrant Officer Sandy Trenoweth perished.

Sandy Trenoweth’s distressed widow requested that Sandy’s ashes be scattered from the air alongside the grass runway 13. In particular she asked OC Technical Wing for me to do this for Sandy’s sake. I had liked Sandy very much but was somewhat surprised and flattered by Mrs Trenoweth’s request.

With the urn containing Sandy’s ashes prepared and lying in the empty bucket seat next to me, I settled on line with the runway and opened the canopy. Using my knees to hold the control column, I held the urn in both hands and put it out into the slipstream. Immediately I removed the lid, the slipstream started emptying the box but some of the light ash blew back into my eyes. When the urn was completely empty the canopy was closed but I was battling to see. For almost thirty minutes I remained at height giving the tears steaming from my eyes time to clear my vision for landing.

Rupert Fothergill

ON 8 AUGUST 1965 I was sitting at my Flying Wing Adjutant’s desk when I received a distress call from National Parks Head Office in Salisbury. This was to say that a game-ranger had been gored by a rhino way up near Kariba Dam. Air Force assistance was needed to get morphine to the camp in which Rupert Fothergill had received first aid treatment but was in too much pain to face the long rough ride to the nearest hospital or airfield. A helicopter had been requested but this was going to take some time to reach him.

Having arranged a Provost with full overload tanks and collected morphine from Station Sick Quarters, I quickly fashioned a parachute and tested it to ensure a soft landing for the morphine and needles, which were neatly packed in sponge rubber. At the temporary game camp, I found the rhino pens where three of these large animals, disturbed by the Provost’s presence, were running around in circles. A short distance away I saw the white sheets laid out as markers for the drop. The parachute deployed perfectly and waving bush hats and thumbs-up signals confirmed safe receipt of the morphine. Later, Peter Cooke with Dr Laidlaw arrived in an Alouette helicopter to fly Rupert to Salisbury Hospital.

How the rhino came to gore Rupert Fothergill I do not recall other than it was to be darted with a drug for capture and re-location to Wankie Game Reserve. Rupert Fothergill was leader of the much-publicised Operation Noah in which thousands of animals were rescued from certain death when the rising waters of Lake Kariba trapped them on newly formed islands that were going to disappear below water. Considering the nature of operations to capture panicking animals, it was surprising that Rupert was gored only this once and survived to continue his world-acclaimed work.

Posting to 3 Squadron

THORNHILL’S WORKING HOURS REMAINED 06:30 to 13:30, which gave everyone ample free time in daylight hours. Apart from boxing for Umtali High School and representing the school’s first rugby team once, I had never excelled in any sport. My sports involvement was limited to golf once gliding became too expensive. Even in golf my participation with Dave Thorne, Pat Meddows-Taylor and others was limited to one afternoon per week, so I looked to other activities to occupy spare time. Two of these were sewing and boat-building.

I had bought Beryl the latest in sewing machines, a Singer Slant-a-Matic, but she showed no interest in learning to use it. Rather that let the expensive machine lie idle, I decided to try my hand at making clothes for Debbie then Paul and did well in both. Without having taken a single lesson I progressed to day-dresses for Beryl and then to her eveningwear. The outcome of Beryl’s evening dresses was very pleasing to both of us and led some wives to ask me to make dresses for them. Beryl would have nothing of this because of the way I handled her body during fittings. However, having satisfied myself that I could sew, I lost interest and thereafter only made curtains, box-pleated bedspreads and material coverings for furniture when pressed into doing so.

I built a mould for the sixteen-foot power catamaran that I designed. This was done in a large lean-to garage I had built for the purpose. I was doing well with my project but needed another eight weeks to make the fibreglass hulls when I learned that I had been posted to No 3 Squadron at New Sarum to fly Dakotas. My request for a delay so that I might complete the catamaran was turned down and I never did finish it.

My routine six-monthly flying medical examinations coincided with our arrival in Salisbury in mid-September 1965 when it was found that my hearing had been severely impaired by my job as Flying Wing Adjutant at Thornhill. I had become upper tone deaf from the continuous high-pitched screaming of Vampire engines whose noise was intensified by reflected sound off two walls in my second-storey office. I was grounded for six weeks with special plugs fitted in my ears until my hearing recovered to an acceptable level.

In late October I commenced the flying conversion to the Dakota but soon realised I was being held back for reasons that nobody would tell me. Instead of flying daily and going on my first solo on type in the usual ten days, I was flying every second day. When the day arrived for my first solo, which had already been recorded in the Flight Authorisation Book, I was told to report to OC Flying Wing. In his office Wing Commander Harry Coleman told me I was being withdrawn from 3 Squadron with immediate effect because I had been reallocated to helicopters. My disappointment at not making that solo flight was great because I really enjoyed my limited time on the famous old ‘Gooney Bird’.

Helicopter training for the first RRAF pilots had been conducted in France. The South African Air Force then took over this role and our pilots were trained on French Alouette II and Alouette III helicopters operating out of Langebaan Air Base near Cape Town. Air HQ decided to establish if we could train our own pilots in Rhodesia as this would bring about considerable savings in time and foreign currency. Flight Lieutenant Mark Smithdorff had undergone some level of training as a helicopter instructor so it was decided that, because I was an experienced instructor, he should try his hand at training me. If this worked out well, all future helicopter training would be undertaken in Rhodesia and I would become the squadron’s second helicopter instructor. However, my training was only scheduled to begin in January 1966.