Winds of Destruction: The Autobiography of a Rhodesian Combat Pilot

Unilateral Declaration of Independence

POLITICAL HARANGUING BETWEEN RHODESIA AND Britain had been ongoing since the granting of independence to Zambia and Malawi because Britain had failed to do the same for Rhodesia, despite her promises. Additionally, the British Government had undertaken not to interfere in Rhodesia’s internal affairs and had endorsed the need to retain the tribal chiefs. But again, both of these important issues were conveniently forgotten.

In October 1964, many countries sent their observers to the biggest gathering of chiefs ever held in the country but Britain, supposedly the ‘responsible power’ for Rhodesia, refused to attend. Earlier, when the chiefs had sent a delegation to London to make their views known to the British Government, they were snubbed by Commonwealth Secretary Duncan Sandys and returned to Rhodesia deeply enraged by this discourtesy.

Realising that Britain had no interest or knowledge concerning the protocols and needs of the African people of Rhodesia, the chiefs gave their unanimous support to the RF to proceed to independence under the 1961 Constitution, which Britain had already ratified. Then, on 5 November, a referendum showed that 89% of the largely white electorate supported the chiefs’ stance, thereby giving the RF authority to unilaterally declare Rhodesia’s independence. The decision had not been an easy one but the ever-changing stance of the Conservatives made it crystal clear that they had absolutely no intention of holding to their word. This was the solemn promise to Rhodesia of independence in exchange for her cooperation in dissolving the Federation; despite such action being in conflict with the British Government’s own recorded and declared principle that, “the Federation was indissoluble”. If the Conservatives were bad news, the Labour Party’s victory in October was expected to make things worse, considering the rhetoric of pre-election speeches.

Just prior to coming to power, the new British Prime Minister Harold Wilson had made it known that the Labour Government “is totally opposed to granting independence to Southern Rhodesia as long as the Government of that country remains under control of the white minority." He had certainly misread things because Ian Smith’s RF Party, the chiefs and the electorate were dedicated to the retention of ‘responsible government’. It was from British politicians that racist definitions were generated; certainly not Rhodesia whose people had accepted the terms of the 1961 Constitution that underlined the undertaking of ‘unimpeded progress to majority government’.

The track record of independent black governments in Africa made it clear to all Rhodesians that progress to black rule had to be handled with great care if the country was not to be reduced to a shambles by self-seeking despots. It was contended that we owed it to the black folk as much as to the whites to continue to build on the strong foundation of the country’s existing infrastructures and wealth and to develop a healthy middle class from which future politicians, black and white, would emerge.

The possibility of Rhodesia declaring herself independent occupied Whitehall’s attention to such an extent that veiled threats of dire action began to flow. That the governments of black Africa and the communist-dominated OAU were pressurising Britain was obvious because, in response to every move the RF made seeking fair play, the Labour Party, like the Conservatives before them, simply moved the goal posts. Rhodesia’s need to take matters into her own hands to stymie the communist-orchestrated line was becoming more certain.

It was in these circumstances that I was attached as the Air Liaison Officer (ALO) to Army’s 2 Brigade Headquarters at Cranborne Barracks, the old RAF wartime base. The military actions Britain was threatening and preparing for did not materialise, so the only real benefit of my presence at 2 Brigade was one of strengthening Army and Air Force relationships. This was my first full exposure to the Army and I enjoyed the experience very much. Brigadier Steve Comberbach and his Staff went out of their way to make me feel comfortable in their midst and willingly provided answers to all my queries concerning their procedures that were, necessarily, very different from those of my own force. With much time on our hands Major John Smithyman treated me to a series of sound thrashings at chess.

During this period I managed to grab a ride in a helicopter with Ozzie Penton on a search for a large number of prisoners who had broken out of Salisbury Prison. The search ended up over a typical Rhodesian boulder-strewn hill of some twenty acres near Lake McIlwaine. Even when hovering close to the trees and boulders it was impossible for us to see any of the prisoners who were hiding under the boulders and in caves. It took dogs to flush them out eventually but the experience of rough country searches was something that I would become familiar with in time to come.

On 11 November 1965 I was instructed to get to the Officers’ Mess at New Sarum before 11 o’clock. On arrival I found all officers assembled to listen to an important broadcast to the nation by the Prime Minister. On the dot of 11 o’clock, Ian Smith read Rhodesia’s Unilateral Declaration of Independence (UDI). He ended the presentation with the words “God save the Queen".

The radio was switched off and not a word was spoken by the motionless gathering, everyone buried in his own thoughts. Our loyalty to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II never faltered, though we all secretly worried that we would soon lose our royal title and with it the crown on badges and wings. When eventually this came to pass, I went to the trouble of visiting a photographer to have a portrait taken to remember my Queen’s Commission. Many others did the same because British Royalty was deeply revered by all of us.

However, insofar as Her Majesty’s Government was concerned, there was no respect whatsoever. Notwithstanding the unfairness of it all, we knew we were in for a torrid time from Harold Wilson’s socialist government and, through this, the world at large.

Initial concern had been that Britain would take military action against us to ‘restore’ our country to British control. If this had happened, a modern-day disaster along the lines of the Anglo–Boer War would undoubtedly have resulted and South Africa may well have come to our aid, thereby creating a major war. A few Rhodesians may have scurried off to safety, but most of us would have fought with the blind courage and a determination that no British politician of those times would have expected. Unlike every one of our political leaders, the main Labour players had never heard a shot fired in anger.

Preparations were made for the most likely course of military action, a paratrooper assault on one or more of our main Airfields. Thank God this never came because a kith-on-kin war would have been too awful. Later we heard that the Labour Party had come to realise that ordering British forces into action against their Rhodesian relatives might bring about their immediate undoing. There were even rumours that some well-known British Army units had made it absolutely clear that they would refuse to follow orders to act against Rhodesia.

Any doubts we had as individuals about the British Government’s honesty were laid aside when Britain and America made threats of sanctions. Shortly thereafter, Rhodesian Hunter and Canberra engines inside Britain and those in transit for servicing by Rolls Royce were impounded, thereby creating an immediate and serious problem.

Just prior to this Group Captain Slade, the RAF Liaison Officer in Rhodesia, was recalled to Britain. On his return, he told the British press that our Air Force would grind to a rapid halt. He gave the jets, specifically the Hunter, three months and suggested that piston aircraft and helicopters would all be out of action within nine months. Our reaction to this was: “Not bloody likely, we’ll show that pompous bastard that he is way off the mark.” Group Captain Slade unwittingly did the RRAF a great favour by dispelling any remaining doubts about Britain’s intention to destroy us and this engendered an overpowering will to surmount every difficulty that was laid in our path.

In addition to Britain trying to bring us to heel simply to remove pressure from the OAU, ZAPU and ZANU continued their preparations for war. In Rhodesia organisations of all descriptions set about overcoming sanctions even before they had been officially declared. Anti-British feeling ran high, particularly amongst those who had fought for Britain and the Empire during WWII. Even dedicated whisky drinkers dropped their favourite Scotch and local manufacturers benefited from British and American commodities being removed from housewives’ shopping lists. Local manufacturers received full support for their products, even though these were sub-standard to start with. But in a relatively short time local substitutes improved and saved the country an absolute fortune in foreign currency. Familiar British trade names such as Heinz gave way to a host of Rhodesian producers including Cashel Valley products.

Rolls Royce engines

THE FIRST ROLLS ROYCE COMPONENT that came up for service was an Avpin (volatile liquid that ignites under pressure) powered starter motor for the Hunter engine. With care the starter motor was taken apart, serviced and reassembled. Only one ‘O’ ring needed replacing at a cost of six shillings and eight pence. The starter was back in service in one day, saving months in time and thousands of pounds in shipping and servicing costs. This, and many more experiences in the servicing of components, built up enormous confidence. But then came the Rolls Royce engines themselves.

In Air Force stores there were only a couple of reserve engines each for Hunters and Canberras. This meant that no time could be wasted when the first Hunter engine was removed for overhaul. It had to be stripped completely for an in-depth inspection of every component to determine what needed replacing. The engine then had to be rebuilt and test-run. My recollection is that Chief Technicians Brian Fletcher and John Swait were initially baffled when having to split the heavy casings of the awkward-to-handle jet engine. A galley was noticed but it disappeared into the bowels of the beast and, being curved, there was no way of seeing where it went to, or what was at its end. A medical gastroscope was acquired and having been run down the galley revealed a bolt head at the end of, and in-line with, the galley. By trial and error a flexible wrench was fashioned at Station Workshops and a series of sockets were manufactured by Chief Technician Graham Harvey who, eventually, made one to fit the non-standard bolt head. Once the bolt was removed, the engine was successfully dismantled. Whereas the engine was found to be in pretty good shape, dust and small stone chips from high-speed air ingestion had pitted the leading edges of all impeller and turbine blades, as is normal with any jet engine. Reference numbers were taken from the highly specialised blades and passed to the ‘sanctions busters’ to source and procure. All replacement components and primarily seals were inspected, measured and referenced, again for the attention of ‘sanctions busters’.

No component on the first engine gave cause for concern, so it was reassembled and satisfactorily test-run. It was then returned to service at 30% of its normal time between services to establish in-flight performance and gauge rates of wear and deterioration when the next major service was undertaken. The engine performed normally, giving confidence for the next engine strip-down. By the time the third Hunter engine was handed over to Engine Refurbishment Section (ERS), all essential spares had been acquired. Although these had been sourced at considerable cost the overall savings to Rhodesia, vis à vis the Rolls Royce route, were substantial. Just as important were the quick turn-around times that rendered our small reserve of engines adequate for our needs.

Canberra engines followed a similar path to that of Hunters and high levels of sophistication developed rapidly. First-class engine-handling rigs made maintenance technicians’ work easier and safer. Purpose-made tools were manufactured in-house for difficult tasks such as the removal and replacement of turbine blades. Women were brought into ERS and did a wonderful job alongside the men. They all took great pride in turning out engines that ran more smoothly than those previously received from Rolls Royce. Much of this was due to purpose-built balancing rigs to trim each rotating assembly meticulously for vibrationless operation. Inadvertently the British Labour Government had made us more than self-sufcient and our jets were never limited for the want of engines.

Not long after receiving the Canberra B2 bombers, the Royal Rhodesian Air Force had asked Rolls Royce if compressed air could be used to start Canberra engines instead of the large cordite cartridges that powered starter motors. Rolls Royce considered the issue but assured our Air Force that this was an absolute impossibility. However, with the difficulties we faced after 1965, our technicians decided to do what Britain’s top engineers had said was impossible. They not only succeeded in developing an adapter to make the cartridge starter function from high-volume-flow compressed air, they also retained starter motors’ ability to use cartridges when operating from places where large compressed air bottles were unavailable. The system served us for fifteen years with enormous cost savings. A similar system was used to start the Hunter Avon 207 but was discarded because of the need to have an airline permanently fitted in the air intake.

No 7 Squadron

SQUADRON LEADER OZZIE PENTON WAS coming to the end of his tour as OC 7 Squadron when I joined him for the second time. He was to be replaced by John Rogers who was then undergoing his helicopter conversion with the South African Air Force.

On the last day of January 1966 I flew my first training flight in an Alouette III with Mark Smithdorff. I cannot say I enjoyed flying helicopters initially because it was so different from fixed-wing flying. In forward flight the aircraft felt and handled in typical fixed-wing fashion though the controls were very sensitive, almost too sensitive in fact.

Apart from the difficulties in learning to hover, I found descending turns with the speed falling off very disconcerting because I was expecting the helicopter to stall and flick over like any fixed-wing aircraft would do. It took time to accept that all flying speed was in the fast-turning rotor blades. Once I had overcome the instinctive fear of stalling, helicopter flying became a little more enjoyable but learning continued to be hard work.

Once I had flown solo and gained confidence from many entries into the tightest of landing places with high trees or rocks all around, helicopter flying became progressively easier. It took time for my brain to adjust to new flight sensations and make arms, legs and eyes co-ordinate automatically. Thereafter flying a helicopter became more enjoyable than fixed-wing. I found low-level map-reading particularly demanding and a great deal of practice was needed to master the art. Even at the relatively slow speed of 95 knots flying 100 feet above ground, the aircraft crossed over 1:50,000 scale maps very fast. The need to change maps quickly was made difficult by the fact it had to be accomplished with the left hand only because at no time could one let go of the cyclic control. With open doors the problem was compounded by air turbulence that could whip one’s map through the rear door in a flash.

I could not get over the fact that Mark Smithdorff always had his map facing north no matter the direction of flight. Like all the other pilots, my map was turned to face in the direction of travel. If Mark tried this he became as confused as I did with the map the right way up when flying on any heading but north. Mark had another peculiarity. When writing on a blackboard, he would stand at its centre writing from left to centre with his left hand before transferring the chalk to his right hand and continuing uninterrupted in identical neat style towards the right-hand edge of the board.

Mountain flying was by far the best part of training. On my first time out, Mark had arranged for us to route via Mare Dam in the Inyanga area to collect young breeder trout that we were to release into pre-selected pools in the Bundi Valley high up in the Chimanimani mountains. Rex Taylor had done this previously with fingerling trout but platanna frogs had devoured all of them. We were trying larger fish. There were about fifteen six-inch trout sealed in plastic bags that were half-filled with water and blown to capacity with oxygen. Each bag was in a cardboard box and about thirty-odd boxes filled the rear cabin. It was necessary to fly the one-hour leg directly to Chimanimani to limit damage that fish could cause each other.

The beauty within the mountain range astounded me because previously I had only seen the side of this range from Melsetter village. Hopping from one pool to the next we emptied the trout into the cold water and saw them all swim off strongly. These fish survived and more trout were flown in for National Parks over time. By early 1970 all the pools within the Chimanimanis, both within Rhodesia and Mozambique, carried good populations of large trout.

On completion of basic training, I flew my Final Handling Test with Ozzie Penton who declared me ready for the Ops Conversion phase. My instructor, Mark Smithdorff, was one of nature’s natural pilots who made everything look so simple. When he hovered, the helicopter remained absolutely static no matter how the wind gusted or how high the hover.

Cargo slinging, hoisting slope landings on mountain ledges, forced landing precisely on any point of my choice – all so smooth and unfussed yet always too good to be repeated with Mark’s precision and ease. I was fortunate to have had such an instructor to prepare me for my final handling test.

The final test was conducted by Ozzie Penton who had been promoted to Wing Commander as OC Flying Wing at New Sarum. By this time Squadron Leader John Rogers had returned from South Africa.

Sinoia operation

FOR BECOMING THE RRAF’S FIRST wholly trained helicopter pilot, I was made squadron standby pilot for the next seven days. Because of this I was the one called out following a report of terrorist activity near Sinoia. My flight technician for this trip was Ewett Sorrell. We set off for Sinoia not knowing more than an attempt had been made to blow down pylons on the main Kariba to Salisbury electrical power-line at a point just north of Sinoia town. Sinoia lay some sixty miles northeast of Salisbury on the main road to Zambia via Chirundu. The town served as the commercial hub and rail centre to large farming and mining communities in the region. It was also home to the Provincial Police HQ, which commanded a number of outlying police stations.

Superintendent John Cannon DFC was very pleased to see us on our arrival in his HQ building and invited us to lunch with his charming wife before getting to the business at hand. I had not met John before although I knew that he had served with distinction as a Lancaster pilot during WWII.

In his quiet, precise manner, which I came to know quite well over the next couple of days, John gave me a detailed briefing before we flew off to inspect the pylons against which sabotage had been attempted. The inspection revealed a very low standard of training by the ZANU men who had tried to knock out the country’s power supply. They obviously knew nothing about pylon design or how to use explosive charges to shear steel structure. Damage at the points of detonation was so minor that no repair work was necessary. At some points scattered chunks of TNT showed that detonators had been thrust into the end of the Russian-made TNT slabs and not into the purple dots which clearly marking the location of primer pockets. All that ZANU had achieved was to show us that they intended to do harm.

John’s information was that seven men known as the ‘Armageddon Group’ were one component of a group of twenty-one ZANU men who had entered the country together some ten days earlier from Zambia. This group was responsible for this job. Where the remaining fourteen men were John had no idea but he said they could not be too far away. All the same the Armageddon Group, having shown its hand, was the one we had to locate and destroy.

During the first afternoon at Sinoia I found that, for all my training, I had not been properly prepared for operations. To fit a helicopter into an opening in the trees with no more that six inches to spare was fine in training, yet here I nearly fell out of the sky when landing full loads of Police Reservists (PR—mostly portly farmers) and their equipment. The enormous reserve of power available from the Alouette’s jet engine, small though it was, was sufficient to destroy the main-rotor gearbox if the calculated maximum collective pitch angle on the rotor blades was applied too long. I exceeded the gearbox limits during a number of landings by yanking on excess collective pitch to check the helicopter’s descent for a soft landing. This necessitated the removal of a magnetic plug on the gearbox casing to check for telltale iron filings. Fortunately nothing was found, so no damage had been done. But it took a number of exciting ‘arrivals’ on terra firma before I got the hang of making full-load landings safely, particularly on sloping ground.

Having established the right techniques I vowed to myself that, when I was instructing on helicopters, I would prepare future pilots better than I had been prepared myself. This in no way reflects on Mark Smithdorff’s instructional abilities because mine was the first genuine operational deployment for a helicopter.

Once the PR had been taken to their assigned locations I decided to take a look around the search area with Ewett Sorrell who had remained on the ground whilst I deployed the PR. It makes me shudder to think how, having first orbited suspect locations and old roofless buildings, we moved close in hovering to inspect every nook and cranny. Within six years this would have been suicidal and no pilot would have been so foolish as to think of terrorists simply as peasant farmers with guns.

During the early evening of 27 April, John Cannon received hot intelligence from Police General Headquarters in Salisbury to say that a ‘Police source’ was in contact with the Armageddon Group. This police undercover man, operating within the ZANU organisation, was due to meet up with the group near Sinoia the next day when the gang would be changing into black dress for their first planned attack against a white farmstead. The contact man was delivering some supplies and written instructions from ZANU HQ. He was not expected to be with the gang for more than ten minutes.

The contact was going to travel by car from Salisbury to Sinoia where he would be met by one of the gang at about 11 o’clock. He had been briefed to proceed along the main road to a point where the old strip road went left off the main road. Along this road he would find a member of the gang who would take him to the gang’s night camp. He understood that the gang would be between the main road and the old strip road. For us this was a gift for both planning and execution of a classical police-styled cordon and search operation.

It seemed ‘too good to be true’ because the relevant sections of main road and strip road, each about one-and-a-half kilometres’ long, formed an acute triangle with the Hunyani River forming its short base of about half a kilometre. The Hunyani River ran south to north on Sinoia town’s eastern flank and both roads came to the river from the east. The only advantage the terrorist group would have was the heavy bush covering the entire area within this triangle. But the bush posed a real danger to the Police Reservists wearing their highly visible dark-blue fatigues.

Great secrecy was required concerning the police source. This contact man was not to be spoken about nor was there to be any indication of his being followed on the journey from Salisbury. I recommended that a helicopter should be employed to tail the contact vehicle all the way from Salisbury. The pilot would be able to do this and witness interception by the man from the Armageddon Group as well as the point at which the contact was taken into the bush. Just as important was the need for the helicopter pilot to let us know when the contact was clear of the target area. I assured John that a helicopter flying at great height would not upset the contact man or the terrorist group because it would appear too high and insignificant to constitute a threat to anyone.

Agreeing that this was a better option than attempting to follow the contact in another vehicle, John sought and gained PGHQ approval. I contacted Air HQ and arranged for the high-flying helicopter and also asked for three additional helicopters. These were to land at Banket, twelve miles from Sinoia, after the contact vehicle passed that village.

Hoffy, with Mark Smithdorff, had recently returned to Rhodesia from his Alouette conversion course in South Africa and had just completed a short OCU with Mark Smithdorff. I was told he would be following the contact vehicle.

Both John and I felt that the Army should conduct the operation, as a firefight seemed certain. The Commissioner of Police, Mr Barfoot, would have nothing of it. Notwithstanding the fact that the Armageddon Group was armed with automatic weapons and hand-grenades, he insisted we were dealing with law-breakers requiring armed Policemen and Police Reservists to kill or apprehend them; Army would only be involved if a state of war existed.

The dawn of 28 April 1966, like most Rhodesian mornings, was cool, bright and clear. Soon a stream of private vehicles started arriving at the Police Sports Club where men changed from civilian clothing into their dark-blue uniforms. These uniforms were intended to give high visibility for riot control but certainly not for bush warfare where the wearer presented an easy target to armed men in hiding.

Thick black ammunition belts set at various inclinations accentuated the corpulence of some amongst the PR, most being farmers and miners. They looked an unlikely bunch of fighters appearing too relaxed for the purpose of their gathering. In their clumsy uniforms the very wealthy and the poor were indistinguishable, their inbuilt courage hidden, as John Cannon arranged them into seven groups under regular police Officers.

Nobody but John and I knew what was going on. We alone knew there were to be three groups each along both roadways and one for the river line. Alpha 1, 2 and 3 were nominated and allocated their vehicles, as were Bravo 1, 2 and 3 and Charlie 1. When this was done John Cannon told the expectant gathering that they were about to be involved in a cordon and sweep operation. Alpha would form one stop-line, Bravo the second line and Charlie the third one. Everyone knew there was at least one terrorist group in the area but when John told of the Armageddon seven in such a nearby triangle of ground, the level of excitement rose. His briefing was simple.

"At the word, ‘Go’, Alpha will move off along the main road dropping off Alpha 3 first, starting from the bridge, then Alpha 2 and finally Alpha 1, ending at the junction with the strip road. Bravo will do a mirror image of Alpha’s deployment along the strip road to its junction with the main road. The officers are to shake out their men for even distribution along the entire length of both roads. Charlie is to proceed to both bridges, half the men to each, then walk in towards each other on the west bank of the river and shake out.

"When everyone is ready, a sweep is to commence from the east at the road junction. As the sweep line moves westward, the stop lines are to bunch up with every second man joining the sweep line.”

After the briefing I walked the short distance to my helicopter parked by the HQ building. I checked in with Murray Hofmeyr who was following the police contact’s vehicle, flying his helicopter at 6,000 feet above ground. All seemed to be going to plan when an Army Land Rover pulled up next to my helicopter. Major Billy Conn climbed out and came over to me to ask what was going on. I told him the story, including PGHQ’s refusal to involve the Army.

Billy was on his way to Kariba and had popped in to see his old friend, John Cannon. He could not resist this opportunity for action and asked John if he and his sergeant could be fitted into the plan. John agreed and put them in with Bravo 2. A good choice as it happened!

All vehicles were assembled in two lines along a road running past the Police HQ building. I noted that the regular policemen and both Army men were armed with 7.62mm SLR assault rifles whereas the PR men were armed with an amazing mix of self-loading shotguns, .303 Enfield rifles, Sten-guns and the odd sporting rifle. All that was missing from this scene was a film director, huge movie cameras and a glamorous actress. It all seemed surreal but like everyone else around, I was pretty excited.

I heard Hoffy tell the other three helicopters they were cleared to land at Banket, the contact vehicle having passed there. Gordon Nettleton transmitted an acknowledgement. The time was 10.45 and I told Hoffy we were ready to roll. Only then did he let me know he was armed with an MAG machine-gun just in case there was need for such a weapon.

It seemed a long wait before Hoffy called; “The contact vehicle has been stopped at the road junction, Stand by." A moment later he said someone had climbed into the vehicle that was now proceeding slowly along the strip road. Next Hoffy said, “The vehicle has stopped and the occupants have gone into the bush on the south side, repeat south side, not north as expected.”

This turned our planning upside down but I was pleased I had asked for extra helicopters. Having studied my map to consider possible changes to plan, I knew precisely what needed to be done. Hoffy in the meantime was moving very slowly westward still at 6,000 feet watching for the contact man’s departure from the area. I asked him to get the other helicopters airborne for a circuitous route to avoid their sound reaching the gang. Their final approach to Sinoia was to be from the west. Fuel was already set out on the sports field.

John Cannon accepted my recommendation and quickly prepared his men for a reverse image of the first deployment plan. A power-line ran eastward from the strip-road bridge and crossed a north-to-south cattle fence line next to open farmland. This fence line ran from there to the junction of the main and strip roads. Bravo units would move up the strip road by vehicle, as planned. Using five helicopters, I would arrange for the deployment of Alpha units along the power-line and place Charlie along the farm fence. Charlie would no longer be a static line but would constitute the sweep line for a westerly drive.

This would have been easy enough if the police radios on the ground were compatible with those in our helicopters, as would have been the case with the Army. We had no means of communicating with any ground unit other than through John Cannon’s radio room. All Alpha and Charlie units were instructed to get over to the sports field and prepare themselves for helicopter deployment. Way up in the sky the tiny dot of Hoffy’s helicopter still moved very slowly westward as men hurried over to the sports ground. As soon as they were positioned, the three helicopters came in across town, landed and commenced refuelling.

I briefed my new OC Squadron Leader John Rogers, my ‘A’ Flight Commander Gordon Nettleton and Flying Officer Dave Becks on their tasks, I told them that I would take only one load of men and immediately commence a recce of the area. The first loads of six policemen per helicopter were aboard and all pilots were ready to start engines when Hoffy called to say the contact vehicle was clear and heading for Salisbury.

I led the way and deposited my load by the power-line nearest the river then climbed to orbit the area looking for signs of movement. A grassy vlei running both sides of a rivulet split the search area in two. It ran from the farmland almost to the Hunyani before crossing the strip-road 100 metres short of the bridge. The trees were fairly open along the edge of the vlei itself so I felt confident that I would see anyone attempting to cross from the northern bush area to even thicker bush on the power-line side of the vlei.

I noted that Bravo was in position along the strip-road and watched the helicopters as they raced back and forth placing down men and returning for more. Hoffy had refuelled and joined the other three helicopters who were all having difficulties finding landing spots along the power-line. Eventually all was in place and the sweep line started moving westwards from the fence. I flew over to see if the stops along the power-line had shaken out correctly but I could not find a soul until, to my horror, I found a disjointed line of men moving northward through the bush towards the vlei. The danger of these men converging on the correct sweep line was obvious so I asked John Cannon’s radio room to instruct all Alpha units to hold their positions.

Dave Becks had refuelled and came to help me prevent Alpha and Charlie from bumping into each other. For over an hour Dave hovered at treetop level just ahead of the primary sweep line with his technician waving at men and pointing to those they were closing on. He did a great job and no policeman shot at another. Dave’s noisy manoeuvring may have been the main reason the terrorists remained on the north side of the area. My presence over the vlei would also have limited them until I was forced to pop into Sinoia for fuel.

I returned with my technician and four PR who had been retained in reserve. Upon reaching the centre of the vlei I spotted a black man standing under a tree on its north side. He was dressed in dark slacks and a white shirt but did not appear to have a weapon nor show any sign of concern for my helicopter’s presence. I was discussing this man with my technician when one of the PR spotted him too. Without warning, the PR started firing his Sten-gun at the figure, his rounds passing through the disc of the helicopter’s rotor. Ewett Sorrel snatched the weapon smartly and gave the bewildered man a shouted lecture as I flew out of the area to dump the PR men out of harm’s way on the Hunyani Bridge. When I returned to the vlei, the lone figure was still under the same tree. Although I had discounted him from being a threat I decided that Hoffy should get airborne with his machine-gun, just in case.

At the western end of the area I spotted another man crouching in long grass right in the centre of the vlei. Suddenly this guy, also wearing dark slacks and a white shirt, stood up and started shooting at my aircraft. I could not believe it at first, but the gun was pointing at us and clearly visible puffs of smoke were emitting from his weapon. I called Hoffy to come across to me with his machine-gun. The fellow stopped firing and crouched again to reload. Having done this he continued firing at my aircraft then, for reasons I did not appreciate immediately, he ceased firing and started running at high speed towards a ridge on the south side of the vlei. As he reached the edge of the vlei he disappeared in a cloud of dust created by gunfire from Hoffy’s aircraft. It was only then that I realised an earlier dustless burst into the grass area had got him running. I had not seen the shadow of Hoffy’s helicopter moving in opposite orbit to mine until now. So I broke away, found Hoffy above me, reversed from a right-hand to left-hand orbit and climbed above him to watch the action.

The terrorist had emerged from the dust cloud running even faster than before then disappeared from view in the dust of the third burst of fire. Again he emerged running up the ridge at super-Olympian speed. The fourth burst struck his weapon, sending it flying sideways out of his grip before he disappeared from view. He emerged beyond the dust staggering at walking speed before going down under the fifth and final burst. The Air Force had scored the first kill in a bush war that would continue for almost fourteen years and Hoffy’s good-looking technician, George Carmichael, acquired the nickname ‘Killer Carmichael’.

Hoffy was on his way back to Sinoia to stand by for any further call on him whilst I continued my recce around the area. Close to the point where the terrorist had fired at me, I picked up two persons standing together dressed in dark slacks and white shirts so I asked Hoffy to turn back. As I started to orbit these two characters looked up, their white faces shining in the sunlight. Fortunately for them Hoffy had not reached me before I told him that these were white men who were not supposed to be in the area. Later we learned that they were Police Special Branch Officers, Bill Freeman and Dusty Binns, who had moved off the strip-road aiming to get a better view of what Hoffy had been firing at. They were the handlers of the Police ‘contact’ and had arrived after the sweep had commenced.

Through John Cannon’s radio room I relayed a message to the man in charge of sweep line Charlie to watch for the man under the tree. They came up on him, declared him innocent and left him standing wide-eyed exactly where he was. Moments later PR elements of the sweep line opened fire on a terrorist and, having killed him, gathered around his body in a manner one might only expect at a farmers’ baboon shoot.

Fortunately, Major Billy Conn and his sergeant had joined the sweep line and were just off to the right of the bunched-up PR men. Billy screamed at the PR guys to spread out and move on, but they ignored his warning. It was then that two terrorists leapt to their feet, one in the act of throwing a grenade into the knot of PR men. Billy Conn’s first round struck this terrorist in the heart causing him to let go of the grenade which went straight up then landed between the two terrorists, killing the second man before he had fired a shot. The PRs were shaken by the incident and there was no further bunching. The final three terrorists were taken out singly in quick succession, thus accounting for all seven of the Armageddon Gang.

Back at Sinoia John Cannon was elated with the success of the operation and let this be known when he addressed the participants at a debriefing in the Spots Club. The beer was running freely by the time all five helicopters departed for New Sarum and Major Conn and his sergeant continued their journey to Kariba. I submitted a detailed and scathing report to Air HQ saying that, whilst the operation had been 100% successful in accounting for all members of the Armageddon Group, it had in reality been a shambles. But for Dave Becks and Billy Conn, there would undoubtedly have been police casualties. Major difficulties in command and control due to non-compatibility of Air Force and Police radios would not have arisen if Army troops had been used. PGHQ were very displeased with this report and the Army loved it. Incredibly Air HQ chastised the squadron for “expending 147 rounds of precious 7.62mm ammunition to kill just one terrorist.”

Today the ZANU government of Zimbabwe celebrates the start of its Chimurenga war on 28 April, the anniversary date of the ‘Battle of Chinhoyi’ where “a gallant force fought against impossible odds in which the Rhodesian enemy used thousands of Army troops and powerful helicopter gunships." What they conveniently forget is the expediency of their actions in committing the young men of the Armageddon Group before they had been given adequate training for their mission.

These unfortunate young men were launched way too early, simply to provide proof of ZANU’s active involvement in Rhodesia simply to sweeten Organisation of African Unity (OAU) attitudes to their cause because, at the time, OAU only supported their rival ZAPU. Nevertheless, I personally agree with ZANU that 28 April 1966 was the true date of the commencement of the bush war in Rhodesia. Many historians give it as 22 December 1972, thereby ignoring all the Offensive actions and combat-related deaths before this date.

Helicopter projects

JUST PRIOR TO THE SINOIA operation there had been embryonic moves to mount a side-firing MAG machine-gun to our Alouette helicopters. Ozzie Penton as OC Flying Wing had insisted that Hoffy take the MAG along with him even though no firing trial had been conducted. The actual fit was no more than a simple bipod fixed to the step on the port side of the cabin. There was no rigidity in this arrangement nor were there any means of ensuring that ejected cartridge cases and belt links were retained within the safety of the cabin. This was important because these loose items, if allowed to enter into the slipstream, could cause serious damage or total failure of the fast-spinning tail rotor. Hoffy had been lucky that none of the 147 cases and links had struck his tail rotor. All the same, I took it upon myself to design, build and test a decent mounting for a 7.62mm MAG machine-gun and to fit a gunsight suited to side-firing in forward flight. During the time of this project I also looked into changing the way we refuelled our helicopters

Throughout my training away from base and during the Sinoia experience, I found refuelling to be irksome and way too slow. We were using a hand-operated wobble pump that Africans called the ‘kamena kawena’ pump. Loosely translated this meant ‘for me, for you’ in Chilapalapa; a bastardised language that continues to be the common lingo for multi-ethnic communications on South Africa’s gold mines.

The kamena kawena Pump was packed in a large metal trunk stored next to the fuel tank behind the cabin’s rear wall. To refuel, the pump had to be removed from the fuel-soaked trunk. It had then to be assembled by one member of the crew whilst the other rolled a drum of fuel to the aircraft, heave it onto its base and remove the sealed bung. The pump stack-pipe was dropped into the drum, the flexible pipe nozzle inserted into the helicopter fuel tank and hand pumping commenced. Even with technician and pilot taking turn in pumping, it was a tiring business. Once the drum was empty, the process was reversed; by which time one’s hands and overalls were stained and stinking of fuel.

We only had eight helicopters and could ill-afford a slow turn-around and the physical stresses that repeated refuelling induced during intense operations. Too often a pilot needed to be briefed or debriefed between flights meaning that his technician had to do the entire refuelling job on his own; a situation of considerable embarrassment to many pilots. There had to be a simple way of overcoming this.

My contention was that the aircraft should be a slave unto itself. I started by testing the jet engine at idling rpm, when rotor blades were static, and found that six psi of air pressure could be continuously tapped from a P2 pressure plug located on the engine casing just aft of the compressor assembly. By using a compressed air cylinder with pressure regulated to six psi, it was easy enough to prove that, by pressurising a fuel drum, the fuel could be forced to flow up a pipeline into a helicopter’s fuel tank. It was also established that a drum of fuel could be pumped more rapidly this way than by a kamena kawena pump. I then approached Shell and BP who supplied our fuel and was assured that pressurising a drum to six psi was entirely safe.

My Squadron Commander John Rogers and OC Flying Wing Ozzie Penton supported my intention to produce a prototype refueller, as did the Air Staff. However, I met with opposition from one senior officer of the technical Staff at Air HQ. He told me how during WWII Spitfires had to be hand-refuelled from four-gallon jerry cans in the hot desert sun and, anyway, refuelling with engine running was totally unacceptable.

The strict rule of not running engines whilst refuelling with highly volatile aviation gas was fundamentally sound, but it did not seem to fit with the low volatility of non-atomised refined paraffin (or diesel). I simply could not believe my ears about the ‘jerry can’ coming twenty years after WWII. However, what I thought did not alter the fact that I had not gained official approval to proceed with the project.

So as not to implicate OC Flying or my Squadron Commander, I carried on in secret by designing and producing a pressure-refuelling pump. This could not have been done without the willing assistance of Master Technician Frank Oliver who ran Station Workshops and who did the necessary machine work out of working hours. The unit we produced was really quite simple. A pressure line from the P2 pressure plug (the six psi static pressure point) conveyed pressure air into a head on the stack-pipe. With the stack-pipe inserted into a drum the head sealed the drum’s bunghole when a handle bar on its side was rotated through ninety degrees. The pressure air then forced fuel up the stack-pipe and into the helicopter fuel tank via a standard flexible hose. The effort required was minimal.

Both refuelling and gun-mounting projects were interrupted by a series of Police and Army ATOPs (Anti-Terrorist Operations) exercises that had obviously been generated by interest in the lessons learned during the Sinoia operation. One of these exercises was with the RAR (Rhodesian African Rifles) Battalion at Mphoengs close to our southwestern border. Apart from some interesting flying, this short detachment sticks in my mind because of an embarrassing incident. The RAR camp was set in heavy riverine bush where full blackout procedures were enforced. Screening inside the large Officers’ Mess marquee allowed dim lights to be used at the bar and dinner table. It was in this mess that I first witnessed RAR’s insistence on maximum comfort in the field. Because the Battalion Commander was present, the Battalion’s silver and starched tablecloths were laid for all meals.

In the absence of moonlight I found it difficult to navigate my way through the bush to my tent. I was awaked to the call of nature one night and decided not to try and find my way to the loo but to spend a penny on what appeared to be an anthill under bush close to my tent. I was half way through my need when ‘the anthill’ moved and cursed in N’debele. I was deeply embarrassed, but the soldier who rose from under his wet blanket laughed when he realised what had happened. He called to his mates saying he had been “urinated upon by a Bru-Jop." Blue Job was the army nickname for Air Force people.

Just after this, during a period of flying training in the Chimanimani mountains, Mark Smithdorff and I met up with Major Dudley Coventry, commander of C Squadron Special Air Services. I had only seen this strongly built officer a few times at New Sarum when he and his SAS men were undergoing routine parachute training. In this Dudley stood out a mile because he wore glasses that were secured by thick Elastoplast strips to his nose and temples to prevent the windblast from removing his all-important visual aid.

At the Chimanimani Arms Hotel, we learned from him about SAS and its style of operations. He told us we would probably be seeing a number of young soldiers in the mountains undergoing an SAS selection process. The next morning on our way into the mountains we spotted SAS tents near the base of the mountains at Dead Cow Camp from which place the selection course was being conducted. Then, late in the afternoon, I was flying with my technician Butch Graydon when I spotted two men climbing the long slope of Ben Nevis. One virtually carried the other.

I landed on the steep slope right next to these two exhausted men and established that the man being assisted had broken his ankle some hours earlier. I asked the injured man to come aboard so I could fly him out for medical treatment. He refused point blank saying he would fail the SAS selection process if he did not get to the top of Ben Nevis and then complete the descent to Dead Cow Camp next day via a really tortuous route running down a very long and steep forested ravine. Not fully understanding the harshness of the SAS selection process, and using rank, I ordered the injured man to come aboard saying I would explain to his seniors that I had forced him into doing this. Reluctantly he boarded the aircraft, but his mate refused a lift saying he would be fine now that he no longer needed to assist his injured mate.

We flew down to Dead Cow Camp where I met Warrant Officer Bouch MCM for the first time. He struck me as a frosty old-timer who was not at all pleased with me for interfering with his selection course. I explained that, apart from the injured man’s foot being in serious need of attention, I was concerned that his mate might also become a casualty when bringing the injured man down the mountain ravine. Fortunately, Major Coventry showed up. He accepted that I had acted in good faith and all was forgiven. Happily both the injured man and his mate were accepted into the SAS.

Nevada murder

AT 04:30 ON 25 MAY 1966, I received a call requiring me to report to the squadron with my bush gear. Since this was always ready and packed, I left home within ten minutes of the call. On arrival at the squadron I found our technicians, who lived on station, preparing four helicopters. At a short briefing in New Sarum Operations Room, Squadron Leader John Rogers, Gordon Nettleton, Ian Harvey and myself were instructed to fly to Nevada Farm just north of Hartley where a gang of terrorists had murdered a farmer and his wife.

Our arrival at Nevada Farm was at dawn. We went into the farmhouse where the naked body of Mr Viljoen lay sprawled on the floor close to his dead wife. Three exhausted Special Branch (SB) men lay fast asleep on the bed from which the couple had risen to investigate knocking on their bedroom door.

It appeared that Mr Viljoen had been reluctant to open the door to late-night callers because the bullets that cut him down had been fired through the door. Mrs Viljoen had obviously gone to her husband’s aid only to be cut down too. The terrorists then broke down the door and stepped over the dead bodies. A baby sleeping in her cot in her parents’ room was narrowly missed by bullets that remained embedded in the wall above and below her. Two other children sleeping in their own bedroom escaped injury. By the time reports of gunfire brought help to Nevada Farm, the terrorists had vanished into the night having first put the three children back to sleep and looted fridge and pantry of all foodstuffs.

All day long we deployed police and SB groups for miles around to search for leads on the whereabouts of the group responsible for these awful murders. Feelings ran high as more and more police, some with dogs, arrived and set up camp next to the farmstead. A police mobile canteen had been established by 7 am and from it we were able to snatch the odd cup of coffee and ultra-thick sandwiches between flights. In the evening, cold beers and a good meal were followed by welcome sleep. At daybreak a substantial breakfast, served by very friendly Police Reserve men and women, set us up for the day.

I was required to take six PR men to a position where the Umfuli River passes through the Mcheka-wa-ka-Sungabeta mountain range to guard a damaged helicopter. Gordon Nettleton had struck a tree with his main rotor blades whilst landing in the heavy bush that made this untamed area of countryside so beautiful. Fortunately, a technical inspection showed that Gordon’s aircraft would be safe for a one-time unloaded flight back to Nevada for rotor blades to be changed. With Gordon’s aircraft gone, the PR men I had brought in linked up with the ones from Gordon’s aircraft and together they set off on a patrol, seeking leads on what had become known as the ‘Nevada Gang’.

After dark Ian Harvey and I were required to return to uplift these same men because they reported having hot information. Landing in that general area by day was quite tricky, but finding the same location and landing in the dark could have presented major problems. As it happened, the PR had located an open ledge on the side of the Umfuli River making single-aircraft entries fairly straightforward for both Ian and myself.

Though not needed for this uplift, our OC decided to tag along flying very high above us. He did this in hope of picking up a campfire in the remote and unpopulated area. When we were already on our way back to base, John Rogers told us that he had located a fire close to a distinctive bend on the Umfuli River. Judging by its relative position to the river, his map showed it to be on a steep slope and he was certain this was where the terrorists were camping.

Back at Nevada Farm however, he became frustrated by the Police choosing only to react to ground-acquired intelligence and refusing to accept any lead given by a pilot. Two days later a cave with freshly burnt embers, at the precise location John Rogers had plotted on the police operations map, proved to have been occupied by the terrorist gang on the night in question.

Intelligence established that the Nevada Gang, comprising seven men, was a component of the twenty-one men who entered Rhodesia together then split up near Sinoia. The Armageddon Group had remained in the Sinoia area where it had been annihilated and the third group of seven had gone on to Salisbury. An ex-BSA policeman by the name of Gumbotshuma led the gang we now sought. He turned out to be a wily bird because he understood police thinking and tactics. In particular he understood the police cordon-and-search system and obviously knew how to exploit its weaknesses, as we were to find out.

Following discovery of the cave, ground leads indicated that Gumbotshuma and his men were currently camping on the side of the Mcheka-wa-ka-Sungabeta mountain, some way northeast of the cave. This section of the mountain range formed the western boundary of the Zowa African Purchase Land for black farmers. It was from a named farmer that the Nevada Gang was receiving succour. From his lofty perch Gumbotshuma could monitor all movements on the African farms below. Nevada Farm was only thirteen miles away and all roads leading into his area were visible to Gumbotshuma.

He watched the helicopters flying to the ridge behind him and knew that they were deploying men of the stop line. He watched the vehicles arriving at the base of the mountain and saw flanking men climb the mountain in two lines on either side of his position. After a long while, the sweep line at the base commenced its slow climb towards him.

All of the terrorists were closely grouped in a gully and moved slowly forward under directions given by Gumbotshuma. When the gap he was watching for seemed right, the gang tucked against one bank of the gully and listened as the closest men in the sweep line passed noisily by. Having been missed, Gumbotshuma knew the force would be uplifted from the ridge by helicopter and flown back to the waiting vehicles below. All he had to do was stay low until all the police returned to base.

There is a basic rule for aircrew concerning the consumption of alcohol. This is, ‘eight hours between bottle and throttle’. It is easy enough to comply with if one or two drinks are taken before retiring to bed early. In the bush we would not consume any alcoholic beverage until we were certain there would be no need to fly that night. However, after the abortive sweep of the mountain all was quiet so the aircrew tucked into a couple of ice-cold beers before dinner and an early night.

We had consumed three beers apiece and were about to have our meal when Ian Harvey and I were instructed to grab our kit and get up to the police station at Zwimba. With three beers in an empty stomach, having not eaten since early morning, I was very concerned about flying on such a dark night. The act of lifting off into the black had the apparent effect of sobering me up completely and we arrived at Zwimba safely.

At Zwimba every policeman available had set off to investigate a report of a lone terrorist who had arrived at a farmer’s house. We waited all night to be called forward but no call came. I remember how Ian Harvey curled up under the Charge Office counter and slept like a baby whilst my technician Jerry Hayter and I paced up and down until vehicles arrived at dawn with a wounded terrorist. His name was Abel Denga.

Abel had been shot through the stomach by an African police sergeant when he emerged from a hut next to the farmer’s house and attempted to shoot the sergeant. Abel had been with the Nevada Gang during the unsuccessful sweep on the mountain the previous day. He said he knew where Gumbotshuma and the rest of his gang could be found some distance from the mountain. In response to questioning, he said he would be able to direct an airborne force to their present location.

Following first-aid treatment to his wound, I got airborne with Abel and five armed policemen. Ian followed with another six armed policemen. But it soon became clear that Abel had no idea where he was because we were being given haphazard changes in direction. The police believed he was deliberately misleading us, so we returned to Zwimba for the exercise to be conducted by road. This also turned into a wild goose chase because Abel was totally disorientated. He looked really washed out when the ground party returned, so we wrapped him up in blankets and placed him on a stretcher to fly him to Harare Hospital.

Jerry Hayter watched Abel throughout the flight and became concerned about his fast and weakening pulse. An ambulance was waiting at the hospital helicopter pad where two black female nurses took the stretcher from us and were about to put it in the ambulance. I requested that they return the stretcher to the helicopter as soon as possible. “Certainly”, said the older of the two nurses, whereupon they rotated the helicopter stretcher to drop Abel face down onto their own ambulance stretcher. Jerry and I were incensed by this callous act but the older nurse simply said, “Bloody terrorist bastard”, climbed into the ambulance and sped away towards the hospital. Having seen relatively kind treatment from the Police and SB, including the sergeant Abel had attempted to shoot, the attitude of these professional nurses seemed way out of place. Two days later we heard that Abel Denga had died.

From the hospital we flew the short distance back to New Sarum because I had been recalled to start my QHI (Qualified Helicopter Instructor) course. Back in the op area four terrorists were killed. Edmond Nyandoro who had received his training at Nanking Military College in China was captured and sentenced to death for his direct involvement in the Viljoens’ murders. Gumbotshuma escaped back to Zambia following a long trek up the Hunyani River and the Tete Province of Mozambique. The third group of seven made a serious mistake in going to Salisbury. They were all apprehended when Police ground coverage teams detected their presence the moment they arrived in Harare Township.

Of the group of twenty-one men who entered Rhodesia, only Gumbotshuma escaped. Nevertheless, publicity arising from their activities suited ZANU perfectly. The loss of twenty men was of no concern to the politicos of ZANU whose only interest was to prove to the Liberation Committee of the OAU that the party was active inside Rhodesia.

Aiden Diggeden

MOST RHODESIANS KNEW OF A colourful young prisoner named Aiden Diggeden. He was a gentle rogue who claimed that no prison would ever hold him for long and, as I recall, he proved this three times. On one of these, Aiden escaped with two other white prisoners. I became involved in covering ground from Lake McIlwaine to the small settlement of Selous on the main road to Bulawayo. After a fruitless search of almost three hours I needed to refuel but no police station was prepared for helicopter operations in those times. Fortunately our Alouettes’ engines could use Avtur, the correct jet paraffin, or diesel fuel, so I landed on the main road next to the Selous service station. Vehicles backed up either side of the helicopter until my technician and I pushed it to a diesel pump. This created consternation for the station attendant and drew crowds of people to watch proceedings until the diesel storage tank ran dry before the helicopter’s tank was half full. Then new information came through to let us know the search had switched to another area; so we returned to base. Aiden was apprehended three days later.

On another occasion he triggered a countrywide manhunt that had been on the go for three days before Aiden was accidentally discovered hiding in a water reservoir set high above the main prison buildings. He had been waiting in there for everything to quieten down before making the escape he had planned.

Aiden was a man who could charm anyone including his jailers and he used this gift to good advantage. He was also a gifted athlete. For some weeks, when out in the exercise yard, he would sprint to the high prison wall and run almost to its summit before executing a backward somersault to land neatly on his feet. He told his prison warders he was practising for the day he would reach the top of the wall, roll over it, and land next to the vehicle that would race him away to freedom. Believing the wall was too high, this latest leg-pull amused the warders who were used to being ribbed by Aiden. When the time was right however, Aiden did just as he said he would and managed to reach South Africa.

Helicopter projects continued

IN BETWEEN QHI FLIGHTS, THERE was time to continue with my two projects. With the aid of the Drawing Office and Station Workshops I produced a prototype mounting for side-firing machine-guns that incorporated an arrangement to arrest expended cartridge cases and links. Squadron Leader Rogers and I conducted firing tests that proved the mounting but highlighted the need for a suitable gun-sight. I managed to lay hands on a small French reflector sight that improved accuracy dramatically.

With minor modifications, the mounting was used for the next fourteen years though .303 Browning machine-guns, because of their higher rate of fire, later replaced the MAG machine-guns. Because .303 Browning had a bad reputation for jamming, they were fitted in pairs.

Every pilot and technician on 7 Squadron was required to attain high proficiency on these side-firing guns. It took some doing, but Air HQ eventually agreed to the award of Air Gunners Wings to all technicians who met the laid-down standard of proficiency.

These embroidered cloth wings, displaying upward facing bullet set between two stubby wings (second from left on the bottom row), that were proudly worn above rank insignia on the left arm.

When the pressure refuelling pump had been proven in secret I told my Squadron Commander what had been done and why. Having witnessed a demonstration he gave me his unreserved approval for what had been achieved and even undertook to take the project on his own head to protect me from the inevitable repercussions that would flow from Air HQ. For this I was grateful but said I must take the responsibility, having intentionally hidden the developmental work from him. Nevertheless, Squadron Leader Rogers arranged for a high-level team of Air and Technical Staff officers to visit the squadron.

Visiting from Air HQ was a team of four officers comprising the Director General Operations, Staff Officer Operations, the Director General of Supporting Services (DGSS) and Command Armament Officer. They went directly to Squadron Leader Rogers’ office for discussions on subjects that differed from my OC’s prime purpose, which was to demonstrate pressure refuelling.

The concrete helicopter pad was bare but for two full drums of Avtur. One stood upright and the other was on its side at the edge of the pad. Out of sight on the sports field were two waiting helicopters. One carried the conventional kamena kawena pump and the other was fitted with the lighter prototype pressure-refuelling unit.

When the visiting officers emerged from the OC’s office they were invited by John Rogers to witness a short demonstration. As he approached the hangar door and saw only two fuel drums on the empty Helicopter pad, Group Captain Jimmy Pringle (DGSS), who had not been opposed to running an engine to refuel helicopters, immediately realised what was coming. He winked at me and whispered in my ear, “Naughty, naughty.”

The two helicopters lifted into view and moved forward to the helicopter pad. The one with the kamena kawena pump landed well clear of the drum that lay on its side. The one with the pressure refueller landed next to the upright drum. Both pilots closed fuel cocks and stopped the rotors, but only the pilot with the kamena kawena pump closed down his engine. Both crews exited and removed their refuelling gear from the rear compartment. The pressure-refuelling pump was inserted into the drum the moment the bung had been removed and refuelling commenced before the technician of the second aircraft had rolled his drum to the helicopter. Pressure refuelling ended, the pump was back in its storage bay, and rotors were wound up to governed speed for lift-off six minutes after landing. At that moment, the pilot of the second aircraft had just started cranking the kamena kawena pump. He lifted off sixteen minutes after landing.

Squadron Leader Rogers and I received a bit of a blasting for unauthorised development and for using Station Workshops and materials without HQ approval. Otherwise, the Air HQ officers were convinced by the demonstration and gave authority to manufacture pressure pumps for each helicopter.

Some days after all helicopters had been equipped with the new pressure pumps, I was astounded to be told by Air HQ that, being a commissioned Officer, I could expect nothing for my invention. I knew this without having to be told but, because the matter had been raised, I requested that Air Force take out a patent on the design. This request was made so that any financial benefit that might derive in the future could be passed to the Air Force Benevolent Fund that provided relief to servicemen in distress. I was assured this would be done.

Sanctions against Rhodesia were affecting our ability to buy certain spares and more so to procuring additional helicopters. A number of visits from Frenchmen of Sud Aviation as well as South African and Portuguese military people included inspections and demonstrations of the helicopter gun-mounting and pressure-refueller. Arising from French interests in the refuellers, it seems that the full data pack for the pressure equipment was handed to Sud Aviation in exchange for our urgent needs. That was fine, but no rites or royalty agreement was concluded because no patent existed.

When I learned about this, I was as mad as a snake for three reasons. Firstly, the French asked if our latest order for three new helicopters was to be with or without pressure refuellers. Secondly, we heard that the French had sold the refuellerdesign to the USAAF for use in Vietnam and finally, Air Force members with wives and children in need of special medical treatment outside the country could not expect the level of assistance from the Benevolent Fund that might have been possible had AIR HQ patented the refuelling system—as had been promised.

Accidental entry into Zambia

THE FRENCH HAD ALWAYS MADE it clear to all Alouette III users that this helicopter should not be flown at night or deliberately enter cloud. This was because, unlike fixed-wing aircraft, helicopters are inherently unstable and cannot be allowed to enter into any unusual flight attitude that could, in a matter of seconds, result in the aircraft breaking up in flight. However, because our Air Force seniors had not flown helicopters and believed that Rhodesian pilots were too well trained to worry about French opinions our helicopter pilots were committed to flying at night. For this they had to be wide-awake for every second in the air. We even had to practise daytime instrument flying under a hood arrangement and were tasked for hundreds of night training flights into every remote police station in the country.

We really needed every possible aid to reduce uncertainties and tension at night, whereas our aids were limited to standard flight instruments and VHF radio. My own experiences had shown me that navigation at night was particularly difficult and that there was urgent need for an instrument that would indicate the direction to fly to reach the point of destination. Such an instrument was already in service with South African Air Force helicopters. It was known as the Becker Homer.

A Becker Homer responded to incoming transmissions on any selected frequency. A needle on its indicator dial moved left or right of a centre-line marker in response to an incoming signal. Though the needle should have remained upright for a transmission emanating from directly ahead, it seldom did. Nevertheless, by asking the ground operator to give a long transmission it was possible in a turn to watch for the needle’s swing across centre as the nose came to the direction to steer to the point of transmission.

I submitted a request for this equipment through my Squadron Commander and OC Flying Wing who both added their weight to the request. Though the Becker Homers were readily available in South Africa and were not expensive, nothing was forthcoming because bids for these instruments had not been included in the squadron’s annual returns. Because of this, I got myself into a near-fatal situation.

I was at Thornhill participating in a School of Infantry exercise code-named ‘Happy Wanderer’ when, just after dinner one evening, I received instructions to get to Binga at first light with three MAG machine-guns and a large supply of ammunition and mortar bombs. A terrorist crossing of Lake Kariba had been detected and Army troops were on follow-up. A FASOC (Forward Air Support Operations Centre), two helicopters and two Provosts were already at Binga.

My technician Ewett Sorrell and I loaded the aircraft before I contacted Thornhill’s Meteorological Officer who forecast an eight-knot headwind at 8,500 feet, which was my intended cruise altitude. We went off to bed at around 20:30. When we lifted off at 03:00 I took the precaution of making a run down the centre-line of the tarmac runway 31 to check that my directional indicator had been set correctly from the tiny, difficult-to-read, P2 magnetic compass. Coincidentally, the runway direction was the same as the heading to Binga.

Throughout the climb the haze level was unusually dense. At 8,500 feet haze density was such that it created a fairly distinct though false horizon at about forty degrees above the true horizon. Below the aircraft the night was as black as hell but above the haze line there were stars to help hold heading without continuous reference to instruments. At altitude I sensed that there was strong drift to port but I could not be certain of this because the ground was not visible to conscious sight. The sensation bothered me so much that I asked Ewett Sorrell if he was sensing the same thing. He said he was not.

At about eighty nautical miles, based on time, I picked up the faint greyish white ribbon of a riverbed that ran along track for a while then broke sharply left and was lost in the black. I took this to be the distinctive bend on the Gwelo River. This placed me on track and a little ahead on time. Despite the river check, the sensation of drift persisted. At about the halfway point a bush fire came up on our right side but it was impossible to establish the direction the smoke was blowing because the haze only allowed light from the circular line of flame to show through.

At 05:10 I called FASOC and was answered immediately, loud and clear, by Gordon Nettleton. I told him we were estimating Binga at 05.25 though we may be a little late because I had changed heading for Chete Island to offset the sensation of high but unproven drift. Even though the haze had reduced dramatically I could not see the lake at 05.30. It was then that Ewett Sorrell picked up the glow of town lights way off on our port side. I was dumbfounded thinking that this must be Wankie and that my sensations of drift had been correct after all. I called FASOC, but there was no reply.

The Alouette fuel gauge was calibrated by fuel weight from zero to 1,000 pounds. With cruising power set and flying at 8,500 feet there was sufficient fuel for a flight time of between two hours, fifty minutes and three hours. Before reaching zero fuel, a small light on the fuel gauge gave warning when only fifteen minutes of flying time remained. The light would flicker for a while before burning brightly. It was from this point that the fifteen minutes was timed. When we saw the lights of the town the warning light flickered for the first time. Dawn was breaking but I knew I must get on the ground as soon as possible to await better light. An autorotative descent was made to conserve fuel and halfway down the descent the ground became vaguely visible. As we got closer, I saw that we were over very rough country with deep ravines that looked wrong. Even in the poor light conditions the rivers seemed to be running south when they should be flowing north. I had not seen the lake or the Zambezi River so put this matter out of mind as I eased on power to level off over one of the ridges. We spotted a small vlei deep in a valley and went in to land. On short finals, however, the fuel warning light came on steady at the very same moment that we picked up a herd of elephant right where we had to land. They cleared off quickly enough allowing us to put down in the long grass that reeked of the great brutes. After fifteen minutes waiting with curious elephants milling around us it became light enough to get airborne.

As we crested the ridge we saw farmlands directly ahead and set course for the closest farmstead. Close up the farm looked very dilapidated so we went on a little farther to one that looked much neater and landed in a paddock close to a fence. Just beyond the fence was the farmhouse from which smoke was rising lazily in the cold morning air. A couple of moving figures showed that the place was coming to life. I had a sneaking suspicion we were in Zambia but wondered how this could be since we had not seen the Zambezi River.

As a precaution I asked Ewett to remain in the helicopter cabin and prepare his rifle in case of trouble—what trouble I could not say. I walked forward of the helicopter and stopped at the fence to await a man who was coming towards me. Because I could not speak N’debele, I greeted the guy in the usual Shona way with the words “Mangwanani, mamuka se”? to which he replied “Tamuka! Mamuka wo”? I then asked him where the ‘boss’ was to which he replied “bwana ne dona vakaenda ku taundi." His use of the words Bwana and Dona really worried me. Even though the man spoke Shona, my guard was already up when I asked him for the direction to Binga. He had never heard of the place, so I asked where Livingstone was. He pointed in a southwesterly direction saying Livingstone was quite close. Quite close in African terms usually means a long way off!

I thanked the man and was about to turn round when, in English, he asked in a rude fashion “Where the hell you come from”? I told him we were on our way from Lusaka to Livingstone but the haze had been so bad that I was making sure I had not crossed the Zambezi into Rhodesia. He seemed satisfied and I turned to walk back to the helicopter as coolly as I could. My nonchalance was overdone because my foot slipped through the step and I nearly broke my leg between the two bars that formed it.

There was no time to rub my aching leg. Two others had joined the man and all three were climbing through the fence to get a closer look at the helicopter. On selection of the engine starter switch the engine fired up but suddenly quit. I slammed back the fuel-flow lever to close the micro switch that had caused the motor to shut down. Then, hand-signalling the three approaching men to stay where they were, we had to wait an agonising thirty seconds before repeating the start-up sequence

As soon as the engine start sequence ended, I advanced the fuel-flow lever much faster than normal to wind up the rotors to governed speed before lifting off into backwards flight to prevent the men on the ground from seeing RRAF 503 painted on the belly of the helicopter. Suddenly the reverse airflow caught my unlocked door and flung it forward where it engaged with the lock that normally held the door open on the ground. I had not even strapped myself in but this made reaching the lock possible as I rotated the aircraft with rudder to turn it into forward flight. This caused the door to whip back and strike my elbow with great force.

Once strapped in and settled in the climb, I headed in the general direction of Livingstone Airport where I told Ewett we might have to take on fuel, at gunpoint if necessary. I scrabbled for my map case, found the appropriate 1:250,000 map and positively confirmed Senkobo and Kananga railway sidings ahead and right of our course. We already had a cumulative flying time of over five minutes since the warning light had first come on, which seemed to place Livingstone Airport beyond our reach, so I kept climbing at eighty knots seeking as much height as possible. Attempts to raise Victoria Falls Airport and the FASOC at Binga met with no response.

I was mildly concerned about RAF Javelin fighters that had recently been deployed to protect Zambia from imagined aggression from Rhodesia, but decided that they would not be able to respond to a call from the farm or from Livingstone Airport before we were safely out of Zambian airspace. The fuel warning light had been on for more than twenty minutes when we passed over Livingstone Airport at almost 11,000 feet. Below we could see the fuel storage depot and two fuel bowsers parked next to a building close by. The Zambezi River was still just out of reach if the engine quit but there was ample space to make a forced landing where the bowsers stood. A minute later we knew we were safe when the south bank of the Zambezi River was within our reach.

The flight line was altered to fly directly for the police station at Victoria Falls just three nautical miles ahead. At twenty-three minutes on warning light, I could see the small sports field by the police station and entered into an autorotative descent for a powerless landing on the sports field. We rolled onto the grass exactly where I intended at a little over walking speed. The engine was still running when I applied collective pitch to keep rolling towards the road where police usually dropped fuel for helicopters. We had not quite reached this point when the engine quit.

Squadron Leader Woodward was the duty officer who answered my telephone call to Air HQ. I had to tell him of our experience in veiled terms that he understood, having already learned from the FASOC at Binga that we were more than an hour overdue. Having shaken up the Police we took on fuel and flew off to Binga. Routing along the Zambezi Gorge, we established why we had not picked up the river in the dark. The water surface was completely covered by Kariba Weed (Salvinia Auriculata).

When I made contact with him, Gordon Nettleton told me that a Provost was on its way from Salisbury with a replacement helicopter pilot because I was to return to Salisbury with the same Provost and report to the Air Force Commander. Having not shaved and still dressed in flying overalls that smelled quite strongly of fuel, I felt awkward about being hustled from the flight line by Ozzie Penton to see Air Vice-Marshal Harold Hawkins.

When I entered his office the AVM had a 1:250,000 map laid out before him. He asked me to go through my experience and identify the farm at which I had landed. I told him the whole story and emphasised the sensation of drift, which I had tried to ignore after seeing the sharp bend of what I had taken to be the Gwelo River. In retrospect it was obvious this had in fact been the Shangani River whose line exactly matched the sharp bend of the Gwelo River. Though much further from Thornhill this landmark corresponded closely with the expected flight time to the Gwelo River bend.

There was no difficulty in pinpointing the farm we had bypassed and the one where we landed. Then AVM Hawkins told me that we had been very fortunate to give the first farm a miss. Special Branch had been to see him before me and had pointed out that this particular farm was ZAPU’s ‘Freedom Farm’ where large numbers of trained and well-armed terrorists were in residence.

Ian Harvey (wearing cap) and technicians taken during a mountain training rest period.

The Commander had been in contact with the RAF Air Liaison Officer in Zambia to apologise for the inadvertent landing of an RRAF helicopter in Zambia. He told the RAF officer that the pilot of the aircraft had been on a mercy mission and had strayed into Zambia in error. The Liaison Officer had acted in a very friendly way and told the AVM there was nothing to worry about; he would settle any political problems that might arise. None did!

I took the opportunity to emphasise to the AVM that had my helicopter been fitted with a Becker Homer I would have known that the FASOC transmission from Gordon Nettleton was coming from a point off to my right and that I would have turned starboard to reach Binga safely. The AVM took up the matter personally and Becker Homers were ordered.

Elephants and the minister

MARK MCLEAN WAS MY FIRST helicopter student. Flying with him made me realise how great it was to convert a fully qualified pilot to a new style of flying. Apart from the usual struggle to master precision hovering Mark progressed well through all phases of his operational conversion, most of which were done in high weight conditions. To end his course, I received authority to conduct what became known as the end of course ‘around the houses’ training flight. We started with three days in the Chimanimani mountains, which was both essential and enjoyable. All of our flying was broken down into short periods of intensive work with picnic and swim breaks in between.

From there we moved north along the mountainous border, then east via low country and the Zambezi River line stopping for fuel at police stations and Army bases along the route.

Mark was a keen photographer who often passed flight control to me so that he could take photos of places that caught his eye. It was late afternoon with the sun about to set behind the western Zambian escarpment when we passed a large herd of elephants spread along a stretch of sand and drinking at the Zambezi River’s edge. Mark asked me to take control. Whilst he prepared his camera I took the aircraft into a long turn-about then ran close to the river whose waters reflected the superb sunset. As we passed slowly by the herd set off eastwards creating an enormous dust cloud that glowed red in the sunset, adding another dimension to colours reflecting off the huge river. I turned around for Mark to photograph this magnificent sight through his open window then turned back again to reposition ahead of the herd.

We had moved about 200 metres when I noticed people standing on a bank towards which this herd was moving. Immediately I flew ahead of the elephants and came to a hover behind the group of white people to force the elephants to stop moving in their direction. The herd came to a dusty halt short of the group, so we broke away to let them enjoy the sight.

We continued on for a night landing at the Army camp on Kariba Heights where we spent an evening with the Brown Jobs. The rest of the trip was a resounding success and proved the value of taking new helicopter pilots through the widely varying situations that they would encounter during operations.

A few days after returning to New Sarum, I was ordered to report to the Air Force Commander. For the second time in seven weeks, I entered Air Vice-Marshal Harold Hawkins’ office. The AVM asked me if I had been flying in the area of Mana Pools at around 18:30 on 9 September. I said I had. The AVM then told me that he had received an angry report from a Member of Parliament to say that we had endangered his life and those of his family and friends by driving elephants directly at them. I told the AVM what had happened and how we had deliberately stopped the jumbos before breaking away to let the people on the ground enjoy the animals at relatively close range. He said he was pretty fed up with complaints that came from the same handful of high and mighty people. More in jest than annoyance he told me to “run the blighters over next time.”

First helicopter engine failure

TRAGEDY WAS TO BECOME COMMONPLACE in a war that had started slowly. But on 12 October 1966 it struck the Special Air Service badly. The nation was shaken by news of the deaths of Warrant Officer Bouch MCM, Colour Sergeants Cahill MCM and Wright MCM and Chief Superintendent Wickenden who had been killed in an accidental explosion on the banks of the Zambezi River.

Officer Commanding SAS, Major Dudley Coventry, and these four men had been preparing canoes at the water’s edge before crossing the river and proceeding to Lusaka to blow up ZANU Headquarters. The major had returned to vehicles parked above the high riverbank for some reason or other when an enormous explosion occurred. The force of the explosion was so great that, even with the protection of the bank, the major was knocked unconscious. He awakened to find his hair burning, his scalp peeled back off his skull and his hearing completely gone.

Regimental Sergeant-Major ‘Bangstick’ Turle of the Rhodesian Light Infantry heard the explosion from his base at the Chirundu road bridge that linked Rhodesia to Zambia. He set off without delay to investigate and found the blood-soaked major staggering along the road on his way to find help. Sergeant-Major Turle immediately called for a helicopter and was badly shaken by what he found below the bank on which the damaged SAS vehicles stood.

Mark Smithdorff piloted the helicopter sent to uplift the dead and convey Dudley to Kariba where a Dakota and doctor were standing by for his onward flight to Salisbury Hospital. Having just crossed the Chirundu tarmac road a terrific screaming noise came from the engine. Quick as a flash Mark turned back for the road and was in reach of it when the engine casing burst with a bang. He ‘dumped collective’ (reducing all main rotor-blade angles to zero) and made an expert forced landing through the narrow gap between trees overhanging both sides of the road.

Being deaf, Dudley Coventry had not heard the engine scream or the casing explode. He climbed out of the aircraft and turning to Mark asked in his usual polite manner, “What seems to be the problem old boy”? Pointing to the burst engine casing and using sign language Mark was able to answer the major’s question. Two unhappy incidents in one day did not seem to get the major down. He was a really Tough old bird.

In time to come we were often left wondering if Dudley Coventry had been blessed with the many lives of a cat. Much of what he did during his incredible life may never be told but, having survived many wounds and dangers, it seems quite unfair that, in his old age in independent Zimbabwe, he was brutally bludgeoned to death by an intruder in his own home. I know of some of the close shaves he had but can only recall details of one.

This occurred on 26 May 1967 when Dudley was leading an SAS team in an armed roadblock above the escarpment on the Chirundu road some way south of where Mark Smithdorff’s forced landing had occurred. Intelligence had picked up information that a particular pantechnicon, purporting to carry furniture, was entering Rhodesia from Zambia with a load of armed terrorists and war material.

The vehicle was duly identified and waved to a halt. The driver denied that he was transporting terrorists but refused to open the back doors. As the SAS moved to force them open, automatic fire initiated from inside the vehicle. This, together with intense return fire from the SAS, turned the pantechnicon’s sides into sieve-like surfaces.

During the exchange, Dudley received a hit high up on his inner thigh. He dived for cover and dropped his pants. Satisfied that his manhood had not been affected, he ignored his heavy bleeding and continued firing into the vehicle. All the terrorists were killed and Dudley recovered from the strike that narrowly missed his femoral artery.

British military versus Labour Government

FOR SOME TIME THE ARMY had been involved in continuous border-control operations along the Zambezi River line. This involved what the Army referred to as ‘side-stepping’ between bases to check for tracks of terrorists crossing into Rhodesia. One day all callsigns moved left from one base to the next and returned along the same route the following day. Except for the odd senior Officers’ visits and casualty evacuations (casevac), the Air Force had little to do with Border ops in early times. The Hunter and Canberra boys also flew the river line on odd occasions, but for a very different reason.

The RAF Javelin squadron personnel were billeted in chalets, which were modified cattle sheds in Lusaka’s show grounds. The squadron leader commanding this British fighter squadron happened to be South African and, like every man under his command, he had a soft spot for Rhodesia. They made telephonic contact with our jet squadrons to offer our men best wishes and suggest that it would be fun to meet in the air. Our pilots needed no second invitation. On a few occasions Hunters or Canberras met the Javelins to fly along the Zambezi River in formation with crews waving and taking photographs of each other.

On the pretext of going on Christmas break to South Africa, a number of RAF guys took civilian flights to Salisbury, via Johannesburg (no passports were stamped). They were welcomed and, out of sight of prying eyes, given a great time. I have no idea if their desire to meet Ian Smith was fulfilled. But one can only guess that Harold Wilson and his Labour Party would have been horrified if they had known of these goings-on and especially that the Javelin boys had made it clear that they would never have responded to orders to make strikes against Rhodesians.

When, in August 1966, the British Government announced the withdrawal of the Javelin squadron, the Rhodesians gave the RAF fellows a grand farewell party at Victoria Falls. But it was not only the Royal Air Force that had a soft spot for Rhodesia; the Royal Navy seemed to have had similar sentiments.

When Ian Smith met for talks with Harold Wilson, first on HMS Fearless and later on HMS Tiger, one of his team was Flight Lieutenant Brian Smith, a Rhodesian Air Force communications Officer. Brian received the highest possible cooperation from the Royal Navy, resulting in perfectly secure communications with Salisbury. By all accounts, Ian Smith himself was accorded greater respect and acknowledgement by all ranks than Harold Wilson.

We were aware that the British forces were violently anti-communist and sympathised with Rhodesia, but this did not apply to the British Government who seemed hell-bent on forcing us into a communist take-over. Sanctions were taking effect in so far as open trade was concerned but Rhodesia had turned towards South Africa and Portugal and our sanctions busters were becoming increasingly effective. For the ordinary man in the street not much had changed and support for Ian Smith and his RF party strengthened with every new threat from Whitehall.

A different way of thinking

IAN SMITH DESCRIBED THE BLACK folk of Rhodesia as the nicest and happiest people in all of Africa. I have no doubt that this was so because they needed no persuasion to report the presence of terrorists whenever and wherever they appeared. Through 1966 to 1972 very few of our black countrymen were even aware of the ZANU and ZAPU armed incursions and continued to lead normal lives.

Many amusing stories of these times can be told of our black countrymen and the way that they interpreted non-tribal issues. I give some short examples here.

What with a drought and one thing and another, an old man in the southwestern region near Kezi, was facing hard times. For hours he contemplated what he should do until he recalled being taught by missionaries many years before. “Ask and it shall be given unto you.”

The old man decided to act on this and wrote a letter to God asking Him for £10 to overcome all his problems and promised never again to trouble Him if he received this help. When the letter was in an envelope the old man was in a quandary because he did not remember being given God’s address. Deciding the post office people would know what to do, he addressed the stamped envelope ‘TO GOD IN HEAVEN’ and posted it at the Kezi Post Office.

The sorter of mail did not know what to do with the letter so took it to the postmaster who was a white man. The postmaster said he would handle the matter. At the end of his working day he drove to the local Roman Catholic mission and handed the letter over to the senior father who was so pleased by the writer’s faith that he passed it all the way around the mission. A total of £5 was collected in silver that was reduced to a £5 note and mailed to the old man with an accompanying letter.

During the following week a second letter addressed ‘TO GOD IN HEAVEN’ arrived at the mission. In this the old man thanked God for the gift of £5 but suggested that, in future, God should not make any payment through the Catholic mission because they keep half of His gifts.

A terrorist was captured unhurt but in an emaciated state. He was armed with an SKS rifle and had plenty of ammunition. His belly had been empty for days and the urine in his water bottle had turned to acid because he had failed to find water. Once he had been fed and his thirst had been quenched he was interrogated by Special Branch. He told SB that he was the sole survivor of a contact with the Army and had been trying to get back to Zambia. The matter of hunger and thirst came up and he was asked if he had seen any game. He said he had seen plenty of animals. When asked why he had not shot something to eat, he said, “I do not have a Government hunting licence!”

An old headman near Chipinga came with his people to inspect my helicopter—the first they had seen close up. The headman was delighted to be taken on a short goodwill flight around his own territory accompanied by his ten-year-old grandson. Having experienced flight for the first time in his life, the old man declared that he was now the possessor of untold knowledge. He understood cars, buses and tractors, all of which he had driven. He understood most mechanical things, having worked with ploughs, farm implements and dairy milking machines. He said he even understood jet airliners because he had seen them flying high in the sky. But there was one thing that really puzzled his mind. He could not understand how white men put whole sardines into a totally enclosed tin. When I told him how this was done and pointed out the solder lines around the crimped lid he was tickled pink but asked me to promise that I would keep this amazing secret to myself.

When we were operating in the Kanyemba area, I came upon some of the people of the two-toed tribe known as the Vadoma. Not all members of the tribe suffered the affliction, but all seemed to be resistant to the killer disease ‘sleeping sickness’ caused by tsetse flies that plagued that area of the Zambezi Valley. Every time I was bitten by one of these creatures I not only jumped at the sting but also came up in a red and painful swelling around the bite. When I asked a Vadoma chief how he put up with the tsetse fly menace, he said he suffered no problem. He always made certain that a person who was more attractive to the flies than himself stayed close to him, day and night.

My father was overseeing the monthly dipping of tribal cattle when a delegation of old men approached him driving three oxen before them. These animals had been castrated many moons back but the men had come to Dad to say they had made a big mistake; these beasts should never have been castrated. Would ‘Mambo’ please turn them back into bulls!

Amongst European traders there was always good-natured rivalry evidenced by notices and nonsensical poems affixed to shop windows. I cannot recall any that I saw but Maria Pickett, who lived in Gatooma, told me of one incident that typified the rivalry between people trading in similar lines. This involved two chemists whose premises were opposite one another on the main street in the middle of town. One altered his display window to promote a whole range of quality hand-soaps. Included was a poem that read, “I am young and full of hope—I wash my pussy with Coal-tar soap!” Seeing this, his rival responded by filling his window with all sorts of low-cost soaps and displayed them with the following message: “I am old and have no hope—I wash my cock with any old soap!”

FAC courses and smoke trails

AT THORNHILL THE HUNTER AND Vampire squadrons were running Forward Air Controller (FAC) courses for Army officers undergoing company and platoon commander training at the School of Infantry, Gwelo.

The FAC courses were primarily intended for situations of conventional warfare where the Army might need air strikes to be undertaken against a variety of targets, including tanks, other armoured vehicles and artillery. These courses were the foundation upon which the Army and the Air Force developed very special bonds between units and individuals. Most of the participating Army officers were majors, captains and lieutenants who became senior commanders in future operations.

Arising from the FAC courses, I thought that situations could arise in which helicopter pilots might also have to undertake airborne FAC tasks by directing jet pilots onto pinpoint targets. It occurred to me that if two helicopters could trail smoke from different directions towards a target, jet pilots would be able to visually extend the lines and strike the intersection point. With official approval to investigate this possibility I had special nozzles made to inject atomised oil into the combustion chamber of the jet engine. For weeks I worked on this with the willing assistance of the squadron’s technicians, often covering the entire airbase in a cloud of white smoke.

When the nozzle design and method of pumping the fluid into the engine seemed right, airborne tests were conducted with a Canberra. The Canberra’s crew could easily see the smoke trail from over twenty nautical miles but it soon became apparent that a helicopter’s flight line and the smoke trail differed considerably, even in the gentlest of wind conditions. Since this was bound to lead jets into striking wrong positions the project was discarded.

Missing rhino

AIR HQ RECEIVED AN UNUSUAL request for help from a farmer living a few miles west of Salisbury. He ran game on his place. Included was a white rhino that had gone missing. I was tasked to find the animal and, if possible, drive it back to the farm. A pass up one of the boundaries revealed a break in the fence through which the rhino had escaped. Fairly high grass on the adjacent farm clearly revealed the line the rhino had taken and led me to the big fellow who was having a snooze under trees some five miles from the gap in the fence. The animal responded well to helicopter shepherding and trotted back to where the farmer and his workers had positioned to guide the animal through the broken section of fence.

However, when the rhino spotted the people ahead of him he became confused and gave me a run-around as I moved about trying to steer him in the right direction. The people on the ground waved hats and other objects to help but two of them only succeeded in getting knocked over by the rhino before I eventually came very close and forced him through.

The fun of helicopters

IT WAS UNUSUAL EVENTS SUCH as this that made helicopters so much more fun to fly than any fixed-wing machine.

Because of the helicopter’s versatility, every opportunity was taken to reduce stresses and make a student’s training a special experience. Intensive training was broken down into short periods with rest breaks taken in a variety of locations. This allowed students to meet a whole range of people, which was not possible when operating conventional aircraft.

Many of our training flights included tea and luncheon stops with farmers who were always delighted to have us drop in on their front lawns. Seldom was this done without forewarning and, in consequence, there were usually additional guests invited to join the helicopter crew for a swim and sumptuous meal.

A number of officers at Air HQ considered such practices a misuse of helicopters. Fortunately, most recognised the true value of these stopovers because it saved many wasted flying hours. If two hours of actual flying training was to be done in two parts and a farm visit was taken in between, it saved the high cost of having to route to and from the training area twice. The second benefit was the all-important matter of generating good public relations for which the Air Staff received loads of good reports.

Police Reserve Air Wing

ANOTHER GROUP OF PEOPLE WE were getting to know in these times were pilots and observers of the Police Reserve Air Wing. PRAW had been established along the same lines as the Kenyan Police Air Wing that did such good work during the Mau Mau rebellion in Kenya.

PRAW operated privately owned aircraft ranging greatly in make and capacity. All crews were flying enthusiasts who longed to be employed in operational roles in preference to mundane transporting of passengers around the country. But their operational training was very limited and wholly geared to police needs and thinking.

One aspect of training that received an inordinate amount of attention was message dropping. All aircraft were fitted with radios for civil aviation communications but the police radio network was not compatible with these sets, hence the need for occasional message drops. To meet this shortfall, a message was inserted into a small weighted bag to which was attached a long thin red streamer. A ground party could easily follow the streamer when the bag was dropped, even in the thickest bush. The PRAW pilots however placed great emphasis on dropping a message at its recipient’s feet.

I was called upon to lecture PRAW pilots on air operations in general but, because of the number of individuals involved, my lecture was given in two sessions. At question time during the first session a lawyer from Umtali, Dendy Lawton, raised the matter of message dropping in mountainous areas. I spelt out the immense dangers of flying at low speed close to any mountain and stressed the reason for having a long streamer to assist ground parties follow and find a message. Flight safety was the issue, not accuracy of the drop. In particular I said no drop should ever be made flying towards rising ground, irrespective of the wind direction.

During the second PRAW session Chipinga farmer, Bill Springer, raised the self-same question. He received the same answer and cautions I had given Dendy Lawton. Yet, incredibly, it was these two men who met their deaths making drops towards rising ground.

On 6 May 1967 Dendy Lawton ploughed into the side of a mountain and his observer, Bill Perkins (Perky), was thrown clear. When Perky staggered to his feet he saw that the aircraft was on fire with Dendy inside. Without hesitation he went into the aircraft to rescue his friend but was driven back badly burnt and Dendy perished. It took many months for Perky to recover from severe burns, though he eventually did so with surprisingly minor scarring.

Two years later, on 19 July 1969, Bill Springer was dropping supplies to ground troops monitoring the valley through which the Umtali to Beira road and rail line ran. In the process Bill flew into rising ground. How it came to be that Bill Perkins was there I do not remember. But Perky got into the aircraft and, with fuel pouring all over him, he managed to pull badly injured Bill Springer clear of the wreck.

Fortunately for Perky there was no fire this time but, unfortunately, Bill Springer lost his life. The bravery shown by Bill Perkins in knowingly going to a friend’s aid in spite of a real danger of being burnt again is beyond description.