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smujsmith
19th Apr 2014, 20:57
Hummingfrog,

Spins, and your trepidation. My only real claim to any type of airmanship comes from 500 hours of solo gliding. The run up to that solo flying involved many dual checks, and annual checks throughout, all culminating in spin recovery. I survived the tests, I have to say, I never, intentionally (nor unintentionally actually) put a glider in to a spin whilst solo. I suppose when learning to fly to fight, and hopefully to survive, a pilot would need to test his own mettle on that front. Respect to your father and his fortitude in "going for it".

Smudge:ok:

Chugalug2
19th Apr 2014, 23:08
Hummingfrog, thank you for making me eat my words. Some posts ago I made the rash statement that Danny42C was probably the last poster qualified to tell his tale IAW the OP title. It is my pleasure (and no doubt Danny's :-) to admit to being utterly and completely wrong!

We now have another contender that fits the bill, able once more to take us back to a time when the fate of the world lay in the balance, a balance that was progressively to be tipped in favour of the Allies thanks in large part to Air Power. That in turn started out in the many fields like Terrell, where young men learned their craft and earned their wings.

We are indebted to your father, not only for the telling of his tale, but for being part of that mighty armada of the air to which we all owe so much. The old saw that those who ignore the lessons of history are doomed to repeat it was never so true. God forbid that we should have to pay the cost that your father's generation did. The way to prevent that is to learn from history, from those who made it, from those like your father. Thank you for giving us that opportunity.

Danny, you have often urged those who were diffident about posting their story to do so, even as you told yours. The boot is now on the other foot, so please keep the momentum of your story going in our virtual crewroom, which has the advantage that a dozen conversations can all be attended to individually, and added to in the same way. So as MPN11 and others have posted, you are cleared to finals!

Danny42C
20th Apr 2014, 02:15
Warmtoast,

Very interesting indeed. Strangely, I have never known until now of the extent of the Bombay-Liverpool smallpox outbreak in early'46. My record of Units at the back of my log shows me at 1340 Flight until 31.3.46, allow ten days for travel and a week at Worli, then at least two weeks on the "Aorangi" back through the Canal to Liverpool, and I cannot have landed back in UK until the end of April at the earliest.

By then it would have been old news, and I suppose that, as we had put our single case ashore in Gibraltar on the way, we were no longer newsworthy.

During my fortnight's quarantine in RAF West Kirkby isolation ward, surely we would have been allowed newspapers in, but I don't remember reading about any earlier episode, or anyone telling me about it later. :confused:

"....all the other passengers were injected with anti-smallpox serum...." I wasn't ! Or did they mean "vaccination" ? - which I certainly was. But what a strange phrase for such a well known commonplace procedure !

What I do remember was that the five doctors in "Aorangi" were very frightened men. But what were they afraid of ? (this is where we need a Doctor in the House - any offers ?)....D.

Fareastdriver,

Amen to your #5496 ! (can anyone do this, or must it be whoever put the oversize photo in in the first place ? - or obviously a Moderator)....D.

Hempy,

I cannot click-on to your link, but I know you can find a good deal about the Arnold Scheme from Google, including some interesting statistics, but you need to root around a lot As to the intended extension of the BFTS training to 200 hours in January'42, this should be right up Hummingfrog Senior's street, as he would be going to Terrell about this time....D.

Molemot and gzornenplatz,

I've managed to get onto the Googlebook's free read of the Arnold Scheme book, but it'll take time to go right through and squeeze the pips out of it. I'll come back on it in a later Post - but thanks a lot for putting it out for us all to see !....D.

Hummingfrog,

You're keeping up the good work with your #5500 ! Bit late tonight, will have my two cents' worth tomorrow....D.

Goodnight, everybody. Danny.

PS: Smudge and Chugalug,

Hadn't turned over the last page (p.276), had I ? Never mind, Tomorrow is also a Day....Danny.

Union Jack
20th Apr 2014, 09:57
Bit late tonight, will have my two cents' worth tomorrow....D.

It certainly was, Danny, at 0315! Happy Easter and I hope you manage a spot of "deckhead surveying" later today.:)

Jack

PS Happy to help you paddle that dinghy anytime:ok:

Fareastdriver
20th Apr 2014, 10:49
Spinning! I used to enjoy spinning, so much so that I would use it as a technique to lose height. My last ever, before I went on to rotary, was in a Chipmunk.

Honington, 1964. Our Valiants were being towed away to be scrapped and to keep us in flying practice whilst they sorted out somewhere to send the aircrew the Squadron was issued with a Chipmunk and I was O/C. There was a surprising reticence to take up this facility by the other pilots so I, virtually, had it to myself.

This was an opputunity to get our ground crew airborne as there had been no chance on the Valiant unless you were the aircraft's crew chief. So I was now running a Squadron AEF. I would take one up for about twenty minutes, they would change over in the back and off we would go again. I would let them have the feel of the controls and if they felt like it show them some aeros, progressivly, staring with an airleron roll to loops etc.

I had this one in the back who was as bright as a sparrow. Loads of enthusiasm. Roll, loops, stall turns, every one a winner. I then demonstrated a spin.

Close the throttle, control stick back and on the stall full left rudder. Give it three tuens to develop and then recover. Full right rudder and the stick forward precisely on the Direction Indicator on the instrument panel.

Nothing happened. It kept spinning.

It was now getting quite serious because we were about 3,500 ft and the altimeter was in overdrive. I applied full Pro-spin control to ensure it was in an upright spin as a guard against the unlikely fact that it had gone inverted. Then I again applied full anti-spin.

Three turns later it grudgingly came out. We levelled at 1,200 ft.

My passanger was still full of beans and he was saddened when I told him his time was up (I didn't tell him how close to fact that statement was) and we landed back at Honington.

It was time for a refuel so I shut it down, climbed onto the wing to assist my passengert. He was struggling to get out of the cockpit; not surpisingly because he must have weighed about twenty stones. I hadn't seen him being loaded on as it was a running change and I was negotiating something with ATC at the time.

We were almost certainly at or beyond the aft CofG limit which it why the aircraft behaved the way it did. In my defence we were not informed of any limit on rear passenger weight when I was checked out.

My next spin was in a Puma, but thats another story.

Hummingfrog
20th Apr 2014, 11:20
Hi

I had a chat with Dad last night ref a few questions Danny had posed..

1. As far as American students on courses went there were none on his course - No12 at Terrell - he thinks that there were a few on later courses but not in significant numbers. All the instructors were American though and I believe were "civilians" initially to get round neutrality rules.

2. He is checking his log book to see how many hours he did on the Stearman and then the Harvard.

3. He had a camera with him in Terrell and has lent the original Album to the museum in Terrell - he has a copy and next time I visit I will try and scan some of the Pics as they show not only the flying side but also the social side of life in Terrell.

4. I may have missed it Danny but where did you do your BFTS in the USA as Dad is interested.

5. If any Ppruners know/are ex Terrell Dad would love to know.

next instalment of Dad's experiences to follow shortly!

HF

Ian Burgess-Barber
20th Apr 2014, 14:55
Danny -permission to speak Sir! Re your question in post 5489
"When they graduated, did they receive their silver wings and a 2/Lieut's Commission in the same way as if they'd gone through the US system ?"

My late father graduated in May 1943 from 5BFTS Clewiston Florida on course no 12. This was the first course at Clewiston to have a blend of USAAF/RAF cadets (17 Americans with 83 RAF cadets). In total 125 USAAF cadets started at 5BFTS (16 of them washed-out) on courses 12 - 18 finishing in June 1944 when the US faced a surplus of pilots.

All the US graduates received both Army Air Corps and RAF wings and all were commissioned

Less than 25% of the RAF graduates were commissioned ex BFTS (although many of course attained this later in the war).

Hummingfrog
20th Apr 2014, 15:27
Dad's story continues:-

More advanced exercises were carried out and, slowly but surely, we were moving towards Wings Day.

But of course there were incidents: crosswind landings, ground loops, minor accidents and sadly 2 major accidents (of which later). There was the penalty of not landing the correct way against the huge white T was to be forced to march out to the T in the middle of the airfield and stand in front of the T and salute it x number of times - the number determined by the instructor or Flight Stage Commander. This did not endear us to some who shall remain unnamed!

-o0o-

There were three incidents in particular, namely:

1. My minor incident dipping my port wing as it naughtily sought contact with some Texas earth!

2. The sad events of 20 February 1943 when 4 cadets were killed during a cross country exercise to Miami, Oklahoma - home to 3BFTS.

3. The visit to Terrell of ‘One Armed Mac’, Squadron Leader James Maclachlan.

There were of course many incidents which took place during our flying training but life consisted mostly of the routine and the repetition of all the various exercises carried out day after day, perfecting and honing our skills. However, everyone has their favourite stories of triumph and disaster. The above three are mine. They are as follows.

Incident 1 :- 5 January 1943

It happened on 5th January 1943 when carrying out solo crosswind landings at Tarver field - a long narrow grass field where one could carry out both dual and solo exercises in crosswind and precautionary landings following simulated engine failure. On this particular day I was carrying out solo crosswind landings - the wind was strong and gusty so not the best of conditions. I had just crossed the boundary fence when, caught by a gust of wind, my port wing dipped and, although I managed almost to recover, the port wing tip touched the ground - fortunately only momentarily. But it was enough to cause some damage and the outer edge of the port wing received a dent in the metal some 4 inches long, 2 inches wide and possibly 1 inch deep as far as I remember. Fortunately I did not ground loop and was able to taxi to Dispersal. I confessed, with heart in mouth, to Instructor Wakefield (Little Caesar) who had seen it all and had a face like thunder! He was not best pleased to put it mildly!

Our conversation, a somewhat one-sided tirade from him, left me in no doubt that I was the worst pupil he had ever taught and my action would justify a check ride before I could fly again! It took three days of sheer agony at the prospect of being eliminated from the course before the check ride - the three day’s wait was of course part of the ‘sentence’.

I still remember the check ride to this day and very vividly too! Ed Smith was to check me out - a senior instructor, taciturn and a man of few words. Without saying too much he climbed into the rear seat and sat there waiting for me to check the outside of the aeroplane - pitot-head cover off, etc.- which I did after walking around the aeroplane. I climbed onto the wing and into the cockpit and settled down to strap myself in prior to cockpit checks. I connected to Ed. He asked me (knowing full well that I had not) if I had checked the opening panel in the fuselage which one had to check to ensure that it was locked and secure. I had not checked this in my nervousness, I’d completely forgotten! There sat Ed, unsmiling and staring straight ahead whilst I unstrapped myself, out of the cockpit, off the wing and checked the panel was closed and secure, climb back into the cockpit with the feeling that this would surely be my last flight with elimination and return to the UK!! There followed the longest period of my flying life as we landed and taxied back to hear Ed’s verdict. Well, having gained my wings I don’t need to write that I passed the ‘check ride’. Ed even smiled as he informed me!

I can sympathise with Dad as on my Cranwell course 16 students started the course and 8 finished ( of which 2 were killed later in flying accidents:{). It seemed quite brutal at the time as some seemed fine on the Monday but were gone by the Friday. It all seemed to be about capacity and when you reached that then you couldn't go any further. One or two even admitted to being glad they had been chopped as they felt that they were likely to be involved in an accident and were not enjoying their flying.

HF

Danny42C
21st Apr 2014, 02:38
Hummingfrog,

Throttle back a bit old chap, please ! Give us time to catch our breath ! (roughly 1200 pairs of keen eyes each day scan your story, quite a few may want to come in with questions or comment). Already I feel like the Sorcerer's Apprentice with the craic we've started - we're "spiralling out of control" * (to use a phrase so beloved of radio and TV newsreaders). Slow down a bit - your stuff's far too good to be rushed out like this !

No pun * intended, but I'll shortly put in my take on the Spinning story.

To answer your Dad:
His No.1: the US "neutrality" was a farce from the outset. It didn't matter that his instructors were civilians (as they also were in the US Primary Schools), when he wore RAF uniform and had RAF officers and NCOs. You can't carry on like that and pretend to be a "neutral".

Of course he would have come in a long time after Pearl Harbor and so we were allies then. For a while I believed that that the BFTS scheme didn't start until early '42, but I've read that they in fact commenced in late '41 (at the same time as the "Arnolds"), when the breach of neutrality would have been glaring (and so I had to travel in my natty grey pin-stripe from Toronto to Florida, and never wore uniform in the States).

His No.2: I was an Arnold Scheme trainee, we had no contact with, and knew little about, the BFTSs, apart from the fact that they existed, and did not suffer the huge "washout" rates of the US Army Air Corps Flight Schools.

They were ingenious out there in the way of fashioning "Cruel and Unusual Punishments" (I've told in my Carlstrom Field Posts how a trainee caught roughly-handling a parachute received condign penance !) Your "Tee" offender seem to get similar treatment. To repeat some old doggerel:

"Neither smoke direction, sock nor Tee
Cut any ice with Philbert McGee,
At last a crash made hin change his mind -
You can't use a field you've left behind !"

The "incident" (your #5508) at Miami, Oklahoma BFTS was (IIRC) also reported by Cliff. And the "Washout" terror hung over us all, like a "Sword of Damocles", all the time - and it is true that, like all manual skills, there is a minority of people who just can't do it however hard they try, and it is no kindness to keep them at it when there is no hope ...D.

Union Jack,

You'd better get in the dinghy quick and start paddling - things are hotting up nicely in the Ukraine, pretty soon the Western Powers may have to "put up or shut up" - and I know which one it'll have to be !....D.

Ian Burgess-Barber,

No "permission to speak" needed in this our old Crewroom in Cyberspace, Sir! It is very interesting that the US contingent formed exactly 20% (just as Cliff [RIP] had said), and I'm surprised that they had a chop-rate of 13%. What was the figure for RAF candidates ? (I'd always thought that the BFTS failure rate was supposed to be insignificant) .....D.

Molemot,

I've been sampling the Mr Guinn's "Arnold Scheme" (your #5498 refers). This is comprehensive, enormously detailed, well researched and I would accept it as authoritative. I can recommend it to Hummingfrog Senior (it includes a lot about the BFTSs, too - start on page 23), and I hope to find there more statistics to add to the one figure I have in a notebook (we sent 7885 pilot candidates out to the Arnold Schools and got 4493 pilots # (57%) back - so 43% were "scrubbed". Most would re-train in Canada as Navs or Wop/AGs, but it is a shocking figure all the same)....D.

Goodnight, all. Danny.

EDIT: # (including 577 "creamed off" QFIs)

Ian Burgess-Barber
21st Apr 2014, 09:36
Danny my reference books for the following figures are:

(1) 'RAF Wings over Florida' by Will Largent, Purdue University Press.

(2) 'The Royal Air Force over Florida' by A.M. de Quesada, Arcadia Publishing.

"Of the 6BFTS in the USA, No. 5BFTS Clewiston Florida, received the highest performance rating".

"16 of the 125 US cadets failed to get their wings, a 12.8% washout factor. Among the 582 British cadets on the seven blended courses, there were 121 who washed out (20.8%)."
The low washout rate for the 125 Americans simply confirmed that they were carefully selected for the RAF training on the basis of test scores and personality profiles, college or university credits, they were "the best of the best" among the Army Air Corps cadets.
"But when it came to an even playing field, without preselection of natural talents and experience, the average Army Air Corps washout rate and British BFTS washout rate were almost identical - from 20% to 25%."
The washout rate for RAF cadets in the Arnold plan (40% or more) is probably more to do with demerits for not obeying rules that did not make sense to them and had nothing to do with flying performance.
A former civilian American flight instructor noted: "The British kids had just come from a place where there was real war. They liked the flying and had no problem taking orders. But when it came to chicken-sh*t stuff, they wouldn't keep quiet."

Ian BB

harrym
21st Apr 2014, 14:56
Most interesting to read Hummingfrog's account of his westward Atlantic crossing, exactly a year before mine. It got off to a good start, leaving Heaton Park on a glorious summer's afternoon so that our journey via the fabled Settle-Carlisle railway proved a treat; the wonderfully wild scenery, almost total absence of life (other than sheep!), even the sulphurous passage of Blea Moor tunnel, it all remains a most vivid memory.

Dark fell as we left Carlisle and we dozed uneasily as the train trundled along heaven knew where, being finally tumbled out in the small hours on to some anonymous platform. Marching off thence in some disorder to an old warehouse filled with bunk beds holding a few dirty blankets apiece, we were told to "get our heads down" for a couple of hours; but it seemed only a minute or two before we were aroused again, given a greasy breakfast and then fell in for the short march to Gourock pier, where American GI's were boarding a train. Out in the Clyde was the means of their arrival, an enormous three-stacker in grey camouflage that could only be the Queen Mary. This was viewed with considerable relief; there were a number of known hell-ships on the North Atlantic run, but the Queens were not of them while their speed guaranteed virtual immunity from submarine attack.

Unlike many other liners converted for the trooping role, they were not stripped bare below decks as a means to slinging the maximum number of hammocks; all cabin furniture had been removed but the cabins themselves remained and were fitted with as many multi-tier bunks as could be squeezed in, while (joy of joys) the bathing and sanitary fittings remained in situ. True, only salt water came out of the hot taps, but that was better than no bath at all. Sharing a tourist class cabin with about twelve others, my companions & I had the run of most of the public parts of the ship, only the bow and stern sections plus the extreme upper decks being off limits.

However there appeared to be no hurry to sail, and we found ourselves allocated to various duties such as "shell door guard". This involved manning any open doors in the ship's side, presumably in order to discourage enemy agents or maybe potential stowaways; it was hardly an onerous duty, and as there were far more of us than doors it did not come round very often, being anyway preferable to menial tasks in the galley. There was plenty of time to admire the local scenery, which indeed was often very beautiful. Cool northwesterly winds gave superb visibility between showers, with staggeringly lovely views of the far hills of Argyll; seen after clearance of rain, they stood out in sharp relief with a pronounced bluish tint. Three good meals a day, cooked by US Army personnel with American victuals, were a welcome improvement over wartime British fare; altogether life looked quite good, and we were happy in our floating hotel.

After a few days of inactivity, things started to happen. Confined to the covered promenade deck with deadlights almost fully raised, it was just possible to discern the masts of a smaller vessel alongside gradually rising in relation to ourselves, indicating that a fuel tender was transferring its load. While this was in progress a rumour circulated to the effect that not only was it oil being loaded, some very important people were boarding as well. After a couple of hours the restrictions were eased, departure plainly imminent; volumes of smoke rolled from the two forward funnels, and for the first time no tenders or other vessels nudged alongside. In a maelstrom of foaming water, the ship turned majestically in its own length without assistance from tugs and began steaming slowly to the west----we were off at last!

The western shore with its mountainous backdrop never looked more beautiful, the ship's tannoy appropriately playing the fifth movement of Beethoven's "Pastorale" while she curved slowly southward down the Clyde estuary. Following the deep water channel, we sailed well into the western shore, thus giving a good view of the clean-looking whitewashed farmhouses and cottages which lay close along the water's edge. So heart-stopping was the scene, that I resolved to return and lodge hereabouts for an away-from-it-all holiday sometime after the war; needless to say I never did, but the emotion and nostalgia of that afternoon remain with me today more than half a century on.

Later there were good views of Arran and Ailsa Craig before the great lady turned to enter the North Channel, accelerating noticeably the while; our last sight of the old country, for at this point we received a belated summons to the evening meal, remaining below decks afterwards.

Slumber came fitfully as mysterious creaks and groans, accompanied by heavy vibration, told of our speedy passage into an increasingly hostile ocean; no doubt about it, the Queen was being driven hard. Our private world heaved and rolled in an unexpected way, so that some failed to partake in an unsteady walk to the first-class dining saloon (now the main mess hall) for breakfast. However, those who did learnt beyond doubt that our fellow passengers were indeed very important: no less than Winston himself, accompanied by several of his Cabinet, the Chiefs of Staff and assorted lesser dignitaries on their way to what the world would know later as the first Quebec Conference, where the Allied Leaders were to make vital decisions concerning the war's future course; we were, most certainly, in illustrious company!

On deck the screaming wind rendered an upright stance almost impossible, the huge rolling waves and masses of flying foam awe-inspiring. I was surprised at the degree to which the ship rolled and pitched, having always imagined that anything so large would be virtually unaffected by sea conditions; even allowing for top-heaviness due to the removal of cabin fittings below and the installation of guns and armour plate topside, she seemed alarmingly unsteady. The crew offered little reassurance, telling us that even in its peacetime rig it had rolled abominably (this was, of course, before the days of stabilisers). We were inclined to disbelieve their tale that the Queen Elizabeth had almost capsized in one bad storm, but indeed it was true; the ship had encountered a tremendous sea coincident with an alteration of heading, and came close to turning right over. Her sister's constant zig-zag course was thus observed with renewed interest.

Five minutes was, as I recall, the maximum period on any one heading, after which the helm was put sharply over for a forty-five degree turn in the direction opposite to the one previous; and, if this turn should coincide with an adverse sea, then so be it. The results could be uncomfortable, but were infinitely preferable to those to be expected from a torpedo; for (supposedly) a rate of 30+ knots, allied to an endless zig-zag, rendered such an attack impossible. All the great liners normally sailed alone using this technique, so it was with some surprise that we saw ourselves to be heavily escorted - a destroyer on either beam, with cruisers further off and (so we were told) flat-tops over the horizon, their planes reconnoitring ahead.

However, our close escorts were having problems. Apparently semi-submerged much of the time, the nearest destroyer was evidently forcing its way through the water rather than along the surface; drenched in foam and spray, with bows dipping & vanishing then re-emerging high into the air only to crash down once more, the conditions on board must have been intolerable. Its signal lamp began to blink; using our newly acquired skills (?) to read the morse, we were not surprised to learn that it would be unable to keep station if required to maintain speed. Nevertheless it did so for a few minutes more, presumably while the Commodore and his staff pondered the situation; then, slowly falling behind, it disappeared from view along with its companion. The heavier ships remained distantly visible for the time being, but plainly our speed was considered a greater safeguard than escorts.


There was little sign of our VIP's other than relatively minor ones such as Orde Wingate or Guy Gibson. On one occasion I observed a pair of sleeves, gold braid from cuff to elbow, resting on the rail of the bridge above which I assumed to belong to the Chief of Naval Staff, Sir Dudley Pound, but the other nabobs remained invisible. Our fellow passengers (the hoi polloi like us, that is) were a motley bunch; several hundred British air cadets, plus more of other European nationalities (mainly French), merchant and RN crews on their way to collect new ships from US yards, and so on. The total passenger complement did not amount to more than about 1500 as compared to the 14,000 odd carried eastbound, when the vast majority were American troops destined for the forthcoming invasion of Europe. We thus lived fairly comfortably, in contrast to the homeward run when sleeping accommodation was reputedly occupied in three 8-hour shifts and only two meals a day provided----a delight to look forward to on completion of our training.

Time passed pleasantly enough, and the weather gradually improved from the second day onward. Although all normal furniture had been removed, many of the interior fittings and fixtures remained in place, with the decor hardly altered; thus it was fairly easy to visualise the comfort and 1930's style elegance of this wonderful ship. The two Queens had suffered considerably less internal reworking in conversion to their wartime role than most other vessels, though whether or not this was due to political clout or other reasons was not clear. The 1st. class Dining Saloon was particularly impressive, with a huge wall chart of the Western Ocean plotting the ship's (peacetime) progress by means of a moveable symbol. Also of interest were the two lines of hinged brass plates that ran transversely right across the decks; on lifting them, one beheld the interesting spectacle of an approx. 2" gap in the deck planking constantly opening and closing as the Mary's 80,000 tons rode the Atlantic swell.

On the afternoon of the third day we formed up on the covered promenade deck for prime ministerial inspection. It was a rather ragged affair, for even the Queen Mary was not large enough to accommodate all of us parade-ground style so the rear ranks tended to degenerate into a disorderly rabble. It did not matter, for the purpose of the exercise was to enable us to see the great man rather than the other way round. He duly appeared dressed in a vaguely nautical outfit, escorted by a dazzling bevy of brass such as most of us had never before set eyes on. Walking quickly along the front two ranks he took most interest in the adjacent squad of Frenchmen, pausing to speak now and again. This exercise terminated rather abrubtly after one of them stated, in answer to the PM's query, that he had crossed to UK "in ze boat, M'sieur"; on being asked when, he replied "in 1938". The PM evidently decided that he had lost enough face for one day, and strode inside.

The following day the sea was benign, and in late morning a smudge of coastline appeared while behind us trailed a veritable armada of warships of all shapes and sizes. Our escort again, although whether or not it was the original one or a reception committee we never did discover. As the coast drew closer we saw that it was rocky but well-wooded and that we were entering a long tapering inlet, which the crew announced to be the entrance to Halifax harbour. A pilot-boat approached and lowered a pinnace, which received derisive cheers when it broke down about a hundred yards off our beam; after some frantic activity its engine spluttered back to life, the pilot transferred to the accompaniment of further jeers, and we steamed up the narrow channel to our destination.

OK not much of aviation interest here, but that of course came later!

ricardian
21st Apr 2014, 15:07
harrym - fascinating stuff. More please!

Danny42C
21st Apr 2014, 20:09
harrym,

So now we have you, Hummingfrog and I, and it's just like old days (like the No.9 bus, too - you wait for half an hour and then three turn up at once). Joking apart, Welcome aboard this best of Threads - you're among friends.

Although PPRuNe doesn't make you reveal your age (although I think it should - it helps to be able to place a Pruner in the time frame), I would guess you to be a year or so younger than Hummingfrog Senior and me). And what a wonderful debut ! You clearly have the Gift of the Gab, and can put it down on paper too (and that doesn't always go together). Are you an Irishman, by any chance ?

Let's hear plenty more. Danny.

harrym
22nd Apr 2014, 17:04
Thanks Danny & Ricardian for your welcome, although I am a returnee rather than a newbie – a lazy one I fear, as my last contribution to this thread can be measured in years gone rather than months.

Re age, I enlisted in August 1942 just short of my 18th birthday so you can do the maths! As for ethnic origin I have always considered myself English, but my (paternal) grandfather was born & brought up in Edinburgh while grandmother was of Irish descent; she came from the clan Tandy, being (very) distantly related to that somewhat suspect character Napper Tandy – consult Google for further info as to his disloyal activities.

More in due course, but don't hold your breath!

Chugalug2
22nd Apr 2014, 20:22
harrym, the scene setting of your journey north and subsequent embarkation was nothing short of poetic, and we are clearly in for a marvelous treat. Welcome back it seems is the appropriate salutation, and perhaps a round of applause for your Irish Grandmother, to whom I suspect we are much indebted!

As Danny says, we are truly spoiled, and this thread promises to climb to yet new heights of excellence. So full power on all three, please gentlemen. Per Adua Ad Astra!

smujsmith
22nd Apr 2014, 20:38
Spot on Chug,

Max chat now has a new meaning gentlemen. Away you go please.

Smudge:ok:

Danny42C
22nd Apr 2014, 22:02
Amen to all the foregoing (now I can rest on my oars for a bit !)

Danny. :ok:

Danny42C
22nd Apr 2014, 22:35
Ian Burgess-Barber,

Your # 5510 refers. There is a whole mass of information available on Google. Try "British Flying Training in USA in WW2" and "Arnold Scheme" (and there is plenty more).

PPRuNe Forums > Misc. Forums > Aviation History and Nostalgia:

WW2 RAF pilot training numbers info? - PPRuNe Forums (www.pprune.org/aviation.../292203-ww2 (http://www.pprune.org/aviation.../292203-ww2)-
raf-pilot-training-numbers-info. html‎Cached)

Are there reliable stats on how many trained where? ... There were at least 14 civilian contracted flight schools in the US which ... The RAF output from all American schemes (Arnold, Towers, Pan-American & BFTS) was:

Pilots - 13,673
Navigators - 1715
Wireless Ops/Air Gunners - 662
(Source: Public Records Office, Kew as mentioned by Jack Currie in Wings Over Georgia).

Knowing that 4493 pilots came back from the Arnold Scheme, it follows that 9180 must be the output of the combined BFTS Schools. But what was the BFTS washout total ? (I found it once on Google a year or so ago, but cannot find it now. I cannot remember what it was, but it was nothing like the 20-25% quoted). And even that would not square with the near 50% Arnold figure.

On the general question of an explanation of that enormous failure rate, my analysis (as an old Arnold alumnus) of the circumstances differs radically from yours (I quote):

"But when it came to an even playing field, without preselection of natural talents and experience, the average Army Air Corps washout rate and British BFTS washout rate were almost identical - from 20% to 25%."

The washout rate for RAF cadets in the Arnold plan (40% or more) is probably more to do with demerits for not obeying rules that did not make sense to them and had nothing to do with flying performance.

A former civilian American flight instructor noted: "The British kids had just come from a place where there was real war. They liked the flying and had no problem taking orders. But when it came to chicken-sh*t stuff, they wouldn't keep quiet."

I can assure you that such a supposed "bolshie" attitude played no part whatsoever - had it done so, you would have expected more or less equal loss rates at each of the three stages (whereas they were limited almost exclusively to the very beginning).

My reading of the story runs something like this:

(I've never been a QFI) - but I would guess that most would agree, broadly, that of any intake of (say) 100 pilot trainees, 10 will be the "Naturals", who take to it like ducks to water (and who are likely to be "creamed off" as QFIs on graduation). At the other end will be 10 "no hopers" who will never be pilots no matter how hard they try.

That leaves 80, who can be taught to fly to an acceptable standard given time.

"Here's the Rub !" Time is the currency of War. Give them 400 hours - you might get 75 pilots. 300 ? - say 65. 200 ? say 55.

How much time can you afford ? At what point do you stop ? Where's the balance ? The US Army Air Corps at that period had, as far as I could see, a virtually limitless supply of Flight School Cadets. Why not recruit far more than the later stages of training could possibly absorb, and then select the most promising to go on and discard the rest at Primary level ?

This way you get the numbers you want, and the best quality, too.

They seem to have set the bar at the 200hr/55 pilot stage. When the British cadets came in, they saw no need to alter the system. It's as simple as that.

That still leaves the question hanging: how was it that the BFTSs, with half (your figure) of the Arnold loss rate and in the same time, produced pilots which our OTUs found to be of indistinguishable quality (I discount the strange story brought to our notice by millerscourt [#2394 p.120], for which no support has come forward).

And (most intriguing question of all): what was the American experience with their own pilots from the BFTSs vis-a-vis the Air Corps product ? That I would like to know !

Danny.

pzu
23rd Apr 2014, 00:43
Apologies for thread drift (again), but I've posted previous links to Tinus le Roux's work, here is his latest

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbYVJlzY0Zs

PZU - Out of Africa (Retired)

Ian Burgess-Barber
23rd Apr 2014, 09:43
Danny, I gave you my sources. I, of course, wasn't there. I offered the figures in good faith but they are not "my" figures.

(1) 'RAF Wings over Florida' by Will Largent, Purdue University Press.
This book is a collection of of interviews with cadets and instructors from both Arcadia and Clewiston

(2) 'The Royal Air Force over Florida' by A.M. de Quesada, Arcadia Publishing.
This is a pictorial record of life at Carlstrom and Riddle Fields. Happily it contains a picture of my late father and a couple of other gents whom I have since had the privilege of "interviewing".

You, of course, were there, and tell us of no 'indiscipline' on 42C.

This RAF cadet (name given) on 42F said:
"We followed the same "Mickey Mouse" guidelines and rules set down for new U.S. cadets. It was mostly nonsense and new to us. In fact, several in my class were eliminated because they had too many demerits for not obeying rules that didn't make sense to them. Some of the cadets who were eliminated went to Canada and continued their training there. Great Britain had been at war for two years and desperately needed pilots. The United States, still in a position to pick and choose, could enforce stringent rules that had nothing to do with flying performance. A high washout rate was not as alarming to the United States as it was to the British."

Jim Cousins, U.S. civilian instructor, became a flight commander and later squadron commander at 5BFTS, retired 1977 as an Eastern Air Lines captain said:
"As a matter of fact, the British were miles ahead of us in training techniques and we (American civilian instructors) were happy to train the RAF cadets strictly under the British system.
The concept of the BFTS program targeted one primary goal: to turn out pilots by concentrated training within the proper allocated time. The Arnold Scheme didn't zero in on the real needs of the British.
To begin with, the Army Air Corps did all of those ridiculous things like hazing underclassmen and making them eat at the mess while sitting at attention. Stuff not connected in any way with flying. It's no wonder that the washout rate in the Arnold Plan was so much greater than that of the BFTS. Some of the boys who washed out at Carlstrom got a second chance and were reassigned to Riddle. Several of them completed our course with no problem and went on to become great pilots".

Danny, those of us who weren't there can only read what is written. Your contribution to our knowledge on this thread has been enormous, and long may you continue to entertain and enlighten us.
If the recollections and figures that I have republished here in my genuine enthusiasm to engage with your open question do not mirror your own experiences then I am sorry. I wasn't there - you were.

mea culpa
IanBB

MPN11
23rd Apr 2014, 11:00
I add my thanks to our enhanced group of worthy contributors :ok:

Keep it rocking, gentlemen ... and NO, Danny42C, you are not excused duties :p

Danny42C
23rd Apr 2014, 20:48
Ian BB,

No question of culpa, at all, Sir (and in any case "ego absolvo te" !) The beauty of this our Thread is that all points of view and opinions are of equal value, corrections and contrary views are always welcome, save always that argument "ad hominen" and sharp words are totally unacceptable (I'm sure that I speak for our Moderators here). So you weigh in as often and as hard as you like !

As to the matters before the Court:

First, your man from 42F (which would place him about nine months after me) I quote:

"....It was mostly nonsense and new to us. In fact, several in my class were eliminated because they had too many demerits for not obeying rules that didn't make sense to them..".

In my day, your demerits were expunged with punishment drill ("Walking the Ramp"). You would have to do something really serious to warrant washout and return to Canada on that account. IIRC, all washouts on 42C were flying-related (mostly for not coming up to solo standard in 8-9 hours). It is heartening to learn that some got a second chance in Canada - we were told at the time that this would never happen (obviously so that we wouldn't "opt" for the softer option).

"....The United States, still in a position to pick and choose..."

That was the key to it, as I said before.

Your Jim Cousins, U.S. civilian instructor, became a flight commander and later squadron commander at 5BFTS, retired 1977 as an Eastern Air Lines captain said:

"As a matter of fact, the British were miles ahead of us in training techniques and we (American civilian instructors) were happy to train the RAF cadets strictly under the British system....."

Long ago, regle (RIP) said on this Thread that his training in the Arnold Scheme was "the finest flying training in the World" (IIRC). The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence !

"....The concept of the BFTS program targeted one primary goal: to turn out pilots by concentrated training within the proper allocated time. The Arnold Scheme didn't zero in on the real needs of the British...."

In a war, that has to be your "primary goal !"

"....To begin with, the Army Air Corps did all of those ridiculous things like hazing underclassmen and making them eat at the mess while sitting at attention. Stuff not connected in any way with flying.... It's no wonder that the washout rate in the Arnold Plan was so much greater than that of the BFTS. Some of the boys who washed out at Carlstrom got a second chance and were reassigned to Riddle. Several of them completed our course with no problem and went on to become great pilots".

It wasn't quite as bad as that at Carlstrom for 42C. Admittedly we had to "sit at attention" - but only for a few moments before the command "Parade, Rest" - then we could eat and talk normally. The "hazing" was only a problem there when the last US Course (41F ?) was followed by the first British one (42A). (41F tried it on 42A; there was a riot (I have tried, for the long time, to get the full story - for naturally it would have been exaggerated by the time it filtered down to us on 42C - but the facts seem to have been suppressed (for the sake of Anglo/American good relations ?) and "hazing" was suspended TFN. As I don't think any of the Arnold schools had any mixed classes, so "hazing" can only have occurred on the first "changeover" at each school.

So, all in all, Ian BB, we're not too far apart. Let's hear more from you, please.

Cheers, Danny.

ValMORNA
23rd Apr 2014, 20:55
Icare9,
Re your #5402, and the 'Hit and Run' raids, a book on the subject contains a footnote saying that particular raid was on Robertsbridge, which I queried with the author. As the aircraft came from that direction the report, assuming he quoted from one, was incorrect. My personal view is that the 'target of opportunity' was the jam factory which has long since gone to be replaced by, I think, the area around the Mount Street car park area.


I doubt anyone I knew is still left in Battle but thanks for the offer. My brother lives in St Len's and I keep in touch with local news via the online Observer.

smujsmith
23rd Apr 2014, 21:41
More than 5500 posts and we are back, training in the US circa 1942. But what a fantastic adventure we have been on since post number 1. And luckily, contributors still enthuse us with their stories. I'm sure after holding the fort for so long, Danny must feel he has been given a bit of a holiday with the arrival of the "new chaps", don't go sloppy on us Danny, we still expect continuation of your career. Its great to see some more, and possibly conflicting, fleshing out of life under training in the USA in 42. What a truly different world it all must have been, I can only equate it to my joining the RAF in 1969, when I left a large family in a Staffordshire farming village, to become an apprentice at RAF Halton. It was like arriving on a totally different planet. For some this is the classic PPRUNE Military thread, for most of us it's just compulsive reading. I just wanted to pay due respect to the men who are our link to our history, and still have a story to tell. Keep it going chaps, we are all following, in close formation.

Smudge:ok:

Danny42C
23rd Apr 2014, 21:49
Fareastdriver,

Your #5505 reminds me that I used to give "Air Experience" flights to our troops from time to time on Sundays at Thornaby (always picking a sunny afternoon for the Station TM !), and sometimes in the Harvard.

It was strange to find that, even as late as the early'50s, that apart from the tiny minority who had wartime aircrew experience, and some who'd a bit of glider or light airctaft time, no more was generally known about the art of piloting than fifty years before. Many thought of it as a sort of "high wire" balancing act, in which only the consummate skill of the operator stood between safety and and an uncontrollable plunge to earth.

So when I offered the back-seat passenger the chance to "have a go", the response was often naked terror. Not for all the tea in China would they touch the stick, and begged me not to let go. I'd lift my hands in the air to show that the aircraft could happily look after itself - they were horrified. "Take it", I'd say, "there's no trouble that you can get into that I can't get out of in ten seconds" (I was sticking my neck out a bit there). It was no good.

At the other end of the spectrum, some went at it with gusto, and I had to intervene before they had the wings off the poor old Tiger. It takes all sorts.

On the Spinning front, my experience differs from aircraft to aircraft. At Primary School they told us that you had to demonstrate ability to recover from a spin before you were allowed to go solo (in case you got into an accidental one). This made sense, I suppose, but the result was that you were introduced to the spin at the 5 - 6 hour point (when it's only just starting to come together, anyway), and most people found it a nerve-racking experience.

Having said that, I must say the Stearman was kind to us. It would stall cleanly, after all the warning signs came straight out of the book, spin nice and slowly to help us count the turns, and always come out to order. You reall couldn't ask for more. I don't remember anyone trying to spin a BT-13, but as the thing was so cross-grained to begin with, that it was probably a mattter of "let sleeping dogs lie !"

The AT6A ("Harvard") was a different kettle of fish altogether. Stall that and you were quite likely to get your spin whether you liked it or not. The (usually left) wing would drop savagely and you had to get opposite boot in smartish to restore equilibrium. Traits like this were of course what it made the ideal trainer for the first-line singles of the day.

We came back to the UK, and IIRC nobody bothered about spins at all. The Master Is we started on would probably spin all right, but I don't think it was even on the syllabus. We had to treat the aged Hurricanes which they let us try with kid gloves; slow S&L only was the order of the day. When we got to the Spitfire it simply never entered anyone's head to do spins, although I suppose the aircraft would manage nicely (like it did everything else).

Generally, once you got past "Wings" stage, practice spins were things of the past. It was rather like the Driving Tests in bygone years, when you stuck your arm out of the window and waggled it about in accordance with with the Highway Code, passed your test and never bothered about doing it again (even before the "winkers" came in).

As for the Vengeance: that didn't "stall" in any meaningful sense at all. As you got slower it started to "mush", changing in a smooth progression from flying machine to brick. I never heard of one spinning and have no idea how to set about it. Indeed, we were somewhat disconcerted at first by the advice (in a sketchy "Pilots' Notes" from Vultee), in the event of your wheels sticking up, to "reduce speed as far as possible and yaw the aircraft violently from side to side" (this sounded like a good recipe for a spin - until we found that we didn't need to worry).

When I came back in '49, we had the Harvard and spins as before, and in early '50 tried our luck with the Meteor T7. All I can say about that is that it was an alarming experience best forgotten, and when I came back in '54, intentional spins had been forbidden (and a good thing, too).

Cheers, Danny.

Fareastdriver
24th Apr 2014, 15:32
with the Meteor T7. All I can say about that is that it was an alarming experience

Ours were only permitted to spin when dual. Never solo, student or staff.

The theory was that the weight of two pilots assisted the recovery. One of our Flt Sgt QFIs, that's going back a bit, emphasised the point by pointing at one of our T7s on the line and declaring that there wasn't a problem spinning it when it was an F4. It must have been something to do with the long canopy and still retaining the same fin and rudder assembly.

Our Vampies wer getting a bit tired in 1961 and some of them were a bit warped which was not surprising considering that the wings had to be pushed around by two thin booms. There would be various Red Line Entrys in the book.

'No solo spins.'
'No Solo aerobatics.'
'No spinning.'

Fortunately at the end of 1961 they found a Refurbished Vampire mine so most of our aircraft were replaced. Most of them went to Swinderby when our FTS moved except a couple whose final act was as the backdrop to my Passing Out parade from which they were towed to the dump and scrapped.

Dogs and squaddies love flying. When you have a dog handler come aboard he can't hold the dog back. The best place for a dog is between the pilots so he can see everything that's going on. The most ferocious war dog is like butter when he is there. Initial air experience for sqaddies was a case of throwing it about as much as possible and the next crowd, having seen what had been going on would be shouting for even more.

This attitude came to an end, tragically, at Catterick a few years ago.

Ian Burgess-Barber
24th Apr 2014, 16:34
Danny, I thank you for your gracious response, and absolution is always a bonus! You kindly invite me say more - I hesitate to do so on the grounds that anything I (think) I know would always be secondhand. After all I wasn't born until 1947 so I just read the relevant books. My father (RAF pilot), stepfather (Fleet Air Arm Observer), and godfather (RAF Pathfinder Nav.) are alas, all now gone to the big crewroom in the sky, although I still enjoy reading their logbooks and looking at their 1940s charts. Perhaps I could persuade my mum who, although in poor health, is still with us, to tell me more about her war (she was one of the 'Jenny' WRNS) serving in the Fleet Air Arm. Danny you are that rara avis, an RAF Dive Bomber pilot with your VV, but I submit that there can't be too many ladies around who remember, when just a teenager, going on Dive Bomber Exercises in the CO's Barracuda. (The targets were moored in Nigg Bay, Cromarty Firth I think).

I reread the interviews with the Carlstrom cadets in Will Largents book last night, 42 E,F,G,H courses all represented. I am sorry to report that West Point Hazing was still a problem, a Lt. Kloppenstein being mentioned more than once, perhaps you recall him? I think you were lucky, in fact like anyone who has followed your story I know you were. (Ah, sure the luck of the Irish - as yer know yerself).
But enough, already, I have tested your patience long enough on this subject, I will leave it with one last excerpt from the book:

"Not a single letter (presumably read by the censors) from former RAF Arnold Plan cadets had a word of approval for the hazing system". "It eliminated more potential British and American pilots accidentally than the German Air Force did on purpose," one cadet said. "There was no reason for it at all."

IanBB

harrym
24th Apr 2014, 16:43
Many thanks Danny 42C, Chugalug & others for your kind comments and here is the next instalment. So as not to stray O/T I have missed out events between the transatlantic voyage and arrival at EFTS, when nothing much happened anyway apart from the long rail trip west.





Darkness fell as we approached Moose Jaw, junction for the branch line to our final destination at 34 EFTS Assiniboia (Saskatchewan) and near the end of our three day journey from Moncton. Here the cars behind us were drawn away, after which I noticed a large yellow orb shining dimly through the back vestibule. Getting up to investigate, I found myself staring at the headlight of an elderly shunting engine; no time like the present I said to myself, nipping to the ground through the open door and walking along to the cab. "Come on up" called the cheerful young fireboy, "we're gonna switch you to the next track". I was up in a trice, closely pursued by a couple of mates, and together we passed an enjoyable interlude chaffing with the engine crew as their antiquated tea kettle shuffled back & forth with our carriage in tow. Bidding them farewell with regret, we returned to our mobile cell and reconciled ourselves to a final sixty miles of discomfort - but at least there were beds at the end of it, praise be.

Our wheeled slum rattled and swayed through what appeared to be a complete void, finally halting in the middle of nowhere about ninety minutes later; a short, low platform fronting a small wooden depot building, behind which was a dirt area containing a couple of buses. Crickets chirped in the warm darkness, making a duet with the locomotive's gently swinging bell as we clambered out and got 'fell in' to the orders of a harsh, unseen voice - a voice we were to come to know only too well in the ensuing weeks.

The voice began to harangue us, its owner becoming visible as he moved into the light. A youngish, good looking Sergeant but no flying brevet; a bad sign, for we had all learned long ago that aircrew trainees were detested by some of the regular ground trade NCO's. The cause was, without doubt, jealousy of aircrew's quick promotion and relatively high pay; that many seldom lived long enough to make much use of these advantages, was apparently not considered. The RAF's peculiar trade structure, whereby disciplinary NCO's belonging to the least qualified and hence worst paid trade group were placed in authority over aircrew trainees, was a recipe for trouble that served only to compound animosity on both sides. At the time I felt little respect for a system espousing such a topsy-turvy state of affairs, and although it worked after a fashion I remain to be convinced that it was the best way of arranging things

Our welcome over, we clambered gratefully into the buses as the train chugged off towards the little town twenty miles distant from which our airfield took its name. Ten minutes later we passed through the gates of No: 34 Elementary Flying Training School, our home for the next two months, and after a meal of sorts sank (or climbed, according to whether one got the upper or lower berth of the two-tier bunks) into a bed that thankfully did not sway, jerk or go clickety-clack.

The first daylight view of what was to be our home for the months of September/October 1943 was hardly morale-boosting; endless, gently-rolling plains of stubble stretching to the horizon (and endlessly beyond, as we later discovered). The (very) occasional and distant homestead aside, there was no sign of other habitation and we were informed with joyful malice that Assiniboia, population 1000 or thereabouts, was the original one-moose town (sans moose) and was anyway over 20 miles distant, its only regular public transport the daily train which had conveyed us to this desolate spot. Not that this made very much difference, as we were also told (with even more glee) that one half-day per week was all that was permitted in the way of free time; to rub it in, the obvious Indian origin of the town's name merely emphasised our outlandish situation.

All domestic and other buildings, without exception, were unusual to our eyes in that absolutely everything bar the foundations was of wooden construction. Barrack blocks were H-shaped, of two stories with fire escapes provided, while the hangars were impressive for their enormous timber-framed flat roofs. The airfield comprised a triangular layout of three runways, each of about 800 yards length (I think); and, as our initial few hours of flight in the UK had been from all-grass aerodromes, this seemed pretty advanced stuff.

The aircraft provided for our tuition was the Fairchild Cornell, a primary trainer. A low-winged monoplane with tandem seating for instructor and student, and powered by a six-cylinder in-line engine of 200hp, it looked highly sophisticated as compared with the antediluvian Tiger Moth of recent memory; an impression enhanced by sliding canopy, flaps and spindly landing gear even if this last was firmly welded down. However, there was an inevitable period in the ground school to be endured first before reaching the interesting part.

Here we found that although the flying instructors were members of the RAF, the ground staff (both instructional and others) were Canadian, a mix of RCAF and civilian. I recall only two, a civilian radio instructor of the old school who could send and receive morse at unbelievable speeds, and a fat RCAF corporal of socialistic outlook who was given to dissertation at length on certain evils (as perceived by him) of the Canadian scene. For some reason the Canadian Pacific Railway was one of these, alleged to function on "hot air and b------t" while the CN, presumably because it was government-owned, was regarded with more favour. Being unable to discern overmuch difference between the two I said so, to be called a "goddam ignorant limey" for my pains. In fact both men were fairly genial characters, although sometimes provoked by the more uncouth and chauvinistic of our fellow students of which regrettably there were quite a few; some, indeed, the same ones who had complained about the journey west. These appalling individuals seldom let slip any chance to denigrate things Canadian, and as little seemed to find their favour the rest of us had to endure the displeasure aroused by their thoughtless conduct. I remember little of the preflight phase; drill and physical training was interlaced with lectures and classroom work, but we must have progressed fairly soon to the flying as the entire course lasted only eight weeks.

But before this long-awaited phase came an introduction to the Link trainer, and for the benefit of non-aviators (others may skip this paragraph) it is necessary to describe the contraption as it played a large part in every pilot's life until superseded in later years by the flight simulator. Named after its American inventor, the Link was the first serious and reasonably successful synthetic flight trainer. Virtually useless as a substitute for the aeroplane in so far as pure flying was concerned, it did provide a cheap and safe method for teaching the rudiments of instrument flight ab initio; later on, it also served as a means of instruction in basic radio navigation procedures. With a full set of flight instruments, "throttle", control column and rudder pedals its plywood "cockpit" pivoted on pneumatic bellows mounted on a turntable and was responsive to control inputs; thus it was able to turn through 360 degrees whilst simultaneously yawing, banking and/or tilting within certain limits. All "flight" took place with the cockpit cover lowered, i.e. on instruments, flight "progress" being recorded (in plan only) by a moving crab trailing a line of red ink on a glass-topped table, beneath which any required map or chart could be inserted. Here sat the instructor, with the important cockpit instruments duplicated, so that he could monitor the student and relate his activity to the movements of the crab and of the trainer itself. These civilian instructors did their best to drum the principles of instrument flight into our unwilling skulls, filled as they were with dreams of the wild blue yonder in which (of course) the sky was always clear; over seventy years later, I hear yet the nasal chant of "needle, ball, airspeed" repeated ad nauseam by our bored and long-suffering mentors in their attempts to instil the basic techniques of frequent instrument scan. Inevitably the Link Trainer was regarded with dislike by most of us, in our youthful ignorance being interested only in "real" flight, but it served a most useful purpose nonetheless.

Came the great day that we moved to the flight line and teamed up with our instructors. Allocated to an ex-policeman of seemingly advanced years (but probably under 30), I found him mostly equable but capable of the outspokenness general to his north country roots. None of us trainees were completely ab initio, having previously done a grand total of 12 hours flying each at various UK grading schools. These establishments existed solely to assess which of us might be worthy of pilot training, unfortunates failing to measure up proceeding thence to schools of navigation or bomb-aiming etc (on completion of which they often emerged with commissions, to the rage of those of us who had stayed the course but ended up as Sergeant-Pilots). Some of us young hopefuls had managed a few minutes of solo flight at grading school; having more than most, I anticipated no problems but soon rediscovered the old adage about pride coming before a fall.

The Cornell was a pleasant aircraft, if somewhat underpowered at our relatively high elevation of approx. 2500ft, a failing aggravated at first by the high temperatures of early autumn. Matters were further complicated by the school's fleet comprising a mix of Canadian and US-built aircraft in a ratio of about 7/3, the American specimens being fairly basically equipped whilst the Canadians were comprehensively fitted out with full IF panels front & rear, electric starters, cylinder head & air inlet temperature gauges, carburettor heat and various other gadgets; not surprisingly, they were heavier and more sluggish than their sisters, which were thus usually preferred for aerobatic work. Those built in Canada had plywood-skinned wings, whereas the Americans were metal-skinned; indeed one machine had one of each (probably cannibalised from a write-off) and needless to say it did not handle too well. Surprisingly, no radio was fitted.

The first two or three hours of instruction were mostly occupied in general handling - stalling, spins, turns level, climbing, or descending (intentionally or otherwise), none of which posed any great difficulty; for most of us for the crunch came in learning to put the beast safely back on the ground, a task which caused me at least a good deal of anguish. In my complacency and ignorance I had assumed that there was one landing technique applicable to all aircraft, however the Tiger Moth had one of its own which was quite incapable of being read across to more sophisticated types. Following initial landing flare, its draggy profile ensured a rapid decrease of airspeed during hold-off; then, at the crucial moment, the control column was moved smoothly rearwards as the Tiger sank gracefully to the deck in (with any luck) the approved 3-point attitude. However, any attempt to do the same with the Cornell resulted in the unfortunate student suddenly finding himself yards above the ground with the proverbial "nothing on the clock"; then, with a blast of invective through the primitive "Gosport Tube" intercom, the instructor would slam the throttle open and take control as round we went again for another try.

Despite Joe Bowler's patience and persistence I appeared to be incapable of learning the correct method, and became increasingly despondent; finally I did grasp it, but used up most of the runway in so doing. Taking over control yet again, my mentor exploded with rage and prophesied an imminent "scrub" unless rapid extraction of digit took place forthwith. Whether or not this was the essential catalyst I shall never know but from that moment on, to our mutual satisfaction and my own most enormous relief, I had it more or less hacked and encountered no further difficulty.

I was fortunate, for failure to surmount this particular hurdle was a major cause of suspension and only a limited number of hours were allocated for pre-solo training; the exigencies of wartime enforced ruthless standards, and time could not be wasted on slow learners. And so the delights of unaccompanied flight, essential for building confidence and self-reliance, became part of daily living and the freedom thus gained a treasured bonus; especially so off-circuit, for without radio and far from the instructor's eagle eye, what one actually did during the allotted time was largely a matter of conscience and common sense. Even the dimmest individual was aware of the necessity to practice at least some of his prescribed exercises, but no normal being could be expected to spend a solid hour gyrating nauseously in endless aerobatics or other such bilious manoeuvres; after all, sundry other activities of varying legality were temptingly available. Overall was a satisfying sense of achievement at having successfully passed this milestone in any pilot's life, and with a better understanding of the Cornell came a fondness for its reliability, docile nature and easy handling.

The most dangerous temptation was low flying, but the risks were very real. Quite aside from normal hazards, the apparently empty prairie contained a surprising number of keenly-sighted people who took grave objection to being beaten up and were adept at taking aircraft numbers. Foremost among these were locomotive engineers and farmers on tractors, and the invariable penalty was removal from training for a student or court-martial for an instructor. Nobody on my course was foolish enough to be discovered in flagrante delicto, and for my part temptation was resisted without difficulty; however, a few of our "betters" were bolder and gave their pupils some exciting moments. Flying on my birthday with a different instructor, we headed south towards the curiously-named hamlet of Willow Bunch in order to beat up the farmhouse of his girl friend's parents. His technique was daring, to say the least; with the throttle almost wide open he aimed our aircraft at an open space in front of the house, brushing the wheels on the ground and bouncing over the roof! Great fun at the time, in retrospect I suppose there was a very real possibility that my 19th. birthday could well have proved my last. A fellow student reported that an exasperated farm hand had heaved a pitchfork at him and his instructor from the top of a cornstack, during what supposedly was an instrument flying detail.

Given the right weather, it was just as much fun and far safer to play with the fair-weather cumulus that floated serenely over the limitless prairie Struggling to climb over a saddle connecting two towering peaks, then nosing down and accelerating into endless g-inducing turns around billowing white castles, diving through great darkening canyons of cloud and suddenly shooting through a narrow hole to find another huge galleon of white vapour to play with was sheer, unadulterated bliss. The slight possibility that one might encounter a similarly-occupied colleague coming the other way was of course never considered, but the sky is a big place and a practice now frowned on in these over-regulated days never (to my knowledge) claimed any victims.

Another option was illicit solo formation flying, somewhat risky in that miscreants were liable to be spotted by any nearby beady-eyed instructor. But by dint of glancing at the authorisation book it was easy to discover what one's mates were supposed to be doing so, armed with their number, other aircraft seen in flight might be cautiously approached from the rear. It was of course advisable to sheer off hastily in case of error, but if one had chosen correctly there then ensued a spell of illegal, enjoyable, and no doubt highly dangerous "formation" flying of a standard that would have given a present-day Red Arrow heart failure. Mutual "dog-fighting" was rightly considered almost as heinous as low flying, and best avoided.

As stated above, the lack of radio rendered one blessedly free from interference. The sole means available for the CFI to exert his authority was a large rotating beacon mounted on the control tower roof, this being the signal for a general recall; but it was a fairly useless piece of kit, only used after a weather deterioration had already taken place when one was less likely to be able to catch sight of it anyway. Furthermore it resulted in dangerous overcrowding, with the circuit becoming a nightmare of about twenty aircraft all jockeying for position in the inevitable race to get back onto the ground.

In fact the term "Control Tower" was somewhat of a misnomer because, given the lack of radio, it was incapable of offering any form of control anyway. This function was exercised by a courageous individual situated just to the left of the runway threshold, flashing (as required) green or red Aldis lamp signals at each approaching aircraft from a glass cupola atop his van. The system worked tolerably well so long as no more than half a dozen aircraft used the circuit at any one time, but beyond this it became overloaded; and although the more conscientious controllers attempted to give priority to anyone thwarted from landing off a previous approach, this was not easily achieved and tempers became frayed after the receipt of several "reds" in succession. On a general recall as described above, the situation became extremely fraught as a positive blizzard of aircraft jostled for advantage in the overcrowded circuit, the controller forced to fire frequent "reds" from his Verey pistol as some pilots suddenly became colour-blind to his lamp signals; the offenders were, I regret to say, usually instructors.

Occasional night-flying details apart, evenings were free. The camp cinema was well patronised although a surfeit of the more rubbishy type of American films was the usual fare, these normally greeted with derision. The occasional film of UK provenance was always rapturously received, such rapture not shared by the locals who were plainly baffled by British humour and likewise annoyed at the reception accorded most US or Canadian offerings; for this one can hardly blame them, as our intolerant element previously mentioned was well to the fore on such occasions. The only alternative entertainment was a canteen providing light refreshment of a non-alcoholic nature, quite useful as the last official meal was at a comparatively early hour. As for serious drinking, we received a meagre ration of beer that worked out at a few bottles per month; it was vile stuff, and to my mind Canadian beer has shown little improvement in the last seventy-plus years. The hard stuff was not permitted, being out of reach to most of us anyway as 21 was the minimum age for a liquor permit.

Our sole off-base time was the weekly Saturday afternoon outing to the metropolis of Assiniboia; to an Old World eye, a gunslinger or two in place of the few motor vehicles would have completed the Wild West illusion. Of timber construction, the low wooden buildings (some false- fronted and all with hitching rails) gave onto raised boardwalks running along the sides of a few grid-pattern streets of rutted dirt, not that this latter feature should have surprised us as the 20 mile bus ride into town had been along an unsealed main highway. Yet behind the crude exterior lay a standard of life that few of us had known at home; the principal shops were clean and warm, offering a reasonable supply of goods even if most prices were beyond our pockets, while lobster salad followed by a large ice cream was my normal fare at the Chinese restaurant. Seemingly rather out of place this facility was apparently fairly common, such establishments being owned mostly by descendants of those who had laboured to build the first (Canadian) transcontinental railroad sixty years before. The bookshop/drug store had an excellent selection of books & magazines, and was fortunately tolerant of prolonged browsing.

I was befriended by the owner's wife, a kindly lady who insisted that I visit their home and partake of refreshment. Her husband drove us the short distance, impressing me enormously with the manner in which his American sedan rode so smoothly over bumps and ruts that would have shaken my father's ancient Humber to pieces. I was even more impressed by the luxury and comfort of their house, with its rug-strewn floors of fine, highly-polished wood and attractive furniture, not to mention the superbly-equipped kitchen; reflecting sombrely on the archaic facilities at home, I gave a guarded response in reply to queries on UK domestic life.

Letters from home arrived regularly, being eagerly awaited; even in 1943, a regular transatlantic air mail service enabled one to maintain a proper correspondence. Heavier items were another story, and although my parents sent regular cigarette parcels only one or two arrived, an experience common to all of us. I was later to encounter the same problem in the Far East, and later still told by ex-POW's that few turned up in their camps either. Post-war enquiry by the Red Cross into the latter problem allegedly proved that 90% of these parcels went adrift when passing through the docks of a west coast port.

As the weeks passed we ventured further from the local area, making cross-country flights both dual & solo of increasing length. The routes were planned so as to negate the easiest method of navigation, i.e. crawling along one of the myriad railways that criss-crossed the prairie. Straggling towards the horizon, these tenuous lines often carried no more than a weekly mixed train, their main but essential purpose to convey grain on the first stage of its distant journey to foreign markets; each small town (hamlet would better describe most of them) along the line being marked from afar by large grain elevators. Theoretically one's position might be confirmed by diving down and reading the station name, but we all knew the old joke about the dimwit who could not find "Pool" on his map, this being the title of a large farmers' co-operative displayed on many of the elevators.

Came the day of the final challenge, a solo flight to land at Regina, refuel and then return. This was a direct flight of about eighty miles across a patch of largely empty country, seemingly an awesome task akin to an ocean crossing. Having equipped ourselves with pencils for log & chart plus various bonbons to ward off pangs of hunger, a group of us were dispatched at ten-minute intervals, this presumably to foil any attempt at follow-my-leader tactics by the less confident. I was pleased to be allocated one of the Canadian-built aircraft, as its full set of instruments were more suited to this sort of work than the spartan fit of its American cousins; also, these latter often had some of the instruments fitted in different positions on the panel as between one plane and another, an annoying feature not uncommon on US-built machines of that period.

I soon found that I had over-equipped myself, losing two of the pencils beneath the floor and being far too busy to think about munching candy. The matter of navigation was of course quite simple in this instance; the weather was fine (we would not have been allowed off otherwise), and it was merely a matter of keeping the bird pointing in the right direction and waiting for the expected landmark, usually a lake or railway, to come into sight and then make any correction required. Arrival at Regina was also unexpectedly straightforward, despite having being briefed to watch out for the daily Air Canada DC3 on its transcontinental flight (plus dire warnings of what might happen to us if we got in its way); the hoped- for green light shone from the tower, and after a quick refuel it was back the way we had come. Nobody got lost, although incredibly this was not unknown.

The days passed in the golden haze of a late Indian Summer, but then suddenly as October drew on we got the first breath of winter to remind us that our stay was almost over. There was the final hurdle of end-of-course tests, but the fact of survival thus far was in itself a pretty sure sign of success; some had been weeded out along the way, but the majority of us were still there to receive news of our next stage of training. Most were imbued with the hope of becoming fighter pilots but I was not one of them, probably because I was not very good at aerobatics; I had conceived a dislike for the more athletic aspects of flight, prolonged indulgence in which tended to make me feel ill anyway. I also had the idea, no doubt misconceived in view of the contemporary Bomber Command chop rate, that large aircraft might perhaps be safer; so, unlike the majority of my brethren, I was not displeased to find myself posted to a Service Flying Training School equipped with the ubiquitous Oxford twin-engine trainer.

The final act was an end-of-course party, for which there was an extra issue of beer. It was a disgracefully drunken affair, but having existed on an exiguous ration of very occasional bottles of a very inferior brew for a very long time our celebration can perhaps be forgiven as the youthful folly it was. A day or two later we boarded buses for the short ride to the local station, never to return.

Danny42C
24th Apr 2014, 17:25
Fareastdriver,

Thank you for crossing the "T"s on my last part of the spinning story (I'd missed off the Vampire, hadn't I ?) Neither on 20 Sqdn. at Valley, or on a borrowed aircraft from 608 at Thornaby, had I tried to spin a Vampire (IIIs and Vs, never saw a T11). Nor had anyone else to my knowledge.

I was just about to go to that priceless mine of information, the "Jever Steam Laundry", to check on permissability, then you come up with the answer (brings to mind the Cholaveram blackboard - "Vengeance:/No aerobatics/No violent Dives/ NO VENGEANCE" [they'd written off the only one the AGS had]).

The Vampire didn't look to have all that much fin/rudder (and the booms none too strong !): I'm not surprised they didn't allow intentional spins.

I think we were only allowed it dual in the MeteorT7 in my time, too. As I recall, the problem was not the actual spin (you had to hold it in tight, or it would slip out into a spiral dive), but in the flick-roll needed to get it in at the start. For about two or three seconds you knew exactly how your socks felt in the washing macine at max rpm ! :ooh:

Happy days, Danny.

PS: Did you ever hear of a Goblin flaming-out for any reason other than no fuel ? :confused: D.

Chugalug2
24th Apr 2014, 18:02
harrym, excellent stuff, Sir! The setting again so well described, especially the contrasts (wild west film set town yet with luxurious interiors for a Brit).

The Cornell sounds a very variable beast given its hybrid construction and equipment dependent on its origin, the plywood one side metal on the other wings on one sounds almost as bizarre as the DC2/DC3 wings fitted to one of Mr Douglas's products in Nationalist China, but there again they both flew!

So lots more please, and don't worry about thread drift, indeed embrace it! The many 'by the way' moments are the very essence of our thread. It's more a ramble than a race, so lots of time and lots of interesting byways to choose. Let digression be our watchword!

Fareastdriver
24th Apr 2014, 18:11
Did you ever hear of a Goblin flaming-out for any reason other than no fuel ?

Yes; my bestest mate whilst I went through flying training. I was his best man and I went to his Golden Wedding in February.

He was doing circuits at Graveley, the relief landing ground for Oakington. He opened the throttle to overshoot, IIRC we had to preserve the tyres in the circuit, and the compressor detached itself from the main shaft and advanced through the intake assembly. This caused quite a commotion seeing that the fuel tank was directly in front of it. Our hero, on hearing the noise and all the red lights, looked in his rear view mirror into a ball of flame. Without further ado off came the canopy shortly followed by him. He could see downwards and he had this vision of two wingtips and a cockpit sticking out of a fiery mess.

He had left the aircraft at or below the seats limits, 200ft/90knots, but was probably saved by the fact that the aircraft was still climbing when he ejected. He landed on the runway with some horizontal velocity which also helped.

The aircraft then turned and went straight for ATC. I knew that something was wrong because I was on a QGH at the time and the controller's patter suddenly dried up. It landed on the signals square and there was a delay as the fire crew put the fire tender out. The now Black & White ambulance picked up the pilot and took him to Huntington Hospital. They suspected that he might have suffered a back injury and kept him on boards. After two days of extreme discomfort he was transferred to RAF Hospital Ely. There he was Xrayed and told to get up.
"Bbbbutt."
"Get up, nothing wrong with you"

About five years later I went back to Graverley, then abandoned, to do the helicopter sequence for the film 'Robbery'. I had a poke about the old signals square and there were still some old control wires tangled up in the grass..

Apart from that never any trouble.

Danny42C
24th Apr 2014, 21:31
Ian BB,

Now, no more of this diffidence !

".....I hesitate to do so on the grounds that anything I (think) I know would always be secondhand...." Your Dad is (sadly) no longer with us: you must speak for him (and for your Stepfather and Godfather).

Although the RAF never had much (or any) time for Dive Bombers in the land war (unlike the Germans and Russians), both the USN (and to a lesser extent our FAA) could see the advantages of them at sea. After all, you mostly have a small target (where the d/b accuracy is needed) against a blank background (so not difficult to "pin-point"). What more would a d/b pilot want ?

Admittedly the skipper would put the helm hard over when he saw you coming, but I reckon that our bombs would leave the aircraft at terminal velocity (300 mph) at or about 3,000 ft. If they continued at that velocity, they would arrive in about 6-7 secs. But in fact they would further accelerate due to gravity (the bomb being much more streamlined than the aircraft) so now we are in dy/dx country. It's long time since I went to school (you work it out !) so shall we say 4-5 secs ?). You can't dodge far in that time in a 40,000 ton carrier !

The proof of that pudding was at Midway in June'42, when a Sqdn of SBD "Dauntless" stumbled on that Japanese battle group which had done the damage at Pearl Harbor. In 20 minutes or less, three of the four big fleet carriers were in flames and sinking (they got the fourth the next day). The back of Japanese air power in the Pacific was broken; all danger of an attack on the Western seaboard of the US had disappeared. There was no way back for Japan; the US yards could outbuild them three to one. And why the Americans don't make "Midway Day" an annual national celebration, I'll never know.

I still think the influence of "hazing" has been exaggerated. Of course it was puerile and objectionable (and was discussed at some length by several Pruners on this Thread at the time of my Carlstrom Field Posts). But surely, at each of the Arnold schools, there was only one "interface" when an RAF intake followed the last Army Air Corps one, and it could be an issue ?

"It eliminated more potential British and American pilots accidentally than the German Air Force did on purpose," (I don't buy that). "There was no reason for it at all" - Agreed !

Cheers, Danny.

Hummingfrog
25th Apr 2014, 08:47
Leading on from Harrym's recollection of his nav sortie of 80mls to Regina I post Dad's version of a similar sortie which ended tragically:{

This incident was the catalyst which saw the school in Terrell start researching the work of the BFTS. My father has been across to Terrell to present them with a painting of a Harvard along with, as mention previously, the album of photographs he took during his time there.

Incident 2 :- 20 February 1943

"Then came the day when we were due to make a pupil-pilot/navigator visit to another BFTS at Miami, Oklahoma. The day dawned with a cloud base of 800ft With a weather forecast for the weather to clear a little and the cloud base to increase in height it was decided by ‘those in authority’ that we should carry out this task. My role was to fly the aircraft up to Miami and my fellow cadet, a jolly cockney (from London) Reg Flanders, was to navigate.

We agreed jointly that with the weather and cloud base so low at Terrell we must be more than vigilant and thorough with our map reading so that at all times we would be aware of exactly where we were. As we flew northwards there was no improvement in the weather. The cloud base did not clear and, if anything, the weather became worse. Checking our position we realised we were flying closer to the mountains and we were both becoming concerned. Suddenly the ground appeared ahead of us and approaching very fast! I remember quite clearly pushing the throttle forward and the control column back to climb rapidly into the cloud and can even now hear Reg swearing out loud! We climbed into the cloud and I turned the plane to return, hopefully, below cloud. We did. We circled the point at which we came out of the cloud and continued circling until, by the grace of God, we located out position. We made a joint decision to return to Terrell and, thankfully, landed safely. The next few hours back at Terrell will never be forgotten. More of our colleagues returned, there was news of a forced landing and with no news of some of our fellow cadets. Some aircraft were missing and there was a search for wreckage. Eventually we heard of a forced landing by Wright and Wall then sadly of the wreckage of the Harvards of Cockburn, Frostick, Hillier and Jensen. It was a terrible time for all 12 Course cadets who had also lost another colleague, Alan Langston, who was killed when his aircraft crashed after landing."

When I heard about this from Dad I was amazed that students would be sent out in a 800ft cloudbase with a ridge of high ground enroute. I also thank the instructor who taught my father to do a low level abort into IMC - not an easy task as well as my father's skill in carrying it out.

It is not surprising so many pilots were lost in training accidents. During my time in the RAF I went to several WW2 crash sites in the hills to see if parts could be salvaged. I remember getting several usable parts for a Blenheim off Ben Hope in Scotland:ok:

HF

harrym
25th Apr 2014, 14:35
Thanks Chugalug2, point taken. What's been posted so far was edited from the original, which was compiled with the idea it would be viewed only by family and close friends; so will keep your comments in mind when reviewing the next instalment, which will cover the SFTS stage.

So far, to keep reasonably on topic, I have omitted the part between arrival at Halifax and the subsequent rail journey to Assiniboia but could email it to those interested. Be warned however, I am a rail buff as well as an aviation one!

Union Jack
25th Apr 2014, 14:51
What a wonderfully vivid recollection from HarryM, a very welcome addition to our indomitable airborne "Band of Brothers" from WWII.

I fully endorse Chugalug's exhortation that Harry should hold nothing back, especially not regarding trains (speaking as someone who was allowed to "highjack" a DMU in Cornwall some years back:ok:) and no Danny, please do not "rest on your oars" for too long (which I trust you spelled correctly....:suspect:)

One final comment, what a truly sad reflection regarding the apparent theft of Servicemen's, and especially POWs', parcels.

Jack

Danny42C
25th Apr 2014, 22:59
Ian BB,

A quick PS to my #5533: rooting about on this Thread to find Cliff's (RIP) Post on the Terrell-Darr disaster, came across p.16, #309. Regle (RIP) tells us all about "hazing" (and the whole page is full of wonderful stuff)...D.

harrym,

Another feast to get our teeth into ! It will be very interesting to get the full details of the RCAF training schools, for I can't recall that we've yet had one complete story from Canada, although, if anything, we have almost too much on the American BFTSs and the Arnold ones.

I see that we agree on the main reason for "washout" on both sides of the frontier; disciplinary offences did cause some, but IMHO, only few. In the majority of cases, it was as you say (quote):

"....I was fortunate, for failure to surmount this particular hurdle was a major cause of suspension and only a limited number of hours were allocated for pre-solo training; the exigencies of wartime enforced ruthless standards, and time could not be wasted on slow learners...."

All this is true: but in the Army Air Corps they could (and did) enforce their own "ruthless standards" to whittle-down the oversupply of Flight Cadets to fit the capacity of their training machine. It was nobody's fault, but our hard luck, that we had to make the best of this scheme of things, even that in the final outcome two-three thousand potential pilots may have been lost to us (but then again we got four thousand extra which otherwise we would not have got at all).

I'm going to want to know: was the RCAF syllabus the same as had previously been taught in the UK (as far as you know), or was there a different "Canadian" policy ? How much time did they give you at EFTS - and SFTS ? And then did they give you your wings there and then, and pack you straight off back to UK for AFS and OTU, or was there any further training over there ?

More questions come in: Were you on RCAF pay rates (reputedly as good as the American) or just the $ (Can) equivalent of RAF pay ? Were RCAF LACs mixed in with you, or were they purely RAF Courses ? Did you have any "Arnold" rejects for retraining, and if so, how did they get on ?

Most important of all: what were the "chop" rates (EFTS and SFTS) on your Course ? (Don't worry, I don't need the answers all at once !)

Did you ever hear the story (brought to our notice by millerscourt - I gave the Post reference a few days ago) that some American/Canadian trainees were found to be of poor quality on return to UK ?

harry, you and I are the only living links with those days still active on Thread. I'm running as fast as I can to keep up with you. Could you please spread it out a bit so we can (as Chugalug told me in my early days) "savour your offerings like fine wine, a sip at a time", and thus have more time to pick the plums out of each section for admiration, addition and comment ?)

I have in mind drafting a Post on the two different routes during the war open to young hopefuls on the long march to the cockpit, but it might take a while yet ...D

Hummingfrog,

The Terrell-Darr disaster was about the worst single incident (AFAIK) that happened during the (comparatively) short life of the Arnold and BFTS Schools ('41-'43). As I told Ian BB, I've been looking for Cliff's (RIP) account of it at Miami, Oklahoma (or something very similar), but no success yet.

The decision to send pairs of students off on a 90 mile cross-country with a base of 800 ft. - and high ground en route - was simply criminal IMHO. Your Dad was lucky that he saw rising ground ahead in time to dive up into cloud (and even luckier that the cloud didn't suddenly turn green on him before he had time to turn tail !)....D.

Hoping to get back to Shawbury soon (bear with me in the meantime, please !)

Goodnight, everybody. Danny.

harrym
26th Apr 2014, 14:46
Danny, to reply to your points:

Syllabus: AFAIK it was the standard RAF one, as taught at both my EFTS and SFTS by exclusively 100% RAF instructors - though whether this was also the case at other RAF schools I cannot say.

Failure: In my experience the scrub rate was fairly low, although unable to quote figures as I can't recall either the size of our course(s) or the ratio of scrubees.

Pay: Bog-standard RAF, which was I think 7/6 per day at the LAC rate paid to cadets. This did not go very far, even at the favourable exchange rate of about C$4.50 to the £.

Personnel: In my experience students were 100% Brit, and no Arnold rejects.

Standards: I don't remember any comparisons being made as between Canadian & US trained pilots, although later I did hear some similar chat as to Canadian v S African products - but it amounted to no more than 'pub talk'.

Next Instalment: Point taken, so a little time will elapse before the SFTS scribble appears; in the meantime however, for Union Jack's benefit I will send off my account of the trans-Canadian rail trip (OK, only 2/3rd 'trans' as we didn't even get as far as the Rockies!)

harrym
26th Apr 2014, 15:01
Apologies Danny for failing to answer all your queries in my last, here I hope are the missing responses:

Flight time: cannot recall exactly without consulting log book which is buried at the back of a large cupboard, but to the best of my memory the EFTS total was 70 hours with SFTS rather more: will dig out the book and let you know.

Wings: presented on completion of SFTS.

Aftermath: on return to UK another 14 months elapsed before attaining what might be termed 'operational standard'. In sequence, this consisted of the usual hanging about at Harrogate, pre-AFU, AFU, OTU (prolonged due to role change after course started), support training, and finally glider pick-up training. By the time it was all over so was the war in Europe, but of course there was some unfinished business out east.............................

Ian Burgess-Barber
26th Apr 2014, 15:13
Danny, Thank you for your steer back to Regle (RIP) on page 16, he certainly nailed the subject of "hazing" and indeed, all the other wonderful stuff on this, the best of threads.
I too, was rooting about on the thread last night, refreshing my memory and trying to get all my ducks in a row before posting any of the war stories of my forbears. I know how ruthless PPRuNers can be about "duff gen", and, what with me never having been in the military, I'm walking on eggshells here.
Anyhoo, (as they say around here) I came upon your post 3107, page 156 "Danny at Sulur"

"Neville Stack senior ran a communications squadron with Beechcraft "Expeditors", nice little light twins, to ferry Admirals and their Staffs round Ceylon and South India".

"Carrier aircraft came in from the sea from time to time; one day a "Barracuda" flew in in a rainstorm, skidded off the wet runway and skated across a patch of flooded grass into one of my correctly parked VVs. Both aircraft were write-offs, but there were no casualties".

Two simple sentences Danny, but, with them, you reconnected me to my father, mother and stepfather all at once.
At the time you were in Sulur my father was in India with 229 Group Comm. Flight Palam, flying the Great and the Good (and some not so) about the place. And his favourite steed of all was the Beech 18 Expeditor.
As for the unloved Fairey Barracuda, well, back in Blighty at that same time my mother could be found at RNAS Ronaldsway IOM. She was that rarest of the species "Wrennus" - an Air Mechanic (E) and would be fettling the Merlin 32s of 747 Naval Air Squadron's (yes you've guessed it) Barracudas.
Lastly, just a few months earlier, my stepfather was sailing in the Indian Ocean, embarked upon H.M.S. Indomitable with 817 Naval Air Squadron, dive bombing Japanese assets in Sumatra and the Nicobar Islands in yet another Barracuda, LS 503, to be precise.

Such is the power and the beauty of this thread, and I thank you (and all the others) for keeping the memories alive for those of us who were not there.

Time to feed the "pusheens" now, (small cats, to those of you not resident on the Emerald Isle).
All the best
IanBB

Chugalug2
26th Apr 2014, 23:19
harrym, no point made so none to be taken, simply a polite suggestion. You are an absolute natural at this game, believe me. Now that you have let loose that Union Jack is to receive your account of the convoy to NY and the train journey to Assiniboia, might I humbly suggest that might be the first of your 'deviations' to air on thread? That it would then be out of chronological order would merely add to its charm, a case of playing all the right notes, though not necessarily in the right order!

As a veteran poster, Danny has made an art form of incidental detail; kit he was issued, kit he surrendered, sleeping arrangements on active service and his novel variations on same, travel and accommodation in post-war Europe, purchasing cars for overseas postings, OMQs for same, etc , etc. It is the incidental that illustrates the whole. How did the Canadians (who were long at war) and the Americans (who were only recently arrived) differ in their outlook; to the war, to their way of life, to you? Where did you learn the most of a people, in their big cities, or in the very remotest outback? Young men with an urgent desire not to fail at what they are set to become very focused of course, but there are always distractions, impressions, friendships...

Wander as you wish, off piste, back on, and off again. We will avidly follow, for you are our guide in that far off place of which we all know too little - our past!

Hummingfrog, your account of the terrible toll of your father's course cross country navex to Miami reminds us that the powerful combination of weather and terrain claimed very many crews in WW2, mostly in training, but many operational crews as well. In an environment of onboard computers, GPS, VOR, TACAN, etc, we forget how basic were the means then of knowing where you were. Put that into a war-time scenario of black-out, limited transmission time of nav beacons, radio silence, etc, and you soon see what a challenge was the question, "Where the hell are we Nav?".

Danny42C
27th Apr 2014, 00:15
As I sense my faithful readership becoming restive and inclined to drift away, we'll return to that Fountain of All Wisdom and ATC Knowledge which is wedged between Grins Hill and the Wrekin in the fair county of Shropshire (and then return to our ongoing enjoyable craic).

We had contact with friends at RAF Shawbury; the Venns (whom we'd known at Strubby and Mablethorpe), booked us into a local pub, but we found a better place, and after about a week moved out to the Tern Hill Hall. Comfortable and good food, (but "Sally" managed to get into mortal combat with the hotel dog).

BTW, what could Frank Venn have possibly been doing at Shawbury ? A S/Ldr when we caught up with them at Wildenrath in '61 (he'd been an A1 QFI on Canberras with the Empire Flying College at Manby/Strubby), he must have been on a Canberra Sqdn in RAF(G). But there were no Canberras at Shawbury, only the CATCS, Marshall's Vampires and Piston Provosts (mechanical mice for the GCA School), and a Javelin MU.

Now I've already said that, as we slowly grow closer to the end of my story, my memory does not get better (as you might expect). For a start, what did I teach at Shawbury ? Much the same as I'd been taught there myself ten years before (IIRC). So what was that ? Can't really remember much any more.

But I know we have at least two colleagues on this Thread who (I hope) may now come forward and help me out, for they must have Sought Enlightenment at our Seat of Learning between late '64 and autumn '67, when I (among others) did our best to provide it. For:

"The toad beneath the Harrow knows/Exactly where each toothpoint goes".

We have two (metaphorical) Toads. So I call on MPN11 (#4088 p.205). And HughGw01, who said (#4101 p.206): "I recall being taken to Teesside for a liaison visit in an elderly Peugeot" [I]"with an electric clutch and shown the repaired hole in the OM wall" (this relates to the well known story of the Middleton Ghost, amply covered in previous Posts).

How much of the lecture syllabus, our Mock CR/DFs, the Mock Control Room and the "Mentoring" system do you remember ? In particular:

How long was the ATC Course (excluding the GCA part) ? It had been 13 weeks in my time in '55, but could have been extended by '64. And did two or more Courses run concurrently, or was it just one at a time ? How many on one Course ?

How were your days split up (lectures in the mornings: practical - Mock Control Room and CR/DF simulator in the afternoons - week and week about ?). Did we issue Lecture Notes ? (if so, have you by any remote chance still got yours ?)

That'll do to be going on with. Now, for my part, what do I remember ? There must have been a W/Cdr as O.C. of the whole school, but the ATC school had a Lt/Cmdr RN in Command, known to all and sundry as "The Admiral" (names long forgotten). Thinking hard about the Instructor's Common Room on the first floor of the School building, there might have been fifteen or twenty desks - so I suppose that many Instructors. The majority were old-time aircrew like myself, but we had at least a couple of post-war younger aircrew entrants. I don't think we had any direct-entry ATC people yet - it was too early for them to have gained the experience. All of us were Flt.Lts. - there were no RN instructors in my time.

One ex-aircrew was Bob Warwick (RIP), a pilot who'd flown Hunters on 20 (?) Sqdn in Hong Kong, the other was Harry T., a Nav (not sure what on). They'd come in IIRC, on some sort of sub rosa deal which promised them early promotion in the Branch if they settled in successfully. This did not go down too well among the others, who naturally were not happy with these ready-made "Crown Princes" (and in fact, Harry, whose desk had been back-to-back with mine, would reappear as my SATCO in '68 at Leeming).

But Harry had done some very interesting statistical research. He'd found that the odds on promotion to S/Ldr in the ATC Branch were worse for people who'd done a tour on the School as Instructors than for those who hadn't. This was obviously wrong: I believe Harry put his findings up, and something (I hope) was done about it.

There were, of course "specialist" Instructors: a Nav to teach Navigation, a Met Man for Meteorology, and a Civil ATC Controller to keep us up to date on their procedures. He had his own office, and was always referred to by initials, as his Department was always changing its name. So he became, variously "CATCO" (Civil ATC), "MOALO" (Ministry of Aviation Liaison Officer) and "CLO" (Civil Liaison Officer). The system broke down a little when the Board of Trade took over Civil ATC, and he was dubbed "The Bottle-O !" :)

Much more to come, Goodnight, all.

Danny 42C.


"What's in a name ? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet"

MPN11
27th Apr 2014, 10:54
Hello Danny42C … you called? Before I respond to your request, I should note that Toad is also the term used by the denizens of an adjacent Island to describe Jerseymen (we are called "Crapauds", they are "Donkeys") :cool:

How much of the lecture syllabus, our Mock CR/DFs, the Mock Control Room and the "Mentoring" system do you remember? In particular:

How long was the ATC Course (excluding the GCA part)? It had been 13 weeks in my time in '55, but could have been extended by '64.

Let’s see. I left OCTU on 1 Apr 65, after which I think I had a week’s leave and then pottered slowly from Surrey up to Shawbury, breaking my journey in Stratford-on-Avon as I wasn’t convinced my old Ford Popular would do the journey in one go! On arrival I was told that the course wouldn’t be starting for another couple of weeks, and that I could head back home on leave. Nice bit of admin: well done Shawbury/Feltwell! The idea of using up 2 weeks leave, and moving back in with my parents, was too much to bear … so i volunteered to stay and help with the ATC Camps which were being held at the time.

That would mean the course started around the end of April. However, we Direct Entry total newbie A/POs started off by doing the initial 2 weeks of the airmen’s Assistant Air Traffic Controller course, in a mixed classroom environment. I guess this was part instruction, part indoctrination, and at least got us all speaking the language of ATC. As an aside … I had previously been a Civil ATC Assistant at London Centre, Heathrow, and for one of the lectures on Civil ATC our Sgt Instructor asked me to conduct it, saying I probably knew more about it than he did!

So, by my reckoning, we started the journey proper in mid-May, and graduated on 27 Aug (thank you, RAF F5994). That seems to be 16 weeks, which appears long - perhaps we also had some leave in the middle?

And did two or more Courses run concurrently, or was it just one at a time? How many on one Course?

I’m almost certain that the Courses overlapped. As one course moved up to the Advanced simulators, Live Tower (Local) and more demanding exercises, the next lot arrived to start the grind of classroom lectures and the Basic sims (the CRDF trainers, and doing “Local” whilst looking at a static model of an airfield!).

For course numbers and composition, I refer to the outstanding (but private) “ATC Old & Bold” photo library, which inter alia contains the Joint ATC Course photos from the 1950s to July 1968! Course sizes seem to be around 18-24, although there are a few exceptions with around a dozen. My course (132) seems fairly typical of the time - looks like 6 wartime aircrew, 6 post-war aircrew, 8 A/POs, 1 Mid RN, 1 Sgt AATC and 2 Sudanese Officer Cadets. And the Course Coordinator you referred to (The Admiral) was Lt Cdr Tim Derrick (see photo below).
Chief Instructor at the time was Wg Cdr G A L Elliot, of whom I have no recollection whatsoever, and the Stn Cdr was Gp Capt A F Wallace CBE DFC who I seem to recall was a bit of a Tartar.
* Source CATCS 25th Anniversary Handbook, 1975.

As it’s my course, and I have the photo, I feel able to post it here :)

http://i319.photobucket.com/albums/mm468/atco5473/PPRuNe%20ATC/132JATCCApr-Jun1965.jpeg (http://s319.photobucket.com/user/atco5473/media/PPRuNe%20ATC/132JATCCApr-Jun1965.jpeg.html)

How were your days split up (lectures in the mornings: practical - Mock Control Room and CR/DF simulator in the afternoons - week and week about?).
That sounds familiar, although certainly the pattern rotated. I vividly remember our little band of A/POs being inspected one morning in the DF Sim by Flt Lt Nat Tranter, who wished to ensure we had clean collars and polished buttons. We were told to ensure that our batman had polished them properly!! (We were accommodated 2 to a room in those days)

Did we issue Lecture Notes? (if so, have you by any remote chance still got yours?).
I have a distant memory of a yellowish hardback binder, with those annoying little brass screws, filling up with foolscap sheets of nasty fluffy cheap paper run off a Gestetner machine! But that document is sadly gone, and we of course had to return our copies of AP3024 on departure. I do believe my wife still has her Admin (Sec) course material - how sad is that?

Finally, a note or two on other individuals you mentioned:

Dear Bob Warwick moved on to be DSATCO at Tengah when I got there in Sep 67, and ended up in later years as a disturbingly stout wg cdr. So Shawbury was not a career impediment in his case - indeed, subsequently very few ATCOs reached wg cdr without having been on the staff at CATCS. Indeed, I can only think of one during my time. Perhaps Harry T's research paid off?

The Met Man I remember vividly, as he had a strong accent/impediment. Some giggling ensued when he referred to “low claaaaads all over the graaaaaand”. ;)

thegypsy
27th Apr 2014, 13:05
Have just returned from the Bomber Boys, WW11 veterans day at the Wings Museum Balcombe West Sussex. About 10 ranging from Pilots .Navs, F/E and Gunners.

As I write this at 2pm they will returning after lunch to sign various bits and pieces in aid of the Bomber Memorial Maintenance Fund.

An interesting display of WW11 aircraft bits excavated and well worth a visit.

DFCP
27th Apr 2014, 18:01
Suggest you dont miss the current? issue of "Aeroplane Summer 2014"---the issue for June arrived in Ct.3 weeks ago!
Therein is the first installment of the history of a now 99 year old ex Metropolitan policeman , Leonard Trvevallion,who began his RAF pilot training in Lakeland Fl in Dec 1941.
Another story worthy of this thread.
DFCP

Danny42C
28th Apr 2014, 02:00
MPN11,

Your:

"....and the Stn Cdr was Gp Capt A F Wallace CBE DFC who I seem to recall was a bit of a Tartar...." You can say that again ! (he was a few years older than I, so by definition is almost certainly dead now and nil nisi bonum applies - but no one who did a tour at Shawbury under his command will ever forget him).

I take it that the residents of the "adjacent island" (wouldn't be Guernsey, by any chance ?), choose French epithets, whereas you Jerseymen, more loyal to the Crown, use English ones ?

(I quote from Wiki):

".....Queen Elizabeth II is often referred to by her traditional and conventional title of Duke of Normandy. However, pursuant to the Treaty of Paris (1259), she governs in her right as The Queen (the "Crown in right of Jersey",[18] and the "Crown in right of the république of the Bailiwick of Guernsey"),[19] and not as the Duke....."

So it would seem that Jersey somehow has the edge: Guernsey feels its nose put out of joint, and retaliates by stressing the French connection ? Just a thought ! ['Ware incoming]

Commander Derrick ("The Admiral") and W/Cdr Elliot, of course ! And I'd quite forgotten that we let you lot into the Tower (Local and Approach ?) to hone your skills on (mostly) Marshalls' pilots, who (to be fair) had already developed a strong sense of self-preservation (vitally necessary when placing your life in the hands of u/t "Talkdowns" at Sleap !) Static model of an airfield ? (what was that ?)

Fine body of men ! Some time ago, I was sent my ('55) Course Photo. All the people were ex-war aircrew, and there was a marked contrast between backgrounds (our tumbledown tarred wooden shed "School of Air Traffic Control" and your gracious Georgian facade of the new building).

Sgt Coombe - that's an interesting one. He must have been one of the very first "admin" ATC Assistants to be put up for a Local Controllers' Course (which would involve immediate promotion to F/Sgt). Otherwise, I'd think he was more or less at a dead end.

As for Harry the Statistician, it would seem that he hit the jackpot and no mistake ! Wing Commanders left, right and centre ! I'm pleased to hear that Bob Warwick made it into that noble body, and very sorry to be told some time ago that he'd died quite young (but I have no details).

Looking back, it seems that the three years I spent "labouring in the vineyard" there produced some very fine vintages (and the instructors did quite well, too). We must have been doing something right !....D.

DFCP,

Leonard Trevallion now 99. Hope for us yet ! By my reckoning he would be Class 42D or E. A measure of the RAF's desperate need for aircrew at that time was that exemption was allowed from otherwise strictly "Reserved Occupations" (ie from call-up - a Metropolitan policeman would certainly be one such), but only for aircrew volunteers. By remarkable coincidence, I had another ex-Metropolitan policeman (Alan Morley) as my room-mate on OTU at Hawarden. Nice chap, never knew what happened to him afterwards....D.


Ian BB,

Yes, it's one of the charms of this Thread that "Small World !" so often crops up. Not only did the RN use the Beechcraft "Expeditor" as their Comm. aircraft (a better bet than the Anson, IMHO), but the small internal "Air India" airline used them on their shorter routes, and I had a trip in one Palam-Rawalpindi in '45. I think they only had 7 seats plus a steward and two pilots !

The Barracuda was not the FAA pilots' dream machine, and they composed a rather ribald song about it, as a parody and to the tune of "As time goes by" (from "Casablanca", a very popular wartime film). Union Jack will almost certainly remember this from riotous nights in the Wardroom, but I trust it didn't come to the ears of your mother !

Nevertheless, the Barra did some good work, notably by dive-bombing (and severely damaging) "Tirpitz" before the Lancasters finished it off.....D.

This has stretched out a bit, but never mind. Goodnight all, Danny.

Ian Burgess-Barber
28th Apr 2014, 10:03
Danny

The Barracuda was not the FAA pilots' dream machine, and they composed a rather ribald song about it, as a parody and to the tune of "As time goes by" (from "Casablanca", a very popular wartime film). Union Jack will almost certainly remember this from riotous nights in the Wardroom, but I trust it didn't come to the ears of your mother !

Mother told me that the CPOs were very protective of her ears, (once they got over the initial shock of being sent "A GIRL" to maintain their Merlins). Perhaps because they had daughters themselves serving elsewhere, they devised a simple, but effective 'early warning system'. Which was, that the first person to see my mother approaching the hanger or flight line was to whistle "The Vicar of Bray" as the signal for all the "Effing & Blinding" to cease forthwith. She had wondered why this tune was so popular until "the penny dropped"!
Some years ago I was watching one of those 'Fly on the Wall' TV documentaries with my mother, about life aboard a modern warship, and she was quite shocked at the language used in front of the girls (now allowed to serve at sea, unlike in WW2). "That would never have been condoned in my day".

O Tempora ! O Mores !

IanBB

FantomZorbin
28th Apr 2014, 10:23
Danny42C


I believe Harry T was my course commander at Shawbury, he rather confused this v. green A/PO by telling all and sundry that he shouldn't be wearing his Nav Brevet and that "it wasn't right"!


'My' Harry T retired from the RAF as CATCO at Brampton IIRC.


Posted with due deference to such an august thread

MPN11
28th Apr 2014, 10:53
Static model of an airfield? (what was that?)
We sat at a local control desk, with the usual pin-board and comms, and for 'realism' looked out through sheets of perspex at a scale model of an airfield with 1" high hangars. You had to imagine where the aircraft were with reference to the airfield diagram on your pin-board, and correlate that with the R/T messages being transmitted through your headset by the Instructors. ;)

During the Advanced Phase of the course, as you noted earlier, students did live training in Shawbury Tower. The problem with that training in Local was that it was totally traffic-dependent for training value. Cr@p weather = minimal/nil traffic, Valley diversions = too busy for student ATCOs :)

In my later career I was able to procure a proper dynamic visual simulator which allowed structured, progressive training. It went live in 1992/3, IIRC. Still in service ... It will be a relic one day!!
RAF Shawbury | Christie - Visual Display Solutions (http://www.christiedigital.co.uk/emea/simulation/simulation-solutions-case-studies/simulation-projection-installations/Pages/RAF-Shawbury-DLP-Projection.aspx)

'My' Harry T retired from the RAF as CATCO at Brampton IIRC.Yes, we are all taking about the same guy. He was my GCA Course Commander in 66.

And I think we older ATCOs are allowed to tiptoe in and out, so long as we wipe our feet and don't slam the door. After all, how could those Magnificent Men have got up and down without us? :cool:

All the people were ex-war aircrew, and there was a marked contrast between backgrounds (our tumbledown tarred wooden shed "School of Air Traffic Control" and your gracious Georgian facade of the new building). It appears from the course photos that the black wooden huts passed into history in 1962 ... subsequent photos do indeed show the elegant "Expansion Scheme" buildings. Where were those black huts?

Oh, and Dick Coombe I'm almost sure went on to be a sqn ldr on the ADP side of the house.

andyl999
28th Apr 2014, 15:01
HF

My Uncle was at Terrell in 1941 course 3

If you are interested your Fathers first flight instructor is shown in G flight, there are also some other pictures that will give an idea to how well the cadets were looked after. https://onedrive.live.com/redir?resid=3F4D2D7A59680E62%213768 (this was a class magazine made by the cadets in the course)

One other thing, if you go to Terrell again there are some documents in the Terrell library that are worth looking at.

I have been trying to find out if the records for the cadets still exist in either the USA or the UK but so far have failed!
Happy reading...............

harrym
28th Apr 2014, 17:39
To Union Jack (5536) and all other true believers - all aboard!


Although looking forward to the next stage of our saga, I left the QM with some regret; it had conveyed us across the most dangerous ocean in the world without incident in four days flat, outpacing its protective (?) screen in the process. But soon there was something else to think about as we boarded a train unlike any I had seen before, a train composed of vastly long coaches (or cars, in the local terminology) that by our lilliputan British standards were huge; inside, the open plan allied to a high ceiling and clerestory gave an almost chapel-like atmosphere which the rows of swing-back seats did little to dispel. These were covered in green plush and not over-comfortable, and I hoped the ride would not be a long one; the general consensus was that we were bound for a sort of transatlantic Heaton Park at a place called Moncton, several hours distant.

A strange, deep-toned whistle chimed melodiously from up ahead as the train lurched into motion, creeping round the side of the hill behind the harbour until the Queen's three tall funnels disappeared from view. Trundling through a long freight yard to an unfamiliar clickety-clackety from six- wheeled bogies running over staggered rail joints, we passed endless ranks of boxcars bearing romantic, evocative titles such as Rio Grande, Santa Fe, Southern Pacific, that spoke of the great lands lying ahead; even Wabash or New York Central had a certain magic about them, but the catwalks and roof-mounted handbrake wheels on some of the older vehicles hinted at a school of railroading tougher than any in the old world. Before long this urban scene was displaced by a pleasant countryside, one nevertheless giving more than a hint that the wild side of nature was not so very far away. Quite heavily wooded, with rocky outcrops here and there, agriculture existed only in patches and pockets and the relative sparsity of settlement was obvious.

I passed much of the time looking ahead through the open window, engrossed by the novelty and beauty of it all. Winding our way up innumerable grades and racing down again the other side, we crossed occasional roads protected only by a swinging red light and warning bell. Sometimes a car waited, when waved greetings would be exchanged with the occupants; but more often the road would be empty, a striking difference to home. But empty or not, at every one the whistle would sound the standard warning, its powerful, spine-tingling sound a remarkable and pleasing contrast to the accustomed squeakers of home railways.

After about two hours we stopped at Truro for water, where friendly local ladies bearing baskets of fruit climbed aboard distributing long-forgotten delights such as bananas, oranges and grapes. Getting down to stretch my legs and to inspect the huge, unfamiliar engine I engaged its crew in conversation but, despite amity on both sides, they were strangely reluctant to divulge our destination - no doubt they had been "got at" by some security nut.

Jerking into motion again in what I later learned was the customary North American manner, our train undulated along through scenery similar to that before, stopping briefly again at Amherst and then up into a range of low hills. The cinders fell thick and fast, then following a downhill burst of speed the brakes came on hard and it was evident that civilisation was close at hand. Coasting past some pleasant-looking wooden houses, we slowed further and crept through a station plainly labelled "Moncton", then turned off on to a branch and stopped. To the right was a large complex of military-looking buildings, and sure enough our train backed slowly into an adjacent siding and halted at what was to be our home for the next three weeks or so.

Here we awaited onwards transit to the next stage of training, almost certain to be an elementary flying training school somewhere about two thousand miles to the West. I have no recollection at all of how the days were passed; doubtless the military mind dreamt up some useless activities to occupy us, so useless that my brain has registered zero, but of our spare time I remember quite a lot. However the delay gave us a chance to familiarise ourselves with a new environment, even to pick up a little of the local idiom; my first lesson in 'la difference' occurred at breakfast, when on reaching the head of the chow queue I was asked if I wanted my egg 'over 'n easy or sunny side up' - to which I could only reply with a blank, baffled stare, earning not for the first time a comment along the lines of 'another dumb limey' or similar. But Moncton itself was a pleasant little town; the locals were mostly indifferent, having seen too many of our kind over the years, but the ladies who ran various canteens and similar facilities were always agreeable. The weather remained balmy, and I absorbed the ambience of our new environment with an easy contentment.

A short stroll of about a mile took one from camp to town, where it was good to see well-stocked shops again even if our miserable pay did not go very far; one good bookstore provided some diversion, but browsing without buying has its limits and not all the magazines appealed, so for those with wider interests it paid to look elsewhere. Fortunately for me Moncton was an important railway centre, being a virtual bastion of the Canadian National. During late afternoon the daily Montreal-Halifax express made a routine service stop, always worth watching. While the engine took water, a two-man team appeared armed with lube trolley and Alamite gun which they connected to the locomotive's air supply; one then pumped lube to sundry oiling points, the other feeding grease candles into his gun whilst simultaneously applying it to various nipples on the side rod bearings - I can still hear that gun's characteristic sound today. Others rocked the grate and attended to the ashpan, so it was quite a show; but, like all good shows, the best part came at the end for the drama of getting under way was indeed a spectacle worth watching.

It involved the negotiation of some switches on track that curved uphill onto a pronounced grade, and with at least fourteen heavy, all-steel cars strung out on the curve behind, the huge eight-coupled U2g class loco found it a tough task. First attempts invariably resulted in furious wheelspin accompanied by volcanic eruptions of smoke and decibels, the net effect being nil progress at all. A pause followed while the sanders were brought into action but, being gravity operated, little if any of the sand reached the right places but instead forming small mounds on the rails just ahead of the drivers. A repeat performance then ensued, however the resultant commotion did contrive to vibrate a little sand in the right direction, so finally permitting reluctant progress as the wheels began to bite. Agonisingly slowly, the train would start to creep forward, but there were several further explosive slips until at last the whole equipage was properly in motion and the racket finally died away. Quite an entertainment, and free into the bargain!

There was much else to occupy the attention. From time to time shunting of a particularly vigorous nature took place in the adjoining yard, the air resounding to blasts of exhaust followed by the reverberating boom of boxcars coming into violent contact. A total lack of signals looked very odd to an eye accustomed to the forests of semaphores at busy British junctions, and the setting of main line points by hand almost hazardous even if the switch stands were secured by padlock. Very occasionally there was the spectacle of a venerable, tall-stacked antique leaving town with the Shediac branch's weekly two-car passenger schedule, its energetic departure causing a rain of cinders.

Walking back to base during a late summer evening was always pleasant, the soft warm air positively caressing. Crickets chirped in the undergrowth, to the accompaniment of mysterious far-off train whistles echoing in the surrounding woods, while a maple ice cream cone added to the enjoyment of a new land and its ways. By dint of a slight deviation, one could walk back along some storage tracks adjacent to the big locomotive works. Here were line upon line of engines of all sizes, ancient and modern, awaiting their turn for scrapping or overhaul and freely available for inspection. Nobody chased me off, and I doubt that anyone was bothered anyway; most railway property was unfenced, and I had already noticed that inhabitants of this continent regarded it almost as their natural right to use the tracks as a footpath. I would climb into the cab of my choice, sit in the engineer's seat, and imagine myself as a latter-day Casey Jones racing west with some fabled flyer; but there was much worthy of serious interest too, and besides it was a happy way of passing time. It remains a matter of lifelong regret that I had no camera to record these scenes, now beyond recall.

About the turn of the month (August '43) came warning of movement, and another long train duly appeared in the camp siding. Marching down to board in the early evening, we found it markedly superior to the one that had brought us from Halifax; just as well, considering that it was to be our home for the next three nights. Fully air-conditioned, with double-glazed windows firmly closed, the spacious Pullman cars provided a comfortable double seat for each man. Soon the train pulled out onto the main line into the woods, and we received a summons to the evening meal. Walking through several other cars we entered the diner, to be confronted with an unexpected bonus: leather-covered chairs set at tables laid with spotless napery and silver, and white-clad waiters standing by. The good food and unexpected luxury induced a euphoric mood, and as the forests of New Brunswick slid by outside I decided this was an OK way to travel - would that Service life were always thus!

On returning to our car, we found the Pullman porter making berths ready for the night. The lower seats pulled together making one bed, while the upper berth hinged down from its stowage above the windows. Losing the toss to my companion I climbed into the upper section, finding it remarkably comfortable even if undressing in the confined space was an exercise in contortionism. Curtained off from the centre corridor one could read or sleep at leisure, but the soporific rhythm of the wheels soon sent me off into a dreamless slumber. Breakfast the next morning discovered us running through open farmland, in the distance a great river that had to be the St. Lawrence. Soon there was a far glimpse of Quebec standing on its eminence, then later we moved slowly over a long bridge into Montreal; but as I recall, we saw little of the city, probably because we went under rather than through it. The western edge of the conurbation was a strange area, flat and featureless with distant groups of buildings (industrial areas, towns?) connected by myriad railway tracks (or so it seemed), all of which we crossed noisily on the level apparently unprotected by signals; one or two had trolley poles and wires, indicating that they were interurban lines i.e. long-distance tramlines, something unknown in the UK and now only a memory in their homeland.

That casual British habit of leaning out the better to enjoy the passing scene was thwarted by the locked windows, however a superb vantage point was to hand by dint of opening the top halves of the end vestibules' Dutch doors. This practice was strongly discouraged by the train crew, who would close them up again and chase us off with curses; no doubt we had infringed some safety regulations, but after a while it was usually possible to creep back and resume the vigil. Thus placed, it was possible to savour such delights as the drama of a heavy express speeding by, our own train halted in a passing loop; for even in this relatively populous area most main line trackage was single. Scenic pleasures, of which many were to follow the next day, were also seen to great advantage from the vestibule doors.

Towards dusk we crept slowly through Ottawa, the main memory being the Parliament buildings' green copper roof (about the only thing recognisable to me on my next visit over fifty years later). As night drew on empty country once again surrounded us, the following day revealing a strange land of endless forests interspersed with areas of bog and numberless rocky outcrops. Some of the latter rose to form minor bluffs and crags down which poured foaming rapids, and occasionally the train brushed by lakes of indeterminate size. Already we had understood something of the Dominion's epic scale, but as the second day drew on it really began to sink in; for when light faded once more, the scenery was exactly the same as it had been at breakfast. Include also the terrain covered during the previous night, plus what we were to travel through on this third night to come, and one began to grasp that Canada was indeed a place of huge distances and few people; for outside the few stops there had been no sign of habitation, nothing whatever all day long - the whole vast domain was empty.

I found this experience enthralling beyond belief, but was surprised by the attitude of some of my companions who passed the entire time in card play, only looking outside to complain loudly at the allegedly boring and uninteresting scene passing before them. I found such philistinism shocking but enlightening, for I was to discover that there are people of limited outlook and closed mind who dislike things alien and unfamiliar; sad, for truly they were the losers.

Periodic service stops occurred about every two hours, when the engine was watered and the cars' supplies of ice replenished. Trolleys carrying large blocks of this commodity were already positioned along the low platforms as the train halted; said blocks then being manhandled into containers beneath the floor, their purpose to provide the cooling element for air conditioning. At the same time some of the crew might detrain and be replaced by others, catering supplies taken on board, dirty linen exchanged for new and so on, such tasks being the sole raison d'être of these small settlements. None of them had road access; indeed there was no sight of any roads at all throughout the day, the entire territory being at that time 100% dependent on the railway (plus some bush pilots) for links with the outside world.

In late afternoon we passed close by a lake that stretched to the horizon, a body of water with the appropriate name of Longlac but none the less a comparative midget by Canadian standards at a mere fifty-odd miles in length. Despite the bright sun it had a vaguely sinister appearance, and I found myself imagining Indian war canoes sliding round the nearest headland; perhaps it was just coincidence that during the coming night we were to halt at a remote station with the evocative title of Sioux Lookout.

Towards dusk the train stopped at Nakina, a junction with the Ontario Northland line that straggled in from the east to join us after its hundreds of lonely miles through the Canadian Shield's endless forests. With a change of engine the stop was longer than usual, and some took the opportunity to visit the solitary general store just across the tracks; but it had little to offer, and a long whistle call from our fresh locomotive soon brought them back. Tomorrow we were due to change trains at Winnipeg, so after the evening meal we turned in wondering what the next day would hold for us.

The morning found us moving slowly through a very different landscape, flat and unforested though dotted here and there with spindly trees; soon groups of buildings, roads even, indicated that Winnipeg was close at hand. Crawling ever more slowly through the inevitable yards and sidings we came to a stand in the station itself, an impressively large structure with many platforms; detraining, instructions were given to present ourselves several hours hence for the onward journey. Although the largest town for hundreds of miles around, Winnipeg could not be said to have offered very much; so after visiting a cafe and a bookshop it was back to the station to inspect the "Countess of Dufferin", an elderly wild west type locomotive on a plinth outside. The obvious solution of finding a good bar was out of the question, for at this period the Canadian liquor laws were extremely harsh; very limited quantities of the hard stuff were available to over-21's only, and beer sold in a limited number of sleazy "beer parlours" at very restricted hours. So perforce we remained dry, which was probably just as well.

I would happily have chosen to pass time on the station itself, but passengers were allowed onto platforms solely for the purpose of joining or leaving trains; the notion of a platform ticket per se was unheard of, and the concourse allowed no sight of the action----a strange and unfamiliar situation that held some logic in view of the savage Canadian winters, but was an irritation in the warmth of early September. Gathering at the platform gate at the appointed hour, our party passed through the subway and emerged to board a train very different from the one we had recently quit, one bearing the dull maroon livery of the mighty Canadian Pacific; unfortunately the change was more than cosmetic, and so our new magic carpet was viewed with a considerable degree of displeasure.

The entire consist might have come from some repository of Canadian legend, being made up of a collection of antiques grandly termed "colonist cars". In other words, these creaking contraptions were the traditional conveyance provided for immigrants, it being apparently considered that only the most basic facilities were needed for East European slobs, Irish peasants, air cadets, et al; no doubt they formed part of the CPR's history, and one half expected to find arrow holes in the exterior (wooden) panels. The seats were trimmed with a thin layer of unyielding black leather, the uncomfortably upright backrests similarly equipped, the floor covered with lino rather than carpet and air conditioning was by means of opening the windows. So we were not very impressed with the CPR, and the subsequent discovery that the cars' springs were as geriatric as the rest of the outfit promised a pleasant trip.

However, at least our motive power was fairly modern. One of the CPR's regal Royal Hudsons, once clear of city limits it whirled us across the endless prairie at a cracking pace, making brief water stops every two hours or so at small towns that all looked exactly alike. After about ten minutes' near-silence broken only by the sigh of the wind blowing from nowhere to nowhere to a distant accompaniment from the locomotive's bell, a warning whistle told us to brace as the engineer took up slack in the inevitable style. Accustomed by now to getting under way with a series of jolts, we took comfort in knowing that us poor backward Brits managed at least one thing better at home.

I would not pretend that this was the most interesting part of our journey, but it did show me that the prairie was not universally flat and featureless. Ignoring the fact that it rises very gradually as one goes west, there was a surprising amount of gentle undulation, with low bluffs appearing later on; further north and west, as I discovered later from the air, there were surprisingly deep valleys and large rivers. Apart from occasional clumps of low trees, mostly serving as windbreaks for adjacent farmsteads, the prairie was one vast wheatfield; I do not recall seeing any animals at all, although there must have been a few somewhere.

The tedium increased as the day drew on; the first few miles of open country had come as a welcome change from endless forest, but several hundred miles more of the same was more than sufficient. The heat made open windows essential, but the draught brought dust and cinders with it while the discomfort afforded by our miserable seating became intolerable. At Brandon there was a brief taste of our future as we ran past a large airfield where many Harvards were going about their business, but it was soon gone, to be replaced by more of the same as before.

In the early evening the train rolled into Regina, capital city of Saskatchewan and the only substantial town since leaving Winnipeg more than three hundred miles behind us. There was enough light to see the Provincial Parliament Building, like so many others both north and south of the 49th parallel modelled on the Washington Capitol; but darkness fell as we moved on to Moose Jaw, fifty miles further west and junction for the branch line to our final destination at Assiniboia.

Postscript: More than fifty years later, while en route Halifax-Montreal, I again passed through Moncton by train, the dome car enabling a good view on both sides. The main street looked much the same but the station, although still functioning, had lost both its main building and the adjacent hotel while the site of our transit camp appeared to have morphed into an industrial estate. The biggest change, of course was up at the front of our train - no more steam of fond memory pulling us along, just a pair of poison gas pumps.

Chugalug2
28th Apr 2014, 20:21
harrym, a thousand thank-you's for describing the journeys from Halifax (Did I say NY? Sorry, must take more notice!) to Moncton, and Moncton to Assiniboia. I must now admit to my guilty secret. Like you I am a steam enthusiast, and am allowed by SWMBO to attend the Bluebell Railway twice weekly as a volunteer in the Carriage and Wagon Works at Horsted Keynes. So your obvious love of the genre comes across loud and clear as you describe the fluctuating levels of comfort afforded you and your companions in your great trek west.

The vital importance of the railways in opening up Canada and the USA in the 19th Century can be easily understood from your description of endless wilderness with only the railway and its attendant settlements to witness the presence of modern man. What a contrast to the technology that you represented, abeit as an apprentice, yet what an appropriate setting to learn that trade, for aviation was to become the modern railroad in those lands, 'from California to the New York Island' as Mr Guthrie would have it.

Once again I must congratulate you on your literary style. You may not have possessed a camera but you possessed something far more valuable, an enquiring and observant mind together with a photographic memory, and all topped off with the seemingly effortless ability to recount it so vividly that we share the journey with you. Thank you Harry, and thank you Grandma!

Danny, thank you for so willingly slipping into harness yet again, all the more so as it was purely voluntary and in no way under any duress ;-) Now at last your peregrinations have found territory shared with your readership. This is perhaps the very point of your long and varied journey, for it connects the past with the present and tells us how we got here. The greatest change has to be in shear numbers, an RAF over 1 million strong in WW2 to well under 40,000 today. Units in every continent of the world in 1000's of Stations, now shrunk to a handful overseas and not many more at home:-

List of former Royal Air Force stations - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_former_RAF_stations)

List of Royal Air Force stations - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Royal_Air_Force_stations)

Perhaps we should give thanks that the million secured our future and enabled us to shrink to so few. Or perhaps we should reflect on the dire necessity that the BCATP for instance responded to, and vow that we should not be so desperately short of trained aircrew again.

British Commonwealth Air Training Plan - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Empire_Air_Training_Scheme)

...or is it already too late?

Hummingfrog
28th Apr 2014, 21:48
Andyl999

Thank you for the link and will send it to Dad once I get home on Thursday. With reference to student records my Dad tried to get his RAF records a few years ago only to be told they had been destroyed:{

Harrym

I am also a steam buff:ok: I was fortunate to serve in Germany when all officers travelled 1st class and made a duty overnight sleeper journey from Gutersloh to San Moritz (don't ask;)). I felt like James Bond as my sleeper was changed to a saloon with views of the Alps as I breakfasted! My Dad had a camera at Terrell and once he has had help to transfer them to disc I will post a suitable selection.

HF

Danny42C
28th Apr 2014, 22:27
harrym,

Thanks for your prompt and very useful replies. The total Course hours (140-150) agree well with other sources for RAF training of the period; and as it was delivered by RAF instructors, we can confidently assume that what you got would be the standard UK syllabus, and it would be the same as that taught in the BFTS (indeed one of their civilian US instuctors is quoted as saying as much on a recent Post), and in other Empire Training Schools.

Now, taking into account the fact that there was no evidence then (at the OTU stage) or later of any perceived superiority of Arnold trained pilots, the Arnold scheme appears (to our eyes) grossly inefficient in comparison with our own system. Even if the "chop rates" had been broadly similar, (which they were not), then we were turning out a product in 150 hours equal (as far as anyone could see) to that taking 200 hours by the Arnold route. That was bad enough, but when you couple it with the enormous Arnold failure rate (perfectly explainable as it was in circumstances which I have already suggested, and quite acceptable to the US Air Corps), then it would appear that the RAF lost several thousand pilots which it desperately needed.

And apart from all the hardships and mortal dangers of a Bomber Command raid over Germany, just think of a lone pilot having to hand-fly his Lanc (no auto pilot - if he used one he'd be a dead man in minutes) every minute of seven hours or more at night (although I suppose his F/E could give him a break). Makes you think, doesn't it ? Conversely, the Air Corps was able to provide (AFAIK) two pilots for every operational aircraft with dual controls.

Nothing in what I have just said implies base ingratitude to Gen Arnold or his Government for their generous Scheme, which alone furnished Harris (primarily, but also others) with the vital component for 2,000+ extra Lancaster/Halifax sized crews, and for which we should be eternally grateful. It is just a tragedy that there might have been so many more. All water under the bridge, now, of course.

Cheers, Danny.

EDIT: harrym, congratulations on a wonderful piece of descriptive writing ! Chugalug has already said it all: I can only add "Hear Hear".

Upholstery on the "colonial cars" ? You were spoilt, mate (we had bare wood bunks, although there might have been something on the seats).

The evocative, throaty "Whoo, whoo" (which you could hear for miles) is with me yet...D.

Danny42C
30th Apr 2014, 15:37
MPN11,

Your:

"....and the Stn Cdr was Gp Capt A F Wallace CBE DFC who I seem to recall was a bit of a Tartar...."

You can say that again ! (he was a few years older than I, so by definition is almost certainly dead now and nil nisi bonum applies - but no one who did a tour at Shawbury under his command will ever forget him)".

I take it that the residents of the "adjacent island" (wouldn't be Guernsey, by any chance ?), choose French epithets, whereas you Jerseymen, more loyal to the Crown, use English ones ?

Commander Derrick ("The Admiral") and W/Cdr Elliot, of course ! And I'd quite forgotten that we let you lot into the Tower (Local and Approach ?) to hone your skills on (mostly) Marshalls' pilots, who (to be fair) had already developed a strong sense of self-preservation (vitally necessary when placing your life in the hands of u/t "Talkdowns" at Sleap !) Static model of an airfield ? (what was that ?)

Fine body of men ! Some time ago, I was sent my ('55) Course Photo. All the people were ex-war aircrew, and there was a marked contrast between backgrounds (our tumbledown tarred wooden shed "School of Air Traffic Control" and your gracious Georgian facade of the new building).

Sgt Coombe - that's an interesting one. He must have been one of the very first "admin" ATC Assistants to be put up for a Local Controllers' Course (which would involve immediate promotion to F/Sgt). Otherwise, I'd think he was more or less at a dead end.

As for Harry the Statistician, it would seem that he hit the jackpot and no mistake ! Wing Commanders left, right and centre ! I'm pleased to hear that Bob Warwick made it into that noble body, and very sorry to be told some time ago that he'd died quite young (but I have no details).

Looking back, it seems that the three years I spent "labouring in the vineyard" there produced some very fine vintages (and the instructors did quite well, too). We must have been doing something right !....D.

DFCP,

Leonard Trevallion now 99. Hope for us yet ! By my reckoning he would be Class 42D or E. A measure of the RAF's desperate need for aircrew at that time was that exemption was allowed from otherwise strictly "Reserved Occupations" (ie from call-up - a Metropolitan policeman would certainly be one such), but only for aircrew volunteers. By remarkable coincidence, I had another ex-Metropolitan policeman (Alan Morley) as my room-mate on OTU at Hawarden. Nice chap, never knew what happened to him afterwards....D.

IanBB,

It is nice to hear of the chivalry and courtesy displayed by the "Jolly Jack Tars" of that era towards a Wren (your mother), and of the ingenious way in which the "alarm" was sounded.

"Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis" - strictly translated (for the benefit of the non-classicists among us) as: "The times move [on], and we too move [along] in them." - but do we really have to ?..... D.

Fantom Zorbin,

Doesn't sound like the Harry I knew ! Perhaps he wasn't "quite right" that day. Good to hear that 'our' Harry got to the top in the end.

Now no more of this "deference" and "august thread". Come on in, the water's fine !...D.

MPN11,

The "Carlstrom Syndrome" strikes again ! Although I must have used the Static Airfield model a hundred times, I have absolutely no recollection of it now. But I must say that your Mk.2 (and I quote) sounds a much better idea:

"In my later career I was able to procure a proper dynamic visual simulator which allowed structured, progressive training. It went live in 1992/3, IIRC. Still in service ... It will be a relic one day!! (RAF Shawbury | Christie - Visual Display Solutions)".

Oh what it is to be a Wing Commander, and to be able to make things happen ! (did they give you anything for the idea, btw ?)

I quote:

"How could those Magnificent Men (in their Flying Machines) have got up and down without us ?".

Very well, in point of fact. The great untold secret of ATC is that the whole lot could vanish tomorrow; aviation would continue to function regardless. Admittedly the flyboys would have to look out of the window a bit more, and anti-collision radar might prove its worth.

After all, in the war we said: "If you can't see your friends, who mean you no harm, how will you see your enemy who is creeping up behind you with a piece of lead pipe ?" (I went through '41 to'46 (US,UK,India and Burma) with no ATC at all, and felt no pain).

And you can navigate, can't you ? So why would you fly into a mountain which is on your map ? The True Blue doesn't sail onto well-charted rocks, or go aground on marked shoals any more, does it ?
(but now I come to think of it..........pace Union Jack).

(All the above with tongue-in-cheek !)

Fine body of men ! No idea where our black huts were, somewhere in walking distance of the Messes, I suppose. And good for Sgt Dick Coombe (you can't keep a good man down !)....D.

andyl999,

The Terrell Year Book was well worth reading, and so well illustrated. HF Senior seems to have had a far more comfortable existence than we in the Arnold Schools (although I can only speak of Carlstrom).

I am still confused by the way that the BFTS, even before Pearl Harbor, were able to wear RAF forage caps with the white flash, and have RAF officers in uniform ordering them about, while we were skulking about in civvies and flying overalls, pretending to be civilians. Perhaps it was because we were at an Army school, and Terrell was civilian ?.

The records for the cadets will certainly exist - deep in the vaults of the Pentagon. Also there is the answer to the really big question: "What did the Army Air Corps learn from their cadets, (which they required to compose 20% of the BFTS intake) When they got them back; how did they compare with the home grown product ?...D.

Ian Burgess-Barber
1st May 2014, 16:25
Danny, you posed the question:

When they got them back; how did they compare with the home grown product ?...

I can't answer that question, but I can confirm where the vast majority of them served. Not in Pursuit (Fighter) Squadrons nor Bomber Squadrons but in the ATC (Air Transport Command).
Now I don't buy into the 'Gung Ho' Fighter jocks taunt that ATC stood for "Allergic to Combat," as anyone who flies a defenceless C-47 (or whatever) into a combat zone would seem to me to be very brave indeed. But I digress.
The Clewiston News of May 28 1943 reports on the graduation of my father's course (12) and concludes with:

"The group (U.S. and RAF) left on Tuesday for unannounced destinations and new assignments by the Royal Air Force and the Air Transport Command."

Now ,as I have stated in a previous post, these U.S. cadets were selected for BFTS by means of College and University credits and most of them had civilian flying experience to PPL level and were "the best of the best" of the USAAC cadets. But their future as ATC pilots seems to be preordained - despite the fervent desire of some of them to be P-51 aces.

In Will Largent's 7 interviews with the U.S. cadets (3 from course 12, 2 from course 18, 1 from course 17 and also a gent from No 3 BFTS (how did he get in here?) everyone of them said that all their graduates went to ATC.

Now here's the nugget: Blaine H. Schultz of my father's course 12 said:

"I was sent to Maxwell Field, Alabama, for preflight training. The word came down that volunteers with previous flying experience were needed to attend the BFTS in Clewiston, Florida. In return for volunteering, we were told that we would be placed in the noncombat Air Transport Command. That seemed to be a good idea at the time."

Blaine, and the rest of the course 12 Americans went from Clewiston to Alpina, Michigan for reassignment within Air Transport Command. Blaine was sent first to Texas to Braniff Airlines to learn the DC-3. Then to St Joseph, Missouri for instrument training. He was then assigned to the 3rd Ferry Group and checked out on the P-39, P-40, P-47, and P-51. (The P-39s were mainly ferried up to Alaska where they were handed over to Russian pilots). He was later checked out on the C-46 which he flew on the southern route to Europe (down to Natal, Brazil, then Ascension Island to Dakar and then up to Marrakesh. He spent the the rest of the war based in Tripoli and Casablanca. This career path was typical for the U.S. graduates of BFTS.

So Danny, I don't know what the USAAC thought of them - but that's what they did with 'em.

Do ut des

IanBB

Fareastdriver
1st May 2014, 16:38
the rest of the war based in Tripoli and Casablanca.

If I was around at that time I would dream about that.

Geriaviator
1st May 2014, 17:19
Sincere thanks harrym for a wonderful piece of descriptive writing, I was enthralled from first sentence to last. Just when we think we are running low on contributors, another veteran takes up his keyboard ... and our indefatigable OC Danny keeps them coming. Our gratitude and best wishes to all of you.

Danny42C
1st May 2014, 20:48
Ian BB,

Again, the voices from the past coincide ! You may remember that Cliff (RIP), our revered Founder, had as his oppo at BFTS, Darr Field, Miami, OK. an Air Corps cadet (Harry Olbers). He said Harry spent his war ferrying B-17s round the world.

Your Blaine Schulz said:

"I was sent to Maxwell Field, Alabama, for preflight training. The word came down that volunteers with previous flying experience were needed to attend the BFTS in Clewiston, Florida".

This is funny. Our LACs would all be ab initio at BFTS. Were the US entrants just fed in at the SFTS stage ? If they started at the beginning, with previous flying experience plus our EFTS stage, of course they should be better at the end ! And volunteers (all right for some !) In our Air Force you might volunteer to get in - after that you did as you were told.

I am not too sure about the P-39. The tricycle was a good idea, but the idea of that shaft, (carrying 1,200 hp) between your legs (and what might happen if it broke free or snapped !) would not appeal to me. No wonder they palmed them all off on the Russkies.

In other words: "Quid Pro Quo ?"

("Hard Pounding, Gentlemen", said Wellington at Waterloo, "we shall see who can pound the longest")....D.


Fareastdriver,

I don't think it would be quite like the film !...D.


Geriaviator,

Thanks for your heartening words. Good thing that Horatius has someone else beside him on the bridge now, for he's all too defatigable ! And I'm not, repeat not the O.C. - just one of the lads !...D.

Cheers, everybody, Danny.

Danny42C
1st May 2014, 23:53
MPN11,

I refer to an excerpt from your #5549 (my underline and numbering):

1. "We sat at a local control desk, with the usual pin-board and comms, and for 'realism' looked out through sheets of perspex at a scale model of an airfield with 1" high hangars. You had to imagine where the aircraft were with reference to the airfield diagram on your pin-board, and correlate that with the R/T messages being transmitted through your headset by the Instructors".

2. "During the Advanced Phase of the course, as you noted earlier, students did live training in Shawbury Tower. The problem with that training in Local was that it was totally traffic-dependent for training value. Cr@pweather = minimal/nil traffic, Valley diversions = too busy for student ATCOs".

3. "In my later career I was able to procure a proper dynamic visual simulator which allowed structured, progressive training. It went live in 1992/3, IIRC. Still in service ... It will be a relic one day!! RAF Shawbury | Christie - Visual Display Solutions"

To all of the old ATC hands who may be reading this, I say "Click on this link, and see the marvels of science !" I have some pertinent remarks and questions:

1. This was not so far from reality as it may sound. In a very busy circuit, Local has no time to twist around and look for every real aircraft that calls, but must rely on his pin-board to a great extent. All he can do is to flash quick glances at the "Finals, three greens" point, to see if a dangerous situation is developing (and the Runway Controller, itchy finger on the trigger of a red Verey pistol, is his long-stop there).

Take the case of the Local one late, dark, murky afternoon at Thornaby in'54, who (thought) he had one aircraft (me) in circuit, but went through his entire patter with me without seeing me at all because (a) the vis was so bad that he didn't expect to and didn't bother to look, and (b) because I wasn't there, actually - I was six miles away at MSG ! (whole sad story miles back on this thread).

2. Even in fair weather the bulk of the traffic at Shawbury consisted of Marshalls' pilots, only two or three at a time, their Vampires or Piston Provosts up for an hour or two for radar training at Sleap and well spaced out. Then there would be the odd Javelin airtest (always flown by "Fred" - did he have another name ?). And of course whatever Fate chose to throw at you, which could be anything but was mostly nothing.

3. Now the questions start. The VISSIM simulation looks marvellous; the five screens give as much of a panorama as you might see in a real Tower without turning round in your chair. Could you manipulate the "cyber" aircraft to fly to match your patter ? (For example, could you "fly" your aircraft into the ground and synchronise that with the flames and smoke ?) Or taxy them out and "take off" at will ? How many Instructors were needed to "fly" the "aeroplanes" and do
the R/T - one each ? (in which case it would then be very labour-intensive). But then, IIRC, the "Mock" sessions were carried out by only one Instructor, weren't they ?

Or was the whole thing pre-recorded in some way, and you just had to supply the R/T ?

I throw it open for others to join in (this is our Forum at its best). Danny.

gayford
2nd May 2014, 09:48
Danny,
What great reading. I was one of your students at Shawbury in 1965-66, I really don't know how you coped with us upstarts. I believe the Javelin test pilot was Fred Butcher, also, I remember Bob Warwick with considerable admiration. Not only was he a great instructor on the DF but he also was an accomplished dinghy sailor, awarding me my RAFSA "A" Helm award on the lake at Ellesmere.
I and two other APOs on my Joint Course were the first students to be "selected" to go straight on to the Radar Course and then direct to Sopley for the Area Radar course. This was in order to fill the huge new requirement for area controllers with the opening of the Type 82 Units (Watton, North Luffenham and Lindholme). Great days.

Danny42C
2nd May 2014, 12:56
Examining that invaluable document, F 5994, I find that on 24.2.65. I was certificated (certified ?) as a SPEC/INSTR by a W/Cdr C.I. whose signature I cannot read. As I arrived at Shawbury about four months before, it would seem that we must have been u/t and under supervision (?) for the first few months. This would have made good sense, and even more sense if I'd been sent on an Instructional Technique Course at the time. But now I remember that it was only at some later date that I was put on one of these Courses (and I think got uprated to B1).

I cannot remember where it was or for how long, only that in his "demo" lecture, a Radio Fitter Sgt caused me (whose radio technical knowledge begins and ends with the on/off button), for about five magical minutes until it faded, to understand the Function of the Intermediate Frequency in a VHF set. (He came away with a well deserved A2).

I enjoyed a small triumph of my own. It was that exercise where you pick a slip of paper out of the hat, and have to talk sensibly "without hesitation or repetition" for one minute on whatever subject is written on the paper when you turn it over. Mine was "Humour".

I got to my feet thinking furiously. Then a light lit in my brain. "Humour", I began, "is an exclusively human phenomenon - no animal can laugh", and I was away. I've always been blessed with the "gift of the gab", it was easy to develop and expand the theme, and I was in full spate when the examiner cut me off after about 45 seconds. My heart bled for some of our other Course members, whose minds went blank as soon as they were on their feet and they "froze" miserably.

Now it is my recollection that, for the whole of the time that I was at Shawbury, the School Instructors (on a rota) also provided most of the Controllers for Local and Approach in the Tower (I don't remember any radar there, although of course there were the instructional radars on the GCA School at RAF Sleap - a few miles away). But my first endorsement there was not till 19.11.65: "TWR - AC". This was a whole year after I came, so either the "two birds with one stone" policy only came into force then, or my turn simply hadn't come round (IIRC, we each did a month's "R&R" in the Tower - there being no intensity).

Now the eagle-eyed ATCs among us will have looked at the "Endorsement Abbreviations" inside the cover of their "F 5994s", and noted that my "TWR" means nothing - I suppose Local Control was what was intended ("ADC"), and Approach Control is "APP" - but what I got was "AC", which stands for "Area Control", which it most certainly was not. (This was a fate which, if not necessarily worse than death, ran it pretty close, and one which I was mercifully spared). And who had penned my endorsement ? Looks like a "S/Ldr Scott - LEO". So he must have been the "regular" SATCO, and I think have had one or two "permanent" ATCs.

On second thoughts, I checked my Form's Stationery Office code date suffix, it was "10/61", so I suppose it might have been a case of "That was Yesterday - it's All been Changed !" with the abbreviations (but there was no reason why it should).

And what did we have in the way of Classroom Aids ? On my own Course (#42 in '55), it was "Chalk and Talk", but now we had an Overhead Projector and (I seem to recall "Whiteboards" - what were they ?). I don't think we used chalk anymore, which was a pity, for with the chalk comes a blackboard duster, which could be hurled with good effect at the odd back-row student who was just dropping off. I always used to say that I didn't mind them dozing on the last period of a warm afternoon, but it was a bit much when they went to sleep on you at 0830 ! (Of course, you can't do that sort of thing nowadays, I suppose).

I remember that we got some fully exposed (opaque) X-ray film from the medics, trimmed them to OHP size, and with a small punch made very realistic diagrams of the Calvert approach lights as seen from various angles. The colours (red, green, blue and amber) on the airfield and VASI light presentations were bits of coloured sweetpapers stuck over the holes. It was quite artistic.

Apart from learning the next lecture, and then delivering it (on the age-old principle of only needing to keep one step ahead of your class), we devised practical exercises. There were, IIRC, several simulator CA/DF consoles. These were quite convincing: one instructor would stay with the student on the "tube" while another (out of sight, but linked to the "victim" by headset) would manipulate the trace.

And then there was the dreaded "Shawbury Mock", bu that can wait for another day.

G'day, all.

Danny42C.

And if you are a teacher, by your pupils you'll be taught !


PS: Gayford,

Welcome aboard ! A new (metaphorical) "Toad" in town ! Thanks for remembering me ! Now you can help me fill in the gaps; you'll have a lot in common with MPN11, I think.....D.

MPN11
2nd May 2014, 14:34
ATC PMs are flying in the background Danny :cool:

More anon!! :ok:

kookabat
3rd May 2014, 01:14
I've always been blessed with the "gift of the gab"
I'll say. And long may it continue, Danny!!

MPN11
3rd May 2014, 09:29
Now the questions start. The VISSIM simulation looks marvellous; the five screens give as much of a panorama as you might see in a real Tower without turning round in your chair. Could you manipulate the "cyber" aircraft to fly to match your patter ? (For example, could you "fly" your aircraft into the ground and synchronise that with the flames and smoke ?) Or taxy them out and "take off" at will ? How many Instructors were needed to "fly" the "aeroplanes" and do the R/T - one each ? (in which case it would then be very labour-intensive). But then, IIRC, the "Mock" sessions were carried out by only one Instructor, weren't they ? Or was the whole thing pre-recorded in some way, and you just had to supply the R/T ?

I have to admit I have absolutely no idea how it operated!! We drew up the specification, it went out to contract ... and then I was posted to "other things" in Main Building. Perhaps there's a lurking CATCS instructor who could enlighten us both?

Now the eagle-eyed ATCs among us will have looked at the "Endorsement Abbreviations" inside the cover of their "F 5994s", and noted that my "TWR" means nothing - I suppose Local Control was what was intended ("ADC"), and Approach Control is "APP" - but what I got was "AC", which stands for "Area Control", which it most certainly was not. (This was a fate which, if not necessarily worse than death, ran it pretty close, and one which I was mercifully spared). And who had penned my endorsement ? Looks like a "S/Ldr Scott - LEO". So he must have been the "regular" SATCO, and I think have had one or two "permanent" ATCs.

On second thoughts, I checked my Form's Stationery Office code date suffix, it was "10/61", so I suppose it might have been a case of "That was Yesterday - it's All been Changed !" with the abbreviations (but there was no reason why it should).
They did indeed change the Endorsement Abbreviations from time to time. My F5993 (of the 11/63 vintage) has 2 stick-on pages of revised abbreviations inside the front cover. I can't read the original anymore, as its obscured by the sticky AL1. But throughout 65-68, in my 5994, the local endorsement was TWR/AC which stood for Aerodrome Control. AL1 appears to date from 69, as my ATCEEB check then has the "TWR" prefix dropped and it was just ADC (Aerodrome Control, with AC remaining as Area control). AL2 then went to TC ("Terminal Control") with the sub-text in brackets ... TC(ADC), TC(PA), TC(App) etc. And Area became AC, AC(Alloc), AC(Sup) etc. The exalted LEO, EXAM and INSTR remained unchanged throughout, as did the "fully trained controller" endorsement of AC :)

There, I think that's sorted out :cool:

Danny42C
3rd May 2014, 18:26
MPN11,

It's a fair cop guv. I'll go quietly ! :uhoh:

D.

Danny42C
3rd May 2014, 23:07
Nutloose,

Undoubtedly Organic !

I'll give you a clue: "vive la differènce !"

D.

Chugalug2
4th May 2014, 20:20
Danny, your list of classroom aids omitted the most important one of all, the Chinagraph pencil. Without that the Royal Air Force might never have survived. Certainly it would have complemented your White Boards and projectors. In combination with that other triumph of democracy, clear Fablon, it meant that pilots could reuse aviation charts with DME range rings drawn in before the product was carefully applied on top. Planned routes could then be drawn in Chinagraph on the Fablon, with fixes entered en-route for DR heading and timing corrections.

The most vital application was however the all important Org Board. Every Authorisation room, every Eng Control, every boss's/adjutant's/adminer's office was festooned with them. Sheets of perspex mounted or hung on the walls covered the required tabulated layout of columns and rows whereon the data was entered. If there is not a chapter in the Official History of the Royal Air Force not dedicated to that one item then I am afraid that it is sadly in want. Each colour was of special significance, and much was the woe if the blue or whatever colour could not be found! Unlike computer records these days which are saved, backed up, and claimed to last for ever, the entire board would be wiped clean with a cloth and a strong smelling solvent (no doubt also bearing some copy write trade name) at day's end, or whenever, leaving a blank board for refilling next day.

A technology as important to Air Power as any aerodynamic or power plant breakthroughs, yet when was the last time you saw a Chinagraph pencil?

PeregrineW
4th May 2014, 22:44
I haven't seen or used a Chinagraph for years and years, but it seems Mr. Amazon is still selling them. Tempted to get a pack just for old times' sake...

Danny42C
5th May 2014, 01:37
Chugalug,

How could I have forgotten my Chinagraph ? I have one still, I used it to write on sellotape stuck over the title strips on the old VHS cassettes, so as I could rub off and rewrite as required. WHS up here stocked them up to quite recently, but "Chinagraph" got blank looks, you had to ask for "wax pencils/crayons". (And have you tried to ask for "toothpicks" at a chemists recently ? They look at you as if you've come off another planet ! (it's "Dental Sticks" now).

In action, you jotted down callsigns etc on the glass or perspex on ths desk in front of you. The best cleaner was a duster, spit on the end and dip in the nearest ashtray (things of the past now, I suppose)......D.
************************************************************ *
Now I'm really hanging on to the last shreds of my memory, and using my imagination to supply things which must have been there, and I would more than welcome any additions to the story, and corrections from my readership.
(written before the foregoing came in).

The basic idea was simple enough. You created a simple facsimile of a typical Local Control Room and seated your "victim" at a control desk. He would have a headset (or were we still in the old days with hand mike and monitor ?), a telephone connection to an imaginary "ATC switchboard", R/T selectors, R/T to the Crash vehicles and the usual squawk box to an imaginary "Runway Controller".

He would have a dummy "Airfield Lighting" panel. I don't remember there being a remote simulator CR(A)/DF console (although all the more modern Towers had them, so that a single Controller could handle both Local and Approach up in the top Tower in quiet periods). Of course there was no "GCA" to complicate matters (or was there ?).

(In any case, all the QGHs and other approach work would be practised in the separate D/F simulator suites).

At the other end of his headset (or whatever) would be the Instructor, who had to play all the parts himself (if he were a good mimic of various voices and accents, this would be an enormous advantage).

Again I must stress that the foregoing is just a rough sketched outline of the general set-up to "put you in the picture". (the details are mostly guess-work - it's almost 50 years ago, after all).

What is more important is how this Heath Robinson assembly was used as a training aid, and here I feel myself on firmer ground. The sessions were about a half-hour long (IIRC). The student did not have an Instructor by his side to murmer the odd word of advice (as in the D/F sims): the idea was to let him make his mistake(s) and then develop the scenario so that these would come back (perhaps twenty minutes later) to haunt him with the consequences.

Really it was a case of "throwing him in at the deep end", seeing how he got on (and nobody got hurt whatever happened). Naturally the Instructor acting as "Ringmaster" was at the back out of his sight (but I think we could watch him through a panel), and make hurried notes.

It would have been a great help if we could have taped the Instructor/student line, but I don't think that technology had got that far then. It would have made the "wash-ups" after the exercise much more productive if we could run "replays" (and cut out many an argument !).

Now we come to the nitty-gritty: how were the "plots" decided for each exercise ? I was quite surprised to find that, when I was first there, they were "ad-libbed" by each instructor: he would simply feed in a story "off the cuff". Of course, you couldn't have a fixed scenario, because the situation would change every time the student reacted to an "event", and you had to adapt your plot to it.

There were "staples" which were regularly trotted out: the call from the Fire Section asking permission to release the standby vehicle to put out a garden fire which was out of control. If he fell for that, it led in smoothly to the most regular item of all - the Crash on the Airfield ! (this was such a "cert" that they "boned it up", and would swing immediately into the correct "Crash Action" at a drop of a hat). In years to come, many an ATC Local would say "Thank God for Shawbury Mock" - and mean it !, when the day came (as it always must).

There was always a balance to be struck. While you must always "temper the wind to the shorn lamb", and take it easy in the first few weeks, there was always the underlying serious question at the back of it all - how will he cope when the heat comes on ? A Controller who buckles under a reasonable amount of pressure is in the wrong shop. You must make him sweat a bit, otherwise there's no point in the exercise.

Some Instructors overdid it. Everyone has a breaking point somewhere, but it is cruel (and counter-productive) to push the student to the point of collapse, just to see how far he can go, and I never (AFAIK) did so myself.

Now that is enough for the moment. More next time.

Goodnight, chaps.

Danny42C.


You never know what you can do till you try.

Fareastdriver
5th May 2014, 07:51
The Wailing Wall.

MPN11
5th May 2014, 08:22
I am now suffering from Danny42C-induced stress, as I can't locate my chinagraph pens. They are in a rigid plastic case [originally the retail pack for some small cigars] so that the waxy tips didn't stain my shirt pocket. And there are 4 of them in there ... black, white, yellow and red. I can only assume they have migrated to the attic somehow.

Oh, well, looking for them will help pass the time, once I've washed the car and done some weeding :)

Geriaviator
5th May 2014, 13:47
Well, I found the last of mine ... they don't make 'em like that any more!

http://s1278.photobucket.com/user/Oldnotbold/media/chinagraph_zps3d637bdc.jpg.html]http://i1278.photobucket.com/albums/y503/Oldnotbold/chinagraph_zps3d637bdc.jpg

Wander00
5th May 2014, 14:41
I still have a Dalton computer, Douglas protractor and the odd chinagraph pencil.

MPN11
5th May 2014, 16:33
Geriaviator, I raise you one chinagraph, although I still can't find my 4-pack. Or, indeed, my box of refills, HMSO for the distribution of.

God, how much junk have I collected over the years??

http://i319.photobucket.com/albums/mm468/atco5473/PPRuNe%20ATC/P1030826.jpg (http://s319.photobucket.com/user/atco5473/media/PPRuNe%20ATC/P1030826.jpg.html)

Chugalug2
5th May 2014, 18:21
Well alright, other than Danny, Geriaviator, Wander00, and MPN11, when was the last time anyone else saw a Chinagraph pencil?

Anyway, real men whittled their Chinagraphs, unlike those girls lipstick ones illustrated above! Not having any left (all presumably whittled down to the last half inch), I can only reply with the following which might assist those left, like me, with a Douglas Protractor but having forgotten all the many and varied ways it could be used:-

http://i184.photobucket.com/albums/x199/chugalug2/DP01_zpsfcffdebd.jpg

http://www.pprune.org/<a href=&quot;<a href=http://s184.photobucket.com/user/chugalug2/media/212f44e1-aa0f-4715-821e-11f03312b7a2_zps243ae385.jpg.html&quot; target=_blank>http://s184.photobucket.com/user/chugalug2/media/212f44e1-aa0f-4715-821e-11f03312b7a2_zps243ae385.jpg.html&quot;</a> target=&quot;_blank&quot;><img src=&quot;<a href=http://i184.photobucket.com/albums/x199/chugalug2/212f44e1-aa0f-4715-821e-11f03312b7a2_zps243ae385.jpg&quot; target=_blank>http://i184.photobucket.com/albums/x199/chugalug2/212f44e1-aa0f-4715-821e-11f03312b7a2_zps243ae385.jpg&quot;</a> border=&quot;0&quot; alt=&quot; photo 212f44e1-aa0f-4715-821e-11f03312b7a2_zps243ae385.jpg&quot;/></a>http://i184.photobucket.com/albums/x199/chugalug2/DP02_zps2c02b02c.jpg

http://www.pprune.org/<a href=&quot;<a href=http://s184.photobucket.com/user/chugalug2/media/73f3f9a6-1bde-49f8-a927-dcd13452aef8_zps73e5da84.jpg.html&quot; target=_blank>http://s184.photobucket.com/user/chugalug2/media/73f3f9a6-1bde-49f8-a927-dcd13452aef8_zps73e5da84.jpg.html&quot;</a> target=&quot;_blank&quot;><img src=&quot;<a href=http://i184.photobucket.com/albums/x199/chugalug2/73f3f9a6-1bde-49f8-a927-dcd13452aef8_zps73e5da84.jpg&quot; target=_blank>http://i184.photobucket.com/albums/x199/chugalug2/73f3f9a6-1bde-49f8-a927-dcd13452aef8_zps73e5da84.jpg&quot;</a> border=&quot;0&quot; alt=&quot; photo 73f3f9a6-1bde-49f8-a927-dcd13452aef8_zps73e5da84.jpg&quot;/></a>

Impress your friends with these long forgotten procedures at your local tonight. It is bound to lead you on to anecdotes about your interesting and varied careers. Just think how fascinated they will be! Why, it reminds me of the time when...


Coming soon, how to upgrade your Dalton Computer with increased speed and ROM!

MPN11
5th May 2014, 18:37
Damn, where's the cover for my "Douglas"? Buggrit. I know it's here somewhere, with the tapes still attached.

Danny42C
5th May 2014, 18:49
Chugalug,

My Chinagraph (pencil-sharpener-able old type), was supplied by WHS not all that long ago. They were the original RAF issue type (the posh "propelling pencils" came in later - I kept a couple of these for a few years after I came out, but they're gone now).

You had to be careful with the old pencils - if you tried for too narrow a point, it would break off. Whittling would be tricky, I'd think, unless you had a very sharp knife.

Why have our Posts gone all fat again ? Or is it just my laptop ? :confused:

D.

MPN11
5th May 2014, 19:06
Right, back to the Alternative Reality that is ATC. Whilst Danny42C is burbling at his chalkboard, or wondering what this model airfield is all about, other ATC warriors in the mid-60s are trying to master the MPN11/CPN4 at the GCA school at Sleap.

Now this photo has just been posted to the ATC Old and Bold library ... OMG, what the Hell was all that? I lived and worked there? And actually knew some of what it was all about? This is apparently Bay 15 ... but Bay 9 and Bay 12 were identical. They were the controller bays, the other bays were tech stuff. Or something. Nice to have a name for your workplace - "I'm in Bay 12 today, whooppee."

http://i319.photobucket.com/albums/mm468/atco5473/PPRuNe%20ATC/EquipmentMPN11Bay15Talkdown-1.jpg (http://s319.photobucket.com/user/atco5473/media/PPRuNe%20ATC/EquipmentMPN11Bay15Talkdown-1.jpg.html)

There are the 2 PPI's of course. The top one is Search/Director, the lower one is Talkdown. If you look carefully, on the lower display [to the right] you can see the joystick that servoed the Precision beam left/right/up/down. But WTF are all those other panels? In a GCA truck one lived in a world of odd panels, some of which one does not touch . Others were essential to the day-to-day operation of this bit of kit.

And most of the buttons/switches were painted with luminous paint, so every control position had a UV lamps that would be waved around to illuminate things you might needs to see in the dark ... and it was DARK in there. So, to save us from glowing in the Mess, we also had to wear dosimeters, the badge of a real controller, which every now an again went to SMC to determine whether we would ever breed again.

There were also things that did something, and other things that did something else. Some were radar, some were comms, some probably turned on the kettle in the Tech truck. How on earth did a plt off know how to work in that shambles?

Not seeing it here, but there is also a 12-line comms panel, to the right of the controller. It's in a cut-out on the desk, so to operate the switches you need to turn your hand upside down. And there is a faint glow-worm of a lamp, so if you wear your watch on your right wrist, you can also see the time. I have worn my watch on the right since 1966, although not inverted these days ;)

[I]As Captain Scott said in his Diary, "My God, this is an awful place."

http://i319.photobucket.com/albums/mm468/atco5473/PPRuNe%20ATC/mpn11_operating_bay_02_250pix.jpg (http://s319.photobucket.com/user/atco5473/media/PPRuNe%20ATC/mpn11_operating_bay_02_250pix.jpg.html)

ValMORNA
5th May 2014, 20:22
I still have at least two chinagraph pencils knocking about somewhere, used in the 1960s to 80s. Alas, no lead in the pencil now.

Danny42C
5th May 2014, 20:47
ValMORNA,

Join the club ! :(

D.

Danny42C
6th May 2014, 15:43
MPN11,

(Your #5579) Wonderful pics of the inside of a CPN-4 ! (but at least we didn't have to chauffeur the damn' thing around). Did we really handle all that stuff with confidence ?

Fortunately when the understandable bit (tubes plus transmitter switch) came into the Approach Room as AR-1/PAR, most of the rest of it was left in the remote radar heads on the far side of the airfield (where it could stay as far as I was concerned).

D.

MPN11
6th May 2014, 18:07
I think, Danny42C, that we kids (and that includes you) were actually quite good at coping with new technology and a mass of semi-anonymous buttons and switches. Presented with all that cr@p, we knew what we needed to know. And certainly, in 'my truck', the ATCOs were pretty competent at diving into assorted tech bays to fix a problem almost instantly, instead if waiting for a techie to come across. There was a bay behind Bay 12 that was seriously high voltage, and there was something deep in on the right side, almost at floor level, that occasionally needed to be spoken to. I have no recollection of what it was, only that one was VERY careful putting an arm in there when everything was powered up.

The same way as you didn't maintain the engine of your VV. In the truck, the techies did some things, and we did a limited number of other things. And that symbiotic relationship that still exists ... "You can't have one without the other."

Perhaps looking at life through the wrong end if the telescope obscures the fact that when we were young we could do all sorts of amazing things ... You, and others here, certainly did!

gayford
7th May 2014, 09:16
Can't post a photo now as I am absorbing vitamin D in Greece,but I still have an original leather pouch that holds/held black, white and red chinagraphs and the small screwdriver, an essential item to fiddle with the equipment in the radar truck, especially when it was quiet. Was it Bay 12 that we sat with the magnatron between our legs? Surprised I ever fathered any kids, or maybe it was the milkman after all.

MPN11
7th May 2014, 09:32
Morning, gayford. Some trucks banned ATCOs from having screwdrivers, in case we "fiddled unwisely" and wrecked the entire set-up :sad:

Fortunately Strubby was not one of those trucks, our techs were very controller-tolerant, and we GCA kids were really skilled :ok:

Molemot
7th May 2014, 10:41
My father was involved with radar in WW2. He told me that Lord Haw-Haw had broadcast that radar personnel would become sterile...the result of that was a queue outside the radar hut on Friday nights, of chaps wanting to be temporarily so rendered!! They got 5 minutes laying down by the mercury arc rectifiers, as they were the most spectacular piece of kit.....

Danny42C
7th May 2014, 16:19
MPN11,

(Your #5583) You say:
"I think, Danny42C, that we kids (and that includes you) were actually quite good at coping with new technology and a mass of semi-anonymous buttons and switches. Presented with all that cr@p, we knew what we needed to know"'.

If only we did ! Speak for yourself ! Sadly, the saying: "you can't teach an old dog new tricks" is all too true. Our Radio/Radar mechs would've walked out in a body if they'd seen us so much as look at a tool. I dimly recall that there was an equipment console right down at the LH end of the Leeming control desk. From time to time a red warning light would come on low down on the outer panel (no idea what for). If you kicked the panel, it would go out. That much they allowed us, and no more.

Ah, the far-off days when cars were cars, and men were men. You could open any bonnet (locks ? what for ?). There were all the old friends you'd known since childhood. There was the carb, have it off and get the jets out, poke with stiff bristle. Distributor ? Off with its head, clean and gap points, smear of vaseline on rotor, plenty of "Wet-Start" inside and out of cap, put all back. Coil and plug leads ditto. Plugs out, scrub with brass-bristlebrush, gap and replace (only wrist tight, of course). All aided and abetted by the Starting Handle - oh what a blessing that was ! If there was enough in the battery to dimly light a torch bulb, one good swing, and you're on your way. What would you want an AA man for ? Happy Days !...D. :ok:

Molemot,

More effective it might have been if you stood close to the "hot" side of the truck for five minutes when it was in full cry. Trouble is, the results would be irreversible ! (and you'd probably glow in the dark ! :eek:)....D.

Cheers, both. Danny.

harrym
7th May 2014, 17:34
To Chugalug2, Danny42C, Hummingfrog and other friends: As the SFTS instalment is rather large I am posting it in two parts so here is the first section, the other to follow by the end of the month,

Chugalug2: Delighted to hear you are also a true believer! If ever around Didcot way, when it's open you will find me behind the Railway Centre's shop counter most Wednesdays - do look in.


The BCAP (part 4a) – No.39 SERVICE FLYING TRAINING SCHOOL
Swift Current, Saskatchewan.

Rattling over the prairie in the last car's open rear vestibule I watched the rails undulate into the distance as we left EFTS behind us, and reflected on yet another manifestation of the myriad differences between New World practice and that of the Old; for the roadbed was grass-grown and virtually devoid of recognisable ballast, yet we scorched along at a good 45-50 mph on seemingly ramshackle track that, at home, would have been considered barely suitable for use as a siding. I could only assume that the combined weight of engine and train rolled it flat, for the ride was better than on some remembered UK branch lines.

By now accustomed to the unfenced track and rural grade crossings of this remote land, their diagonal wooden arms the sole warning for such road traffic as there was, the appearance of crossings protected by lights and warning bell signalled our approach to Moose Jaw, a sizeable town and junction where we were due to change trains. There was time for a quick look around, then as darkness fell our connecting train rolled in and we climbed aboard for the journey to Swift Current, a town about 100 miles westwards along the CPR's main line.

Detraining about two hours later, we were greeted by a voice even more disagreeable than the one that had welcomed us to Assiniboia two months before; a clipped voice emanating from a smallish, thin-lipped, sour-visaged flight sergeant. This hostile creature made no secret of his dislike of aircrew in general and of us in particular, and he remained an unpleasant feature of life at 39 SFTS for the rest of our stay; there was no escape for he was the disciplinary NCO in charge of cadets, and time did nothing to improve our relationship.

The following day saw the issue of winter clothing; autumn was well advanced and there was a notable nip in the air. Old-timers regaled us with dread tales of the weather to come, and so such items of kit as were issued did not fill me with confidence; in fact I only recall two, a bonnet-like cap with side flaps for ear and facial protection, plus a pair of rubber overshoes. In true RAF tradition the Stores were unable to produce a "hat, cold weather" of my size, thus condemning me to the winter's worst with only a "fore & aft" forage cap for protection. Although this could be manipulated to provide some cover it was quite inadequate as compared to the proper article and so, for me, much discomfort ensued during the coming months; for, positioned bleakly on a bluff about ten miles east of town, the airfield was exposed to blasts from all directions. Accommodation was in the familiar H-Blocks whose scalding, steam-filled radiators were either fully on or off, thus giving the option of fug or freeze. Opening a window, even a crack, might result in any adjacent radiator freezing up in which event the occupants were held liable for damage thus caused, so perforce we became accustomed to life lived in a perpetual frowst.

As at EFTS, the flight instructors were 100% RAF but there the similarity ended, the flight line ground crew also being all RAF while the ground instructional staff were a mixture of Service plus local civilian with only the Link instructors being all Canadian. Following the usual preliminary ground school phase we moved to the flight line for introduction to twin-engined aviation and its associated mysteries, a fleet of rather battered aircraft being provided for this purpose. A British product, the Airspeed Oxford was a trainer based on the Envoy, a small commercial airliner of the thirties. Of conventional low-winged appearance and quite well-proportioned apart from a somewhat oversized fin & rudder, two Armstrong-Siddeley radial engines of 350hp each, retractable main wheels and a reputation for wilfulness made it appear pretty hot stuff. Inside was an exceptionally well laid out instrument panel and control pedestal, however as we had already learnt that raising of wheels while not airborne was regarded as a most heinous offence, the close proximity of landing gear and flap levers was a subject for grave thought. Much to our surprise, radio was still conspicuous by its absence and thus air traffic control was as before, from a van by the runway threshold.

The airfield itself was of the now familiar pattern but with 3 pairs of parallel runways, a layout that considerably facilitated operations by providing separate strips for take-off & landing; but night flying was always restricted to a single runway, probably because laying two flare paths was considered extravagant of resources and manpower (as far as I recall, there was no fixed airfield lighting). However the greatest shock was to discover that we were expected to operate through a Canadian winter without benefit of aircraft heating, as during the previous winter there had been trouble with defective heat exchangers allowing exhaust fumes into cabin interiors. The systems had therefore been removed, but as per normal Service fashion remedial action appeared to be very low on the priority scale and indeed was still awaited months later when we graduated - by which time the school was on the point of closure, due to run-down of the BCAP.

Mercifully the coming winter was to be mild by Canadian standards, but was still b----y cold by ours; one of my main memories of those months is of being permanently frozen while airborne despite full inner & outer flying suits, double gloves, fur-lined boots et al. Further discomfort was provided by my instructor being almost as tall as myself, our combined bulk when fully clad making it almost impossible to sit side by side; a partial solution was to stagger the seats' fore & aft adjustment, but this inevitably resulted in neither of us being ideally placed for operating the controls. Somehow or other we coped but it could hardly be described as an ideal learning situation, and after the Cornell's good ergonomics was rather a comedown. At the same time it was a salutary reminder that things British were usually somewhat primitive as compared with the transatlantic product, a lesson re-learnt the following year on encountering the Dakota.

But for now the lesson continued, the next surprise finding that the engines had to be cranked into life by muffled individuals kneeling on the inner wings, their task also to operate the priming pumps buried inside the cowlings. As the handles were rotated vigorously in turn, the pilot pressed the appropriate booster coil button and attempted to "catch" the engine by movement of the throttle as soon as it fired. As may be imagined, the handle-turners' lot was not an enviable one in winter and the normally disgruntled airmen performing this chore became positively mutinous if an engine was allowed to "die" after its first hesitant coughs, a not infrequent event. Despite the engines being winterized with protective baffles, a long warm-up period ensued before attainment of operating temperature; following which, one moved gingerly towards the often icy taxyway.

As compared with the nose-high singles that had comprised our sole previous experience, the clear view ahead with no engine blocking one's line of sight came as a real bonus; unfortunately, this was more than offset by the Oxford's unpredictability in matters of directional control on the ground. Whereas the Cornell's tailwheel had been spring-link connected to the rudder pedals there was no such luxury in this case, and our initial difficulties were compounded by the crude, pneumatically-operated braking system obviously designed by someone who had never flown in his life; to be told that this was standard to all British aircraft (of that period) was no consolation, indeed rather the reverse.

On the ground, the bird was supposedly kept pointing in the desired direction by judicious use of left or right throttle and/or differential brake as required by circumstances. Such variables as slope, speed, wind velocity, camber of the taxyway and so on all had to be taken into account, as well as the aircraft's natural unwillingness to move in a straight line even when these factors were absent. Application of brakes required depression of a thumb-operated lever on the control spectacle, differential action being obtained by holding this lever depressed while simultaneously moving the rudder pedals in the desired direction. Simple enough in theory maybe, but a strong surface wind tended to blow the rudder about or lock it over, thus causing difficulty in applying brake on the desired wheel, the thumb lever was often stiff and heavy in action, while the air supply for brake operation was easily exhausted and very slow to build up again. In short, the whole setup was nothing like as foolproof and simple to use as the toe-brakes of the Cornell (the dear old Tiger Moth having no brakes at all).

Further problems awaited when we came to get airborne, for we had grown accustomed to the cockpit layout common to all single or tandem seaters where throttle and most minor controls were operated by the left hand, leaving the right free for the essential task of flight. Now we faced the layout normal to larger aircraft where engine and other ancillary controls were mounted on a central pedestal between the pilots' seats; so, given the universal practice for the first pilot to sit on the left everything was, at first anyway, all back to front. Taken with other differences already mentioned, it was quite a transition and one or two of our weaker brethren failed to cross this divide altogether.

They were probably tipped over the brink by the Oxford's tendency to sheer bloody-mindedness during take-off and landing. In its natural element it was a delight to fly (if correctly rigged) and had a brisk performance despite the drawback of fixed-pitch props; but in the matter of getting off or back on to the deck it could be an absolute pig, having a most decided wish to veer off to one side if the pilot relaxed his attention for an instant. This was usually to the right, but just to keep the operator on his toes it might occasionally be to the left; what mattered was to check any such wilfulness immediately (or preferably sooner), because once allowed its head nothing on earth could prevent an inevitable excursion off the side of the runway. There was not an Oxford pilot alive who did not at some time or another suffer the indignity of inadvertently taking to the grass, and if one lost it the only thing to do was to keep the throttles closed and try to prevent the fiasco turning into a complete ground-loop. Someone once shrewdly observed that the Mosquito, notorious for similar wayward behaviour, was a good trainer for the Oxford and it was commonly held that he had a point.

Surprisingly we usually contrived to stay on the hard stuff, but the "Oxbox" was not the easiest bird to land anyway and so there was plenty of dual instruction before being entrusted to fly solo. Three-point arrivals were inadvisable, a tail-down landing being the best technique; however misjudgement was only too easy, resulting in a series of kangaroo-like hops of ever-increasing magnitude which invariably terminated in a final almighty crump. It was also necessary to demonstrate some competence following a simulated engine failure, but such training as we received against this dread contingency was (as I recall) confined to a safe height, it being considered much too dangerous to approach the ground in such a state. In any case the Oxford performed indifferently on one engine due to the impossibility of feathering the "dead" prop, and handling in such an emergency was not made easier by virtue of the rudder trim handle winding (unbelievably) the "wrong" way, i.e. to the left for right trim and vice-versa! Fortunately the engines were extremely reliable, and I do not recall a single failure during my Oxford time either in Canada or later in the UK.

A further impediment to learning was provided by the crude intercom "system". Despite side-by-side seating a high noise level rendered normal speech impossible, so the instructor was provided with a mouthpiece slung round his neck, attached to a short length of tube plugged into the pupil's earpieces. However the latter had nothing and was thus unable to make any riposte to the torrents of criticism and abuse that periodically came his way, being able only to scowl in return. This of course did no good, the instructor usually being further enraged by the mouthpiece's tendency to slip down onto his chest (which thankfully rendered him more or less inaudible).

So gradually it dawned on us that, whatever meaning the word "Service" in the school's title was intended to convey, SFTS was altogether a more serious place than EFTS. The same could be said to apply to the Oxford as compared with our Cornell of fond memory; the latter had often been fun, but among the attributes offered by our new bird fun was certainly not included. So slowly we came to terms with this strange creature, with its peculiar habits and freezing cabin that smelt eternally of aviation gasoline, dope and a hint of cellulose paint, a cocktail familiar to all who flew military aircraft of that era. Our beat-up fleet had had a long time to absorb these various aerosols into their ancient frames, for most were of pre-war vintage; the flight commander had himself trained on some of our old-timers back in late 1930s UK, the airframe numbers matching those in his log book.

My first solo passed without incident, and I was soon off again for a session of "circuits & bumps". It was a cold day, intermittent light snow drifting across on a northeasterly breeze, and I had been briefed to make appropriate use of the carburettor heat controls. Now the engines were not unduly prone to icing, but in cold conditions it was most essential that a degree of carb. heat was selected just prior to touchdown or they would surely stop as the throttles were closed for landing; unfortunately the toggles providing this facility were stiff in operation, and if pulled too hard were liable to come right out of the panel trailing yards of piano wire. This made one highly unpopular with all - the technical staff who had to put it all back and the instructors because there was then one less aircraft available, so a balance had to be struck between two undesirable options. Inevitably I got it wrong, with the result that both engines quit on the first landing; using what little airmanship had accrued so far, I allowed the Oxbox to follow its natural inclinations and trundle off onto the frozen ground alongside.

Here I gazed hopefully towards the first line servicing office in a nearby hangar, whence rescue should have appeared but signally failed to do so. As the minutes passed I became progressively colder, and it dawned on me that I was being crudely punished for failure to follow the recommended drill. Not until my time was almost up did a plainly disgruntled airman approach, hooded against the cold and carrying the essential crank handle; had he walked any slower he would have stopped. With obvious resentment he primed and cranked the motors back to life, while my reception in the flight office was rather less than cordial. When my baby-faced instructor (not the usual one) logged me for the whole detail, as against a bare ten minutes of actual flight, my protest was answered with the riposte: "that will teach you to let your engines stop, you stupid clot" (actual words somewhat censored), but it was a lesson I did not forget.

Off-duty life was much the same as at Assiniboia, except that the canteen was markedly inferior. Despite frequent incursions by the relatively mild Chinook wind, there were cold spells bringing temperatures well below 0 degrees F when one went out only if properly dressed and for as short a time as possible. The first intake of breath gave warning; a sensation of mucus freezing in the nostrils, plus snow squeaking loudly underfoot, were sure signs of a cold unknown at home, bringing to mind all one had been told about the very real risks of frostbite. In such conditions the poems of Robert Service gained added poignancy and realism, the night sky so brilliant with stars that it was worth an odd minute's discomfort outside just to gaze upwards; indeed a howl from the proverbial timber wolf would not have seemed amiss, but the artic air bore only a distant wail across the frozen prairie courtesy of the Canadian Pacific - it's a sound that haunts me to this day.

The metropolis of Swift Current had little more to offer than did Assiniboia, despite being many times the size; more shops and restaurants, but otherwise much the same although it was at least situated on the CPR's main line. This offered me some entertainment during our weekly exeat, when an eastbound transcontinental made its scheduled stop; if it were cold, the friendly engineer would usually allow a quick warm-up in his Royal Hudson's snug and commodious cab. On at least one occasion I crossed the tracks with several mates, paying an unsolicited visit to the roundhouse that accommodated several elderly locomotives; nobody objected to us poking about and asking questions, indeed the staff were friendly and glad to show us round.
But the principle advantage of having mainline facilities was that it offered a means of escape during the few furloughs allowed, in total amounting to a couple of short weekends plus four days at Christmas. Making use of an introduction from my Assiniboia friends (of the bookshop) I wrote to a Mr. & Mrs. W of Regina, receiving in return a cordial invitation to stay with them whenever free to do so. They were a delightful and hospitable couple slightly older than my parents, living in a most comfortable home on the south western outskirts. My first visit was for a brief 36 hours, however I was pressed so hard to return for Christmas that it would have been churlish to refuse even had I been minded so to do; for quite aside from their kindness, it was pure delight to be in a civilised and comfortable home and eat decent food again. Their adopted son Jim, a postgraduate student (I think, subject or speciality now forgotten) took me under his wing and drove us to a dinner dance at the big new CPR hotel, the largest in town. Here I was somewhat surprised at the amount of drinking in progress in what was meant to be a near-dry country; but I had seen nothing yet, for the experience of a Canadian Christmas lay ahead.

This came a few weeks later, for most of us the first Christmas away from home. A bout of homesickness was upon me, brought on by hearing well-remembered carols sung in, of all places, the bus returning from town on the Saturday night previous; our motley collection of cadets and airmen had sung surprisingly well, and I knew I was not alone in feeling as I did. So it was a happy day when we climbed aboard the train for Regina, our ancient wooden-bodied reserved coach coupled on immediately behind the big Pacific that was soon speeding us across the snow-dusted prairie. Any apprehension concerning our potentially vulnerable position between the engine and a dozen heavy steel cars (quite contrary to sound operating practice) soon evaporated in a dreamy contemplation of pleasures to come; anyway, we were probably considered expendable.

A few companions had invitations similar to mine, but most had no plans other than to have as good a time as possible. However, there was the slight problem of obtaining sufficient supplies of festive fluid in that a liquor permit was required for purchase of this essential commodity. As previously remarked, one had to be over 21 years of age in order to secure this important document, which officially condemned most of us to a dry few days; but I soon discovered that there was no cause to worry on this score, very much the reverse in fact while a few bold sparks overcame the problem by falsifying the birth dates recorded on their ID cards. This laid one open to dread charges of forging an official document with near-capital consequences if detected, so most of us used other methods.

Fortunately there was no lack of good liquor in my hosts' house, and Christmas passed in a happily alcoholic haze. After seventy years I recall little detail other than that it was a most pleasant day, one full of cheer and good will. Neighbours and friends looked in and were greeted with brimming glasses, there was a general air of bonhomie and considerable quantities of good food were demolished, at least some of which came from their own farm nearby. I subsequently sent home the label off a bottle of superb whisky (contents disposed of in short order), asking my father if he knew of it; receiving a gloomy reply to the effect that it was one of his favourite brands but like much else had long vanished from home shelves, probably never to return.

On either Christmas Eve or Boxing Day (probably the latter) Jim took me to a dinner dance at the CPR Hotel, accompanied by partners that he produced from somewhere; following local practice we also took bottles, a necessary precaution if one wished to avoid a dry evening. Consumption of wine was not a feature of Canadian life at this time, beer was only for Indians and bums, so hard liquor was perforce order of the day and it was soon plain that there was no shortage of this commodity. Before the event was half over several recumbent figures were testimony to a free flow of Christmas spirit, and I was unable to gain entry to the Gents because the door was jammed by a pair of uniformed stiffs out for the count. But by no means were all the drunks service personnel; a number of people (both male & female) whom Jim pointed out as pillars of the local community were much the worse for wear, and as the evening progressed some of them joined others already lying prone beneath the tables. I was rather taken aback at the sight of so many supposedly worthy citizens stoned out of their minds, however it was an early lesson in the futility of prohibition, a useless measure that only exacerbates the evils it pretends to cure.

Indeed the quantity of drink put away in the Wallace home was something of an eye-opener, being considerably in excess of anything in my previous experience of respectable company. It was too cold for any out of doors activity, which no doubt accelerated alcoholic intake, and towards the end of my brief leave the bottled goods began to run short. Permit-holders had already used up their rations for the month, and whatever was obtainable illicitly from taxi drivers and the like cost "heavy dough", with the price escalating almost hourly; plainly; stern measures were called for and Mrs. Wallace announced she would broach her emergency stocks of potato-based "wine" made from home-grown spuds.

In the innocence of youth I assumed this would be as palatable as the fowls and other produce from their private farm. I should have known better; it tasted vile, with an effect like liquid gunpowder, and it was not long before I passed out completely. The last day of the holiday was therefore no more than a prolonged hangover, with a dim recollection of the family pouring me onto the night train with fond expressions of regret. All seats were taken, and I endured a cold and uncomfortable journey in an end vestibule where sulphurous whiffs of coal smoke did little to improve my condition. Reporting for duty next day, my instructor commented on his student's ghastly appearance; issuing a homily on the follies of debauchery, he then further lowered morale by prescribing an hour of therapeutic instrument flying; but at least I was in no worse state than various colleagues, some of whom were in a poor way indeed.

Chugalug2
8th May 2014, 06:37
harrym, where does on start? Well thank you again might be a good idea, especially so for your kind invitation to Didcot as well as of course for this superb piece of descriptive writing. Once again we are sharing a train ride, also feeling the worse for wear (especially after the potato wine), and freezing in the unheated cramped cockpit of the Oxford! That such a seemingly delightful looking aircraft could be so mean spirited and spiteful is a real eye-opener. Mind you, I know what you mean about those pneumatic brakes. Same system on the Hastings, selected by levers inset within the control column spectacles and applied differentially by rudder pedal deflection. Not to be overly used and not unknown for the air bags within the wheels to burst.

Triple parallel runways? We haven't yet got round to a pair at Gatwick! When you have wide open spaces what a difference it can make. Interesting that the cadet accommodation at Swift Current was in H Blocks. Were they of the UK Air Ministry familiar brick build with Georgian casements design, or of a more likely Canadian timber construction? It fascinates me that you could go to any UK RAF pre war station and immediately recognise the Guard Room, Airmen's Insitute, Messes, Accomodation Blocks, Station Workshops, etc, be it in the extreme SW or NE. Was it the same in Canada? Were Moncton, Assiniboia, and Swift Current similarly of a kind, varying in extent rather than in style?

So 'S' stood for Service? Thanks for that, I was trying to work out S words that meant Advanced. Turns out they didn't. Curious nomenclature, as though EFTS's were not Service, but no doubt they reflected the format in use then. Were there none in the UK? Were they all overseas, with OTUs ready to take the strain back here?

Finally some self indulgence, and here I am really trying the patience and forbearance of our esteemed mods, but in an effort to illustrate the logistics of this aviation related story (yeah, right!) herewith a picture of a Royal Hudson and its rake of carriages, c/o Mr David B. Davies:- David B. Davies Train Photographs (http://members.trainorders.com/ddavies/NS/nsmain.htm)

http://i184.photobucket.com/albums/x199/chugalug2/RoyalHudson_zps2f3ae0ad.jpg

Danny42C
8th May 2014, 16:58
We were not at the Tern Hill Hall for very long, for an OMQ came up for us (certainly) before Christmas ('64). But not at Shawbury, but at RAF High Ercall, a closed Station roughly three miles away. I remember that it had been active in '55, for one morning a few of us CATCS students were flown over and back in an Anson (presumably as u/ts in the Tower). Don't recall what was flying there then.

But now it was on C&M, and they had built three OMQs together - large, medium and small - which Shawbury had taken over. IIRC, all three were occupied by F/Lt School Instructors: we had the smallest (which suited us, as we only had one small daughter). Transport was no problem, a J2 or a Mini picked us up in the morning and brought us back at close of play. Therefore Mrs D. had unrestricted use of the car, and could deliver and collect Mary daily from the little convent school in Shrewsbury (6 miles) in which we'd enrolled her.

Christmas was now approaching fast, and people were coming round at Shawbury, hawking draw tickets for this, that and the other. I collected a few, tossed them into my desk drawer and forgot about them. In the last week before Christmas, I came back to the Common Room after my last afternoon lecture to find that I'd struck lucky. I'd won a Turkey and a Goose !

But they were neither plucked nor drawn - the two sad corpses were simply dumped across my desk (I suppose their necks had been wrung only that morning). We'd already got the order in for our own bird, so these were completely redundant. I hastily put the word out, and succeeded in disposing of both in a Forced Sale (I think I may have got a quarter of the true value, but beggars can't be choosers).

Most of the "Funny Things which happened on the way to the Theatre" happened not at the School, but in the Tower. One sunny morning a Marshall's pilot went off in a Provost, and came on the R/T: "Do you know you've got a dead hare on the runway ?". No, we didn't. "I can see it, Sir", squawked the Runway Control Corporal (pity he couldn't have noticed it before). All eyes turned accusingly on Local Controller. "It wasn't there when I did my airfield inspection this morning", he spluttered indignantly. We concluded that it must have run onto the runway and been hit by a previous take-off.

We sent out the L/Rover chap with a shovel, but as he got close, the "dead" hare shot up like a rocket and bolted away ! It seemed that it had simply been "having a kip" on the (slightly warmer) tarmac; what was amazing was that it wasn't bothered in the least by the row of an aero engine at full bore going past a few feet away. (I've mentioned before how quickly the crows got used to us and held our anti-crow measures in contempt).

"Marshalls' Pilots" perhaps needs a few words of explanation. The GCA School at Sleap had a sort of privatised arrangement with Marshalls of Cambridge to supply the "guinea pigs" on which the "Talkdown" and "Director" trainees could cut their teeth. The RAF would supply the aircraft (and presumably, the fuel); Marshalls the pilots (and the maintenance ??). (You may recall a very similar arrangement, whereby 20 Sqdn disbanded at valley in '51 and Marshalls took our aircraft from us to Llanbedr and there took over the task of providing AA targets for the Artillery).

Some of Marshalls' pilots lived in the Mess (they were all ex-service with a strong FAA element), and used to boast that they had "the only flying job which you could do with just an out-of-date driving licence !" Whether this be true or not, I know not. Possibly there was a loophole in the Air Navigation Acts whereby a CPL (or "B" Licence ?) was only a requirement if you were "carrying passengers or goods for hire or reward" (and they were doing neither). Even so, you would think that at least a PPL (or "A" Licence ?) would be necessary, otherwise any old idiot could take to the skies at will, only provided he was paid for it (and I don't want any witticisms at my expense !)

And that's quite enough for the time being.

Goodnight, all.

Danny42C.


Never a dull moment !

harrym
8th May 2014, 17:31
Sorry Chugalug2, perhaps I was too hard on the Oxbox. As I observed, the specimens at SFTS were pretty beat-up and ancient into the bargain, but those encountered later back in UK were really quite pleasant - fairly new and less bashed about, plus operating in a kinder climate probably helped. OK they could still be a bit wilful, but by then we were more experienced and thus less likely to be caught out.

Yes that arch-pig the Hastings MK1, though to be fair the MK2 was a much better aircraft. Those airbag brake units were awful - not very effective as stoppers, overheated easily, and if a bag failed you were left totally brakeless as system air took the easy route to atmosphere (this happened to me at the old original Kai Tak with its short runways).

I think the Canadian H-block was a standard design for all the training airfields, being of almost 100% wooden construction like all the other buildings - Canada is not exactly short of timber! As you observe, the same policy was followed in this country but using brick - UK has much clay, but not so many trees! The Moncton buildings were of somewhat different design, although again mainly of wood.

I think the titles EFTS/SFTS were applied to all such places training pilots up to Wings standard whether at home or abroad, though cannot be sure about S Africa.

Many thanks for that pic, great stuff! It reminded me of that wonderful day I rode in the cab of Royal Hudson 2860 from North Vancouver to Squamish, a totally unforgettable experience. Yes we are at risk of going OT, but this event did have some connection with aviation as it was that wonderful RAF institution the indulgence passage which made it possible - seats offered on a space-available basis, at very low cost to cover admin expenses. Happy days!

Danny42C
8th May 2014, 18:24
harrym,

Your remark:
"A British product, the Airspeed Oxford was a trainer based on the Envoy, a small commercial airliner of the thirties" , makes one wonder why this was the aircraft chosen, of all things, to be the lead-in to the Meteor (the "Tornado" of the Fifties, remember). No wonder the new boys did't know what hit them ! And that was the case as late as '54, to my certain knowledge, as that year 608 got a National Service P/O trained on them at Dalcross.

Hearing your harrowing tale of the Frozen North makes me appreciate my good fortune in drawing Florida and Alabama out of the "Lucky Dip" ! (not that "Ol' Alabam" was all that warm in late winter, even though it was in the Deep South and "The Cradle of the Confederacy").

The American locos and rolling stock looked much the same as your pic of the Canadian ones, Chugalug, and that distant lonesome double wail in the night will be forever unforgettable.

Cheers, both..... Danny.

kookabat
9th May 2014, 05:46
I think the titles EFTS/SFTS were applied to all such places training pilots up to Wings standard whether at home or abroad,
That was definitely the case in Australia. Phil Smith, pilot of what eventually became my great uncle's 467 Squadron crew, did his training at No. 1 EFTS in Tamworth NSW, and then at No. 3 SFTS at Amberley, Queensland. His wings were awarded at the end of SFTS (29 May 1941).

Adam

Fareastdriver
9th May 2014, 15:33
But not at Shawbury, but at RAF High Ercall,

High Ercall was a relief landing ground for Tern Hill whilst it was 6 FTS.
I know, I did my first solo there on 28th November 1960.

The buildings and blister hanger seemed pretty deserted then but it was rumoured that as an MU it used to be the Spitfire Disposal Unit. They were cleaned out of useful things and the airframes were used as infill for some breakwater on the Mersey.

Irt would have finished any flying there when 6 FTS moved to Acklington and CFS(H) took overr in 1961.

Not only civilian pilots flew out of Shawbury. Naughty RAF pilots did to. A friend of mine got himself into somewhat embarassing mire in 1963/64 and was sent over ther until the Air Ministry decided what to do with him.

Danny42C
9th May 2014, 19:35
kookabat and harrym,

We seem to have got it pretty well established now that all the Empire Flying Training Schools used the same two-stage EFTS/SFTS standard RAF syllabus up to Wings award. Total hours seemed to vary around a figure of 140.

The US Army Air Corps "Arnold" Schools to which some 7,500 RAF LACs were sent (mostly straight from ITW) worked to a different three-stage (Primary/Basic/Advanced) syllabus of 200 hours.

The British Flying Training Schools (BFTS) in the US, I believe, taught the British two/tier system to start with (presumably of the same 140 hours), but there was an early policy decision to extend this to 200 hours to match the "Arnold" regime. Now how far this was implemented (was it ever fully ?), and when, and by what means, I do not know.

The curious thing was that, although (AFAIK), there were no mixed US/RAF classes in the Arnold Scheme (although obviously there were cases when the last US Class would be followed by a first RAF Class), the US insisted that 20% of the BFTS intakes should be Air Corps cadets.

Clearly this was for the purpose of comparison (of the finished article). So what were the findings ? To this question I have never been able to find an answer. As the Pentagon is far beyond my capacity to question - and in any case I would not dare - (can any of our US readers help ?), my only hope lies in a fancy that, somewhere in the Deep South, there may be a genteely decaying antebellum mansion, and there, in the shade of the cottonwoods and magnolias, a gracious, old "Kentucky Colonel" sips his mint julep.

And dreams of the days when he was on General Arnold's Staff, and knows the answer to this. And is pointed in the direction of PPRuNe by a favourite grandchild.

Cheers, both. Danny.

Ormeside28
9th May 2014, 21:22
Another thread? I was on 18 & 19 Courses at 1 BFTS, Terrelll Texas from October 1943 to June 1944.We had 80 British cadets and 20 American who all had some flying, more than our 12 hours at Grading School .I got mumps on my birthday 9 march 1944 so was put back to 19 Course finishing in June 44. Then it was gliders! I returned in 1951 and after Harvards and Wellingtons it was Hastings at Dishforth and Topcliffe. The Far East route was Lyneham (to position etc) then Luqa, Fayid, Habbaniyah, Mauripur, Negombo and Changi. If casevac from Korea it was then Clark near Manila on to Iwakuni ( Japan). After commissioning it was Neptunes 203 at Topcliffe (again). They went back to the States in 1956. So it was Shacks, 120 at Aldergrove and then 205 at Changi.. I came back to Lyneham by RAF Comet to collect a Shack from Kinloss route was Changi, Negombo (later Katunayaka) Aden, El Adem, Lyneham. Sun came up as we took off from Changi and went down as we landed at Lyneham . Trip back was Kinloss Luqa, Aden Negombo, Changi. Later trip was Changi, Gan, Aden, Luqa, St Mawgan ( for customs) Woodford to deliver to Avro. I hope that settles a couple of queries.

smujsmith
10th May 2014, 00:11
Ormeside28,

Great post sir. First on this thread I believe, we would all appreciate your experiences through your training in the states, if you could indulge us. Your recollection of transport routes to the East are very relevant to another thread asking precisely that question. I'm sure if I knew how I would copy your post to that thread. I'm sure you have much more you can tell us to widen our understanding of your training in the USA. I'm sure Danny, our current CMC will welcome any contribution you can offer.

Smudge:ok:

Robert Cooper
10th May 2014, 02:31
Remember the Habbaniya, Mauripur, Katanayake, Changi route from 1958 in Hastings. Different times!

Bob C

Petet
10th May 2014, 09:02
Just out of interest does anyone happen to have the list of exercises undertaken at EFTS and SFTS along with the numbering system that was used to record them in the log?


Regards


Pete

ancientaviator62
10th May 2014, 09:13
harrym,
I assume the later marks of Hastings were more stable due to the lower set tailplane. Perhaps 'chug' would care to comment. Handley page always seemed to have problems with the 'back end' of their a/c. I have often wondered how many of the early Halifax were lost due to fin stall when corkscrewing over hostile territory. The later rudder shape appeared to cure this lethal characteristic.

Ian Burgess-Barber
10th May 2014, 09:47
Danny, your last:

"the US insisted that 20% of the BFTS intakes should be Air Corps cadets.

Clearly this was for the purpose of comparison (of the finished article). So what were the findings ? To this question I have never been able to find an answer".



Back to Will Largent's "RAF Wings over Florida". After considering the various theories that have been voiced on the subject he concludes thus:

"The sole reason for the new approach (Blending the cadets) contained no elements of high drama. It was done merely to balance the Lend-Lease Act account between Great Britain and the United States".

"Show me the way to go home"

Re the Far East Routes; I offer this contribution.

My father returned from India in Nov. 1945, working his passage as 2nd Pilot on Avro York No. 185 as follows:

Nov 10 Palam-Mauripur (India 3:15
Nov 11 Mauripur-Shaibah (Iraq) 6:00
Nov 11 Shaibah-Almaza (Eygpt) 5:10
Nov 12 Almaza-Luqa (Malta) 5:40
Nov 13 Luqa-Holmsley South (UK) 7:00

IanBB

Danny42C
10th May 2014, 12:59
Ormeside28,

You're as welcome as the flowers in Spring ! :ok: Three of us now (harrym, you and I), to keep the 90-plus Banner aloft. Rushing off now to visit aged relative older even than I (if such a thing be possible). More when I get back tonight.

Cheers, Danny42C

harrym
10th May 2014, 17:28
ancientaviator62

It was not so much stability (never a Hastings problem as I recall), as the greatly increased tailplane span with its associated elevator surface area that made the MK2 and others such an improvement. The MK1 was extremely heavy and not over-responsive in pitch, and landing it was most definitely a two-handed job whereas the later marks, with their generously spring tab assisted elevators, made it into an almost completely different aircraft that was quite pleasant to fly - as much as a large 4-engined bird with the third wheel at the wrong end could ever be, that is.

Ah yes, the old Transport Command route to Changi & points east ........... memories are made of that!

Hummingfrog
10th May 2014, 18:17
It is perhaps time to add further to my Dad's experiences at Terrell. So in his own woerds:-

Incident 3:- January 1943

Sometime in the latter weeks of January 1943 and only a few days after my check ride with Ed, we had a visit from Squadron Leader ‘One-Armed Mac’ James Maclachlan. He had been seconded to the USA to carry out a lecture tour, amongst other duties, to the various Flying Schools in the USA where British cadets were being trained. During his short tour in the USA he flew several US fighter aircraft and he arrived in Terrell flying his own US fighter - a Mohawk or Thunderbolt.

He was a pre-war RAF pilot but he was no ordinary fighter pilot for he had only one arm, having lost the other in combat due to a cannon shell in Malta in February 1941.

We were aware he was due to visit and saw him arrive and land. We were assembled in a lecture hall in Terrell and he arrived with the Commanding Officer. As I remember it, once the Commanding Officer had introduced Mac before he started his lecture, he asked for all the ladies present to withdraw - some female members of the Flying School had joined us all to listen to his lecture. Having withdrawn ‘Mac’ gave his talk on the life of a fighter pilot and, as his talk progressed, the language became more colourful - hence the reason he asked the ladies to withdraw.

Mac’s visit came a few days after we had received a berating from Van Lloyd, one of the CFI (Chief Flying Instructors) This was because there had been a series of minor landing accidents. His final words to us were something like ‘you Brits can’t fly and never will fly!’ You could almost feel the lads stiffen at these rather unfortunately chosen words - after all this was after the Battle of Britain!

The end of Mac’s lecture came and we finally assembled to see Mac take off after he had made a tour of the airfield. Now, and remembering he only had one arm, Mac took off and instead of disappearing into the blue he proceeded to ‘beat up’ the airfield with one of the finest flying exhibitions I have ever seen (and I have seen a few!) An anonymous voice from the group of cadets was heard to comment: ’You Brits can’t fly and never will fly - but we can with one arm!!’ It was a memorable end to an extraordinary day with a most extraordinary pilot. Sadly he died only a few months later in the summer of 1943.

-o0o-

And so to the final days in Terrell, some more advanced training and eventually the big day - Wings Day. This was the very special day we had all been working hard for. On the day itself, having badly sprained my ankle playing football, I was not able to take a full part in the parade and had to sit on a chair at the side of the parade ground before my name was called out to receive my Wings. So instead of gaining a university degree in medicine as I had first hoped, the RAF had been my university and my Wings my degree. Following the ceremony we were now allowed to wear our Wings on our tunics so you can imagine that we walked with great pride, especially when passing the newer cadets!! I’m afraid we did show off a little!

We were now making preparations to take our leave. Visits were made to those good people of Terrell and Dallas and some of the instructors had taken us on a night out in Dallas. I can vaguely remember the return journey to Terrell - what a night! We also found out that night that our instructors were, in fact, quite human!!

Flying for me was paused on 14 March l942 and it was almost 3 months before I sat in the cockpit of an aeroplane again. Now with Wings Day over there remained only one further assembly in a classroom. This was the day we were each allowed to see our documents, which when collected together would be placed in the hands of the most senior cadet. He would be wholly responsible for ensuring their safe delivery to the authorities in Canada. Each cadet was presented with his own document which, amongst other things, indicated the recommendations of the Terrell authorities as to our future training. As I somehow expected, my own future was further training on single engined fighters (Spitfires or Hurricanes). There was a footnote that I was not suitable for instructional duties. So where do you think I ended up? Yes, as a flying instructor on twins and singles, and after spending time teaching people to fly I joined the staff of an RAF Flying Instructors’ School teaching how to instruct!!

Now, no more flying, no more classroom, just the inevitable bureaucracy of getting the remainder of 12 Course ready to leave. Sadly I have no dates but sometime in early April 1943 we assembled at Terrell Station together with many of our friends from Terrell and, in some cases, cadets’ girlfriends! There waiting was the train with our special coach until the cry went out ‘all aboard’ - and, with a great deal of sadness on all sides, we clambered onto the coaches. With faces pressed on closed windows or out of open ones, whistles and horns blew and slowly the train started to move. Those of us who managed to get to an open window were able to watch Terrell station slowly disappear from sight.

I am sure many others like me spent a little time at that moment reflecting on the 7 amazing months we had spent in the Lone Star State;
1. as ‘rookies’ working hard to gain our Wings;
2. losing good friends in accidents and many who sadly did not make the grade;
3. of so many friends in Terrell and Dallas;
4. and of amazing experiences both in flying and social activities. Experiences which, but for the war, we would never have had.

We left all that behind, bound for home via Canada and an uncertain future. The train rallied on north, St. Louis, Chicago - where we stopped for a while and made a short tour of the city and, of course, ‘photo taking’ - crossing the border into Canada and back to Moncton. After a short stay we travelled from Moncton onwards to Halifax where we boarded the French liner ‘Pasteur’ which was to take us across the ‘pond’. Strong gales and wild seas made for an interesting crossing. Fortunately I was one of those lucky enough not to suffer from sea sickness. I well remember trying to cross the deck of the ‘Pasteur’ from port to starboard as she heaved and plunged! The weather calmed down a little before we reached the UK. We caught sight of land and the imposing Liver Building on the Liverpool waterfront and we were soon moored alongside a jetty. We disembarked and, yet again, boarded a waiting train - going where? I cannot remember how long the journey was but probably 3 hours or so, ending up eventually in Harrogate, Yorkshire - only a few miles from my home town of Leeds. Disembarking from the train we were billeted in a hotel in Harrogate near the Stray - a large open park of grass and trees which is as famous today as it was then in 1943. My youngest son and family live only 6 or so miles away from Harrogate today.

And so the journey from Terrell and the bright lights of Dallas ended in the gloom of ‘blackout’ wartime Britain with no lights allowed to be visible at night - proudly wearing my new Wings and to face the rest of whatever the war would throw at me.

He is looking into his logbooks to try and produce some more accurate details of his flying training plus gathering together the photos he has of his time at Terrell. I hope to post them soon.

HF

MPN11
10th May 2014, 19:41
Awesome, hummingfrog :ok:

smujsmith
10th May 2014, 20:08
Hummingfrog,

Another superb post, and entirely authentic to the tradition of this thread. I'm sure that your dad has much more to tell, and, like Danny, we will not let him off the hook, after dangling his carrot. Only this thread offers 60/70s RAF life after a career started in the USA, with these latest posts of wartime life including that USA training experience. I'm sure, many of us find this thread compulsive reading. Please encourage more "log book consultation", there can never be too much, it also reads very nicely with Danny's current position in his story, which reflects the USA trained pilot in a Cold War situation. Smashing reading, thanks for sharing it with us, and please, "can we have some more"????

Smudge:ok:

Chugalug2
11th May 2014, 06:28
I too would like to say thank you to the Hummingfrogs, both senior and junior! As Smudge says, how striking it is that all these stories are both unique and yet generic at the same time. There was indeed great hospitality and kindness to those young men so many thousands of miles from home, at a time when many never strayed no more than tens, and yet there was also bureaucratic obstacle and downright Anglo-phobia as well. Their experiences in North America were no doubt reflected back in the UK with others from the New World who were forever to be labelled with the epitaph, 'Over sexed, over paid, and over here!'

These tensions were, and still are, par for the course between peoples with different customs, histories and traditions, especially when divided by the same language! Be it special or otherwise, it is a relationship that has stood the test of time. I suspect that it needs common foes and threats in order for it to work, and mercifully one might say we have never been spared those. Perhaps it is a good thing though that all is not sweetness and light, lest sentimentality replace pragmatism in this most pragmatic of all partnerships.

Ormeside28
11th May 2014, 15:18
http://i1004.photobucket.com/albums/af162/CoffmanStarter/imagejpg1_zps6088f6ec.jpg (http://i1004.photobucket.com/albums/af162/CoffmanStarter/imagejpg1_zps6088f6ec.jpg)

harrym
11th May 2014, 17:19
Great stuff, Hummingfrog! Interested to see your Dad returned to UK on the Pasteur, exactly a year before I did the same. I recall it as something of a tub rather past its best, and the experience of sleeping in a hammock that rubbed against its tightly-packed neighbours with the ship's movement, their occupants' feet almost in your face, did not compare well with the Queen Mary of fond memory. Even less pleasant was visiting the heads/bogs, where one's entry had to be carefully timed so as to avoid an unmentionable flood that washed to & fro across the deck as the ship rolled - and boy, could the Pasteur roll!

Danny42C
11th May 2014, 19:14
Smujsmith and Ormeside,

Smudge, I really must rebuke you gently for your flattering attempts to make me "primus inter pares" on this our Best of Threads, but there's no "primus" here - only "pares"!

Ormeside,

Picking up from my #5601 earlier today: after over a year in which I slowly came to the sad conclusion that I might well be the last of that noble breed which is covered by this Thread title, and to which we have the honour to belong, it is a pleasant suprise indeed to be suddenly joined directly by not one, but two contemporaries (harrym and yourself). And also by a third, who is speaking with the voice of his son (Hummingfrog), and a fourth (Ian BB) who is relaying the writings of his late Father. .

Truly, "Welcome aboard", and may we hear a lot more from you. It's quite a coincidence that you and harrym are both ex-Halifax people, which immediately gives you a connection to Chugalug and many others who have recently come in with tales of the long Transport Command air routes in the days when we still had an Air Force.....D.

Ian Burgess-Barber,

I quote your #5600 yesterday (starting with my earlier question):
"Clearly this was for the purpose of comparison (of the finished article). So what were the findings ? To this question I have never been able to find an answer", and your reply:

"Back to Will Largent's "RAF Wings over Florida". After considering the various theories that have been voiced on the subject he concludes thus:

"The sole reason for the new approach (Blending the cadets) contained no elements of high drama. It was done merely to balance the Lend-Lease Act account between Great Britain and the United States". This observation is certainly correct. It would be an element of that "reverse Lend-Lease" (eg rent for wartime airbases and goods and services supplied to the US by the UK) which went into the "account" to offset the American input (although I think that there was never any intention - or any possibility ? - of actually "balancing" it). The whole thing recalls Churchill's scathing remark (when, IIRC, the Egyptian Government raised a similar claim) to the effect that: "He did not intend to pay for admission to the battlefield !"

But whatever the financial background, it was an obvious thing for the Army Air Corps to seize the opportunity to compare the finished product (produced for them by the BFTS in significently fewer Flying Hours and with a much smaller wastage - I quote from Hummingfrog regarding failure rates among the US trainees):

"1. As far as American students on courses went there were none on his course - No12 at Terrell - he thinks that there were a few on later courses but not in significant numbers". (And from your #5507):

"My late father graduated in May 1943 from 5BFTS Clewiston Florida on course no 12. This was the first course at Clewiston to have a blend of USAAF/RAF cadets (17 Americans with 83 RAF cadets). In total 125 USAAF cadets started at 5BFTS (16 of them washed-out on courses 12 - 18 finishing in June 1944 when the US faced a surplus of pilots"...... [13%] -whereas there was a comparable wastage rate of around 40% in the US Army Primary Schools !

Wouldn't you investigate that ? They simply must have done...D

Hummingfrog,

I quote from your #5603:

".. the RAF had been my university and my Wings my degree..." How true that was for so many people (myself included)!

"...Flying for me was paused on 14 March l942..." I think that must have been 1943 ? .

"....the imposing Liver Building on the Liverpool waterfront and we were soon moored alongside a jetty..."....That, Sir, I'll have you know, is "The Prince's [Albert] Landing Stage", and is one of the Seven Wonders of Liverpool. It is hinged to the bank, goes up and down with the tide so that ships may berth, and passengers embark and disembark, at all times. It even has a kind of Victorian "airbridge" to take you from ship lower deck across to Customs in the dry..... "jetty", forsooth !

"....Disembarking from the train we were billeted in a hotel in Harrogate near the Stray..." Almost certainly the "Majestic", where everybody did some time durig the war - but that is some way from the "Stray". (I tried to lift a pic from Google, but it wouldn't play)..."...D.

Cheers, everyone. Danny.

smujsmith
11th May 2014, 20:47
Danny,

Rebuke fully accepted "reus tamquam mandatum", or thereabouts. I do suggest though that in contributions to this remarkable thread, I am merely a "kibitzer" (a quick Google will explain) driven to occasionally offer enthusiasm for what I read.

Smudge :ok:

Hummingfrog
11th May 2014, 22:22
Hi Danny

I will put those details to Dad. Ref Liverpool landing stage - I believe as a small boy I travelled via that stage on trips, with my grandfather, to Birkenhead and on the SS St Tudno to LLandudno. Many years later I also flew up and down the Mersey from Speke to the oil rigs in Liverpool bay.

It is a strange feeling knowing you have passed over the same ground as your parents travelled during WW2. I also used to land on the Drill Square in Londonderry where my mother , as a WREN, used to be based.

HF

Danny42C
11th May 2014, 23:34
Smudge, "Roger Wilco" ? :ok:...D.

Hummingfrog,

So you too remember the old "St.Tudno" (and its stablemate, the "St.Seriol"), which paddled furiously along the N.Wales coast from L'pool to Rhyl and LLandudno. I also (when in short pants !) have fond memories of those trips.

And they're right up Ormesides' street as well - do you both remember climbing up the Great Orme (the nearest thing to Everest for a small Scouse !) ?....D.

Cheers, both. Danny.

Danny42C
12th May 2014, 15:00
One of the most honoured institutions in the RAF is "Wednesday Afternoon Sports". This is something of a misnomer, as apart from the "muddied oafs and flannelled fools", who are always with us, this has always been considered as a welcome opportunity for restful relaxation of one kind or another. The "Batchelors of the Parish" might indulge in a spot of "Egyptian PT", and their married counterparts take up their duties as lawn mowers or supermarket trolley operators. And there was peace and content in the land.

But about this time a senior Staff Officer in the newly created MOD got a "Bee in his Bonnet". And, as Caesar pointed out: "He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous" . It seemed to him that the personnel of the RAF were, in general, less fit than was good for them, and Something should be Done About It.

Accordingly "Mens sana in corpore sano" became the order of the day, and "Air Clues" (or one of its predecessors) duly preached the Party Line; this publication ran a "Letters to the Editor" Section. Most of these were in support of the policy, but there was one stout-hearted heretic who wrote a letter which became justly famous throughout the RAF (and which some of our older members may yet remember).

This was the renowned "Ale and Dominoes" letter, in which our hero pointed out that nearly all the non-combatants on his squadron were rugby casualties, whereas he remained hale, hearty and fully operational without the need for any undue exertion, apart from his favourite pastimes of (you've guessed it): "Ale and Dominoes" ! (I assume that he'd been Passed Over so many times that he'd finally got the message and abandoned the fruitless struggle - but he'd earn lasting fame !)

All this is by way of setting the background for the main story. The Station Commander of Shawbury was a staunch adherent to whatever policy was in official favour at the time, and on looking about him on a Wednesday afternoon, he noted a marked lack of activity on his Station. To this a Stop should be Put. With pained surprise the Station learned on DROs that, on the next Wednesday, all Officers and School Students not on detail as taking part in an officially recognised Sport were to present themselves at the ATC Tower at 1345. At 1400 we would all Go for a Brisk Walk to the top of Grins Hill (about 700 ft, and a couple of miles away) and back.

At the time appointed, a disgrunled (not to say mutinous) mob assembled, and a giant crocodile set out, as I remember, round the taxiway to the left (although a map seems to show that to be the longer route - perhaps that was part of the plan). The G/C and his entourage were naturally at the head of the column; the lesser breeds strung out behind (I remember the scene was powerfully reminiscent of a painting of "Napoleon's Retreat from Moscow" which had much impressed me as a boy).

The perimeter wound round to the South, and ran not far from the hedge (on the other side of which was a narrow lane leading back to camp). Even in the dark days of war, RAF Stations were never 100% "stock-proof": there were always spots round the perimeter fence which might come in handy for any knowledgable airman who wished to depart and return without the tiresome necessity of going via the Guard Room. The possibilities were obvious.

With the devious skill of the Old Soldier (or Airman, which many of us were), we straggled to the back of the column, timed our escape bids so that the front party was unsighted by the bulk of the middle part round the curved track (the trick in the early days was usually worked going round a corner). I'd arranged with Mrs D. to have the car near the camp gate at 1430, so that we could go back to Shrewsbury together to pick up Mary from school.

I was told that the G/C and his loyal henchmen did in fact get to the top of Grins Hill, but with a sadly depleted following. So many deserters, in fact, that it was impracticable to identify and pursue them all for disciplinary action. The Grins Hill Walk was a one-off - there were to be no more. "Well," I suppose the G/C thought: "it was worth a try".

And peace descended on the land. :ok:

Good day, folks,

Danny42C.


Initiative is to be Encouraged, after all.

DFCP
12th May 2014, 15:06
harrym
Appreciate you comments oj sll things Canadian--including their trains!!!
My course at 23EFTS Yorkton Sask.was named "The last of the Many " when we graduated on Aug 31 1945.For reasons unknown we were the only course there allowed to continue after VJ Day Aug 15th.At that time Yorkton with Cornells and an SFTS in Calary with Harvards were all that had remained of pilot training.There were few if any RAF instructors or ground crew left.
On the navigator side I think only Summerside PEI, Gimli and Portage in Manitoba were still alive in Aug 45
We had followed the same Heaton, Liverpool, Halifax, Moncton route as many before us--at sea on the Athlone Castle on VE day.Around the same time I think some went to US schools via Camp Kilmer in NJ..
Recollection is that at that time the route to Montreal from Moncton went across the North part of Maine.
After graduation we were given travel warrants and told to be back in Moncton in 3 weeks.:
Many of us dropped off at Toronto and hitch hiked via Niagara to NYC and up the East Coast to New Brunswick.
After a few weeks in Moncton it was back to the UK on the Ile de France .
But there was no Harrogate hotels for us !----u/t, aircrew from all over were sent to Docking and Bircham Newton to be reclassified trained in a ground trade or elect to continue training providing they would "sign on" after graduation.I have only sketchy information on how this turned out.I know one pilotwho refused to sign on after getting his "wings" and commission and was demobbed in the normal fashion.But I understood that some navigators were refused their brevet when they reneged

DFCP
12th May 2014, 15:12
:yuk:harrym
Appreciate you comments oj sll things Canadian--including their trains!!!
My course at 23EFTS Yorkton Sask.was named "The last of the Many " when we graduated on Aug 31 1945.For reasons unknown we were the only course there allowed to continue after VJ Day Aug 15th.At that time Yorkton with Cornells and an SFTS in Calary with Harvards were all that had remained of pilot training.There were few if any RAF instructors or ground crew left.
On the navigator side I think only Summerside PEI, Gimli and Portage in Manitoba were still alive in Aug 45
We had followed the same Heaton, Liverpool, Halifax, Moncton route as many before us--at sea on the Athlone Castle on VE day.Around the same time I think some went to US schools via Camp Kilmer in NJ..
Recollection is that at that time the route to Montreal from Moncton went across the North part of Maine.
After graduation we were given travel warrants and told to be back in Moncton in 3 weeks.:
Many of us dropped off at Toronto and hitch hiked via Niagara to NYC and up the East Coast to New Brunswick.
After a few weeks in Moncton it was back to the UK on the Ile de France .
But there was no Harrogate hotels for us !----u/t, aircrew from all over were sent to Docking and Bircham Newton to be reclassified and trained in a ground trade or elect to continue training providing they would "sign on" after graduation.I have only sketchy information on how this turned out.I know one pilot who refused to sign on after getting his "wings" and commission and was demobbed in the normal fashion.But I understood that some navigators were refused their brevet when they reneged

MPN11
12th May 2014, 16:12
Ah, Danny42C ... that Stn Cdr again. Twunt!! Do forgive me, but ...

In the heady days of '65, some may recall that Officers of the WRNS were not actually subject to the Naval Discipline Act. Thus it was that a WRNS officer, walking about the Station between classrooms, was assailed by said charming Stn Cdr.

"You!! Why did not you not salute me?"
"Because, as WRNS, I only have to if I want to, Sir."

He was awful, but thankfully I never had 'close contact'.

Oh, and ...
One of the most honoured institutions in the RAF is "Wednesday Afternoon Sports".
Yes, we had those at Manby/Strubby in 65 ... in theory. The theory (which was reasonable) was that Wednesday 'Sports Afternoons' would be compensated for by the occasional Saturday morning in lieu.

What actually happened was that the flying programme at both Units (School of Refresher Flying, at Manby and Strubby) inevitably slipped due to weather. So we usually worked Wednesday afternoons, and frequently Saturday morning as well, just to keep the ball rolling. In fact, as an ATC shift worker, if there was ever (was there ever?) a Wednesday afternoon off, you could guarantee it was when you were off watch anyway!

However ... we were allowed to wear Sports Jackets or Blazers in the Mess on Wednesday evening and Saturday evening, which compensated hugely. One felt so much better for that ;)

it was much simpler at RAF Stanley in the 80s ... there were no days off, and you wore DPM all the time ... with a bow tie at Dining In Nights, says a former PMC ;)

Ormeside28
12th May 2014, 20:18
Thank you Danny42C and smujsmith. Delighted to be in your company. I somehow managed to send the BFTS way of filling in log books there, but my script did not go. I will try again. Sadly no we do not have the ships in Llandudno any more.

Ormeside28
12th May 2014, 20:46
November 1942 ACRC London,Jan 43 to June 8 itw Newquay, Grading Wolverhampton June 43, Heaton ParkJuly /August then Mauretania Liverpool to New York and on to Moncton. Lectures to prepare us for the "Deep South " etc. October 1943, train to Terrell.

The C.O. at Terrell was an R.A.F. Wing Commander. He was assisted by a Sqn Ldr Admin and a Flt.Lt Adjutant. Also a Flt Lt Assistant Q.F.I, a Flt Lt Navigation Officer and a F/o Gunnery Officer. There were 5 R.A.F. N.C.O's for signals armament accounts and a PTI. Also we had a Cadet Wing Commander assisted by 3 Cadet Sqn Ldrs and 6 Cadet Flt Lts.
There were three courses in October, 16,17 and 18. We replaced 15 . Each course was for 27weeks split up in to Primary for 9 weeks and Advanced for 18 with a weeks leave between primary and advanced.
We flew 70 hours on the PT17, Stearman, and 130 hours on the AT6a Harvard, but we didn't call it that. All "ships" of course.
The Army Air Corps had a Captain commanding, under our C.O., the ir detachment. They had two Captain Medical Officers a First Lieutenant who was responsible for the American Aviation Cadets on our courses.(Tho some of the Aviation Cadets wereCadet Sqn Ldrs and Cadet Flt Lts, no different. There were also7 U.S."blood wagon" men and 6 senior NCO's responsible for the civilian servicing of our aircraft. A Major Long and as Mr Lucky were the directors of the airfield and ran the civilian maintenance. The ground school instructors were, like the flying instructors, civilians with hon.commissions The met man had been a cartoonist with Walt Disney, so his diagrams were works of art.

Ormeside28
12th May 2014, 21:06
Our quarters were very good, sitting side by side in the lavatories were a bit of a shock, but it was friendly! The food was excellent and everybody messed together, the Wingco queueing up like everybody else. The American Cadets told us horror stories of their "Pre Flight" but we soon got them using Chritian names and swinging their arms!
My first instructor on the Stearman was a real Southern Gentleman called Mr Barr and he had us, his four pupils , over to his house in Dallas to meet his family and to get to know us. Most of us were "adopted" by families in Terrell or Dallas and that lasted in my case for many years.
The Stearman had to be "wound up" to start and used the grass part of the airfield. It seemed a handful after the Tiger Moth, but was indeed a lovely aeroplane. We used a satellite about ten miles from Terrel called Boykin, so the call would be "off of Boykin.

Ormeside28
12th May 2014, 21:38
The AT6 had a heel and toe plate under the rudder pedals, you pressed down with your heel to energise then frantically hand pump the wobble fuel pump and press your toe down to engage and hope it would start. Nobody ever stood by with a fire extinguisher or helped with marshalling, it really was solo! The AT6's also had a satellite airfield in the other direction callaed Tarver, again used to cut down on traffic at Terrell.

After nine weeks 16 Course went home, change of Cadet officers and we moved up a course and 19 arrived from Moncton. Another nine weeks and we were the senior course and that is when i got mumps on my birthday on a solo night cross country.
Two weeks in sick quarters with three other mumps then two weeks sick leav. Hitch hike to LA and then back to Terrell via Grand Canyon and Indian country! Recoursed to 19 and a new Instructor. Al Smith, a lovely man who was the instrument rating examiner, so I soon had that behind me. He taught me to contour fly. One day at the office, despatcher said today is your final check ride with Mr Van Lloyd! Tha aircraft landed the cadet ran into the office "Better get out there quick, the intercom doesnt work and he is in a foul mood. Mr briefed from the back cockpit, me standing on the wing. "Get in I will taxi out while you strap in you take off, at 2000 feet do steep turn left and right I will close the throttle, you will do a forced landing" Just going over a field boundary he shouts I have control, and he flew back and landed. I thought that I had failed , but No, all was well, and he shook hands and said "thats it" Then I really enjoyed the rest of the course without the worry of elimination. Back home via Moncton and the Nieuw Amsterdam. Then Harrogate and Spitfires - not so!

Montys attempt on the Arnhem Bridge failed, lots of Army Glider Pilots were lost so volunteers were called for at Harrogate. Few volunteers so we were told, if you dont volunteer you will never fly again - so we became voluntary conscripts. Do you want me to go on?

Danny42C
12th May 2014, 21:52
(http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=P_and_A_Campbell&action=edit&redlink=1)
Ormeside, and Hummingfrog,

(lifted from Wiki)

"The company went into voluntary liquidation at the end of the 1962 season. The receiver immediately sold the St Seiriol for scrap in November 1962, followed by St Tudno in April 1963.[1][2] The St Trillo was sold to rival P and A Campbell, who continued to run excursions from Llandudno until the 1970s".

http://www.simplonpc.co.uk/LNWSSCo/St_Tudno-11.jpg

I would have been on my trips in late '20s or early '30s. Happy Days ! :ok:

Cheers, Danny.

PS. Can you remember how many on your Course, and how many"scrubbed"?
D.

Can anyone get our Posts back into size, so's they fit again, please ?

D,

BEagle
13th May 2014, 06:33
The problem has been caused by the size of the large 'log book' image posted by Ormeside28.

Please edit your post, Ormeside28, so that the image is no larger than 800 pixels wide.

That should then mean that the posts on the previous page will no longer overflow.

Ormeside28
13th May 2014, 11:41
Sorry!, Senior moment. I pressed the wrong button. We had to write out every exercise on separate lines, hence half log book taken up before Wings.

Geriaviator
14th May 2014, 10:26
Please, please do continue Ormeside28 ... we can't get enough of these stories from the last of those who were our boyhood heroes -- even though you don't like us saying so! :O

Chugalug2
14th May 2014, 10:55
Ormeside28:-
Do you want me to go on?
Yes, yes, a thousand times yes! Please don't think that because other posters have described the same training sequence that you experienced that therefore your story is of no interest. On the contrary, everybody has a different take on things, just as someone who thoroughly recommends some pub or restaurant is then followed by another who might have their reservations, and suggests a different venue. On the whole I think it is people that make the difference rather than places anyway.

So I can but echo Geriaviator in his pleas for much much more. Could I suggest though a rather more leisurely pace? Danny is the master at that and conducts us on a nature ramble as it were, rather than a quick march. Certainly the tantalising prospect of learning more of the 'Press Ganging' of RAF Pilots into the Glider Pilot Regt is a juicy carrot to dangle before us. We will follow it wherever it should lead! :ok:

PS Thank you for posting the Log Book insert, though I realise it was in response to a particular request. Any pictures that illustrate your story are of interest, and any hiccups over size or the numbers of pixels are a price worth paying in my book. Just my point of view of course...

ricardian
14th May 2014, 12:29
An occasional oversized photograph is a small price to pay for reading these fascinating stories

DFCP
14th May 2014, 15:20
I have noted that all recent contributions re pilot training at US schools refer to routing via Moncton from the U.K.
Wicki indicates that Camp Kilmer in NJ was mainly used for US troops going to , or returning from, Europe. Reference though is made to some allied use.
I dont think my memory is incorrect in recalling that certainly in the 1944-45 era at least some u/t, s going to or from the US schools went via Kilmer.
Can anyone confirm this?
D

Danny42C
14th May 2014, 16:48
DFCP,

In my recollection, all the LACs who went out to the States, and came back as P/Os and Sgts, landed at, and came back from Halifax or Moncton (and on via Toronto). I never heard of any of our people passing through Camp Kilner NJ (but of course that's no evidence that it did'nt happen). Anybody with more 'gen' ?

Ormeside28,

Don't even think about leaving us now ! We can use all the help we can get ! Just slim down the entries as BEagle suggests (if other people's laptops are like mine, it takes for ever to traverse from one side to another - and Senior Citizens like me, having got to the end of a line, are liable to have forgotten what was at the beginning).

As to the length of our Posts, I cannot improve on Chugalug's wise words, and am suitably gratified at being held up as an example of good practice. But I, too, modelled myself on the early "Greats" of this Thread when I started, and found that 1,000-1,500 words at a time seemed about right. harrym, you write wonderful stuff, please just give us time to digest one lot before the next lands on our plate (and dare I ask for smaller portions ?). It's simply too good to rush through ! And it gives us time to come in and ask our stupid questions.

Nevertheless, it is your unfettered right to tell your story exactly how you wish - the foregoing is just a friendly suggestion.

Regards to all, Danny.

Hummingfrog
14th May 2014, 17:36
Hi Danny

The picture of the ST Tudno brings back memories of being in a lower saloon which was on the waterline so the portholes were covered in water when a bigger wave went past!

I have just spoken to my father and he has sent, by snail mail, details of his flying hours which I shall post when I get it.

If anybody has any specific questions for him please let me know and I am sure he will be pleased to answer.

HF

CoffmanStarter
14th May 2014, 17:53
Ormeside28 ...

Just trying to be helpful here ... if you substitute the Image Link for this version of your image of your Log Book on the previous page then that page will return to normal size :ok:

http://i1004.photobucket.com/albums/af162/CoffmanStarter/imagejpg1_zps6088f6ec.jpg

Once you have done that I will delete this post (it won't then be needed)...

Best regards ...

Coff.

PS Please do keep this thread running ... all great stuff chaps :ok:

Petet
14th May 2014, 19:49
Ormeside


Thanks for posting your log book listing; it is very much appreciated and has helped enormously with my research on the subject of aircrew training.

Very little detail seems to exist on training during WWII, as most stories by-pass the training and move onto operational service, so it is wonderful to see detailed information such as this.

...... please keep posting these sorts of course schedules etc before they are lost in time.


Regards


Pete

Ian Burgess-Barber
14th May 2014, 19:56
Seeing the 'handle' "CoffmanStarter" reminds me of how my WREN mother came to be accepted as a valuable asset in the hangar when, as a teenage girl, she emerged from the training at "HMS Fledgling", Millmeece, Staffs. and started working on the Merlin 32s of 747 Squadron RNAS. This Merlin was fitted with the aforementioned Coffman Starter. The male Air Mechs.(E) hated working on them as they had many small "fiddly" components, but, once they saw that "THE GIRL" with her small deft fingers (and a pair of tweezers) could sort the things in no time at all, her value, and popularity soared, and they christened her "The Queen of the Coffman Starters". They later realised that her little fingers could get in and under to adjust "things" on the engine without them having to take accessories off - yet another "brownie point" in her acceptance in a proud, male, engineering arena.

Labore et honore

Ian BB

smujsmith
14th May 2014, 20:56
Ian BB,

What a nice tale, and very relevant in a time when many ladies are running around insinuating that they have never had respect for their abilities. I must say, during my time in RAF aircraft engineering, the WRAF, and later RAF servicewomen were always respected for their dexterity and ability to wriggle past obstructions most blokes couldn't manage.

Smudge:ok:

Ormeside28
14th May 2014, 21:01
Thank you Chugalug Ricardan Danny42C and CoffmanStarter. I am trying to get my local "trainer " to sort things out. I will slow march in future and restrict offerings. Please bear with me.

pulse1
15th May 2014, 07:15
Although the nearest I ever got to the RAF was my life as an ATC cadet and, much later, as a gliding instructor, many of the topics in this most enjoyable thread have brought back some happy memories.

However, the mention of the Coffman starter brings back some rather less pleasant memories. If IBB's mother was the "Queen of the Coffman starter" then I can at least lay claim to be a member of it's royal family.

In the early 80's I was the quality manager of an electroplating company and one of our customers had a contract to refurbish Coffman starters as used in the Chipmunk. Each starter was dismantled and all the "fiddly bits" were bagged up and sent to us for stripping and replating. All this to be done under the auspices of our DEFSTAN approval which required traceability and that each material was treated appropriately. e.g high tensile steels needed heat treatment after plating.

The problem was that all the drawings had been sealed in 1948 and many of the material specifications were obsolete. What should have been a small job became an absolute nightmare. To cap it all, it was the only instance where I got my knuckles wrapped by the MOD auditors. :{

Ormeside28
15th May 2014, 11:42
http://http://i1004.photobucket.com/albums/af162/CoffmanStarter/imagejpg1_zps6088f6ec.jpg I have changed the original log book photo to the link Cof provided in the original post, which has now left a link to your photo. I am also putting your link in here to see what happens!! Thank you for all the assistance :rolleyes: Hope everything is now back to normal size.

Ormeside's left hand man!!

CoffmanStarter
15th May 2014, 11:54
O28 old chap ... If you post that link with the PPRuNe Picture Tool in edit mode, and save, the image will appear on your post :ok:

Ormeside28
15th May 2014, 19:06
Thank you Chugalug, Ricardan, Danny42C and CoffmanStarter
I will slow down and get back to Terrell.
The Stearman instructor was in the front cockpit. He could talk to us via a speaking tube but we could not reply to him. He had a mirror on the strut beside his cockpit and he would give his spiel, look in the mirror to see us and we would nod or shake the head as appropriate. I suppose that it obviated a slanging match in the air! No radio so we had to keep a very sharp look out. In December 43 we lost an instructor, an aviation cadet and one of ours in a crash on the satellite field.
We were soon into cross countries, always interesting to land away. The return dual trip was under the hood on instruments. The Wingco usually flew at least once with every pupil for a good check and to make sure that correct R.A.F. procedures were carried out.
There was only one runway at Terrell and the Stearmans landed alongside on the grass. Runway only for the AT6.
Night flying was usually carried out at the satellite on the grass of course. We had a flare path, flame pots but no white red and green indicator, Mk 1 eyeball only. Dallas was thirty miles west and our first dual night trip was to see the lights.

Hummingfrog
15th May 2014, 20:27
Hi all

Dad has given me his hours flown prior to and at Terrell.

28 EFTS Wolverhampton D.H 82 - 12.00 day
1. BFTS Terrell P.T 18 - 64.00 day 6.00 night
1. BFTS Terrell. AT 6A - 108.00 day 18.00 night

So in his case the split was approx 70hrs Stearman and 130hrs Harvard.

HF

26er
16th May 2014, 08:08
So not that different from my 6FTS course in 1950/51. 91 (of which 4:30 night) Prentice, 104 Harvard (7:30 night)

teeteringhead
16th May 2014, 08:14
Hummingfrog

Do you know if "Wolverhampton" was Pendeford or Halfpenny Green?



[I]Edited to add:

HF!

Thanks for the offer below, but Google - as ever - is your friend. It seems it was Pendeford, which is now an estate....

Halfpenny Green of course still functions. (and from your details, we probably know each other ........)

Hummingfrog
16th May 2014, 09:58
Hi TH

I will ask him and post his reply.

As a comparison I did 158hrs (all day) in the Chipmunk over 4 years at University. This included about 60hrs solo as once you had reached PFB standard you tended to be given an aircraft and told to enjoy yourself doing an hours GH etc. At Cranwell I flew 160hrs on the JP5A.

It seems that flying hours on basic and advanced trainers haven't changed much over the years.

I then went to Ternhill to learn the magic art of flying helicopters doing 94hrs on the Whirlwind. Then followed 38hrs on the Wessex 2 before arriving on my 1st squadron in Germany the start of 34yrs of productive helicopter flying:ok:

HF

Danny42C
16th May 2014, 13:52
Ormeside28,

Night flying in the Stearman sounds rather frightening, but I suppose it was no worse than in the BT-13 which we started on in Basic School.

"I suppose that it obviated a slanging match in the air !" We had to throttle back so as to have our slanging match - and a set of (Instr) hand signals all of which I've forgotten (except when he patted himself on the head, it meant "I have Control"). Voice Tubes ? You had it good, mate !

There is a lot of talk about fearsome rattlesnakes in the cockpit, but I never saw a snake there (nor in three years plus in India and Burma - except the toothless ones in the snake-charmer's basket in the bazaar). I suppose they kept out of our way....D.

Ormeside28, 26er, Hummingfrog,

We seem to have the Total Hours figure for the later BFTS pretty firm now (200hrs) which would bring them into line with the Arnold figure. It seems that it was done by getting rid of the BT-13 (no loss !) and piling its time onto the AT6 (Harvard). It made sense...D.

All,

If time hangs heavy on your hands, Google-up:

Purdue State University e-books. 9-15-2000 RAF Wings Over Florida: Memories of World WarII British Air Cadet Willard Largent.

Free Download. No end of good stuff. "Compare and Contrast", as they say, with my tales of Carlstrom (ca Page 117)...D.

Cheers, Danny.

EDIT: Hummingfrog, (your #5629), could you please ask your Dad if he remembers how many started on his Course, and how many "washouts" there were ?....D.

Ormeside28
16th May 2014, 20:54
On 18 Course at Terrell we lost 20 R.A.F. Cadets (one killed) out of 80 starting and 4 American Cadets (one killed) out of 20 so the percentages were the same.
We were allowed off base on Wednesday evenings (if not flying ) until 9p.m. On Saturdays out until 9 p.m. but if not flying on Sunday then out overnight until 9 p.m. on Sunday. To get to the "main drag" it was necessary to pass through the suburb of Terrell on the "wrong side of the track" but there was never any trouble.
Pay for we cadets (LAC's) was 7/3, seven shillings and sixpence, per day.
Paid every two week it worked out at $25
At the end of Primary we were given a weeks leave. A friend and I decided to go to the Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico. Terrell was on Highway 80 which went through to Los Angeles. It was easy to hitch hike and good to meet the Texans who were kind and hospitable . One "hitch" was with an American Staff Sergeant Air Gunner who insisted on taking us to his base at Monahans - still on Highway 80. It was a B17 Fortress O.T.U. He introduced us to his Colonel (Only time I saluted without a hat. The Colonel arranged for us to sleep and eat in the Bachelor Officer Quarters - on the American Air Force - and to be shown around the base. I was allowed to sit in an Aerocobra, and to be shown over a Fortress and run up the engines! a great thrill.
On then to Pecos where we met the Sherriff who showed us his museum. Pecos had been the Wild West and his museum of villains and their weapons was fascinating. A side road took us to Carlsbad where we stayed and next day took an excursion to the Cavern. It was discovered early in the century by a cowboy who saw smoke, investigated, and found that the smoke was bats. The Caves were then explored and quite developed. When we were there there were miles still to be explored.
Hitch back to Terrell and the mighty AT6. I am away now for a week. Thank you.

Chugalug2
16th May 2014, 22:37
No, thank you Ormeside! That's just the job, and in giving us such interesting detail of life at, and away from, Terrell you enable a better grasp of your life then which sounds quite enviable!

Yet again you illustrate the kindness of strangers, and in particular American ones. I think that this is an experience that unites all generations of the RAF when they have encountered our cousins' hospitality. It certainly chimes with mine, as a Flt Cdt visiting their Military Colleges and major cities, and as an MRT pilot in the Far East. Whether at Colorado, New York, Tachikawa, Clark Field or Hickam, they only had to hear the accent and you were spoilt to a 'T', or a San Mig, or tickets to a ball game, or half a hundred other treats. Return matches were invariably along the lines of Formal Dinners and death defyng (in their eyes) trips along ridiculously narrow and winding country roads on a pub crawl, but of course I now thoroughly decry such irresponsible behavior!

This is more important than policy, or agreements, or understandings, because it is about the true feelings of a people, rather than the official and artificial posturings of governments. Never mind if you were in civvies or RAF uniform, or even US issue kit, you received that impromptu hospitality because you were British, young, and a long way from home. It cannot be overstated in its importance, because that is the true 'special relationship' that we have with this warm hearted and generous nation. :ok:

Danny42C
17th May 2014, 03:45
harrym,

(Your #5587)

"....Rattling over the prairie in the last car's open rear vestibule I watched the rails undulate into the distance...." Was it true that the rails were still just "spiked", as they had originally been laid, and not in "chairs" like ours ?

"....were issued did not fill me with confidence; in fact I only recall two, a bonnet-like cap with side flaps for ear and facial protection..." Did the RCAF officers then have those wonderful white-fur "Dr.Zhivago" jobs (with the badge on front) ?

"....we became accustomed to life lived in a perpetual frowst...." Quite right, too. Fug never killed any one yet, but people have been known to freeze to death !

"....to operate through a Canadian winter....". I believe they just rolled the snow flat , stuck in a few fir tops to mark the sides, and scattered ashes on top for some grip. True ?

"....our initial difficulties were compounded by the crude, pneumatically-operated braking system obviously designed by someone who had never flown in his life...." Be that as it may, we all had to learn to love 'em. In fact, I rather preferred them to toe brakes. What do other people think ?....D.

Chugalug,

(Your #5588)

"....So 'S' stood for Service? Thanks for that, I was trying to work out S words that meant Advanced. Turns out they didn't. Curious nomenclature, as though EFTS's were not Service, but no doubt they reflected the format in use then. Were there none in the UK? Were they all overseas, with OTUs ready to take the strain back here?...."

AFAIK, "Service Flying Training Schools" went far back, at least to the beginning of the war. I think that the idea was that there you'd be trained on the aircraft on which you'd begin your productive "service". IIRC, the student did 60 hrs each on E(lementary)FTS and S(ervice) FTS in the UK up to Wings standard (C.R.P.Graves: "The Thin Blue Line").

They long predated the Empire Flying Training Schools; when these started up, they simply carried on the old UK syllabus in Canada or wherever, likewise the BFTS in the US. From all of these (plus the "Arnold" contingents) the P/Os and Sgt/Pilots returned (after a month's "UK Familiarisation" at AFS) to their Operational Training Units back home, and at last on to their Squadrons....D.

Cheers, both. Danny.

Marciejean53
17th May 2014, 08:13
We are the family of the late Paddy Lamb who was a pilot in 110 Squadron during WW2. We would love to hear of any memories anyone may have of him and have some photos and his diaries which we would be happy to share, if that is appropriate. Many thanks

Ian Burgess-Barber
17th May 2014, 08:33
Danny et al:

I now have my father's Pilot's Flying Log Sheet (Substitute for Form 414) from No. 3 E(lementary)FTS Shellingford Berkshire which shows that he did 12.20 total time before being dispatched to 5 BFTS by the now well-known Heaton Park - Moncton route.
His instructor was a F/O Meretinsky, the DH.82A was T6564 (this a/c now in NZ I hear) and he soloed (.10) at 8.55 TT on the 21st of June 1942.
That sheet is all I have of his time in training, because his first log book was lost on the "Passage to India". The log book that I do have is a canvas-covered "Air Forces in India" Pilot's Flying Log Book which starts with 317.45 hours carried forward. So, 12 hours approx for 3 EFTS, 200 hours approx for 5 BFTS as we have established from others on this thread. Which would mean that (from his record of service in the back of the log book) he would have done another 100 hours approx at 6(P) A.F.U. Little Rissington on Oxfords to have the 317.45 hours that the Air Force (India) Form 414 commences with. Does that seem about right for A.F.U. time everybody?

Danny, I am delighted to see that you too are enjoying Will Largent's book!

Ian BB

Hummingfrog
18th May 2014, 20:50
TH

As far as he can remember "Wolverhampton" was Halfpenny Green.

Danny

He recalls that nearly 50% of his course (12) at Terrell were chopped or killed (6?).

He also thinks that his course was the last to have some Americans on it.

HF

Danny42C
19th May 2014, 22:14
Ormeside28,

(Your #5644),

"....Pay for we cadets (LAC's) was 7/3, seven shillings and sixpence (sic), per day...."

It sounds remarkably generous! When I went out at the beginning of 9/41, I'm positive I only got 5/6 as a LAC. Although you were much later behind me, I can't recall much of a rise of pay rates during (or indeed after the war). Was there perhaps some sort of Overseas Allowance for the US introduced later ? Your $ exchange rate ($4.06/£) is only a hairsbreadth away from the fixed official rate ($4.08/£) at the time. The RAF missed a trick there (at a time when dollars were very scarce) !

Reading your account of your exploration of the Southern states (and those of many other former BFTS cadets on this Thread, and in Will Largent's book), it seems as if you had a social life far superior to our spartan "Arnold" existence. Our situation at Carlstrom Field was as I described it in my early Posts of the place: "We were effectively confined to camp the whole time, as there was nowhere to go and no transport to get us there anyway". (One of Largent's many contributors says that the Greyhound buses had a service W.Palm Beach-Arcadia-Sarasota, with a stop at Carlstrom, but it was certainly not running when we were there). And we did not have all that much spare time. I flew on 19 consecutive days after I arrived, so "weekends" had gone out of the window.

A few minutes 'tot' in my Log shows that I flew 207 hours in 180 days there. Of these I flew on 136 days; 21 days were spent in travel and settling-in on first arrival and after the two changes of School during the Course; there were 11 days when we were "grounded" for hurricanes and other bad weather. That leaves 12 days unaccounted for, or 2 days a month. They worked us hard !

As I've reported, at Carlstrom our Instructor took us out to his home in Sarasota one day, and a bunch of six of us hired a car and went across to West Palm Beach on a '48' one weekend, but that was all I can remember in the way of free time.

Another drawback of the Arnold system was that, although I kept my one (civilian) Instructor for the whole of Primary (plus two "check" riders at 20hr and 40hr), at Basic I had four different Lieutenants, and at Advanced six of them (plus one RAF [a P/O MacMillan - he must have been one of the very first of the 556 "creamed off" from the Arnold Scheme]. So why didn't he go to a BFTS, which would be the natural place for him ?.... Don't know)....D.

In response to a PM enquiry, my authority for the early UK "120 hr-to-Wings" is the Graves "Thin Blue Line", and I believe that was what was adopted in the beginning of the BFTS and "Empire" schemes. As I've mentioned before, there seems to have been an early decision to extend the BFTS to 200 hrs (like the "Arnold"); in the later Courses they put that into effect, but exactly when I don't know. At the same time, the RCAF ("Empire" scheme - my #5594) were holding on to 140 hrs !

Ian BB,

Your Dad's 100 hours in UK between the States and India would (at a guess) have been 25 hrs AFU and 75 hrs OTU, or very near it....D.

This has got a bit long. Cheers, Danny.

Chugalug2
20th May 2014, 06:12
Danny, the devil as ever is in the detail, and we are always indebted to you for your attention to it. It is the 'reverse engineering' that you apply to the apparent policy changes of hours allocation in your above post for example that gives us a glimpse of the higher direction of this massive training programme that fed the allied war machine.

Thank you for your explanation of the SFTS, something that predated the programme it would seem. Attention now moves towards our trainees home-coming, for it seems there is a further flying training course to attend, AFS. Why was this done in the crowded and dangerous skies of wartime UK? Was that part of the 'advanced' experience deemed necessary, or was it merely familiarisation with European rather than Continental US (or wherever) climate and weather? Of course, if one's ultimate posting was to the ME or FE such experience might be seen as somewhat superfluous, but that is being a bit too pedantic I suspect.

Operational training at the OTUs (and heavy conversion units, if required) obviously then tuned one into the final type and role one was destined for, but the many different schools/ units that spanned the journey from Tiger Moth to Stirling (say) made for a surprisingly long and varied learning experience up to that first (and sadly far too often last) operational sortie.

Taphappy
20th May 2014, 13:50
Danny 42c

I can confirm that when I completed ITW in 1944 that my pay increased from 3 shillings per day to 7/6 per day although we were not given the rank of LAC.

Danny42C
20th May 2014, 21:30
Chugalug,

In June'42 I did 18.40 by day and 2.20 by night in a Master at AFU. The idea was to familiarise us with the crowded countryside of the UK (far different from the miles of empty space in the S-Eastern States); UK weather; airfield procedures and lighting; British standard aircraft panels and brakes; and our very dark nights (no "light-lines" now). As the cherry on the cake, they let us have 2.30 each in one of two decrepit old Hurricanes, with dire warnings about what would happen to us if we broke them.

Then I went up to Hawarden (57 OTU), and had 75 hours on the Spitfire. Then they sent me out to India, and I never flew a Spitfire again for seven years. C'ést la vie....D.

Taphappy,

The Air Ministry must have had a sudden burst of generosity in '44 (uncharacteristically directed to the lower orders - your 3/- as an AC was better than my 2/- !) I got 13/6 as a Sgt. in March'42, and was certainly getting no more when I was "elevated to the peerage" in November'43.

Then I went over to the Indian Govt. Pay Scale (Rs500 pm = £35/14/2 pm then). This was 23/5 pd (at a time when I think an A/P/O at home got only 11/10 pd to start - 23/5 would almost be F/Lt money :ok:). Even when I came back in '49, I only got 19/10 as a F/O. :( There's no justice ! ...D.

Regards, both. Danny.

Petet
20th May 2014, 23:07
The 2/- basic rate was increased to 3/- in June 1943.


In addition, the progression for aircrew during training from AC2 to LAC was changed to a progression from AC2(a) to AC2(c), although only PNB could reach AC2(c).


Various other changes were also introduced at that time.


Regards


Pete

Hummingfrog
20th May 2014, 23:17
Dad's arrival back in the UK.

POST TERRELL - 1943 - 1946 Back in UK.

Arriving back in the UK at the docks in Liverpool we moved by train to Harrogate in Yorkshire from where we were all dispersed in different directions depending on our future in the RAF.

In my case I started on the route to train as a fighter pilot. I spent a period of time in Perth, Scotland, on a familiarisation course for a few hours flying in the UK. I flew the Tiger Moth again for about 30 hours in June 1943 this was to prepare us for the different - ie worse weather conditions in Europe. Then on to much more powerful stuff even than the Harvard - the Miles Master 2 at Peterborough (50hrs day & 15hrs night) - the prelude to flying in a Spitfire, Hurricane or Mustang. This course lasted until the end of the first week in September prior to a posting to an AFU (Advanced Flying Unit) or O.T.U. (Operational Training Unit) on fighters.

At this point, September l943 at the very moment I might have got my hands on a ‘Spit’ or ‘Hurri’ my life again changed completely. During my leave I received a telegram from ‘those on high’ informing me that my posting was cancelled and I was to be reposted to No.2 FIS (Flying Instructors School) based at Montrose, Scotland. It was a little time before this news sank in. I could not believe this change in direction but my attempts to have this reversed met, as you would expect, with a ‘Do as you are told’ attitude! No longer were you master of your own fate. With hindsight this posting probably ensured that the odds of my surviving the war had lengthened considerably.

More bad news followed. When I reported for duty at 2FIS I was informed that my course would not be on the Harvard Flight for potential flying instructors but the Oxford, a twin-engined aeroplane. I had of course no experience of flying a twin. So there I was, up in Scotland, being trained to do something I did not want to do and surrounded by a group of colleagues who had already flown twins! I now had to do 2 things: learn to fly a twin and learn to teach a pupil to fly a twin both at the same time! But I have to say it added a little sugar to the spice and I quickly settled down to do both. They were interesting times.

Scotland is famous not only for its whisky but also for its salmon fishing. One day one of the CFI’s (Chief Flying Instructor) decided I was due for a check ride. After my check ride in Terrell with Ed Smith I was not at all concerned. Although I say so myself, I had adapted well to flying a twin-engined Oxford and, although I missed the aerobatics of the Harvard, the aircraft produced its own challenges. Off we went. Everything went well and towards the end of the check ride Smithy (S/L Smith) took the controls and we did a ‘little low flying’ over the nearby rivers. Smithy was a very keen fisherman and was looking for the best parts of the river to cast his fishing rod! Fresh almon at mess dinners provided by the ‘boss’ in wartime rationed Britain went down well - and who was I to complain about a bit of illicit low flying? I think we all did it at times, sometimes, though, with fatal results.

So came the day in mid-December 1943 I qualified as a Flying Instructor and was let loose on a group of young ‘wannabe’ pilots to teach them how to fly a twin-engined aeroplane at an airfield in Gloucestershire - 3(P)AFU at Southrop near Fairford.

I see that the RAF hadn't really changed when I went through training. I was the only one on my course who wanted to fly helicopters and I knew that there were 2 slots available at Ternhill - a shoe in I thought. :ok:

Just before the end of the course I met 2 of my course mates looking a little downcast - "what's up?" I asked - "we have been posted to helicopters" they said - "WHAT" I said and made off towards the Flt Cdr's office to ask why I wasn't selected as a volunteer. ( We graduates had no "fear" of the RAF system of do as you were told;))

My Flt Cdr was a good egg and explained that I was provisionally selected for the Buccaneer which surprised me as I thought it was too early to tell what type one would be suitable for. I protested that a volunteer was better than pressed men and I had always shown an interest in helicopters despite ribbing from both staff and studes.

To cut a long story short I did end up on helicopters and my 2 course mates went on to Valley - one was chopped and the other became a Jaguar QFI so he and I got what we wanted:ok: So like Dad my training was going to take a route I didn't want but luckily the RAF let me change course - unlike Dad!!

HF

Chugalug2
21st May 2014, 09:24
hummingrog, I've just got all my little ducks in a row, EFTS, SFTS, AFU, OTU, and obligingly you have provided an interesting example of the penultimate species. Interesting because though Southrop was just the other side of the A417 Fairford-Lechlade Road, I had never heard of it despite having once been stationed at RAF Fairford, and interesting because you say it was 3(P) AFU. The (P) I presume meant pilot, begging the question of what other types of AFU there might be...

Encouraged by Danny's ever helpful post, and intrigued by yours I turned up this:-

Flying Training Schools_P (http://www.rafweb.org/FTS.htm)

So it seems that the original UK FTS's became SFTS's wef 3Sep1939 and then redesignated AFU's (P) in 1942, before completing the cycle post war of SFTS and then back to FTS. So your father's modest pied-a-terre at Southrop was one of many 3FTS locations in its various incarnations, starting in 1920 at Scopwick (Digby), then later Spitalgate, South Cerney, Stormy Down, Bibury, Long Newton, Wanborough, Feltwell, Leeming (JPs), Manby, and Cranwell (Tutor). A long and distinguished history of pilot training, and almost as old as the RAF itself. Achieve would seem to be a fitting and inspiring motto!

Hempy
21st May 2014, 10:59
Chugalug, the other AFU's were (O)AFU (observer). Despite the name they were for Navigators and Bomb Aimers. My grandfather trained at 10 (O)AFU at Dumfries in 1943.

Chugalug2
21st May 2014, 12:03
Thanks Hempy, another duck to join the row!

From my link, 10 FTS formed Dec 1935, presumably becoming 10 SFTS wef 3/9/39, but seemingly disbanded 1/11/40 and not reformed until 15/1/52! So not surprisingly the neat FTS/SFTS/AFU/SFTS/FTS cycle of 3FTS doesn't seem to apply to 10 (O)AFU. Given the paucity of detail for 10 FTS on my link though, I suspect that it might well be the same unit, and if so I love the 10 FTS motto for a Nav AFU; 'Anywhere Any Time'.

We know a song about that, don't we boys and girls?

ancientaviator62
21st May 2014, 14:35
The chap whose log book I have a copy of qualified in 1941 as an 'Air Observer Armament' at No 5 B and G School Jurby. He had all of 100 hours exactly ! Of this 10.35 was on bombing and 7 hrs on gunnery practice. Then off to a Whitley OTU and then to a squadron. Total flight time 146 hours.

harrym
21st May 2014, 17:35
Danny42C - re yrs of 17th:

To this day the rail spike remains the favoured US method of securing rail to tie (sleeper), though on the heaviest trafficked routes I believe the Pandrol clip is now preferred. Rail chairs as per past UK practice (also France) were never used.

Fur hats were worn by RAF as well as RCAF officers (causing much envy on our part!), although I don't recall any in white - they were black or brown, with the badge at front.

North American snow is usually quite different from ours, being soft and powdery, and was indeed normally rolled flat (if it did not blow away first, which on the open prairie it usually did).

Brakes: here I must beg to differ, always preferring toe brakes; a major advantage was that they left your hands free for other tasks, but the unreliability and general feebleness of the Brit system did nothing to endear itself to yours truly. It could also result in blistered fingers during prolonged use if the operating lever was stiff in action or of poor ergonomic shape (i.e. as per the York).

Part 2 of my SFTS story will follow soon.

Danny42C
21st May 2014, 18:17
Hummingfrog,

(Your #5655),

Your "change of horses in midstream" (line 41 after "Fairford") threw me for a moment - till I realised we'd jumped a generation ! Some things never change - your Dad will know this only too well. So it was, and so it will always be. What you want (or what you may be suitable for) is of no concern whatever. (HF Junior, you were just lucky !)...D.

Chugalug,

To make confusion worse confounded, I've another twist to our alphabet soup:

My log attests that I flew at No.9(P) AFU (Hullavington) from 7-26.6.42. (20 days of which I had one day only (23rd) off ("weekends" were just a distant memory). But on the rubber stamp on the log, it calls itself: "No.9 Flying Training School". This has been overwritten in manuscript: "9(P) AFU" (so: "now you see it, now you don't" - but "What's in a name ? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet").

At the end of these rather hectic three weeks, they were good enough to certify that I was of "Average" Proficiency, and had shown Aptitude as a Pilot/Navigator. Armed with this, I went off happily to my Spitfire OTU.

(You may recall, much earlier on this Thread, Millerscourt bringing to our notice a strange tale about the US/RCAF alumni being found to be sub-standard, and having to be "re-SFTS'd". Could this be a garbled and twisted version of what [quite normally] actually happened ?)

On the remaining 19 days, I flew 30 times (inc 4 Hurricane, on the last of which my u/c failed to lock-up), and I put the thing u/s....D.

Cheers, both. Danny.

Chugalug2
21st May 2014, 19:47
Danny:-What's in a name ? Well, quite a lot I'd say. It is a revelation to me at least that the 5 AFS that I attended at RAF Oakington to learn the business of multi engine aircraft (the Varsity T1 in this case) was the very same 5 FTS formed in 1920 at Shotwick, becoming in turn 5 SFTS, 5(P) AFU, 5 SFTS, and 5 FTS, via Ternhill, Thornhill and finally Oakington, with types such as 504K's, Siskins, Harts, Oxfords, and Masters. Even the Vampires that were still there in the winter of 1962/3 now make sense, as the last SE course graduated to give way to we more mundane ME types.

HF Junior, you were just lucky !Far be it from me to add a note of censure, Danny, least of all to your august self, but in my view there is no 'just' in the matter of luck. Luck is a prerequisite in any Service career in my view. In the period of unpleasantness that is the feature of this thread it most certainly was, and was a major ingredient in surviving it. In the more routine periods populated by the likes of HF junior and myself, it was still important in my view.

I was blessed with good fortune, even when it appeared at the time to be something different. £60 appeared as if by magic in my Bank account while at Oakington. Just as magically it disappeared, and it was only subsequently revealed to be expenses for attending Rolls Royce to learn the Dart engine that powered the then very new Argosy. My progress was not good enough for such a prize, and instead I was sent to 242 OCU Thorney Island to learn the very old Hastings instead. C'est la vie became whoopee when our postings came through at end of course; 48 Squadron Changi!

On the whole my philosophy, no doubt shaped by that good fortune, was simply to go with the flow. That it worked for me was no doubt 'just' luck. I know that the Good Lord is rumoured to help those who help themselves, but I'm not sure that view was shared by the obedient servants that were Commanded by the Air Board to send you hither and thither...

OffshoreSLF
21st May 2014, 20:14
This from today's Aberdeen "Press & Journal" about one of yours -
Press and Journal - Article - Legacy Presented to MacRobert Trust (http://www.pressandjournal.co.uk/Article.aspx/3692623)


I have the full article if anyone is interested.

OffshoreSLF
21st May 2014, 20:26
Hummingfrog
I was really interested by this part of your post -"At this point, September l943 at the very moment I might have got my hands on a ‘Spit’ or ‘Hurri’ my life again changed completely. During my leave I received a telegram from ‘those on high’ informing me that my posting was cancelled and I was to be reposted to No.2 FIS (Flying Instructors School) based at Montrose, Scotland."


Dad was born in Montrose, and I was born about 5 miles further north. Dad was in the Home Guard, and had one or two tales about RAF Montrose.


Can you ask your Dad if he remembers where he was billeted while he was there? The reason I ask is that the RAF took over Lauriston Castle during WWII, and my grandparents lived in the coachman's house at the stables. I believe they had great fun with some of the RAF chaps during this time.


RAF Montrose is now a museum. Here's a link to their website - Montrose Air Station Heritage Centre. Britain's first operational military airfield. (http://www.rafmontrose.org.uk/)


I have some photos I took during a visit last year if you want to see them.

Ian Burgess-Barber
21st May 2014, 21:15
Danny (et al)

I'm perplexed, re your no.5650 about hours AFU and OTU for my late dad. The record of service in the back of the (2nd) log book has no record of OTU at all. He is back from Florida/Moncton/Harrogate, next is 6 (P) AFU Little Rissington followed by SPDC Blackpool, Bombay, BRD Worli, following in your footsteps. The record of service seems to me be meticulous from him joining the RAF as a boy apprentice in 1938 to his sad demise in 1948. Is it possible that AFU was his OTU, in that the Oxfords and Ansons that he flew there were preparation for the Expeditors that he spent most of his time operating in the sub-continent?
I am at a disadvantage at this time as I am in the UK, cheering up (I hope) my ex WReN mum , just out of hospital, so I cannot look at his Service Record Cards as they are back at the ranch in "The Auld Sod".
The "Case of the missing 100 Hours" continues - log books for persons no longer with us can be so frustrating! Maybe, just maybe, the Senior PPRuNers will fill the gaps!


Ian BB

Danny42C
21st May 2014, 23:49
harrym,

Chacun à son goût ! I can well imagine the huge tureen spoon handles you had in the middle of your yokes might be hard going, but our nice little bike caliper brake levers in the spade grip were quite capable of putting a Master/Spitfire/Hurricane/Balliol on its nose (or getting a Meteor/Vampire to bow gracefully) any day of the week.

And I found it simpler just to put a bit of pressure into the system, and then waggle the rudder bar as necessary, rather than balance foot effort on two huge pedals. Perhaps we didn't use our brakes so much, as I can never remember running out of puff.

Matter of opinion, really....D.


Chugalug,

I'm with you 100% in the matter of taking whatever comes: in my experience you do just as well in the long run as those who are forever "networking" to secure some advantage. On the one occasion when I was offered (and made) a choice of posting, I got the exact opposite of my wishes ! The old adage: "Be careful what you wish for - you might get it" is very sound indeed. "It'll all comes out in the wash !", as we say...D.

Ian B-B,

Now you've got me foxed ! (what's a SPDC when it's at home ? - all I did in Blackpool was to get a white shirt, a cheap grey suit and a "Michael Crawford" style beret: then wait for a train to Gourock). AFAIK, the AFUs were set up (from old SFTSs) for the sole purpose of acclimatising the Empire Training and US Schemes people when they came back to UK. They wouldn't have devoted 100 hrs to that, surely ?

Some 80 hours has gone missing ! (Again a whiff of the Millerscourt-sourced story hangs in the air). Can anybody help ?

And in India the only OTUs I recall were a Hurricane one at Ambala (?) and a Vengeance one (Peshawar), both purely for the IAF......D.


Cheers, all. Danny.

Ian Burgess-Barber
22nd May 2014, 10:11
SPDC? Hmmm - I'll go for 'Service Personnel Dispatch Centre' - any other offers?

I don't like the sound of millerscourt's report (pg121 no. 2407) anymore than chugalug did. He does say that this came to light in Feb. 1942 when the first N. American trainees came back. If there ever was such a problem surely it would have been addressed by the time Course 12 5 BFTS came along 15 months later?

I'll go through Dad's RAF Record Cards with a magnifying glass when I get back to base. Could the OTU line missing in the log book just be an oversight when filling in the Air Forces in India book? Seems out of character to me.

Ian BB

Petet
22nd May 2014, 14:53
I believe that SPDC is actually 5 PDC (5 Personnel Despatch Centre, Blackpool).


Regards


Pete

Ian Burgess-Barber
22nd May 2014, 15:39
Petet
I believe that you are spot-on Sir! Herself is in need of a new pair of glasses (she was reading the page to me over the phone last night) and obviously mistook the 5 for an S.
Many thanks Pete, (at least I guessed the other three words correctly).

Ian BB

Danny42C
22nd May 2014, 18:40
Ian B-B, (and Pete for a masterly solution of the "SPDC" problem !),

I think you're right, and that there must have been an OTU Course hiding in there somewhere. There'd be no point in sending him out without one - what use could they make of him on any Squadron out there with a war on ?

I think that the story that Millerscourt unearthed (and very properly brought to our notice) was never more than a "mare's nest". I never heard a word of it at the time (although I was in the centre of the action), or ever since.

But it is amazing the traction that these odd tales can get. Remember the "Buried Spitfires in Burma" ? Even I put in a Post or two on that, speculating on any possible explanation, before common sense prevailed. And I was in the theatre at the time, and we would certainly have picked up whispers.

Cheers, Danny.

Hummingfrog
22nd May 2014, 21:49
OffshoreSLF

I will ask Dad about the Officers Mess location but I believe that it was in an old house which was demolished about 15-20yrs ago. He did have a brick from it as he was visiting the area around the time it was demolished!

HF

smujsmith
24th May 2014, 21:21
Something developing in the thread recently seems to highlight the fact that the Royal Air Force certainly had an ethos of continuation and development training, despite wartime restrictions. Something of a surprise to me, as I always believed that people were thrown in to operational flying with minimal qualifying experience. Once again, for some of us lesser mortals, some new territory is opening and linking past with current practice. I'm sure there's much more to come, keep going chaps.

Smudge:ok:

Ian Burgess-Barber
24th May 2014, 21:22
In the UK on this wet BH W'end cheering up (I hope) my WW2 WReN mum, just out of hospital, can't do anymore on dads story until back in my homestead in "The Wesht".
Hope this little piece of her war story might be of interest.
She was the first female Air Mech (E) on her squadron 747 RNAS, joined later by a fitter (A) and eventually an armourer in 1944. So in time the FAA (or "The Air Branch" as their Lordships of the Admiralty preferred) became used to this new type of WReN in dirty overalls.
However when, on occasion, she was on board the squadron "hack", (Anson), and they visited RAF stations, there was, as we say in Ireland, "Great Excitement". The RAF WAAFs all seemed to be indoors, in OPS or clerical or catering - none to be seen in the hangar or on the flight line. The RAF boys were staggered, (a crowd would gather for their departure), that the "Grey Funnel Line" aviators were going around with a teenage girl (in smart bell-bottoms) employed to swing the props and pull the chocks. "Where did we go wrong" someone was heard to mutter.

Ian BB

Danny42C
24th May 2014, 23:12
I remember very little about the endless round of Lectures-DF exercises-Lectures-"Mock Control" -Lectures-ATC Tower sessions-Lectures.... ad infinitum. There were some memorable occasions.

In the CA/DF Simulator, "S" was in the hot seat. His Instructor sat at his elbow. In the back office sat his "pilot" ('twas I ), pulling the strings (I'm henceforth "P").

I opened the bowling gently enough. P asked for a simple QGH, 18,000 feet, hdg 210. At least my alter ego P thought he was on 210. But I was simulating the still very common situation where there was just a DG on the panel, and a P4/P6 magnetic compass tucked away down in some awkward corner of the cockpit. Either P had found it difficult to read in the shadow, or he'd not waited long enough for the needle to settle down, or he'd simply misread it.

Whatever, the fictitious P had set his DG on 210 whereas the correct figure would have been 195. There was a 15 degree error built in from the start. The trace came up as 270 and S gave P that as the first 'steer'. P dutifully turned (60 right - yes ?) onto it and said so (but of course he was really now only on 255 - are you following me ? - and the QDM trace must start creeping clockwise until S twigs what's going on.

At first I simulated P as being a fair distance out; so the trace didn't move much - could easily be due to a normal cross-wind. S sticks five more on to counteract this, but it's not nearly enough and the trace continues its clockwise march. Why didn't S ask P to check his compass ? (the obvious first thing to do when a homing is going wrong). S was usually a bright lad, I can only suppose that he'd had a heavy night the night before, and was still suffering the effects.

So he carried on "trailing" the steers (to the immense annoyance of his Instructor, who was witholding comment in the hope that light might yet dawn), until the trace had worked round to 355, and it looked as if they were going to finish "going round in ever-decreasing circles" until - well, never mind. At last the exasperated Instructor exploded: "MOVE HIM !! - PUSH ! FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE" (or words to that effect).

This finally galvanised S into rattled action: "Turn right ten onto three-six-five !" he bleated. "WHAAAT !" roared the Instructor. S took this as meaning that he should have done even more: " Terribly sorry", he said in his best Sloane tones: "steer three-seven-zero !" was his final bid.

The meeting broke up (as the saying is) "in disorder".

Goodnight, all.

Danny42C.


"Every time he opens his mouth, he puts his foot in it !" :=

kookabat
25th May 2014, 05:10
" Terribly sorry", he said in his best Sloane tones: "steer three-seven-zero !" was his final bid.
Heeheeehee, that old trick!! During my training as a civil ATC we drove simulator blips for each other. As the course progressed and exercises got busier pearlers like muxed-ip callsigns or the old "heading 370" classic were heard quite frequently from the increasingly flustered trainees on the other end. Keeping whatever the radio equivalent of a "straight face" is, without giving the game away (that was the instructor's job) could be difficult sometimes! And of course because we "blipped" for each other, sometimes you were the pilots, sometimes you were the trainee ATC. The shoe was frequently on the other foot.

All good fun, because no-one gets hurt in the simulator.

Adam

Fareastdriver
25th May 2014, 08:30
Didn't you us the decimalised compass in those days?

Hummingfrog
25th May 2014, 08:40
Dad's story continues with his view of the build up to D-Day - it must have been an awe inspiring sight to see so much hardware being positioned yet not know what the plan was until you read it in the paper post D-Day!

"Like many Flying Instructors, requests to be posted to an Operational Squadron or O.T.U. were made and on most occasions were refused - as in my case. It therefore came as a great shock when in early June 1944 I was posted back to 2 FIS Montrose, Scotland, on the staff as an instructor of instructors. It was then I realised that my chances of an operational posting was absolutely nil and no further requests were made.

In Gloucestershire we were well aware that something big was being planned for. Not only were all the grass verges of countryside roads around the airfield slowly being filled with all sorts of military stores and hardware but RAF Brize Norton, an operational airfield close to ours, was becoming much more active with glider towing exercises. Our own airfield, RAF Southrop, was also being used for landing large numbers of gliders en masse. It was an awesome sight as gliders in their dozens were released from their ‘tugs’ and landing on Southrop. Brize Norton was to become very active on D-Day itself.

At that time our quarters were in Nissan huts in a wooded part of the airfield complex. I well remember early one morning in a practice operation, goodness knows how many Dakotas flew above our quarters dropping many paratroopers supposedly on the airfield but suddenly several British paratroopers came down from the sky into the wooded area where our quarters were and found themselves suspended from trees - so ‘help the paratroopers’ was the order of the day! The Dakotas were US Air Force planes and there was much swearing towards the American Dakota pilots! Unfortunately I was back in Scotland at 2 FIS on the very day after the D-Day landings. It must have been quite awe inspiring on the day as the masses of gliders, paratroopers and infantry were flown into and dropped over France together with the movement of all the trappings of war from the lanes and roads of Gloucestershire."

If Dad had remained at Southrop it would have been strange to see the lanes empty of personnel and trucks/armour.

HF

Chugalug2
25th May 2014, 10:36
FED:-
Didn't you us the decimalised compass in those days? Ah yes, and memories of the decimalisation of DTGs as well.

It must have been in the late 60s when the teleprinters sprang into life immediately after midnight of 31 March. It reminded all recipients that iaw NATO Stanag xxxx, decimalisation of time was to take immediate effect from Apr 0100.01. Cpls in Comm Cens awoke OOs who then woke SDOs who then woke up Stn Nav Officers. Stn Duty Ops officers denied all previous knowledge. By the time that Wg Cdrs were being aroused the penny had usually dropped, and attention turned to the date and origination of the signal. The first was not IAW with the supposed Stanag, the second of course had long since gone to earth.

Fareastdriver
25th May 2014, 15:07
! The Dakotas were US Air Force planes and there was much swearing towards the American Dakota pilots!

An old ex para with whom I drink with quite a lot was part of the Market Garden show There is a German film taken during the para assault that shows one Dakota releasing it occupants some time after the rest. Our hero was in that stick and after two years of training, because things like guns, etc, were in canisters around him, he had his hands up as soon as he released his harness.

God Bless the USAAF.

Danny42C
25th May 2014, 19:28
Fareastdriver and Chugalug,

"Didn't you use the decimalised compass in those days? "

Please, teacher, what's a Decimalised Compass ? :confused: (retires furtively to Google, upturns a few flat stones, comprehension slowly dawns).

What on earth was wrong with a 360º Compass ? We fought WW2 with it, and didn't do at all badly, our Navs mostly got us there in the end (sssh, don't let 'em hear that). I never heard of "caramelised compasses" or whatever (must have retired at the right time [end'72]).

This dog is too old to learn this new trick ! Big Pistons, inches of boost, tailwheels, guineas, £sd and 60-minute hours for ever, say I. :ok:

Cheers, Danny.

Chugalug2
25th May 2014, 21:12
Worry not Danny, for both the decimalised compass and clock shared one thing in common, an annual appearance and demise on the same day. If I say that it coincided with the birthday celebrations of the Royal Air Force you may both determine the day and its significance.

It is another feature of the changing scene which this thread highlights that the April Fool has become almost a distant memory. No doubt the fear of injuries sustained by tourists climbing Italian trees in search of the Spaghetti crop has a bearing...

Fareastdriver
26th May 2014, 07:06
All compasses are decimalised nowadays. All the binary calculations in the FMS (Flight Management System) are sent to the compass card as a proportion of the whole circle. It's only because pilots can't understand the logic of the calculation that we still use degrees to steer by.

It keeps air trafickers happy as well.

Big Pistons, inches of boost, tailwheels, guineas, £sd

That's what I learned on. In the end I was stepping out of one aircraft with Knots and Feet into another one with Kilometres and Metres. Just to make in easy the zeros where in different places.

Chugalug2
26th May 2014, 08:52
FED, you make a fair point about digital technology. No doubt the same can be said of clocks and watches as of compasses, that it is the readout rather than the inner workings that remain in the traditional units. Perhaps that Stanag will happen for real one day!

Certainly one that did happen turned my own world briefly upside down. Wef some date in the 60s all NATO boost gauges were to be calibrated in "Hg instead of lbs of boost. Not really much of a problem if setting your own power of course, the needle went to the same position o'clock for the same power.

On the Hastings though you didn't set your own power, you needed both hands to drive the beast. Instead the pilot called the power and the engineer set it, repeating the instructions as confirmation. On the approach this could be a constant exchange in gusty conditions; "minus six, minus four, minus two, zero, minus two, etc". Suddenly all that changed, zero became 32", and for all other settings you applied double the original difference. Hence minus two became 28" (32+(2*-2)), minus four became 24", etc. Similarly for the positive boost settings.

Some took to it like ducks to water, others such as I had our mental arithmetic capabilities severely tested, and nice stable approaches became instead ever increasing sinusoidal divergences as the lag between the desired power and that achieved became greater. Of course we all got the hang of it in the end, we had to, but I've often wondered if that was not some sort of joke dreamed up by Higher Command. Oh how we laughed!

Hummingfrog
26th May 2014, 09:18
Dad has sent me about 300 photographs of his time in the USA this is just a taster as I have to sort through them all.

HF

http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk68/squadron72/TerrellCitylimitsc_zps072679b6.jpg (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/squadron72/media/TerrellCitylimitsc_zps072679b6.jpg.html)

Chugalug2
26th May 2014, 10:49
Hummingfrog, 300 photographs? That's an enormous lot even by today's digital standards. For the 40's it's prodiguous. Your father must have kept the local drugstore (if indeed they, like their UK chemist cousins, did the processing) in business on his own. At 24(?) pictures a roll, that's probably getting on for 15 separate rolls of film if his failure rate was anything like mine was (no auto exposure, double exposures, inadvertent exposures, etc). Given that he was kept busy doing his day job anyway, he must have been stealing every opportunity to capture this special and all too short experience.

Now thanks to his foresight, many many more than he could ever imagine at the time can share that experience with him. Thank you Hummingfrogs both!

The picture you post is immediately intriguing, as we might assume that the city limit sign implies that Terrell is in the direction from which the car is coming. Or perhaps it doesn't, because the 'State maintenance begins' sign implies that the State and not the City is responsible for road maintenance in that direction.

Perhaps it works the other way round, warning motorists approaching the sign that they are now leaving Terrell and that any potholes etc encountered from hereon in are down to the State and not the City. A little thing perhaps, but one that points up the many differences in doing things twixt here and there.

Fareastdriver
26th May 2014, 12:13
That is another name that has left this world. The Hudson Motor Company.

Danny42C
26th May 2014, 15:50
Just a quickie: the screen has got elephantiasis again. Somebody fix, please !

D.


EDIT: (bit later) Thanks !

D.

Danny42C
26th May 2014, 18:27
Chugalug, and Fareastdriver,

That I should live so long and have so much still to learn ! No doubt it was All for the Best, but I think I'll pass on this one.

Chugalug, IIRC, in Burma some of 5 Sqdn's Mohawks were cancelled French orders (third parties involved: Herren Hitler und Guderian). The manifold pressures were in centimetres Hg ! Count ourselves lucky that we were at least still in Imperial measures. As you say, "how we laughed !"

Hummingfrogs (both) and Chugalug,

What a feast we have in store ! A picture is worth a thousand words. What it (the oil strip down the middle of the road) says about those quiet, uncrowded days "out in the sticks !" More, more, please. I think you were right about the signs (and I think the State Troopers would come after you if you were speeding (55+ in those days), not the local Sheriff (could be wrong).

Fareastdriver,

I hesitate to differ, but think "Plymouth" - entry level Chrysler - (but your eyes are a lot younger than mine). Perhaps one of our transcontinental cousins might venture an opinion ?

A Forum at its best ! Cheers, Danny

Fareastdriver
27th May 2014, 03:57
I hesitate to differ, but think "Plymouth" - entry level Chrysler

I thought my personal experience with 1935 to 1960 American cars was pretty extensive so we can call it a draw.

5 Sqdn's Mohawks were cancelled French orders

They are lucky they didn't have any cancelled Italian orders otherwise they would have found the throttles going the wrong way.

Reader123
27th May 2014, 14:18
The French did their best with the decimalised compass, with 400 gradians in the circle. Gradian - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gradian)


When I was at school, my calculators always had this mysterious 'grad' function for converting degrees to gradians. Wikipedia tells me this is no longer the case; but it also tells me that the French artillery still use gradians. That might explain the old joke: "How many Frenchmen does it take to defend Paris?"








To which the time-old answer is 'nobody knows' no matter how harsh that may seem.






And still we're going round in circles.

Danny42C
27th May 2014, 16:08
Fareastdriver,

"I hesitate to differ, but think "Plymouth" - entry level Chrysler "

"I thought my personal experience with 1935 to 1960 American cars was pretty extensive so we can call it a draw".

Shows the peril of shooting your mouth off when there is a real aficionado in the House ! No draw, Sir - I retire defeated and deflated from the field and leave you in full possession ! :(
Danny.

Hummingfrog
27th May 2014, 18:57
Hi Guys

I wasn't quite sure where to start so I though the rail journey may be of interest. I am sure the experts will identify the engine!!

HF


http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk68/squadron72/Dad%20Terrell/trainc_zps502b209d.jpg (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/squadron72/media/Dad%20Terrell/trainc_zps502b209d.jpg.html)http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk68/squadron72/Dad%20Terrell/Train1c_zpsea9c9194.jpg (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/squadron72/media/Dad%20Terrell/Train1c_zpsea9c9194.jpg.html)http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk68/squadron72/Dad%20Terrell/Train2c_zps7445307c.jpg (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/squadron72/media/Dad%20Terrell/Train2c_zps7445307c.jpg.html)

smujsmith
27th May 2014, 19:30
Reader,

The French did their best with the decimalised compass, with 400 gradians in the circle. Gradian - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Well I'll be blowed. I will try to keep this long story short. We were in Bahrain, Christmas of GW1 and no prospect of going home. Two Ground Engineers with an SF crew and we all decided to buy each other Christmas presents. The Fishnet stockings suited the captain fine, but I found in the souk a funny little device, a compass, with what I took to be 400 degrees on it (I always thought it had a Muslim influence). This was my present to our Nav, who I believe still has it today. Funnily, he was taken aback when informed the aircraft compass managed with only 360 degrees :eek: Your post has just cleared up a 23 year old conundrum for all involved. Thank you, sorry to divert, and back to 1940s training, and America in particular.

Smudge

smujsmith
27th May 2014, 20:42
I'm not sure if this will work, but perhaps if it does some of the contributors to this thread might have an interest in this thread. From the link, he trained in USA and Canada, surely a shame that he was unable to share his experience on this thread. If I can get to Sheffield, I will. Perhaps some more northerly based followers of this thread might be well placed.

http://www.pprune.org/military-aircrew/540513-request-help.html

Smudge

Danny42C
27th May 2014, 22:50
Smudge,

I would if I could, but.......

Danny.

smujsmith
27th May 2014, 23:24
Danny

Yes, I understand and I'm not too sure I can get there either. I know I see the passing of someone who would have found a warm mug of tea and a seat in this crewroom, and, after following it for so long hope that perhaps a few of us might manage to pay respects to someone who just never got "posted in". You keep yourself fit for the verbal exercise of keeping us all in order Danny, I'm sure that gives you a bit of exercise most days. Stay well sir

Smudge:ok:

Hummingfrog
28th May 2014, 08:38
Even in the USA you couldn't get away from some bull. This was a parade through Terrell to show the flag. My Dad is in the second picture and I wonder what that crossroads looks like today.

I am quite surprised that so many of Dad's photographs came out as his history of taking "RAF related" pictures of me hasn't been good. At my wings parade he took loads of pictures of the wrong "squad" during the march past. I landed a Wessex 2 in our back field in Wales and he forgot to put some film in the camera!!

HF

http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk68/squadron72/Dad%20Terrell/ParadeMainStc_zps3f660e87.jpg (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/squadron72/media/Dad%20Terrell/ParadeMainStc_zps3f660e87.jpg.html)http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk68/squadron72/Dad%20Terrell/parade2_zpsbc94d46c.jpg (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/squadron72/media/Dad%20Terrell/parade2_zpsbc94d46c.jpg.html)http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk68/squadron72/Dad%20Terrell/parade3_zps719b7614.jpg (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/squadron72/media/Dad%20Terrell/parade3_zps719b7614.jpg.html)

smujsmith
28th May 2014, 08:55
Hummingfrog,

The building is still there, the company is now called Bass Rutledge Drug and for reference is on the SW corner of the junction of West Moore Avenue (I80) and divides N and S. Francis Street. If you have access to Google earth, search for Bass Drug Company, Terrell, Texas and street view will put you right back in to that parade. Great to see such photographs, they deserve an airing. Hope that's useful.

Smudge:ok:

Hempy
28th May 2014, 10:18
http://i87.photobucket.com/albums/k144/h3mpy/1CABB9E5-1C6D-4A61-868C-1223AB5C84C3_zpstcyxum90.jpg

ricardian
28th May 2014, 11:49
All you'd ever want to know about compasses! (http://compassmuseum.com/diverstext/divisions.htm)

Chugalug2
28th May 2014, 14:15
hummingfrog;-
I am sure the experts will identify the engine!!
Well, I'm no expert for sure but I know someone who is, HarryM. So how about it Harry? For what it's worth it resembles the CPR Hudsons that you told us of previously, so is that what it is? Here's one that was taken in the 1950's by Hugh Stowell:-

http://i184.photobucket.com/albums/x199/chugalug2/CPRHudson2818_zpscd801575.jpg

Fareastdriver
28th May 2014, 14:22
It's nice to see some old buildings like that left as they are with a kind of sleepy look about them. I am in Shanghai at the moment and I was last here fifteen years ago. The city has exploded both horizontally and vertically but that didn't faze me, when I worked in Shenzhen it was the same. There are some of the old concession buildings left but I then to see a friend whom I knew who had just bought a new flat then. His home telephone wasn't working and I knew him before mobile phones so I didn't know that. I went round to his apartment and it wasn't there. Sixteen years old and it had already been demolished to make room for a multi thirty floor apartment complex.

When I was last here I was taken to a large storage shed. It was full of the cars that had been left behind when the Europeans left in 1949. It was an absolute gold mine of vintage and veteran cars. Covered in dust and with flat tyres but oozing atmosphere.

They've all gone too.

Danny42C
28th May 2014, 19:15
Starting (?) in WW1, there have been several phonetic alphabets used in the British Forces (plus another used by the Post Office/British Telecom, and all manner of other unofficial ones). AFAIK, the "Daddy" of them all was "Ack, Beer, Charlie, Dog....etc" of WW1 (which lingers on to this day as "Ack-Ack"), through "Able, Baker...etc" up to the current "Alpha Bravo.....etc".

The changeover points gave rise to some confusion. An apocryphal tale relates a difficult phone conversation going as follows: ".....Soap say) ...eh? ...Soap !!... Spell it !...Sierra...eh? ... Sierra !...eh?...Spell it! ....Sugar-Item-Easy-Roger....etc!" But to neglect using it when there is any possibility of mishearing invites disaster.

Now what follows is Shawbury legend: it was before my time: I heard it in'65, but it was not current in '55, so it must have happened between those dates. I take up the story (slightly embellished):

It was fairly quiet in Shawbury Tower (they were IIRC, a Diversion for TH and Valley). A "Flash" call came in from Ternhill: "There's a C-47 just passed us low overhead, wheels down, heading your way. No R/T contact !" Well, not to worry. Another old Dak was no problem.

They scanned the horizon. Over it came this huge fire-breathing swept-wing monster to plank itself down without ceremony on their 6,000 ft. All of which it took up plus the taxiway at the far end, leaving about 18in of tarmac free in front of the front twin wheels, coming to rest with smoking brakes at the end of a mile of rubber streaks, and with about 15 feet of nose out over the grass.

From under this opened a hatch, a ladder came down and then the three occupants: "How are y'all in lil'old England - long time since Ah was here - when's the next bus into town ?"

Of course it was a B-47. It seems that there had been a catastrophic electrical failure which had taken out all the electrical instruments on the panel; the radio had gone, too. It was on a transatlantic delivery flight into Burtonwood (don't ask me how they came to be running round Shropshire). Low on fuel, Shawbury was the first possible spot they saw after letting down through the overcast. All's well that ends well ?

Well, no, not quite. Shawbury was hors-de-combat straight away with this monstrous cuckoo in their nest - for they had no means of towing it out, and it couldn't turn round even if they started the engines. Luckily Burtonwood rose to the occasion: next morning a big servicing party turned up. One lot set to work at once, changing tyres, wheels and brakes. Others swarmed aboard and "lightened ship" by unbolting everything which was not essential for flight and not too big to go out through the hatch.

Of course, they had a tug and dolly. So when the servicing parties were finished, and the electicians had traced and fixed the electical problem, they hauled it back to the take-off point, put in the crew and just enough fuel to comfortably get to Burtonwood, stuck on a few JATO rockets, lit the blue paper and retired quickly.

There was an enormous roar, flames and a huge cloud of black smoke. Our overnight guests and their B-47 were literally hurled into the air by sheer brute force, and when the gentle breeze coming down from the "blue remembered hills" had dispersed the apocalyptic cloud, they were out of sight.

And that's it. Of course it was a perfect story to impress the point on successive ATC Courses during their early R/T lessons - many must remember hearing it there.

Goodnight, everone.

Danny42C.


"Send three-and-fourpence - we're going to a dance"

MPN11
28th May 2014, 23:14
Danny42C ... You were very kind not to introduce that B-47 scenario into any Sim sessions I experienced :ok:

Although there must be some other unremembered ones from my time as a CATCS student. Was there one with some idiot driving an MPN-1 all over the airfield?

Danny42C
29th May 2014, 00:04
MPN11,

Yes, I always made a point of impressing on my students that, one day in their future careers, something would happen to them that had happened to no man before and would probably never happen again. I would say that every one of us old-time Instructors had such a story in his repertoire, but forebore to introduce it into the Mock Control sessions, as nobody would believe it, and we would be accused of making up impossible situations just to "throw" them.

Have a care, sir, for you speak of the idiot I love (me) ! You are thinking of the occasion when I brought operations at Strubby to a grinding halt with the Matador heading the MPN-1 convoy (on a runway change) out of fuel, and people (for some strange reason) seemed to think it was all my fault. :*

Of course it would be at the exact spot on the taxiway where we constituted a giant thrombus which stopped all aircraft movements until we were removed !

Danny.

kookabat
29th May 2014, 00:30
Aircraft type confusion lives on... one of my colleagues told me this story from the early days of Australia's computerised ATC system

Some years ago, a pilot somewhere in the GAFA (Great Australian F-All - ie the Outback) called air traffic control before he took off from an uncontrolled aerodrome for a flight to Adelaide. There was no flight plan in the system for this trip so the controller needed to create one so the system had something to work with. He didn't recognise the aircraft type that the pilot told him so he asked for the aircraft code to enter into the system. The pilot didn't know but said "it's probably Sierra Hotel Alpha Charlie."
Not knowing any better the controller thinks he may as well give it a go then, and enters 'SHAC' into the aircraft field. The system accepts the code so the controller shrugs, assumes it must be correct and duly activates the flight plan and the aircraft takes off.
The flight plan makes its way through the system and eventually causes a strip to print out in the tower at Adelaide, its destination. This is picked up by the aerodrome controller who gets a little bit excited when he sees the aircraft code because he's a bit of a spotter and didn't think that there were any Shackletons still airworthy, let alone one in Australia. This'll be one to watch! So he tells his colleagues and as the aircraft is cleared onto the ILS they all get their binoculars out to see it land...
The first sign that something is not quite as it seems is when one of the controllers noticed the lack of black smoke that would normally be trailing from the engines of an old aeroplane of that vintage. The second sign is that the aeroplane is much smaller than they were expecting. The third sign is that the aeroplane that appears looks nothing like a hulking great Shacklebomber. Instead of looking like this...
http://ubuntuone.com/p/fZo/
...the aeroplane that actually turns up on approach looks like this:
http://www.impdb.org/images/thumb/a/a2/TLDTP.jpg/500px-TLDTP.jpg
Cue some very disappointed tower controllers. It was a SHRIKE COMMANDER, also known as an AERO COMMANDER. The pilot had made up the code for the system and no-one had bothered to check that it made no sense.

Adam

Fareastdriver
29th May 2014, 03:55
the lack of black smoke that would normally be trailing from the engines of an old turboprop of that vintage

If it was trailing black smoke they would be worrying about the piston rings on the Rolls Royce Griffon engines.

As Danny mentioned in his last post.

THAT'S WHAT YOU CALL BLACK SMOKE

http://i229.photobucket.com/albums/ee224/fareastdriver/b47b-3.jpg (http://s229.photobucket.com/user/fareastdriver/media/b47b-3.jpg.html)

DHfan
29th May 2014, 06:33
Rule of thumb fault diagnosis for smoking piston engines drummed into me by my instructor (Dad) 50+ years ago; White smoke - coolant, black smoke - fuel, blue smoke - oil.

Hempy
29th May 2014, 06:37
Red smoke: Rocket juice! Thats an awesome photo :thumbsup:

Molemot
29th May 2014, 10:15
Back in the 80s...approaching Cardiff in our 150hp Airtourer...they wanted to know the aircraft type. My late lamented chum Dennis used the designation "VT-10". They were a bit surprised when we turned up instead of the rather larger Vickers machine.....

harrym
29th May 2014, 17:33
Chugalug - re your 5701, it's the immediate forerunner of the CPR Royal Hudson class and is numbered in the same series commencing 2800; mechanically very similar to its successor, which aside from a semi-streamlined appearance differed only in some minor details such as a slightly increased boiler pressure.

The CPR today maintains one of these earlier specimens in running order, and it occasionally ventures out on to the main line. They seem to have noticed how Union Pacific gains much from its policy of always having had (from Day 1, no less) at least one working steamer on its roster, and UP is now restoring a 'Big Boy' (arguably the world's largest ever steam loco) to operating condition; now that will indeed be something to see - and hear!

Hummingfrog
29th May 2014, 20:10
http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk68/squadron72/Dad%20Terrell/Building4_zpsc60e9ebc.jpg (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/squadron72/media/Dad%20Terrell/Building4_zpsc60e9ebc.jpg.html)http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk68/squadron72/Dad%20Terrell/buildings2_zps8069d3a1.jpg (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/squadron72/media/Dad%20Terrell/buildings2_zps8069d3a1.jpg.html)http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk68/squadron72/Dad%20Terrell/Buildings1_zps613046a9.jpg (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/squadron72/media/Dad%20Terrell/Buildings1_zps613046a9.jpg.html)

Once Dad had arrived on the base he was introduced to the buildings which all seem to be based on the same design - a bit more luxurious than Nissan huts perhaps!! The area around the RAF Block seems to be fairly pristine so perhaps the block hadn't been up for long?

HF

mikehallam
29th May 2014, 21:16
Apropos phonetic alphabets Danny,

When I was a Cub, then Boy Scout in London SW16 circa 1949 we used to chant out the troupe's name by its initial letters.
Presumably from what you indicate, it was a hang over from one of the early WWI versions.

Esses, Toc, Oh, Esses, Dubbleyou, Ack, aL, Don.....

= St. Oswald....

mike hallam

Chugalug2
30th May 2014, 14:19
harrym, if as you say the CPR Hudsons were all numbered in the 2800 series, that would seem to indicate that hummingfrog's post 5692 loco (#3612?) is not one. I'm not sure if it is a Hudson at all, could it be a Pacific or even a Northern? Not being able to count the driving wheels makes it tricky to identify, indeed it could well be a US loco and not Canadian anyway (the footplate crew seem to be wearing the de riguer striped ticking type US engineers' hats for a start).

Is it just me or does anyone else feel a perverse delight in trying to identify an approx 350 ton steam loco in a thread dedicated to military aviation? It was after all used for the transportation of British cadet pilots. If it is the same loco that is hauling the train through Pueblo, that would put it in Colorado wouldn't it?

Hummingfrog, can we have a clue please?

Wander00
30th May 2014, 14:39
MH - when we were kids, our parents used to rattle on about apples, dog, etc, or rap their fingers on the table. Only when we were older did we discover that as former PO telegraphists they conversed in phonetic alphabet or Morse code so we did not know what they were discussing!

Ormeside28
30th May 2014, 15:52
Back at Terrell and the mighty AT6. A new instructor who was quite severe and impatient. First we had eight hours just sitting in the cockpit memorising all the bits and pieces. It took me five hours to solo but then it was O.K. The Harvard, as all who flew it know, would bite you if you didn't watch it until you stopped after landing. Then it was forced landings, precautionary landings, stalls, spins aerobatics and lots of instrument flying. Usually the pupil sat in the back seat under the hood on return cross countries Then it was formation flying and night flying. This usually at our satellite,Tarver, where a flare path would be laid, hopefully into wind. On my twentieth birthday on a solo night cross country I developed mumps. Obviously it had been brewing but became apparent on the trip. I was hospitalised by the American Flight Surgeon on the base. There were five of us. And the American happily regailed us with it'S complications!! We were given two weeks leave on discharge and a fellow sufferer and I decided to hitch hike to Los Angeles. My American Mom was horrified and thought that I should rest. It was very easy to hitch then. One lift took us to Fort Worth and the U.S.O. Where we could get a bed for a dollar. An American Sergeant was offering a lift to El Paso if we could drive. Mom had taught me to drive her very nice Pontiac and Pop had let me drive his pick up so, though we were not supposed to drive in the U.S. "Blind eyes" seemed to be the rule. It was a long drive and we reached El Paso at dawn. We thanked our Sergeant and spent the day in Juarez having a guided tour of the prison, where the inmates were able to have their wives with them! The next day we had one lift with a Liutenant Commander of the U.S. Navy who took us via a night stop in Phoenix to Riverside, a short distance by Greyhound bus to LA. Hollywood beckoned and we ended up in the Stage Door Canteen. There I met an executive of Universal Studios and his wife who invited me to stay with them over the Easter Holiday.
Charlie wanted to stay in the Canteen so we agreed to return to Terrell independently. My friends took me to the Easter Sunday Sunrise Service at the Holywood Bowl. Later they took me to the city limits and I was back on the road. Further lifts took me to the border with Arizona at Blythe. There was a customs post there to stop people bringing in or taking out oranges. (can't remember which) the Customs officer found a man going to Flagstaff instead of having to go via PHoenix. People would give servicemen a bed for one dollar which was great for we hitchers.
Next day two hitches to the Grand Canyon. I should have liked to have spent the night at the Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the canyon but no time and no money. Then it was back to Terrell via Albaquerque and Amarillo.

harrym
30th May 2014, 17:22
Chugalug2, ref your 5714 the detail is insufficiently clear for positive i/d but to me, in some undefinable way, neither the loco nor the general scene look very Canadian. There is also the problem that (to a UK eye, anyway) it was usually difficult to identify the owning company of any particular North American loco from its appearance, as compared to those at home - for who could possibly mistake a Swindon product for anything else on rails?!

To get back OT for a change, here follows the second part of my SFTS memoir!


SFTS Part 2, post-Christmas '43 to late Feb '44.



Early in the New Year came another brief spell of bitter cold, giving us a taste of what might have been in a more normal winter. Standing orders concerning movement during blizzard conditions applied to all, and already we had been regaled with the fate of two airmen trying to walk from one hangar to the next in a howling snowstorm the year before; wandering off the footpath, they had fallen into a deep pit dug for some drainage works, were unable to get out or attract attention, and duly froze to death. Fortunately no such tempest occurred during our time at Swift Current, although the below-zero temperatures that prevailed for several days necessitated reduced activity in our unheated aircraft; just as well, as like anything British they were none too reliable in such climatic extremes, and despite the use of carb heat it was a constant battle to prevent the engines from spluttering to a halt during taxying. Adjustable throttle stops were provided so that higher idle rpm might be set as required, but in effect gave only the equally unsatisfactory result of excessive revs while taxying on an icy surface.

A couple of days' flying was lost to the elements, but a third day of brilliant sunshine tempted our masters to have a go using the cold weather routine. Instead of lining up aircraft on the ramp as per normal, they were readied for flight inside the heated hangars with pilots in position, checks complete to start-up and airman kneeling on each wing ready with their crank handles; hangar doors were then opened, one Oxford pushed out and the doors closed behind it. While yet moving, both engines were fired up simultaneously (with any luck) and the doors reopened for the next aircraft after the first had taxied clear. Failure to start engines within a minute meant no start at all, and one was then pushed ignominiously round the hangar for re-entry on the other side. The success rate was about 50%, and since it took time to re-warm the failures in a now chilled hangar the flying programme slipped further.

Fortunately the weather soon returned to being merely cold as opposed to glacial. With the course now more than half over, it was a matter of honing what we had already been taught rather than learning anything new. Formation flying took up some of the time, an exercise I did not find easy and never particularly cared for anyway. Lack of radio increased the risk factor, it being difficult to communicate by hand signals as these were not easily seen unless dangerously close to each other.

Cross-country flights of up to three hours duration were also undertaken, sometimes over areas of little or no habitation; navigation was aided by a drift sight, to squint through which while maintaining straight & level flight was an exercise in dexterity. Mere map-reading was not enough; one's navigation plot had to be maintained on a Bigsworth Board, a contraption apparently from the dawn of aviation history. A piece of plywood about 18 inches square with a pantograph ruler at the top and a large clip to hold the chart/map, one somehow used it while continuing to fly the aeroplane; not easy at the best of times, especially if the lateral trim was incorrectly set (there was no manual aileron trimmer). When not in use the board was best jammed down the side of one's seat; placing it on the main spar box immediately behind was inadvisable, as it would then slide rearwards out of reach.

An air-to ground photography exercise proved interesting, the object to take a sequence of in-line pictures whilst accurately flying a straight path suitably corrected for drift. The camera was a standard RAF job as used for target photographs over Germany, and I still have a good print of the centre of Swift Current taken from several thousand feet. To save time this exercise was flown as a mutual detail, that is to say several students were sent off together in one plane with each occupying the pilot's seat in turn. This was perhaps not such a good idea; acting as copilot at the end of one such flight I was surprised when my colleague appeared to lose control on landing, so that what was almost a polished arrival suddenly became a disaster with the aircraft bouncing up the runway in a most unairmanlike manner. Hearing a loud guffaw behind me after the final hop, I turned and saw another of our motley crew splitting his sides at the rear of the cabin; at the crucial moment he had run back towards the tail, thus creating an out-of-trim condition responsible for our luckless pilot's downfall.

Night flying was largely confined to circuit work so that the maximum number of landings might be achieved. Although aircraft landing lights existed even in those far-off days, their use was frowned on and perfect arrivals hopefully achieved through judgement of approach and touchdown by reference to the flare path along the runway edge; thus (on dark nights at least) one's first awareness of the ground was by wheel contact rather than eyeball - no approach lights, no angle of approach indicator, just pure skill. Yet most of us became quite proficient and perversely even enjoyed it, and certainly there was a sense of achievement following a succession of safe and incident-free landings. In fact the Oxford possessed remarkably effective landing lights, in true British fashion operated by an old-time switch with fluted brass cover and porcelain base that properly belonged in an Edwardian drawing room; but there were sound reasons for training us to manage without external illumination, as its use at home could provide an easy target for enemy intruders.

The combination of a cold, dark night plus lack of adequate air traffic control was partly responsible for a most destructive multiple accident towards the end of our course. The runway controller, whose task it was to flash his Aldis lamp at aircraft awaiting takeoff or landing clearance, finding himself discomfited by the increasing chill in his glass cupola decided to move to the front seat so as to derive greater benefit from the vehicle's heater. By so doing of course, his field of vision was restricted to an arc of barely 180 degrees with little view of the circuit and none at all up the runway, and so it was not long before the inevitable occurred. Aircraft turning on final approach were (supposedly) given landing clearance provided that the runway was unobstructed, this assessed by visual inspection prior to flashing the necessary green light; however, lacking any view up the runway, our hero decided to work on a time interval system. With the permitted maximum of four aircraft in the circuit things went well for a while until one pilot was caught out by the “insufficient carb heat” trap, trundling to a halt with both motors dead and apparently lacking the nous to roll clear onto the grass before losing headway. Without radio he was unable to inform anyone of his predicament, and before he could locate his Verey Pistol to fire a warning "red" the next Oxford smashed into him, the remaining two following in fairly short order so that soon a monstrous heap of matchwood was all that remained of four of his Majesty's aircraft.

Needless to say this occasioned grave displeasure in high places, and the wretched controller was probably put away for life. Miraculously nobody was hurt and the episode had no effect on our course's completion, so we hoi polloi were vastly amused by the whole episode. Anyway, our course was the penultimate one prior to the station's closure, following which all the Oxfords were to be scrapped; as noted earlier, they were comparatively aged and it was not considered worth sending them back to UK at a time when all ships were crammed with supplies for the forthcoming invasion of Europe. By the end of course towards the tail of February 1944 most of us had survived, although a few had fallen by the wayside and been reassigned to other aircrew duties; however, no injury or fatal accident had occurred at either FTS during our 5 1/2 months, a tribute to the BCAP and its staff. As the end drew near we were duly informed by our unloved disciplinarian that, much against his will, we would shortly set forth into the wide world as "scaly, ten-a-penny sergeant pilots or equally scaly, ten-a-penny pilot officers". This gracious intelligence was naturally communicated well out of earshot of the instructors, most of whom might be said to qualify for this charming description of our superiors.

Down on the flight line a greater degree of goodwill prevailed, perhaps because our instructors now envisaged the prospect of operational duty at home following shrinkage of the BCAP. As for us students, the end-of-course flying tests passed off more or less painlessly and suddenly the day we had thought would never come was upon us, when we donned freshly pressed no.1 uniform and paraded for the award of our pilot's wings.

Held in one of the hangars, this event was surprisingly well attended by the locals. Few of us knew any of them, but I suppose anything out of the ordinary relieved the tedium of prairie life and their presence added a sense of occasion; certainly, I for one was pleased that they came. About a third of us graduated as Pilot Officers and the remainder as members of that vanished breed the Sergeant Pilot, of which I found myself one; for which in the end I was duly grateful, as nearly all my friends were in the same boat. I later discovered that my mother was less pleased, and could only answer her indignant query "why no commission?" with the reason that I had possibly not impressed the Station Commander in the final interview; for I recalled that he had looked rather sour when given a negative response to questions on my attitude to Rugby Football, a game I detested. Not that it bothered me one iota, for in the wartime air force Officer and NCO aircrew were treated equally insofar as allocation to flying duties was concerned and at that stage of my life nothing else mattered.

The next afternoon, shiny new stripes on our sleeves, we boarded the eastbound transcontinental at Swift Current station, waved off by another group of locals. Unusually we had been granted three weeks leave before having to report to Moncton prior to the transatlantic journey home, and most of us elected to head for the eastern fleshpots. For my part, I was determined to visit a much-loved aunt in Connecticut, maybe taking in New York & Washington also; all of which came to pass, but is no part of this particular saga.



ADDENDA.



I have said little about my fellow-students, although I recollect some of them fairly well. We were a pretty mixed bunch; a few of us had started Service life under the University Air Squadron scheme but most were direct entry cadets from all walks of life. It was quite an education for one such as myself from a relatively sheltered background to live with others so different in upbringing and outlook, and yet in an age when social divisions were supposedly so much harsher than today we got on famously. I do not recall a single enemy among them, and was pleased to count many as friends as indeed they considered me. True, I was occasionally ribbed for being (apparently) a bit 'different' although always good-naturedly, just as I would often feign bemused incomprehension at some of their stronger regional dialects (such lack of understanding not invariably feigned, either!). We lived happily together in our crowded barrack-room, united in adversity against authority in general, our dreaded Glaswegian Flight Sergeant in particular, the Oxford and its strange habits, and not least the very real fear of being "scrubbed" for non-achievement. Sometimes my companions' straightforward outlook on life and what it had to offer could be rather startling, but universally they believed that life was for living and humour was never far away. I count myself fortunate to have known them, the good ones far outnumbering the less praiseworthy, and the memory of their comradeship is for me one of the more worthwhile recollections of the war.



Much official propaganda was directed against the evils of unauthorised low flying, some quite ingenious. I recall a parody of Longfellow's "Hiawatha", where the hero came to grief while so engaged: following the inevitable impact with earth, his head "…...........slowly trundled o'er the prairie, gently trundled o'er the prairie, slowly trundled to a standstill...........at the feet of Minnehaha, laughing maiden" - who then, not unnaturally, experienced a sense of humour failure (actual words forgotten). However it was as well to take such propaganda seriously, for the lowliest member of the Swift Current cookhouse staff was a sad figure wearing pilot's wings but no badges of rank. This unfortunate individual had flown an Oxford beneath a railway bridge whilst engaged on instructional duties at North Battleford, another SFTS far off to the north west; subsequently reduced to the ranks for this heinous offence, he was posted to our airmens' mess to undertake menial tasks in full public view – no doubt as a dreadful warning to us all. Although we felt sorry for him at the time, his harsh punishment must have had some effect on the rest of us for our course maintained a clean record on this score.

Danny42C
31st May 2014, 04:27
Ormeside28,

"...It took me five hours to solo but then it was O.K..." It took me 4.15, (much the same): that was about par for the Course.

"...The Harvard, as all who flew it know, would bite you if you didn't watch it until you stopped after landing..." Too right - it'd ground loop on you at the drop of a hat !

Once again, I can only gaze in envy at the freedom and travel opportunities you had in your BFTS training, compared with our "all work and no play" regime in the (first few) Arnold School Courses. Perhaps they loosened up later ?...D.

harrym,

But even if we were worked hard in the Army Air Corps, it was in Florida and Alabama (which could even be a bit chilly in winter, as being well inland). At least we were spared the possible loss of extremities by frostbite, or death from hypothermia !

"...navigation plot had to be maintained on a Bigsworth Board, a contraption apparently from the dawn of aviation history..." "Biggles", you may remember, was (in full): "Captain James Bigglesworth of the Camel Squadron". Did Capt. W.E.Johns adapt the name for his immortal creation from the Board, do you suppose, or was it the other way round ?

"...at the crucial moment he had run back towards the tail, thus creating an out-of-trim condition responsible for our luckless pilot's downfall..." It could, I was once told, be of some use on occasion. I heard from a B-24 skipper that, if the brakes failed on landing (and if there was enough level ground ahead !), the thing would run for 11 miles before stopping.

Accordingly, if the brake failure had been diagnosed while still airborne, the crew were mustered amidships with instructions to rush in a body to the tail as soon as the mains were on. Apparently, the additional aerodynamic braking would at least shorten the overrun. (Could he possibly have been "pulling my leg" ?)

".. About a third of us graduated as Pilot Officers and the remainder as members of that vanished breed the Sergeant Pilot, of which I found myself one..." I, too, was a member of that honourable, but now almost forgotten, body, and count myself lucky to have had a year's valuable experience in the rank (which I've previously described as "the bedrock of the RAF").

It was true that a minority of the long-service non-flying SNCOs, who had toiled up the promotion ladder for fifteen years or more before reaching the Sgts' Mess, did actively resent us "Johnnies-come-lately", but most were generous enough to welcome the winged newcomers (and after all they could always console themselves with the distinct possibility that we might well vanish as quickly as we'd come). Even so, open hostility on the scale displayed by your Discip. Sgt. was unpleasant, quite uncalled for, and hopefully rare. I'm surprised that your CFI and SWO did not swiftly get rid of him, for a SFTS was no place for a man like that.

"...I had possibly not impressed the Station Commander in the final interview; for I recalled that he had looked rather sour when given a negative response to questions on my attitude to Rugby Football..." I remember that this was a hurdle which damned many a promising career. I myself fell foul of it when in front of C-in-C Fighter Command (the redoubtable Sir Basil Embry) in the matter of transfer to the General List. (As events turned out, it would have made no difference in the final outcome, anyway).

"...I count myself fortunate to have known them ("my companions"), the good ones far outnumbering the less praiseworthy, and the memory of their comradeship is for me one of the more worthwhile recollections of the war..." I'm sure all of us here would say "Amen" to that..."...D.

Cheers, both. Danny.

Hempy
31st May 2014, 06:10
"...navigation plot had to be maintained on a Bigsworth Board, a contraption apparently from the dawn of aviation history..." "Biggles", you may remember, was (in full): "Captain James Bigglesworth of the Camel Squadron". Did Capt. W.E.Johns adapt the name for his immortal creation from the Board, do you suppose, or was it the other way round ?
.

Danny, it would seem the former. The Bigsworth Board was the creation of Air Commodore Arthur Wellesley Bigsworth CMG, DSO and bar, AFC (http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arthur_Bigsworth) , a pioneer RNAS pilot in WW1, to wit;
Sir Peter Masefield, a great-nephew of the Poet Laureate John Masefield, speaking at the W E Johns Centenary Luncheon at the Royal Air Force Club on 6th February, 1993 said that he had discussed the question with Johns on several occasions and although Johns said the character was a ‘compendium’ the ‘first ingredient’ was Arthur Wellesley Bigsworth who had gone to sea with the Royal Navy in 1901 at the age of 16. In 1912 he was one of the first ten officers to train in what would become the Royal Naval Air Service. In 1915 he became the first pilot to damage a Zeppelin and to sink a submarine from the air, for which he received DSO and bar. Johns used both the Zeppelin and submarine incident in two of his Biggles books.

Chugalug2
31st May 2014, 09:11
Ormeside28:-
First we had eight hours just sitting in the cockpit memorising all the bits and pieces.A process that is never much talked of yet common to the Sopwith Camel and the Boeing 777, ie cockpit familiarisation. How everything shrinks in size from the wall diagrams, blackboards, whiteboards, posters, etc, of the classroom to the real thing that is now an insignificant panel, gauge, or lever crammed into the equally small cockpit space. Perhaps the groundschool phase has became more of a feature in line with such complication.

I imagine that at the time the AT6, or Harvard as we knew it, was well up there in the complication stakes, as reflected in its RAF Pilot Notes:-
A.P. 1691 D. Pilot's Notes for Harvard 2B - 2nd edition (http://www.avialogs.com/index.php/en/aircraft/usa/northamericanaviation/t-6andsnj/a-p-1691-d-pilot-s-notes-for-harvard-2b-2nd-edition.html)

harrym, I shall try to pick the brains of fellow volunteers at the Bluebell Railway re loco 3612. Perhaps North American readers might have an idea? All contributions gratefully received, it is the collective knowledge and experience that is the very core of this thread.

Your description of the challenge to aviation of the Canadian plains winter is vivid and instructive. Having to keep engines at high revs simply to keep them going at all created obvious problems in icy ground conditions. Having to keep airframes in a warm hangar before start up is still SOP and I have had my Hercules so cossetted at Thule before start-up and TO. Even then the starboard main gear refused to retract on selection and had to be hand cranked up.

Personal safety is of course the main preoccupation in such conditions and the buddy system requires that you only go outside at least in pairs (which wouldn't have changed the plight of your two unfortunates) and to phone ahead to the building you are heading for so that they know to expect you and to raise the alarm if you do not appear (which might have saved them).

Finally, the freedom to wander over that great country with only a requirement to report at a given place and time is a tribute to yourselves and to your superiors. Your reliability and sense of duty was of course a given, having obtained your rank and your wings, but the default state of the military mind is to never leave anything to chance. Given the mode of transportation was generally hitch-hiking, the distances covered large, and the chance of mishap in isolated circumstances considerable, it seems to me that a considerable amount was left to chance. Perhaps this was seen as both reward and rite of passage, that the boys were now made men and about to face much greater perils than merely exploring another country by thumbing it. Did anyone ever fail to materialise at Moncton or wherever, I wonder?

Danny, how good to see you in such good company with your contemporaries. We juniors may think that we now have the business of obtaining an RAF WW2 Pilots Brevet sorted but only you chaps really do, and in comparing notes perhaps even you can learn a little more of the process. Rather like learning about a military campaign long after one was involved in it, the dots and crosses can at last be added to answer the known unknowns. Thank you all, gentlemen!

eko4me
31st May 2014, 11:20
I think the locomotive photographed is a Canadian Pacific Railway example with a very distinctive number style on the side. Its sister survives in preservation: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canadian_Pacific_2816. Eko.

Hummingfrog
31st May 2014, 12:25
Chugalug2

I am afraid I don't know what class of loco it is - it is just a picture of what pulled Dad's train. He has always had an interest in steam engines as his father was a designer for Hunslet Steam engines.

HF

Chugalug2
31st May 2014, 13:26
eko4me, just to be clear the unknown loco is this one posted by hummingfrog:-

http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk68/squadron72/Dad%20Terrell/Train1c_zpsea9c9194.jpg

and not the one in my 5701, which is indeed a CPR Hudson as you say. Perhaps I had better let this one go, lest it become thread drift stemming from thread drift!
Hummingfrog, no worries and same comment applies as above. ;)

Danny42C
31st May 2014, 18:42
Chugalug,

Your: "..... Having to keep airframes in a warm hangar before start up is still SOP and I have had my Hercules so cossetted at Thule before start-up and TO...."

There was an embarrassing incident at Teesside many moons ago. The Vickers Viscount which was to fly the first service of the five LHR shuttlles of the day was tucked up nice and warm in the hangar. The Flight and Cabin crews were ready to perform. The PAX were sipping their last coffees in the Departure Lounge. All the omens were propitious.

The Hangar doors were frozen solid shut ! :(

How long did it take to thaw them out ? Don't know.

D.

Chugalug2
31st May 2014, 19:13
Oh dear! Well at least they obeyed the strictures about the hangar doors, Danny! Not something we could ever claim, I'm very glad to say. :ok:

Ian Burgess-Barber
31st May 2014, 20:53
A couple of nights ago a middle-aged chap was looking through his late father's WW2 log book and he reached Nov. 1944 and his dad had arrived at 229 Group Comms Flight Palam India. "What was that all about"? he thought, and promptly Googled it. The first Google page brought up various tidbits of interest, and included this thread's page 277 (my post 5539) "Of Beechcraft and Barracudas". He looked back in his dad's log and saw that the pilot who checked his father out, firstly on the Fairchild Argus, (radial engined version), was a F/S Burgess. "Blimey", he thought, could this fellow, I BB, be his son? So he promptly signed up to PPRuNe, which he was previously unaware of, and sent me a PM asking me if I was the son of F/S Burgess.
I am still in the UK monitoring "Wrenjob" my old mum, but I rang home and "herself" checked the Nov. page in my dad's log, and yes, this fellow's father's name was there. I am so chuffed I can't tell you!
It is not hard find records of your forebears if you connect with associations like 5BFTS who have great records and members. Likewise if your dad was in a famous squadron with a well recorded history, but to hear from someone who's dad flew with my dad in a small obscure Flight in the Sub-Continent is "effing" miraculous. Without PPRuNe and this, indispensibly important historical thread this connect would never have happened. We are now exchanging photos and log book info. They flew together several times over the next months until VJ Day changed everyone's world.
The "interweb" and this glorious thread have made this possible. My sincere thanks to the late members who kicked of these important memories here, and also, of course, to our current 90+(not out) writers, Danny, harrym, Ormeside28, and the Hummingfrog(s) who write (with considerable style)
their stories for those of us who were not there.

Thank you and goodnight

Ian BB

Hummingfrog
1st Jun 2014, 19:44
My Father's story continues with his posting to Montrose in Scotland. To answer a question about the location of the Officers' Mess dad believes it was a house in Rosemount to the NE of the airfield.


"So I was back in Scotland to my new role as an instructor of instructors. At times this was particularly difficult with operational pilots, some with decorations beneath their wings and with experience of battle who were your pupils, having been taken off operations and posted to learn a totally different role.

I remained on the staff of 2FIS flying until the early part of winter 1944/5. I was off flying for 5 months having broken bones in my right hand following a tackle whilst playing rugby for the Station’s rugby team and ending up in hospital for quite some time. I remember my first return to the mess, my arm in a plaster and a sling, to the somewhat ribald comments of my colleagues!

Before returning to flying in January 1945, I had gained an insight into the admin side of flying training when I came out of hospital and spent time in the Flying Wing Adjutant’s office.

I was to remain at 2 FIS until July 1945 when I was posted back to Flying Instruction duties teaching young French cadets at RAF 7SFTS (Service Flying Training School) at Sutton Bridge in Norfolk. It was here on 29 November 1945 that serious damage was done to one of His Majesty’s Oxford aeroplanes! I was putting young French cadet through a pre-Wings test. We had been on a cross country flight during which I checked his navigation and then quite some miles from the airfield I cut one of the engines by closing the throttle. This was quite a normal pre-wings check. The cadet was quite unaware that this was going to happen but his reactions were quite good and we arrived back over the airfield. It was a very windy day, with strong gusts. In the circuit on his downwind leg I could sense he was having a little difficulty and was a little apprehensive. He went a little too far downwind as he turned - still on one engine of course - with the strong wind pushing him further away from the airfield. He was allowing himself little leeway to make a good approach without careful use of throttle - on one engine remember. I sensed he did not realise he was going to find it difficult to maintain height. As we approached the runway I knew I had left it too late to takeover. I knocked his hand off the throttle and opened up the throttle of the ‘dead’ engine - but too late! As we came over the boundary the aircraft stalled, the port wing dropped and hit the runway. I remember cutting the mag switches and then all hell broke loose! The aircraft disintegrated but luckily the cabin and cockpit remained fairly whole. The Red VERY Lights flashed and the fire tenders rushed over and the rescue crews hauled us out. The aircraft was a bit of a mess but we both escaped with shock and minor injuries. We were taken to the medical centre and checked out. After all the routine enquiries were made it was almost teatime and then came perhaps the most embarrassing moment of all. As I walked into the Officers’ Mess Ante Room for tea - the tea urn being at the far end of the room - a silence descended on all those colleagues in the room. So in total silence I had to walk the full length of the room - without a word from anyone - then as I poured the tea into my cup the noise started and I was given a real ribald welcome and was congratulated on having survived a really nasty accident! I dare not repeat some of the comments made!! It was definitely a moment I never forgot!

There was, of course, an enquiry and I had to be rechecked by the CFI. I passed fit to carry on, thank goodness. Routine returned and I carried on teaching the French cadets to fly and then my final posting to RAF Kirton Lindsey, still instructing the French cadets until demobilisation.

One trip I will always remember whilst at Kirton Lindsey. A mess dinner was being arranged. The Chief Flying Instructor, knowing that my last station was RAF Sutton Bridge in Norfolk, requested my presence in his office. I wondered what ‘offence’ I had committed. He referred to the forthcoming mess dinner and asked me whether I knew any farmers in the area of Sutton Bridge - an area of fruit farming. It just so happened that the owners of a transport company in the area, and who also owned a petrol station and where I used to fill up my car to travel home to Leeds, became very good friends to me. I telephoned my friends to explain that we were having a mess dinner at Kirton and could he put us in touch with farmers growing strawberries? The answer was ‘Yes, what can we do to help?’. Arrangements were made and the CFI said ‘Right, take another aircraft with you on a training run cross-country’ - and so to Sutton Bridge we flew. My log book tells me that on 15 May 1946 that the surname of my pupil was Lebomin. We filled both aircraft with punnets of strawberries and back we flew to Kirton Lindsey. The mess dinner was a huge success and the C.O. complimented us on a cross-country exercise well performed!
And so my final flight with the Royal Air Force took place on 9 July 1946.

I left Kirton Lindsey by train for Uxbridge, London, when on 18 July 1946 I finally ‘retired’ from the Royal Air Fore, changing my RAF uniform into my ‘demob suit’. I was handed my first class single travel warrant to Leeds and from the secure environment of the RAF I stepped out into an uncertain world that I had not known for almost 5½ years."

He did tell me a story that at the end of the war with no students to teach he was relaxing in the OM after lunch with the other instructors when the Stn Commander came in, a "regular career officer", and berated them for not being at work - difficult with no students:ugh: This confirmed his decision not to remain in the RAF post war - though he did miss the flying.

It was also good to see that the use of training trips in his day was the same as mine - seafood from N Ireland for mess functions was a favourite load in the back of a Wessex:ok:

HF

(more photos to follow)

camlobe
2nd Jun 2014, 00:55
Hummingfrog,
Your fathers 'trip' to obtain strawberries, and your own 'fishing trip' made me chuckle as I remember an event in the mid-80's.

I was manning the trade desk at that stalwart, sole operator of Shacks, Eight Fighter All Weather Squadron...except when it's raining or dark, at Lossiemouth.

Phone rings, camlobe answers. "Ah, hello Sqn Ldr XXXXX, II Squadron, Bruggen here. Can I speak with John the Fish please?" To enlighten, John the Fish was a 'retired' fishing boat Captain, who for many years, was employed as an aircraft cleaner on Eight, and was a most valued member of the Squadron. He also maintained his fishing contacts, supplying the freshest fish to Kinloss and Lossie personnel every Thursday. The two old friends chat on the phone for a few minutes, and say their farewells.

The following Thursday, Sqn Ldr XXXX arrives in his Jaguar (the type with two Adours) complete with underwing carry pods. John the Fish arrives, and in to the carry pods go some of the finest, freshest salmon, and the Jag departs.

Apparently, according to John, the fresh Scottish salmon was rather well received at the dinning in night.

Great days,

Camlobe

Fareastdriver
2nd Jun 2014, 09:56
Very early in the seventies, Aerospatial, as it was called then, wanted to present the AS330 (Puma) onto the civil market. For this the main gearbox had to have a certified TBO well in excess of the 800 hrs. which was the military time expired point. The result was that the French Army offered four Pumas and the Royal Air Force two. The aircraft on our squadron was XW 203 that was just coming up to a gearbox change. This gearbox would continue to fly under very close supervision and the plot was that this aircraft would fly 100 hrs. a month. (shock, horror) The rest of the aircraft would then have to meet the normal flying task.

This wasn't that easy owing to a lot of pilots being detached and especially when the weather socked in. Quite often it would be invisible as it hovered relentlessly in thick fog.

We soon found a use for this freebe taxi.

As mentioned before this was an ideal opportunity to restock freezers, fridges and the wine cellar. Machrahanish for kippers and other goodies and even a foray to Orkney to collect some choice lamb. We had an 'arrangement' with Manston customs where we could be assured of a rapid rotors-running customs clearance when we had a load of German wine from Gutersloh.

It was used for the things as well. Aberdeen still had the UAS and there pan would be occupied by this Puma whilst the pilots discussed their career prospects with the chief pilots of the helicopter operators. One of our groundcrew hailed from some island to the west of Scotland. To save him days of travelling when going on leave a time when the tide was out (Aunty Betty owns all the beach between the high and low water mark) we would drop him off a short walk from his home and subsequently pick him up again. One of the more unusual jobs was moving someone's goods and chattles from Odiham to his new posting.

All good things have to come to an end. XW 203, in a sudden burst of enthusiasm, attempted to carry out a slow roll all by itself just after take off in a field. It didn't manage it, the crew survived with only minor burns, but in the end an undercarriage leg was all that was sticking out of the ashes.

Another aircraft was substituted but this was under a draconian monitoring programme so it wasn't allowed to go very far.

The project must have worked. When I started flying civil 330s the gearbox TBO was 1800 hrs. and with modern monitoring techniques they are way past that.

ricardian
2nd Jun 2014, 12:24
I posted a request to a railway newsgroup for identification of the locomotive and this was the response:

Working on the principle that most RAF training was done in Canada I
enterd the Canadian Pacific 3612 into google and it came up with class
N2a.
Entering Canadian Pacific N2a and selecting images brings up many
examples of which this one.
Richard Leonard's Random Steam Photo Collection -- Canadian Pacific 2-8-0 3674
I wouldn't 100% say it is that as some details look a little different
but that could be class variations, anyway it's a starting point.
It looks like the City of Vancouver archives have an actual photo of
3612 but I can't gain access to it.

harrym
2nd Jun 2014, 17:30
Danny42C-

The suggested link between Biggles and the Bigsworth board sounds pretty convincing - many thanks, Hempy! As to the B24, suppose it's possible that a sufficient transfer of weight to the back might cause it to drag the rear end along the deck, thus resulting in extra braking effect? After all, it was not unknown for nosewheel a/c to squat on their a--- end if incorrectly loaded/unloaded, which is why some of them had removable struts that could be placed under the tail. As for our tyrannical F/Sgt discip, he only abused us when other staff were out of earshot.

What did you say to affront Sir Basil E? Many years later when attending a medical board, in answer to being told my thigh length (I am rather tall) would debar me from ejector seat aircraft, my reply of 'that's good news' received a rather dusty reception!

Chugalug2-

Yes we were very fortunate in being granted that three weeks leave, and most made good use of it. One small group hitch-hiked their way round much of the southern and western US, mostly by air - they simply rolled up at the nearest USAAF base and asked if any aircraft were going to wherever, and were almost always successful. So far as I know, return to Moncton at the end of leave was fully subscribed.


Although this thread is nominally about training to wings standard, in actual fact subsequent training to operational status could take much longer. For instance, while I was in Canada for eight months nearly twice as long elapsed before I was ready for squadron posting - and I was lucky, for others at that stage of the war it could take even longer or for some unfortunates not at all. My later progress through pre-AFU, AFU, OTU, TSCU & GPU lasted about fifteen months; if not considered off topic, it can be made to appear here!

OffshoreSLF
2nd Jun 2014, 20:52
Hummingfrog,


"My Father's story continues with his posting to Montrose in Scotland. To answer a question about the location of the Officers' Mess dad believes it was a house in Rosemount to the NE of the airfield".

Rosemount is near the village of Hillside, which is a couple of miles NW of the airfield. Not the place I was asking about, but thanks for asking your Dad, and it's nice to hear stories from someone who was posted to Montrose.

Edit: There are a few photos I took on a visit to the Montrose airfield museum last year -
http://s83.photobucket.com/user/Kintyre/media/DSCN1560.jpg.html?sort=3&o=0


(hope this works)







OSLF

Chugalug2
2nd Jun 2014, 22:09
harrym:-
My later progress through pre-AFU, AFU, OTU, TSCU & GPU lasted about fifteen months; if not considered off topic, it can be made to appear here! Just when I though I had all the cryptic initials sorted! Anyway, that's all bye the bye, so let me be the first to say, "Make it so!", having struck an imposing Jean-Luc Picard pose, and then spoilt it all by adding, "Pretty please!".

I'm impressed by the ease with which you might hitch a ride on one of Uncle Sam's Flying Machines so effortlessly. One of my duties as Deputy Adj on a FEAF squadron in the 60's was to fabricate 'orders' authorising 'official leave' which I covered and endorsed with every rubber stamp available in the office. A standard RAF leave form wouldn't get you the time of day, but 'orders', now they made all the difference!

Landroger
2nd Jun 2014, 22:46
My late father joined up from a reserved occupation in about 1942 and wanted to be a navigator. He was thus one of the few of his intake who got what he wanted. After that, it gets a bit vague.

I know he trained in South Africa - Kyalami and East London I think - gaining his N wings. I know that ordinarily he would have been posted to a squadron and that, given the loss rate in '43, I would probably not be here. However, I think my dad had been found to be rather good at navigating and he was chosen to do the next big thing; 'Master bomber'. Mum and dad were married about a week after the Dam Busters raid.

After that, he still wasn't posted to a squadron, but sent for Pathfinder training. After that, low level a la Armiens and Shell Copenhagen - which he hated, with tour served Mosquito and Beaufighter drivers being told to fly at naught feet to test dad with 'left at the Red Cow' and 'Right at St. Andrews'. Still no squadron and then on to 'Long Distance Over Water', which could only mean the Far East.

Then they dropped the bomb and dad did 'Copper Beating' until he was demobbed in late '45 or early '46 and went back to his drawing board. I was born in December '46! It wasn't until we lost him in 1996 that I realised just how meticulous he was and why he was obviously such a skilled navigator. Why he didn't go to BOAC or any other airline post war, I don't know. They had plenty of top pilots, but probably not too many top navigators.

The thing is, where and how do I start looking for records? So far as I know, he didn't keep his log book - I assume Nav's had them too? - but I would love to know what aircraft he flew and from where.

Also there is one intriguing story from his time in South Africa. On one or perhaps his final cross country navex the pilot - a SAAF Afrikaans pilot - deviated from dads instructions, to do a low level beat up of his family farm ..... and crashed the aeroplane. The pilot demanded that dad falsify his navigation plot to show they should have been over the farm, but dad refused and I believe there was a frightful row. The pilot went on to become a noted South African golfer on the international circuit, but it wasn't Gary Player. Any idea who?

After he was demobbed, dad never flew again until BEA took him to somewhere in German in the late fifties or even sixties, but I guess you could say he had a good war?

Roger

Danny42C
3rd Jun 2014, 01:12
harrym,

(Your): "What did you say to affront Sir Basil E ?" The whole sad story is on #3713 p.186.

Looking back on those far-off wartime days, I am curious about the two routes that were open to the air-minded youngsters who were anxious to "do their bit" (preferably as pilots or aircrew) in the RAF.

In your #5514, p.178, you say:

"Re age, I enlisted in August 1942 just short of my 18th birthday". I had my 18th in November '39, so I am almost three years ahead of you in the war time-frame. Conscription for men between 18 and 41 (IIRC) was introduced immediately war broke out, but of course it needed quite some time to put into effect. After we all had first to register (do you remember the little folded "National Registration Identity Cards" ?).

Then, of course, batches of people were only called up as the training machine was ready take them. First, all the Appeals against call-up and the Conscientious Objectors had to be heard, and those in Reserved Occupations weeded out and sent home. As for the rest, although I understand you could state a preference for the Service (and Trade ?) you wanted, the decision of the Recruiting Office was final (from about'43 ?, the worst-case-scenario was to be picked, by lot, as a "Bevan Boy" - down the coal mines !)

Although I was in theory liable for call-up from the date of my 18th birthday, in practice I think the 20 yr olds went first. In any case, I had some time to play with. I could "jump the gun", and apply for service as aircrew in the RAF Volunteer Reserve, or wait for later call-up and state a preference. This was a high-risk strategy. IIRC, some 60% of the intake went into the Army, the remaining 40% divided roughly equally between RAF and RN, and you could never tell which way the cat would jump when your turn came round.

And in my case, the stirring exploits of the RAF in '40 tipped the balance - for me and many another young man - and I applied to the VR in October of that year. When was my age group called-up ? I don't know (the rest of my story is in these pages).

For some reason, which I do not fully understand, in the paperwork the RAF administration kept the VRs in a separate pigeonhole from the call-ups. Up to the time I went abroad, we had little 'VR's sewn below our shoulder eagle tabs; the officers had little brass 'VR's on their lapels. When I came back in '46, these had all gone (but the remnants of the pre-war Auxiliaries, who had been embodied on the outbreak of war, were allowed to keep their 'A's on lapel or shoulder to the end: I thought this unfair). For all practical purposes, of course, we all lived (and many died) together, on the same pay rates, as "Hostilities Only" men.

A good illustration of this working in practice is the sad little list, kindly supplied by Icare9, of the last resting place of one of my room mates at ITW (Ron Sweetlove - RIP):

"6 of the crew are in Rheinberg, don't know if the 7th successfully baled out or if he was RCAF etc.....

CHAPPELL SFW 625153 100 SQDN 08/04/1943 ROYAL AIR FORCE
GRIMSHAW CJ 649407 100 SQDN 08/04/1943 ROYAL AIR FORCE
JENKINSON H 1025847 100 SQDN 08/04/1943 RAFVR
KNOWLES MH 1575223 100 SQDN 08/04/1943 RAFVR
MONTIGUE RJB 1331520 100 SQDN 08/04/1943 RAFVR
SWEETLOVE RS 1029829 100 SQDN 08/04/1943 RAFVR
Looks to have been one of the 6 Lancs lost that night

EDIT: Ouch! Looks as if 100 Squadron lost their C.O. on this aircraft...

McKINNON, JOHN ARNOTT. Rank: Squadron Leader
Service No: J/4965. Date of Death: 08/04/1943. Age: 27.
Regiment/Service: Royal Canadian Air Force. 100 (R.A.F.) Sqdn
Grave Reference: Coll. grave 2. E. 9-19.Cemetery: RHEINBERG WAR CEMETERY

Additional Information: Son of John Donald and Ruth Rebecca McKinnon, of Red Deer, Alberta, Canada".

(My) Notes: Two of the six of the (almost certainly) Sergeants are 'RAF'. At that stage of the war, they would be wartime entries who'd been lucky to get their choice, been drafted into the RAF and then volunteered for aircrew (all aircrew were volunteers, however they came in). The other four 'RAFVR', had come in my way. We seem to have had separate number series, too.

The S/Ldr would almost certainly have been the pilot (and been a Flight Commander - the 'C.O. ' would have been a W/Cdr.) It follows that Ron had been "washed out" as a pilot at some stage and was now (maybe) the Nav.

"Additional Information" makes the sad story suddenly personal - just one more family left heartbroken among thousands round the world in those days.

harrym, things may well have been very different three years later - how was it in your day ?

Cheers, everyone, Goodnight.

Danny42C


"Luck" was the Name of the Game.

Pom Pax
3rd Jun 2014, 03:09
Whilst agreeing with Danny's sentiments regarding Additional Information, I have often wondered as to the criteria for including this information and its source.
In the case of my cousin whilst factually correct it gives an entirely false impression. "Son of Mr. and Mrs. J. H. Wood, of Cassilis, Victoria, Australia."
Jim's mother died about 10 days after his birth and shortly after his father relocated himself and family to his native New Zealand. Which explains why he was a casualty of 75 (N.Z.) Sqn.

Petet
3rd Jun 2014, 09:18
Landroger


I would suggest that the first thing you should do (if possible) is to obtain a copy of his service record which will provide you with information on his training and his postings.


Details on how you do this, along with the rules and regulations, can be found at: www.gov.uk/requests-for-personal-data-and-service-records (https://www.gov.uk/requests-for-personal-data-and-service-records). It is worth noting that more details are made available if you apply as next of kin.


You will have to pay to obtain the record and my understanding is that it is taking months (rather than weeks) for them to be sent out by the record office, so be prepared for a bit of a wait.


Once you have this record, you can establish where he was posted and obtain the Operations Record Books for the squadron(s) he was involved with from the National Archives.; this should provide details of his sorties and crew.


In the meantime if you can provide any dates, or additional snippets, it may help other forum members find information in their own archives.

I hope this is useful; good luck with your research.

Regards

Pete

Petet
3rd Jun 2014, 09:28
Danny


Those with a DOB between 1st January 1921 and 31st December 1921 were required to register for National Service on 22nd February 1941.
They would have then followed the procedure that you outlined in your posting 5735.


Also, apologies, but for the purposes of accuracy, I thought it worth pointing out that the National Registration Card was not part of the process of registering for National Service. It was issued during the 1939 census The 1939 National Identity Card (http://www.1911census.org.uk/1939.htm) .

The following is an example of the National Service Registration card (NS2).

http://rafww2butler.files.wordpress.com/2012/07/registrationcardns2.jpg



Regards


Pete

Ormeside28
3rd Jun 2014, 12:15
Verdana
Back to Terrell, new course 19 and new instructor Al Smith who was the Assistant CFI. He soon gave me my final instrument check and a couple of days afterwards final check with CFI, Mr Van Lloyd. Then I could enjoy the flying without the threat of elimination. Lots of formation flying, cross countries landing away, gunnery and authorised low flying. The long cross country was a three leg one. Terrell to Amarillo, saw my first B29 - huge! Then low level to San Angelou, and finally back to Terrell. Good to land away at USAF Bases, treatment always welcoming and first class. My last trip was a solo night cross country of two and a half hours on the night of D Day 1944. Then Wings Parade with an Air Marshal from Washington who queried my age!! Our "families" and friends were invited and entertained to tea afterwards. It was sad to say goodbye to"families" and friends. My instructor gave me a set of American Wings, and then after a few days it was back to Moncton by train. A few days there and off to Halifax where we boarded the Nieuw Amsterdam, the pride of the Dutch Merchant Navy. 35,000 tons, same as Mauretania, but this time with 8,000 Canadian troops and 200 of us. A very crowded ship, no escort but fast. After eight days we passed a convoy as if it was standing still off Northern Ireland and so to the Clyde and Gourock. The troops were unloaded by lighters and then it was our turn. Train to Harrogate and leave. Quite an experience being in America. They were very generous hosts and we had good training.
[/FONT]

Ormeside28
3rd Jun 2014, 12:39
Our pay as Sergeants was now 13/6 per day, probably the same as a Pilot Officer. My flying hours up to here:-

Tiger Moth. dual. 12.15. Solo 10 minutes

Stearman PT17. Dual day. 33.28. Solo. 30.38

Dual night 3.42. Solo. 2.18

AT6. Dual day. 61.27. Solo. Day. 57.39

Dual night. 8.10. Solo night. 13.14
All flights were timed to the minute, due, we believed to "balance of payments" but I don't really believe that.Certainly made our log books look untidy!i:ouch:

Danny42C
3rd Jun 2014, 17:58
Ormeside28,

In my class in the Arnold Scheme (42C, starting at the beginning of September '41), at Primary School they logged time to the minute (presumably because the civilian contractor was being paid by the minute for the provision of flying training hours).

At Basic and Advanced (both wholly Army Air Corps Schools, with Air Corps officer instructors), we logged to the next five minutes.

Made the totting-up much easier !

D

Danny42C
3rd Jun 2014, 18:28
Petet,

The N.S.2 "Certificate of Registration" is a '41 issue. But the link you give "The 1939 National Identity Card" brings up pictures of the fold-over card we all had to carry at all times.

D.

Petet
3rd Jun 2014, 19:39
Danny


The point I was trying to make was that the Identity Card formed part of the September 1939 registration process, with a card being issued to every man, woman and child on the census record.


Registering for National Service was an all together different process requiring men to attend their local employment / labour exchange on a specified Saturday based on their DOB. They would receive their National Service registration card and then be instructed to submit themselves for a medical before being placed on the register for those available for service with the armed forces (as you describe in your post)


I hope that clarifies


Regards


Pete

gzornenplatz
3rd Jun 2014, 20:29
I was 3 months old and I don't remember having one !:\

Danny42C
3rd Jun 2014, 21:16
Pete,

Point taken ! (it was "apples and onions" - two different things)...D.

gzornenplatz,

Try the European Court of Human Rights - you should stand a good chance...D.

Cheers both, Danny.

Petet
3rd Jun 2014, 22:19
Apples and Onions ... do you mean that pears were not available due to rationing!!??


.... anyway, keep up the good work Danny et al .... still loving the thread and learning something new every day


Regards


Pete

Pom Pax
4th Jun 2014, 02:59
gzornenplatz
You certainly had a Registration Card and now you've lost it!:O
Luckily for you as Petet's link The 1939 National Identity Card (http://www.1911census.org.uk/1939.htm) explains they will for 42 quid provide a copy of the information if you are dead. Even more lucky for you the need to have and carry your card ceased when the Identity Card was finally abolished in February 1952.
Further should you wish to take this to Brussels as Danny suggests :), a good starting point is your NHS identity number this the same number as your original Registration Card Number.

Plenty of interesting reading in that link.

26er
4th Jun 2014, 08:20
No idea what my NHS number is without looking it up but BJBP 2484 is forever imprinted in my mind. Dad was 2481, Mum 2482, big sister 2483. God only knows how they made out for a double digit family.

Pom Pax
4th Jun 2014, 08:40
26er rest assured you've just quoted your NHS no.
Incidentally listed as BJBP/248/4 in those pre-computerised days so .../10 would not have been unacceptable.

P.s. Also forever imprinted in my mind, as is my National service no. 51900012 but when I needed recently my National Insurance no. nearly a complete blank ZW?????????????A with a 124 in there somewhere!

Hummingfrog
4th Jun 2014, 10:22
Hi again - a couple of pictures of the Stearman from Dad's album - I believe they were painted yellow?

HF


http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk68/squadron72/Dad%20Terrell/StearmanFltLine_zps37b5cf34.jpg (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/squadron72/media/Dad%20Terrell/StearmanFltLine_zps37b5cf34.jpg.html)http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk68/squadron72/Dad%20Terrell/Stearman_zps02f67ad8.jpg (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/squadron72/media/Dad%20Terrell/Stearman_zps02f67ad8.jpg.html)