Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II
Danny, the piece I quoted from was mainly about the aircraft rather than the training syllabus. It was a single unnamed ex-student's recollection anyway, so hardly the final word I'd suggest. What the article does mention is the preference for the Stearman by many instructors as a basic trainer, rather than the more "slippery" Ryan and Fairchild monoplanes that many students preferred as being closer in design to the fighters that they hoped eventually to fly. So is it possible that the "seat of the pants" philosophy was coming from the civilian instructors who had flown bi-planes throughout their careers rather than an official USAAC requirement?
If the quote is only half right it would seem that being denied only the ASI meant that you got off relatively lightly, yet gained valuable insight into extracting a desired IAS from your attitude and an appropriate power setting as well as the ability to suspect the ASI if it didn't correlate accordingly. High performance WWII operational aircraft would not be very forgiving of such a routine, or perhaps even the advanced trainers. If the custom lingered on I doubt it outlasted the Stearmans, though they did continue on into the early post war years:-
None of which gives a definitive answer to your question. I'll keep up the search, and I invite others to do likewise. 
If the quote is only half right it would seem that being denied only the ASI meant that you got off relatively lightly, yet gained valuable insight into extracting a desired IAS from your attitude and an appropriate power setting as well as the ability to suspect the ASI if it didn't correlate accordingly. High performance WWII operational aircraft would not be very forgiving of such a routine, or perhaps even the advanced trainers. If the custom lingered on I doubt it outlasted the Stearmans, though they did continue on into the early post war years:-
The PT-19 has been wrongly described as
being THE primary trainer of WWII. It was the Stearman,
which also saw service during the early Cold War years and
helped to train some of the country’s future astronauts
being THE primary trainer of WWII. It was the Stearman,
which also saw service during the early Cold War years and
helped to train some of the country’s future astronauts
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One Thing Leads to Another.
Chugalug (#10622),
Thanks for the prompt reply ! My general impression (admittedly 75 years old) was that the civilian flying schools taken over by the Army Air Corps were under tight rein from the South-East Air Corps Flying Training Center; and the (junior) Army officers appointed to each place were tasked to ensure that only the AAC Syllabus was taught there. I can hardly imagine that they would allow our (civilian) instructors at the Embry-Riddle School of Aviation at Carlstrom Field to teach the "No ASI" method unless it was AAC Policy.
The British Flying Training Schools, on the other hand, which were under RAF Command, would teach only the RAF Syllabus (although at the beginning using US civilian instructors, but later by their own or Arnold Scheme "creamies").
Overall Command was in the benevolent person of Major General "Hap" Arnold, who had been taught to fly by the Wright Brothers and had a colourful career, although it would seem that he and President Roosevelt did not get on too well (Wiki knows the full story).
As for the Stearman, I have never been a QFI (not good enough !), or a TP, but yet: "The Toad Beneath the Harrow knows......." I did 60 hours on the Stearman as a stood, and later at Thornaby much the same on TMs doing Air Experience Flights and some (unofficial) instructing.
I would say that both Tiger and Stearman were excellent primary trainers, but the Stearman had the edge IMHO, as being bigger, heavier and more rugged and powerful. The Stearman has been in the news over the past year or two, because of one ("The Spirit of Artemis") in the hands of "The Bird in a Biplane" (full, entertaining story on Private Flying Forum, "Tracey Curtis-Taylor" Thread). As for the two monoplane US trainers, I would suppose that they were in the same league as our Miles Magister. Never flew any of 'em.
Your: "...High performance WWII operational aircraft would not be very forgiving of such a routine..." Oddly enough, Peter C. Smith, somewhere in his authoritative "Vengeance!", tells a story by a "Red" McInnis (RCAF), who got airborne in a VV, only to find that he had no ASI
(I suppose a fat bug had set up home in the pitot tube). But he was on an 'op', and so all he had to do out and back was to keep station in the "box", the ASI is irrelevant in the dive, and when they broke for landing, used attitude and normal power settings. Easy-Peasy !
"Red", btw, was in 110 with me, and I took over 1340 Flight from him when he went back to Canada in April, 1945. ...... Which brings me to a further appeal for help from the brethren.
Peter Smith is trying to trace "Red"s full Christian Names for a projected new edition of "Vengeance!". We know: "J.17891 F/Lt V.B. McInnis, RCAF" already. With that, it should be easy to get hold of a copy of his service records, right ?
Wrong ! Peter has had no success in getting this from the R.C.A.F. It is not that he is an idle gawker off the street - he is a well respected Aviation historian, and is asking for a legitimate purpose.
????????
Cheers, Danny.
Thanks for the prompt reply ! My general impression (admittedly 75 years old) was that the civilian flying schools taken over by the Army Air Corps were under tight rein from the South-East Air Corps Flying Training Center; and the (junior) Army officers appointed to each place were tasked to ensure that only the AAC Syllabus was taught there. I can hardly imagine that they would allow our (civilian) instructors at the Embry-Riddle School of Aviation at Carlstrom Field to teach the "No ASI" method unless it was AAC Policy.
The British Flying Training Schools, on the other hand, which were under RAF Command, would teach only the RAF Syllabus (although at the beginning using US civilian instructors, but later by their own or Arnold Scheme "creamies").
Overall Command was in the benevolent person of Major General "Hap" Arnold, who had been taught to fly by the Wright Brothers and had a colourful career, although it would seem that he and President Roosevelt did not get on too well (Wiki knows the full story).
As for the Stearman, I have never been a QFI (not good enough !), or a TP, but yet: "The Toad Beneath the Harrow knows......." I did 60 hours on the Stearman as a stood, and later at Thornaby much the same on TMs doing Air Experience Flights and some (unofficial) instructing.
I would say that both Tiger and Stearman were excellent primary trainers, but the Stearman had the edge IMHO, as being bigger, heavier and more rugged and powerful. The Stearman has been in the news over the past year or two, because of one ("The Spirit of Artemis") in the hands of "The Bird in a Biplane" (full, entertaining story on Private Flying Forum, "Tracey Curtis-Taylor" Thread). As for the two monoplane US trainers, I would suppose that they were in the same league as our Miles Magister. Never flew any of 'em.
Your: "...High performance WWII operational aircraft would not be very forgiving of such a routine..." Oddly enough, Peter C. Smith, somewhere in his authoritative "Vengeance!", tells a story by a "Red" McInnis (RCAF), who got airborne in a VV, only to find that he had no ASI
(I suppose a fat bug had set up home in the pitot tube). But he was on an 'op', and so all he had to do out and back was to keep station in the "box", the ASI is irrelevant in the dive, and when they broke for landing, used attitude and normal power settings. Easy-Peasy ! "Red", btw, was in 110 with me, and I took over 1340 Flight from him when he went back to Canada in April, 1945. ...... Which brings me to a further appeal for help from the brethren.
Peter Smith is trying to trace "Red"s full Christian Names for a projected new edition of "Vengeance!". We know: "J.17891 F/Lt V.B. McInnis, RCAF" already. With that, it should be easy to get hold of a copy of his service records, right ?
Wrong ! Peter has had no success in getting this from the R.C.A.F. It is not that he is an idle gawker off the street - he is a well respected Aviation historian, and is asking for a legitimate purpose.
????????
Cheers, Danny.
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A bit of Googling produced Course 42 at Moncton. Feb 27 1942...amongst whom was V. B. McInnes, who came from Barrie, Ontario. More Googling shows there are still McInnes living in Barrie.....might help, for what it's worth.
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Molemot (#10624),
It might be worth a lot, for you may have put the finger on it. Was it McInnes or McInnis ? If we have been barking up the wrong tree, whatever Search Engine we've been using wouldn't recognise it. I'll tell Peter that and let him follow up. Thanks !
Seems "Red" and I had more in common than I thought. He was on Course 42 at Moncton, New Brunswick and (graduated ?) 27/2/42. I was on the Arnold Course 42C and graduated 6/3/42 (a week later) at Craig Field, Selma, Ala. We might have had our hammocks hung side by side over a mess deck of the troopship back to UK !
Small world !
Danny.
It might be worth a lot, for you may have put the finger on it. Was it McInnes or McInnis ? If we have been barking up the wrong tree, whatever Search Engine we've been using wouldn't recognise it. I'll tell Peter that and let him follow up. Thanks !
Seems "Red" and I had more in common than I thought. He was on Course 42 at Moncton, New Brunswick and (graduated ?) 27/2/42. I was on the Arnold Course 42C and graduated 6/3/42 (a week later) at Craig Field, Selma, Ala. We might have had our hammocks hung side by side over a mess deck of the troopship back to UK !
Small world !
Danny.
Molemot, well done Sir! Hopefully the transposition of a single letter has cracked Danny's (and Peter Smith's!) search for Red's details.
Danny, your tale of a Vengeance continuing to the target, dive-bombing it, and then returning to base, all without an ASI perhaps points up the appropriateness of your no ASI basic training. It would be interesting if Red had experienced that same facet of basic training.
I seem to recall my own training included "partial panel" exercises whereby the artificial horizon was covered, leaving the turn and slip, compass, ASI, VSI, and Altimeter only.
Danny explodes, "Partial panel? That was our full one!" For some reason the lad pushing his delivery bike up a steep hill in the Hovis ad comes to mind. Can't think why!
Danny, I'm sorry that you can't open the link in my #10620 and I seem to recall similar problems previously. I doubt it has much to do with the age of your laptop. I would suspect your browser and it might be worthwhile downloading another. If you do a Google search for, say, Google Chrome, click on the first offering and then on the 32 bit download. It will take awhile doing so but you should be able to open it then (if you can't find it, it should be in "downloads"). Having opened it, get through all the "welcome" tosh ASAP, and then search for "PPRuNe" and navigate to this thread. Try opening my link again. Hopefully it will work. You will be rewarded with a full colour picture of a Stearman (fleet number 45) resplendent in full blue and yellow plumage overflying the Carlstrom "circle". I think the pic dates from 1942/43.
If those more tech savvy than I spot any howlers in the above please declare them now (or forever hold....). I'm not sure of your operating system, Danny. If it's XP then maybe it will no longer be compatible with a Chrome download. No problem if so, it can easily be deleted.
Up to you of course, but perhaps someone can try for you if you don't fancy trying it yourself?
Danny, your tale of a Vengeance continuing to the target, dive-bombing it, and then returning to base, all without an ASI perhaps points up the appropriateness of your no ASI basic training. It would be interesting if Red had experienced that same facet of basic training.
I seem to recall my own training included "partial panel" exercises whereby the artificial horizon was covered, leaving the turn and slip, compass, ASI, VSI, and Altimeter only.
Danny explodes, "Partial panel? That was our full one!" For some reason the lad pushing his delivery bike up a steep hill in the Hovis ad comes to mind. Can't think why!
Danny, I'm sorry that you can't open the link in my #10620 and I seem to recall similar problems previously. I doubt it has much to do with the age of your laptop. I would suspect your browser and it might be worthwhile downloading another. If you do a Google search for, say, Google Chrome, click on the first offering and then on the 32 bit download. It will take awhile doing so but you should be able to open it then (if you can't find it, it should be in "downloads"). Having opened it, get through all the "welcome" tosh ASAP, and then search for "PPRuNe" and navigate to this thread. Try opening my link again. Hopefully it will work. You will be rewarded with a full colour picture of a Stearman (fleet number 45) resplendent in full blue and yellow plumage overflying the Carlstrom "circle". I think the pic dates from 1942/43.
If those more tech savvy than I spot any howlers in the above please declare them now (or forever hold....). I'm not sure of your operating system, Danny. If it's XP then maybe it will no longer be compatible with a Chrome download. No problem if so, it can easily be deleted.
Up to you of course, but perhaps someone can try for you if you don't fancy trying it yourself?
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Sorry chaps...duff gen. I blame my fingers! It was, indeed, McInnis....I slipped the wrong vowel in there.... Still, those sort of errors can work both ways, and looking for McInnes might yet find something(!)
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Chugalug (#10626),
Thank you for lending a hand ! Don't worry about my not being able to open your link - you've told me the gist of it already. I've passed on Molemot's idea to Peter Smith, we'll see what happens. Browserwise, my situation is that my box of tricks, bought some six years ago, came with Windows 7 Home Premium in the package. I've made some half-hearted attempts to upgrade to Windows 10, but all came to naught - I'm just too stupid. But from what I hear, it is just as well, as Windows 7 does all I need, although I often get sniffy notes telling me I'm using an obsolete browser. (I use Internet Explorer).
In a "fit of absence of mind" (there's no other word for it), I got Google Chrome as well (don't ask me how I did that), and sailed along happily enough with those two ever since. Generally, I keep PPRuNe on IEx, do all my drafting on NotePad files, and email on GCh, but when one sulks, sometimes have to swap over. (In this way, found I could copy a pic on GCh from a post or Wiki, but not paste it - but it'd paste on IEx !)
Tried to bring your Link up, but neither would play, so at their (which ?) suggestion, tried to update (what ? how ?), blundered on hopelessly till I finished up with a new gmail address which I would fain be rid of, but don't know how. Have closed my eyes to that, left it alone, and hope that when I open them again it will have gone away.
You see what a mess the Sorcerer's Apprentice can get into when he really puts his mind to it ?
"...but perhaps someone can try for you..." .... Please Don't, folks - I'm in a state of Utter Invincible Ignorance in these matters, I cannot be helped, I'm beyond help !
Now, to talk about things I do know something about. Your:
...It would be interesting if Red had experienced that same facet of basic training...
I don't think the RCAF (or anyone else ?) taught it (that's what we'd like to know). But it is interesting that it would work as well with a Vengeance as a Stearman. In principle, it would work with anything, provided the pilot was thoroughly familiar with his beast !
Note my remarks (somewhere ages ago) about "Red" being "one of the old Blenheim brigade (on 110)". Seems not, he was my exact contemporary - probably had done a Hurricane OCU in UK, then shanghai'd to Bombay (like me).
My "Starwriter" (which died - again - the other week) due back today. Repairs have now cost far more than a fully reconditioned one would have done at the beginning. I never learn. I once had a new Renault 16 (of evil memory); engine repairs in the end added up to more than the cost of a new engine (it was out of its measly six month's warranty, which was all they gave you in those days).
Oldest Inhabitant (in full Victor Meldrew mode) subsides mumbling into his ale.
Cheers, Danny.
EDIT: Molemot (#10628),
Not to worry - it'll "all come out in the wash !"
Danny,
Thank you for lending a hand ! Don't worry about my not being able to open your link - you've told me the gist of it already. I've passed on Molemot's idea to Peter Smith, we'll see what happens. Browserwise, my situation is that my box of tricks, bought some six years ago, came with Windows 7 Home Premium in the package. I've made some half-hearted attempts to upgrade to Windows 10, but all came to naught - I'm just too stupid. But from what I hear, it is just as well, as Windows 7 does all I need, although I often get sniffy notes telling me I'm using an obsolete browser. (I use Internet Explorer).
In a "fit of absence of mind" (there's no other word for it), I got Google Chrome as well (don't ask me how I did that), and sailed along happily enough with those two ever since. Generally, I keep PPRuNe on IEx, do all my drafting on NotePad files, and email on GCh, but when one sulks, sometimes have to swap over. (In this way, found I could copy a pic on GCh from a post or Wiki, but not paste it - but it'd paste on IEx !)
Tried to bring your Link up, but neither would play, so at their (which ?) suggestion, tried to update (what ? how ?), blundered on hopelessly till I finished up with a new gmail address which I would fain be rid of, but don't know how. Have closed my eyes to that, left it alone, and hope that when I open them again it will have gone away.
You see what a mess the Sorcerer's Apprentice can get into when he really puts his mind to it ?
"...but perhaps someone can try for you..." .... Please Don't, folks - I'm in a state of Utter Invincible Ignorance in these matters, I cannot be helped, I'm beyond help !
Now, to talk about things I do know something about. Your:
...It would be interesting if Red had experienced that same facet of basic training...
I don't think the RCAF (or anyone else ?) taught it (that's what we'd like to know). But it is interesting that it would work as well with a Vengeance as a Stearman. In principle, it would work with anything, provided the pilot was thoroughly familiar with his beast !
Note my remarks (somewhere ages ago) about "Red" being "one of the old Blenheim brigade (on 110)". Seems not, he was my exact contemporary - probably had done a Hurricane OCU in UK, then shanghai'd to Bombay (like me).
My "Starwriter" (which died - again - the other week) due back today. Repairs have now cost far more than a fully reconditioned one would have done at the beginning. I never learn. I once had a new Renault 16 (of evil memory); engine repairs in the end added up to more than the cost of a new engine (it was out of its measly six month's warranty, which was all they gave you in those days).
Oldest Inhabitant (in full Victor Meldrew mode) subsides mumbling into his ale.
Cheers, Danny.
EDIT: Molemot (#10628),
Not to worry - it'll "all come out in the wash !"
Danny,
Last edited by Danny42C; 17th May 2017 at 11:29. Reason: STOP PRESS !
A 5 year old in RAF Poona, 1946
Another birthday gallops towards me next month, and I'm coming to understand that early memory becomes clearer as I go into the store and forget what I've gone for. After seven decades I can look back with experienced eye, and understand why my dear mother told me that she acquired her first grey hairs at the age of 34, a week after the cobra incident described shortly. I invite you to accompany us as we rejoin my father at RAF Poona in 1946, where five-year-old Geriaviator is finding his way around this strange new world.
I have yet to learn Olde Anglo-Saxon so I assume the Hindi word for naughty motorcycle is “yoo ********* ****”. I know this because that's what Sgt James called his machine when it would not start and kicked it onto its side. Mummy says this is very naughty and I agree that the motorcycle very naughty because it would not start. She rolls her eyes in despair. Of course this makes my new phrase all the more attractive, and I repeat its rhythmic cadence like a mantra. Indeed it will remain useful many years later, when I remove my knuckles along a row of razor-sharp cylinder fins, or the scalpel-sharp end of locking wire goes under my fingernail, even 70 years on when some youngster in a call centre screws up the most simple transaction.
Sgt James and I have become good friends since he fell off his motorcycle and broke his leg, so he has to wear a big white boot. We sit together on his verandah most afternoons while he puts his leg on a box and takes his special walking medicine, which comes in a big bottle labelled with a picture of a man with a stick. Sgt James spells out the name Johnny Walker for me, and he says Mr. Walker's medicine makes his sore leg feel better.
Daddy is very cross today because he has to go to church parade on Sunday. Sgt James does not go because of his sore leg, but he says he will give Daddy a glass of his medicine to help him walk up and down the church. Daddy cheers up as he takes the golden medicine but says it's the third time he's been caught this year and he's brassed off with damn parades. Mummy says mustn't say damn, I remark, but Daddy pays no attention.
Yoo ********* ****, I say sympathetically. Out of the mouth of babes … says Sgt James and they both start laughing, but I've no idea what they are talking about.
TOMORROW: Geriaviator (5) meets the Padre. What could possibly go wrong?
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Geriaviator (#10629),
What memories that resurrects ! In every bazaar in the subcontinent, there would be one or more dherzis, tailors who would run you up a shirt or bush jacket (usually in absorbent khaki cellular material), or a uniform jacket, slacks or shorts (in non-absorbent khaki drill).
Delivery was always "next morning, Sahib" after measurement and order. The tailoring was dirt-cheap, never more than a rupee a garment (about 1/4 in old money, perhaps a jacket (which needs more tailoring) would be two rupees. To this would be added the cost of the cloth.
In wartime, in most larger towns, there would be a RIASC "Officers' Shop", where they would sell high quality khaki drill, 54 inches wide at Rs1 As8 (Rs1½) a yard. From 2½ yards, your dherzi would make a uniform jacket and slacks. For a jacket (which would have brass buttons) the buttons would not be sewn on but a small hole would be embroidered through which the shank could pass. The button was then secured by a small brass split pin.
Reason: they had to be removed before the jacket went to the laundry ("Dhobi"). Likewise your (cloth) ribbon bar and wings were on little press studs. For the stuff that went to the daily "dhobi" had to stand rough treatment. Essentially, they were taken down to the river and the dirt and sweat flogged out by the womenfolk on a flat stone under running water. Only the best quality drill ("Elgin Mills" of Ahmehabad was the acknowledged standard) ccould stand up to this for any length of time.
The tropical kit issued to us in UK was rubbish. The fit was lousy, the khaki faded to a dirty yellow after a dhobi or two, the stitching gave way and the hems shredded. The first thing the new arrival did was to chuck this lot away, and get some proper kit tailored by the nearest dherzi.
I digress: armed with your 2½ yards of drill, (Rs3) you took it to the dherzi and his Victorian heirloom sewing machine, he expertly cut out all the panels and next morning your bearer would lay out a new uniform (total cost Rs4-5, say 7/6). This, of course, was "parade" gear, which you hardly ever wore. Normally you just had an "Aertex" type bush jacket or shirt by day, and drill shorts; after dark it would be long-sleeved shirt or bush jacket and khaki drill slacks (the mossie goes for wrist and ankle).
The airmen's issue kit out there was local Indian purchase, the quality not bad, but the fit "hit and miss". Most people went to the dherzi.
It weren't 'arf 'ot, Mum !
Danny.
PS: 84 Sqdn had a F/O called "Hartnell". He was a sprig of the Norman Hartnell family, the then Queen's Dressmakers. When this became known, he was "dherzi" Hartnell for ever after !
...we go to the Indian tailor for another pair of khaki shorts, I'm engrossed as he sits cross-legged using his toes to sew as well as his hands...
Delivery was always "next morning, Sahib" after measurement and order. The tailoring was dirt-cheap, never more than a rupee a garment (about 1/4 in old money, perhaps a jacket (which needs more tailoring) would be two rupees. To this would be added the cost of the cloth.
In wartime, in most larger towns, there would be a RIASC "Officers' Shop", where they would sell high quality khaki drill, 54 inches wide at Rs1 As8 (Rs1½) a yard. From 2½ yards, your dherzi would make a uniform jacket and slacks. For a jacket (which would have brass buttons) the buttons would not be sewn on but a small hole would be embroidered through which the shank could pass. The button was then secured by a small brass split pin.
Reason: they had to be removed before the jacket went to the laundry ("Dhobi"). Likewise your (cloth) ribbon bar and wings were on little press studs. For the stuff that went to the daily "dhobi" had to stand rough treatment. Essentially, they were taken down to the river and the dirt and sweat flogged out by the womenfolk on a flat stone under running water. Only the best quality drill ("Elgin Mills" of Ahmehabad was the acknowledged standard) ccould stand up to this for any length of time.
The tropical kit issued to us in UK was rubbish. The fit was lousy, the khaki faded to a dirty yellow after a dhobi or two, the stitching gave way and the hems shredded. The first thing the new arrival did was to chuck this lot away, and get some proper kit tailored by the nearest dherzi.
I digress: armed with your 2½ yards of drill, (Rs3) you took it to the dherzi and his Victorian heirloom sewing machine, he expertly cut out all the panels and next morning your bearer would lay out a new uniform (total cost Rs4-5, say 7/6). This, of course, was "parade" gear, which you hardly ever wore. Normally you just had an "Aertex" type bush jacket or shirt by day, and drill shorts; after dark it would be long-sleeved shirt or bush jacket and khaki drill slacks (the mossie goes for wrist and ankle).
The airmen's issue kit out there was local Indian purchase, the quality not bad, but the fit "hit and miss". Most people went to the dherzi.
It weren't 'arf 'ot, Mum !
Danny.
PS: 84 Sqdn had a F/O called "Hartnell". He was a sprig of the Norman Hartnell family, the then Queen's Dressmakers. When this became known, he was "dherzi" Hartnell for ever after !
Oh yes Danny, I remember the dhobi-wallah and even now a piece is being penned for your perusal! It's only five-year-old Geriaviator's introduction to the laundry and of course nothing could go wrong ...
I did a major demolition job on my right ankle 35 or so years ago - I've got eight screws in there to this day. The consultant said wrists and ankles were the slowest to heal as there was very little flesh over them.
Presumably the aforementioned mossies already knew this and the blood vessels are easier to find.
Presumably the aforementioned mossies already knew this and the blood vessels are easier to find.
Much the same in Changi, Seletar and Tengah in Singapore.
On posting to the Far East officers could draw a 'tropical kit allowance'. The unwise, like me and uncountable others would purchase their kit from Gieves, Moss Bros. and RE City. This was invariably a copy of standard RAF tropical issue with 'Singapore Tops' (two straps that buckled each side of the waist). On arrival one found it was heavy and uncomfortable.
To the rescue came Clothing Stores who would flog you a roll of decent light cloth that a Changi village tailor would turn into a full set of comfortable attire overnight.
One evening I was to attend a Formal Dinner Night complete with tropical mess kit. Whilst preparing for this my Amah pointed out that my trousers had been irrecoverably damaged during a game of mess rugby on the previous occasion.
A phone call to my tailor who had made the mess kit in the first place. En-route to the mess in mess jacket, bow tie and shorts I put on a brand new pair of trousers in his shop.
On posting to the Far East officers could draw a 'tropical kit allowance'. The unwise, like me and uncountable others would purchase their kit from Gieves, Moss Bros. and RE City. This was invariably a copy of standard RAF tropical issue with 'Singapore Tops' (two straps that buckled each side of the waist). On arrival one found it was heavy and uncomfortable.
To the rescue came Clothing Stores who would flog you a roll of decent light cloth that a Changi village tailor would turn into a full set of comfortable attire overnight.
One evening I was to attend a Formal Dinner Night complete with tropical mess kit. Whilst preparing for this my Amah pointed out that my trousers had been irrecoverably damaged during a game of mess rugby on the previous occasion.
A phone call to my tailor who had made the mess kit in the first place. En-route to the mess in mess jacket, bow tie and shorts I put on a brand new pair of trousers in his shop.
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I too remember the amazing speed of production of clothing items. The tailor in Tengah Village ran up all my necessary uniform items during my week's "acclimatisation" leave on arrival: shirts/shorts, bush jacket/slacks and a rather nice white Mess Dress jacket and 'lightweight' blue trousers.
Subsequent orders included raw silk civvy shirts, and 'dress' civvy shorts and slacks. The prices were staggeringly low, even though he had a captive audience and was, IIRC, the only tailor in the village.
For other more complex items (DJ, suit etc.] I used Wai Cheong in North Bridge Road (the DJ survives to this day, albeit a bit snug!]. And from a cobbler down near Alexandra BMH I purchased a made-to-measure pair of full-length Dress Boots, in beautiful German chrome leather that bulled up like glass* ... and they're still going strong, 50 years on! IIRC the boots cost £7
Subsequent orders included raw silk civvy shirts, and 'dress' civvy shorts and slacks. The prices were staggeringly low, even though he had a captive audience and was, IIRC, the only tailor in the village.
For other more complex items (DJ, suit etc.] I used Wai Cheong in North Bridge Road (the DJ survives to this day, albeit a bit snug!]. And from a cobbler down near Alexandra BMH I purchased a made-to-measure pair of full-length Dress Boots, in beautiful German chrome leather that bulled up like glass* ... and they're still going strong, 50 years on! IIRC the boots cost £7
Last edited by MPN11; 19th May 2017 at 10:45. Reason: spilling
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Geriaviator (#10631),
Knowing your precocious talent for creating mayhem where none previously existed, I look forward to your next offerings and fear for the mental stability of Padre Ashe (was it?) !
'''''''''''
DHfan (nem.con.) (#10632),
Now that anopheles has taken the stage here, I recall that, five years ago, almost to the day, I wrote on this Thread:
"It was a rule that ankles and wrists must be covered after dark; they are the favourite points of attack for the malaria mossie; I suppose that the superficial veins there are easier for the beastie to dig down to. Even with all the precautions and the daily mepacrine tablet, everybody got malaria at least once, and some several times, while out there. It was regarded as no more serious than (and felt like) a bad dose of 'Flu. It put you on your back for a fortnight, and you weren't much use for a week or two after that".
And:
"But we had been stationary for hours at a time, often at night. Now there are all sorts of malaria, but in our day there were simply two: "Benign Tertian", and "Malign Tertian" (BT & MT). The first is bad, the second worse. BT is usually treatable in SSQ (or even in your own basha). This time I had MT and it put me on my back in a military hospital in Quetta. I honestly thought I'd "had it". (There is also a rare "Cerebral" malaria, with a high mortality rate, and another insect-borne disease: "Dengue" fever, a sort of "Malaria-lite", much milder, which lasts about a week)".
Just thought I'd mention it.
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FED (#10633),
That's what I call "cutting it fine" (I trust you were unaccompanied by any lady other than your wife ?)
Cheers, all, Danny.
Knowing your precocious talent for creating mayhem where none previously existed, I look forward to your next offerings and fear for the mental stability of Padre Ashe (was it?) !
'''''''''''
DHfan (nem.con.) (#10632),
Now that anopheles has taken the stage here, I recall that, five years ago, almost to the day, I wrote on this Thread:
"It was a rule that ankles and wrists must be covered after dark; they are the favourite points of attack for the malaria mossie; I suppose that the superficial veins there are easier for the beastie to dig down to. Even with all the precautions and the daily mepacrine tablet, everybody got malaria at least once, and some several times, while out there. It was regarded as no more serious than (and felt like) a bad dose of 'Flu. It put you on your back for a fortnight, and you weren't much use for a week or two after that".
And:
"But we had been stationary for hours at a time, often at night. Now there are all sorts of malaria, but in our day there were simply two: "Benign Tertian", and "Malign Tertian" (BT & MT). The first is bad, the second worse. BT is usually treatable in SSQ (or even in your own basha). This time I had MT and it put me on my back in a military hospital in Quetta. I honestly thought I'd "had it". (There is also a rare "Cerebral" malaria, with a high mortality rate, and another insect-borne disease: "Dengue" fever, a sort of "Malaria-lite", much milder, which lasts about a week)".
Just thought I'd mention it.
''''''''''
FED (#10633),
That's what I call "cutting it fine" (I trust you were unaccompanied by any lady other than your wife ?)
Cheers, all, Danny.
Come on Danny; your memory is fading. A 'Formal Dinner Night' or Dining In night, was for mess members only, now including WRAF members.
Not being privy to the modern Royal Air Force I would assume that the after dinner recreation in my time has now been banned or considered racialist or homophonic. 'Hold him down, you Zulu warrior' is probably unknown now.
The days of the call; "six pints please"; "Red Barrel or Courage?". "Courage, it's not for drinking, it's for throwing. have gone.
Not being privy to the modern Royal Air Force I would assume that the after dinner recreation in my time has now been banned or considered racialist or homophonic. 'Hold him down, you Zulu warrior' is probably unknown now.
The days of the call; "six pints please"; "Red Barrel or Courage?". "Courage, it's not for drinking, it's for throwing. have gone.
Last edited by Fareastdriver; 18th May 2017 at 15:35.
THE POONA PADRE COMES TO CALL
WE'RE preparing for tiffin when a car draws up outside and something very strange happens. Daddy looks out, he mutters something and says 'It's the bloody padre, I'm off to Jack's house' and disappears through the back door. Mummy says he's cross because he doesn't want to arrange another church parade.
Getting out of his car is a plump officer in a strange uniform, he doesn't wear a collar and tie but instead has a curious white collar like a dog, and I'm horrified to hear that he wants me to go to Sunday School. As if weekday school isn't enough, for the one cloud on my horizon is the RAF school, where I'm disgusted to find that there are no lessons on aeroplanes as I expected, just reading and writing, and there are lots of kids there. As the padre's syllabus includes neither aircraft nor motorcycles I decline politely but Mummy says yes of course, and the padre says he will return with some books for me.
A few days later I'm on the verandah studying the aircraft recognition cards which Daddy brought me when the car arrives again and the padre asks me to call Mummy, who is inside the house. Mummy, mummy, it's the bloody padre, I announce. Mummy's face goes bright red, and the padre is looking at me with a shocked expression. Grown-ups are hard to understand sometimes, I only did as I was asked.
Next instalment: Geriaviator (age 5) assists with the dhobi-wallah's indelible ink. What could possibly go wrong?
WE'RE preparing for tiffin when a car draws up outside and something very strange happens. Daddy looks out, he mutters something and says 'It's the bloody padre, I'm off to Jack's house' and disappears through the back door. Mummy says he's cross because he doesn't want to arrange another church parade.
Getting out of his car is a plump officer in a strange uniform, he doesn't wear a collar and tie but instead has a curious white collar like a dog, and I'm horrified to hear that he wants me to go to Sunday School. As if weekday school isn't enough, for the one cloud on my horizon is the RAF school, where I'm disgusted to find that there are no lessons on aeroplanes as I expected, just reading and writing, and there are lots of kids there. As the padre's syllabus includes neither aircraft nor motorcycles I decline politely but Mummy says yes of course, and the padre says he will return with some books for me.
A few days later I'm on the verandah studying the aircraft recognition cards which Daddy brought me when the car arrives again and the padre asks me to call Mummy, who is inside the house. Mummy, mummy, it's the bloody padre, I announce. Mummy's face goes bright red, and the padre is looking at me with a shocked expression. Grown-ups are hard to understand sometimes, I only did as I was asked.
Next instalment: Geriaviator (age 5) assists with the dhobi-wallah's indelible ink. What could possibly go wrong?
Join Date: Mar 2010
Location: Often in Jersey, but mainly in the past.
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Indeed, one would ask the barman for a pint of throwing beer, which was duly dispensed [at no charge] from the slops tray underneath the taps of frothing Tiger.
We had a task in the mid seventies to go to Catterick Barracks to do some training with the, IIRC, the 15th Light Gun Regiment. This task, for about three days, involved lifting the troops and their howitzers over the Catterick ranges for their annual aviation training.
As usual I telephoned the unit to tie up the loose ends, where to land and accommodation requirements. This was sorted and in passing they mentioned that they dressed for dinner on Tuesdays. We were there through Monday to Wednesday and I was being accompanied by the Squadrons Crewman Leader who, in the Support helicopter world, was a Flight Lieutenant.
I, having been involved with Pongos from my days in Borneo, knew that 'dressing for dinner' meant mess kits so I arranged with Paddy for us to take our mess kits with us. We did the days tasking during which I claimed the World's Speed Record for a 105mm. Howitzer at 135 knots, (cheating bit because it didn't have a blast plate on) and in the evening came time for nosh.
Paddy and I, in full kit minus gongs walked through the door and there were all the resident officers--------------------wait for it.
In full Regimental Mess Dress.
The reception was overwhelming. The last thing they thought was that two RAF officers on a short training detachment being prepared to honour their long standing tradition was totally unexpected.
My presence was enough. As with all the my FTSs, squadrons, stations, wars etc.; the Regiment folded within a couple of years.
As usual I telephoned the unit to tie up the loose ends, where to land and accommodation requirements. This was sorted and in passing they mentioned that they dressed for dinner on Tuesdays. We were there through Monday to Wednesday and I was being accompanied by the Squadrons Crewman Leader who, in the Support helicopter world, was a Flight Lieutenant.
I, having been involved with Pongos from my days in Borneo, knew that 'dressing for dinner' meant mess kits so I arranged with Paddy for us to take our mess kits with us. We did the days tasking during which I claimed the World's Speed Record for a 105mm. Howitzer at 135 knots, (cheating bit because it didn't have a blast plate on) and in the evening came time for nosh.
Paddy and I, in full kit minus gongs walked through the door and there were all the resident officers--------------------wait for it.
In full Regimental Mess Dress.
The reception was overwhelming. The last thing they thought was that two RAF officers on a short training detachment being prepared to honour their long standing tradition was totally unexpected.
My presence was enough. As with all the my FTSs, squadrons, stations, wars etc.; the Regiment folded within a couple of years.
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FED (#10636),
"... your memory is fading..." All too true ! Like my "Get up and go", it's Got up and gone.
À propos nothing at all, in the process of a chuck-out today, found the (full size) gold lace wings that came with my 1950 No.1 SD Jacket (of evil memory). The idea was to replace the wartime jacket and the prewar Mess jacket with this dual purpose garment. It would serve as a parade jacket by day, and at night would form a Mess jacket (with white shirt, black bow and a cummerbund). It was emphasised that this was the future, there would no going back.
A few timorous souls (inc your humble correspondent) fell for it and bought the damned thing. Then, of course, the uproar of execration rose to such a level that the AM keeled over. They went back to the wartime jacket plus prewar Mess kit. One change remained, the wartime four-button jacket lost a button. Conversion to three-button was not difficult.
I binned my 1950 job and was well out of pocket. Must've stashed the gold lace wings away and forgotten them.
Danny.
"... your memory is fading..." All too true ! Like my "Get up and go", it's Got up and gone.
À propos nothing at all, in the process of a chuck-out today, found the (full size) gold lace wings that came with my 1950 No.1 SD Jacket (of evil memory). The idea was to replace the wartime jacket and the prewar Mess jacket with this dual purpose garment. It would serve as a parade jacket by day, and at night would form a Mess jacket (with white shirt, black bow and a cummerbund). It was emphasised that this was the future, there would no going back.
A few timorous souls (inc your humble correspondent) fell for it and bought the damned thing. Then, of course, the uproar of execration rose to such a level that the AM keeled over. They went back to the wartime jacket plus prewar Mess kit. One change remained, the wartime four-button jacket lost a button. Conversion to three-button was not difficult.
I binned my 1950 job and was well out of pocket. Must've stashed the gold lace wings away and forgotten them.
Danny.