Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II
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Smudge,
It's all guesswork, for I've never even seen a Mk.IV, much less fly them and even less dive one!
My guess is that a 'zero' would make the VV the controlled projectile which it was, whereas an AoI would have to be trimmed out as it accelerated in the dive: that might introduce an unwelcome instability and in any case it would be one more job for a pilot whose time is cut out to line-up the yellow line on his target, settle and hold it here, meanwhile countering "weathercocking" with aileron and snatching glances at his altimeter every second or so in the 20 seconds which was all he had (and all the time grimly aware of the penalty for a three-second delay in pull-out !)
Danny.
It's all guesswork, for I've never even seen a Mk.IV, much less fly them and even less dive one!
My guess is that a 'zero' would make the VV the controlled projectile which it was, whereas an AoI would have to be trimmed out as it accelerated in the dive: that might introduce an unwelcome instability and in any case it would be one more job for a pilot whose time is cut out to line-up the yellow line on his target, settle and hold it here, meanwhile countering "weathercocking" with aileron and snatching glances at his altimeter every second or so in the 20 seconds which was all he had (and all the time grimly aware of the penalty for a three-second delay in pull-out !)
Danny.
Ahh Danny, I dread to think of such problems, it was enough for me to land a glider in a crosswind. The "Khe Sanh" in Fat Albert was also "exciting" going in to Sarajevo. What you lot did, is beyond me.
Smudge
Smudge
Thanks for the references Danny, just re read them, and what an interesting time it was. I had to chuckle at the deft way you, and others, dealt with the question of "Working On Governement Service", perhaps in modern times a step too far. Like the dog owned by Guy Gibson, a part of history that must be wiped out for modern scholars. The VV sounds like a terrific piece of kit, that might have done sterling service after Normandy, when allied troops needed close air support against armour.
Smudge
Smudge
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Might Have Beens.
Smudge,
Two things,
1. Heads Up All!... If you've ever had a small daughter (and even if you haven't), you must see "Thumbs up for Daddy! - Aerobatics" It's a gem !
2. Your: "The VV sounds like a terrific piece of kit, that might have done sterling service after Normandy, when allied troops needed close air support against armour".
I would not guarantee to hit a tank - and have to be sure none of our chaps were within 50 yds! Perhaps a Typhoon (old style) with rockets was better for the job.
But while our first chaps were still coming in to the beaches, I would have been happy to dig out gun emplacments and the like on the cliff tops. Would need fighter escort, of course, or any 109 or 190 around would have a field day !
Danny.
Two things,
1. Heads Up All!... If you've ever had a small daughter (and even if you haven't), you must see "Thumbs up for Daddy! - Aerobatics" It's a gem !
2. Your: "The VV sounds like a terrific piece of kit, that might have done sterling service after Normandy, when allied troops needed close air support against armour".
I would not guarantee to hit a tank - and have to be sure none of our chaps were within 50 yds! Perhaps a Typhoon (old style) with rockets was better for the job.
But while our first chaps were still coming in to the beaches, I would have been happy to dig out gun emplacments and the like on the cliff tops. Would need fighter escort, of course, or any 109 or 190 around would have a field day !
Danny.
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Danny - looks like a Gentleman worthy of this thread!!!!
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Danny gets an unexpected Kick in the Teeth.
As our incomparable "Gaining a RAF Pilot's Brevet..." Thread has become moribund, here is a flashback from the Good Old Days, which I did not Post at the time.
Those who have struggled through my Saga may recall that, having flown my last VV out of Cannanore in the nick of time before my strip turned to mud in the '45 monsoon, we took refuge on the hard runway and standings of what I suppose was RNAS Sulur (Coimbatore), and enjoyed the hospitality of Lt Cmdr T. Neville Stack RNVR and his merry mariners until the rain stopped.
I celebrated my arrival by promptly going down with my third (and last) dose of malaria. I was tenderly nursed by a SBA sporting a huge black beard. For the first week I was pretty well out of my mind with the shakes and delirium, then the quinine got a grip and by the second week I was "compos mentis" again, but weak as a kitten. Meanwhile the Unit's paperwork had been steadily building up.
My old pal/Gunner/Adjutant "Stew" (Keith Stewart-Mobsby), having come out some months before me, had now gone home on repat. His successor, though a willing lad, was not too hot on the paperwork, so I arranged for the accumulated pile of bumph to be brought to my bedside and set about it. This I considered to be Above and Beyond the Call of Duty, and I thought myself no end of a deserving character.
The Letter from Group came on the Wednesday: "Private and Confidential - To be opened only by the Recipient" (or words to that effect). My sterling work must have come to notice! Something nice was coming my way. Not so !
I slit the envelope open with delighted anticipation: it rapidly evaporated. The missive was from SASO. It seemed that my Annual Confidential Assessment (was that what it was called?) had been made by a Wg Cdr "X" of whom I had never heard, but presumed to be a Staff Officer at Group. He had not been complimentary. The Assessment had been referred back to me for my own observations as it was considered Adverse. I looked at it: it most certainly was. SASO had run for cover: "IK" (Insufficint Knowledge), he had noted.
What "X" had done with the box-ticking, I do not know; it was his final remarks that had aroused interest. "This Officer", he had written, "was not successful operationally. Recommend he looses (sic) his acting rank". I was stunned for a few moments, then I realised that this would not be hard to rebut.
"My operational service", I haughtily wrote, "which was ended by a flying accident after 52 successful sorties, was wholly prior to, and so outside the scope of, the present Report. It did not attract any adverse comment from my Squadron Commanders in the previous Annual Report, and I fail to see why it should now be made the subject of any comment, favourable or otherwise, by a Reporting Officer under whose direct Command I have never served, and with whom I have no personal acquaintance whatever".
My first point was valid; each Annual Report must stand alone, you are not allowed to second-guess your predecessor. But the second was the real killer. For if it be true (and that could be quickly and easily established), then the corollary must also be true.
He did not know me from Adam. I sent the Adverse Report back with this flea in its ear.
I need hardly add that I did not "loose" my acting rank (which would have entailed removing me from my tiny Command), my War Substantive promotion came in on time a few weeks later, AHQ Delhi complied with Wg Cdr Edmondes' request, some four months later, that I be given an acting "Scraper", and three years later the RAF took me back with open arms (more or less).
Why had "X" done this ? The most charitable explanation was he had confused me with somebody else. Why did he write my Report, and not Wg Cdr Edmondes, with whom I had worked, side by side, at the CDRE since I arrived two months before ? I suppose that he was "outside the Loop" - the Group Chain of Command, and as such disqualified.
I heard no more about it - but it left a nasty taste in the mouth.
Cheers, Danny42C.
Those who have struggled through my Saga may recall that, having flown my last VV out of Cannanore in the nick of time before my strip turned to mud in the '45 monsoon, we took refuge on the hard runway and standings of what I suppose was RNAS Sulur (Coimbatore), and enjoyed the hospitality of Lt Cmdr T. Neville Stack RNVR and his merry mariners until the rain stopped.
I celebrated my arrival by promptly going down with my third (and last) dose of malaria. I was tenderly nursed by a SBA sporting a huge black beard. For the first week I was pretty well out of my mind with the shakes and delirium, then the quinine got a grip and by the second week I was "compos mentis" again, but weak as a kitten. Meanwhile the Unit's paperwork had been steadily building up.
My old pal/Gunner/Adjutant "Stew" (Keith Stewart-Mobsby), having come out some months before me, had now gone home on repat. His successor, though a willing lad, was not too hot on the paperwork, so I arranged for the accumulated pile of bumph to be brought to my bedside and set about it. This I considered to be Above and Beyond the Call of Duty, and I thought myself no end of a deserving character.
The Letter from Group came on the Wednesday: "Private and Confidential - To be opened only by the Recipient" (or words to that effect). My sterling work must have come to notice! Something nice was coming my way. Not so !
I slit the envelope open with delighted anticipation: it rapidly evaporated. The missive was from SASO. It seemed that my Annual Confidential Assessment (was that what it was called?) had been made by a Wg Cdr "X" of whom I had never heard, but presumed to be a Staff Officer at Group. He had not been complimentary. The Assessment had been referred back to me for my own observations as it was considered Adverse. I looked at it: it most certainly was. SASO had run for cover: "IK" (Insufficint Knowledge), he had noted.
What "X" had done with the box-ticking, I do not know; it was his final remarks that had aroused interest. "This Officer", he had written, "was not successful operationally. Recommend he looses (sic) his acting rank". I was stunned for a few moments, then I realised that this would not be hard to rebut.
"My operational service", I haughtily wrote, "which was ended by a flying accident after 52 successful sorties, was wholly prior to, and so outside the scope of, the present Report. It did not attract any adverse comment from my Squadron Commanders in the previous Annual Report, and I fail to see why it should now be made the subject of any comment, favourable or otherwise, by a Reporting Officer under whose direct Command I have never served, and with whom I have no personal acquaintance whatever".
My first point was valid; each Annual Report must stand alone, you are not allowed to second-guess your predecessor. But the second was the real killer. For if it be true (and that could be quickly and easily established), then the corollary must also be true.
He did not know me from Adam. I sent the Adverse Report back with this flea in its ear.
I need hardly add that I did not "loose" my acting rank (which would have entailed removing me from my tiny Command), my War Substantive promotion came in on time a few weeks later, AHQ Delhi complied with Wg Cdr Edmondes' request, some four months later, that I be given an acting "Scraper", and three years later the RAF took me back with open arms (more or less).
Why had "X" done this ? The most charitable explanation was he had confused me with somebody else. Why did he write my Report, and not Wg Cdr Edmondes, with whom I had worked, side by side, at the CDRE since I arrived two months before ? I suppose that he was "outside the Loop" - the Group Chain of Command, and as such disqualified.
I heard no more about it - but it left a nasty taste in the mouth.
Cheers, Danny42C.
Danny,
I can empathise with you . When I was on Hastings my squadron disbanded ready to become the first Hercules squadron. Some of us were transferred to the sister Squadron which soldiered on with the Hastings.
I had been on the new squadron but a few months when crossing the hanging I was collared by one of the flight commanders with 'you, my office now'.
Once there and standing in front of him he started reading me what turned out to be a confidential report. When he finished he said 'well Sgt X what have you to say to that'. I replied that I was not Sgt X but Sgt Y.
I swear that he was about to contradict me ! Then with a curt 'get out' I was dismissed. I never did get an ACR debrief nor did Sgt X.
This shaped my whole attitude towards those under my command when I was in a position of authority . Naturally I knew all of them but I also memorised their spouses names and kept a crib sheet of their childrens details etc.
No doubt others have similar stories
I can empathise with you . When I was on Hastings my squadron disbanded ready to become the first Hercules squadron. Some of us were transferred to the sister Squadron which soldiered on with the Hastings.
I had been on the new squadron but a few months when crossing the hanging I was collared by one of the flight commanders with 'you, my office now'.
Once there and standing in front of him he started reading me what turned out to be a confidential report. When he finished he said 'well Sgt X what have you to say to that'. I replied that I was not Sgt X but Sgt Y.
I swear that he was about to contradict me ! Then with a curt 'get out' I was dismissed. I never did get an ACR debrief nor did Sgt X.
This shaped my whole attitude towards those under my command when I was in a position of authority . Naturally I knew all of them but I also memorised their spouses names and kept a crib sheet of their childrens details etc.
No doubt others have similar stories
Last edited by ancientaviator62; 27th Jun 2015 at 07:34. Reason: spelling
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Three Cheers For The Man On The Ground
Wherever you walk, you hear people talk
Of the men that go up in the air
Of the dare-devil way, they go into the fray
Facing death without turning a hair
They'll raise a cheer and buy lots of beer
For a pilot who's home on leave
But they don't give a jigger
For a Flight Mech or rigger
With nothing but 'props' on his sleeve
They just say 'nice day' and then turn away
With never a mention of praise
And the poor bloody erk who does all the work
Just orders his own beer
and pays
They've never been told of the hours in the cold
That he spends sealing Germany's fate
How he works on a kite, till all hours of night
And then turns up next morning at eight
He gets no rake-off for working till take-off
Or helping the aircrew prepare
But whenever there's trouble, it's 'quick at the double'
The man on the ground must be there
Each flying crew could tell it to you
They know what this man's really worth
They know he's part of the RAF's heart
Even though he stays close to the earth
He doesn't want glory, but please tell his story
Spread a little of his fame around
He's one of the 'Few', so give him his due
Three cheers for the man on the ground
Eric Sykes, 1942
(He was an LAC Wireless Operator/Mechanic at the time)
Wherever you walk, you hear people talk
Of the men that go up in the air
Of the dare-devil way, they go into the fray
Facing death without turning a hair
They'll raise a cheer and buy lots of beer
For a pilot who's home on leave
But they don't give a jigger
For a Flight Mech or rigger
With nothing but 'props' on his sleeve
They just say 'nice day' and then turn away
With never a mention of praise
And the poor bloody erk who does all the work
Just orders his own beer
and pays
They've never been told of the hours in the cold
That he spends sealing Germany's fate
How he works on a kite, till all hours of night
And then turns up next morning at eight
He gets no rake-off for working till take-off
Or helping the aircrew prepare
But whenever there's trouble, it's 'quick at the double'
The man on the ground must be there
Each flying crew could tell it to you
They know what this man's really worth
They know he's part of the RAF's heart
Even though he stays close to the earth
He doesn't want glory, but please tell his story
Spread a little of his fame around
He's one of the 'Few', so give him his due
Three cheers for the man on the ground
Eric Sykes, 1942
(He was an LAC Wireless Operator/Mechanic at the time)
Ricardian,
Great post, and as former "pond life", on Armed Forces day, it's nice to see that some still value the contribution of those who also served.
Smudge
Great post, and as former "pond life", on Armed Forces day, it's nice to see that some still value the contribution of those who also served.
Smudge
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ancientaviator,
Nice to know that I had fellow-sufferers! I suspect that this must have happened many a time. Of course, sometimes it must have been the other way round ! How else to account for some of the puzzling "London Gazette" entries on the six-monthly "Feasts of the Passover" ?
ricardian,
Thanks for the poem - I don't think I've ever heard that one before. Eric Sykes (died three years ago, RIP) will long be remembered for his stage partnership with Hattie Jacques, but I never knew he was such an accomplished rhymester.
Nice picture - it looks very like the jacket I was issued with in '41 (fits where it touches). But don't think collar & tie came out of Stores !
Another very powerful and moving WWII poem is Noel Coward's: "Lie in the Dark and Listen".
Cheers to you both, Danny.
Nice to know that I had fellow-sufferers! I suspect that this must have happened many a time. Of course, sometimes it must have been the other way round ! How else to account for some of the puzzling "London Gazette" entries on the six-monthly "Feasts of the Passover" ?
ricardian,
Thanks for the poem - I don't think I've ever heard that one before. Eric Sykes (died three years ago, RIP) will long be remembered for his stage partnership with Hattie Jacques, but I never knew he was such an accomplished rhymester.
Nice picture - it looks very like the jacket I was issued with in '41 (fits where it touches). But don't think collar & tie came out of Stores !
Another very powerful and moving WWII poem is Noel Coward's: "Lie in the Dark and Listen".
Cheers to you both, Danny.
Last edited by Danny42C; 27th Jun 2015 at 21:28. Reason: Correction.
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Danny, is this something you could help with on another thread?
http://www.pprune.org/military-aviat...ml#post9026934
http://www.pprune.org/military-aviat...ml#post9026934
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Smujsmith - I left the RAF in 1973 as a Cpl Telegraphist after 12 years service. I had my gratuity of £300 safely tucked away in my bank but was quite upset to find out that anyone who left the RAF after 1975 could count all their service towards a pension (paid at age 60). Why the arbitrary date of 1975 was chosen I don't know but it affected me & lots of other folk too. I later found that I could not even count that 12 yrs RAF service towards my Civil Service pension after 30 years service as a Radio Office with GCHQ.
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ricardian,
Reference your: "I later found that I could not even count that 12 yrs RAF service towards my Civil Service pension after 30 years service as a Radio Office with GCHQ".
I had the mirror image of that problem. My last employment was with HMC&E, I did 13½ years, which made me pensionable. But then I'd done 11 years ('38-'49) before with the Civil Service (they included war service, the idea was that you were only a civilian nobly doing your duty for King and Country).
If I could have tacked that on, I would have got 24½/80 of my final salary as pension, instead of the 13.5/80 I actually got; it would have made a difference over the 29 years I've been retired from C&E.
"No", they said, "you burned your boats when you resigned in '49, we told you so at the time, now go away". Ah, well....
Cheers, Danny.
Reference your: "I later found that I could not even count that 12 yrs RAF service towards my Civil Service pension after 30 years service as a Radio Office with GCHQ".
I had the mirror image of that problem. My last employment was with HMC&E, I did 13½ years, which made me pensionable. But then I'd done 11 years ('38-'49) before with the Civil Service (they included war service, the idea was that you were only a civilian nobly doing your duty for King and Country).
If I could have tacked that on, I would have got 24½/80 of my final salary as pension, instead of the 13.5/80 I actually got; it would have made a difference over the 29 years I've been retired from C&E.
"No", they said, "you burned your boats when you resigned in '49, we told you so at the time, now go away". Ah, well....
Cheers, Danny.
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Ricardian, Your #7174,
I have to agree; I left the RAF after 8 years as an Air Signaller in 1958, joined GCHQ in '59 until 1992. It still rankles me that staff I worked with later got that 'pension enhancement'.
I have to agree; I left the RAF after 8 years as an Air Signaller in 1958, joined GCHQ in '59 until 1992. It still rankles me that staff I worked with later got that 'pension enhancement'.
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By 1944, the Germans were being overwhelmed by POW,s especially airmen. While the losses on the raid Dad was shot down were very unusual ( over 95 heavy bombers lost that night) 15 or so were not uncommon on a raid. Then, of course, there was the daylight contribution by US forces.
Dad was sent to Stalag 6, at Hydrekrug. There were several compunds there; one was for Army POW, a lot were captured during the ill fated Dieppe raid. The Germans really distrusted the airmen, and considered them more troublesome that army types, so they were segregated, and under more frequent and closer scrutiny. In addition, the British and US forces were in different compounds.
Such were in influx that barracks to house them were still being constructed. Dad and about 150 other POWs were housed in a large circus tent affair for about 6 weeks.
A favourite pastime of the prisoners was to do anything they could to harass, embarrass, annoy the Germans. A favourite was to make the role calls a nightmare. They has 2 role calls a day, and frequent snap ones called as well. In the book The Last Escape, they were described as a 'shambles' and deliberately so- late getting to parade, raucous behaviour etc. If the weather was good, they would deliberately foul up the count- some POW,s , once counted, would slip into another rank about to be counted, to be counted again. The Officer in charge knew he had XXX number of prisoners to account for-any less and an alarm would be raised for escaped POW,s.
In this case, now he was faced with XXX PLUS a few! Officer bawls out NCO,s who bawl out guards, with helpful suggestions from the POW,s of course. Role call started all over ( and over! ), and sometimes was hours before the POW,s grew tired of this and let the count be correct.
Dad was sent to Stalag 6, at Hydrekrug. There were several compunds there; one was for Army POW, a lot were captured during the ill fated Dieppe raid. The Germans really distrusted the airmen, and considered them more troublesome that army types, so they were segregated, and under more frequent and closer scrutiny. In addition, the British and US forces were in different compounds.
Such were in influx that barracks to house them were still being constructed. Dad and about 150 other POWs were housed in a large circus tent affair for about 6 weeks.
A favourite pastime of the prisoners was to do anything they could to harass, embarrass, annoy the Germans. A favourite was to make the role calls a nightmare. They has 2 role calls a day, and frequent snap ones called as well. In the book The Last Escape, they were described as a 'shambles' and deliberately so- late getting to parade, raucous behaviour etc. If the weather was good, they would deliberately foul up the count- some POW,s , once counted, would slip into another rank about to be counted, to be counted again. The Officer in charge knew he had XXX number of prisoners to account for-any less and an alarm would be raised for escaped POW,s.
In this case, now he was faced with XXX PLUS a few! Officer bawls out NCO,s who bawl out guards, with helpful suggestions from the POW,s of course. Role call started all over ( and over! ), and sometimes was hours before the POW,s grew tired of this and let the count be correct.
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Danny tells a heartwarming Story
==================
==================
Half way between London and Brighton lies the small Sussex town of East Grinstead. Apart fromthe heavy "Through" traffic, it is a fairly quiet place now. Few folk outside the area will have heard of it, but 75 years ago it was a byword in the Empire (and other) air forces, and well known throughout the land. For it had a small Cottage Hospital, and that was the centre of attraction.
There must be something in the air of New Zealand which breeds brilliant plastic surgeons, for in 1940 two in particular were earning a growing reputation in the profession: Archibald McIndoe and Harold Gillies (Knighted, both died 1960) - how the Highland Clearances cast a long shadow ! The first of these was the Consultant Plastic Surgeon for (among several others) at the Queen Victoria Hospital (QVH), for that was the name of our little town's hospital.
The summer and autumn of 1940 in Sussex were providing ample materials for McIndoe to ply his trade. Wiki tells me that we suffered 422 "wounded" in the BoB; many of these would have been brought in with severe burns to the face and hands, for these are the exposed areas. As a result, even as their burns healed, the victims were left with hideously distorted faces and "hands" which were only blackened and useless claws.
McIndoe's forte was reconstructive surgery, and he became very good at it. This came to the ears of the RAF; they started transferring their worst cases from RAF and other civil hospitals to the QVH for McIndoe's attention, with excellent results. Then they tried to get exclusive rights to his services with the offer of an AVM's Commission, but he shrewdly turned this down, fearing that he would be prevented from introducing the new regimes he had in mind. *
For the prospects for these badly disfigured creatures were in those days grim. The policy was to hide them away from sight in institutions, to "maintain public morale", and leave them there, hopeless, indefinitely. McIndoe determined to change all this. He knew that he had the responsibility, besides healing their burns, of restoring to them their self-respect. He demanded to have the first choice of the most attractive nurses for his wards. These then had drilled into them that they must never say a word or betray any sign of shock, revulsion,or (worst of all) pity for their cruelly scarred patients, but treat them just the same as any other. As women have the unique faculty of being able to see the man behind the face, this soon became second nature; a number of happy marriages resulted. *
He threw out all the old "red, white and blue" hospital garb for military ambulant cases, telling them to wear uniform or "mufti" for their forays into town (and further) for he ran his wards like an hotel. Beer in reasonable quantity was brought in for them, they were encouraged to go into pubs for a pint or two if they so wished. In short, in the intervals between the long series of operations which reconstructive plastic surgery requires, they could do what they liked (within reason).*
You may wonder how the townspeople reacted to the appearance in their midst of these (often) frightening visitors from the QVH. Now comes the best part of the story. By one of those strange processes of "mass osmosis", quite unbidden #, they all decided they treat them in exactly the same way as McIndoe had instructed his nurses to behave. The barman at the pub, the girl in the cinema ticket kiosk, the "clippie" on the bus, the taxi-driver, anyone they met in the street or in a shop or pub, made no reference to their appearance but chatted to them as if they could notice nothing wrong with them. The children took the cue from their parents, if they could see nothing wrong with them, it must be all right. The patients banded together, called themselves "McIndoe's Guinea Pigs", formed a (rankless) club (Prince Philip is the current President): this endures, and has annual reunions at the QVH in East Grinstead to this day.
I have a personal interest: my daughter (a Clinical Nurse Specialist in Burns and Plastic Surgery) spent twenty years of her nursing career at the QVH, and has met many of the "guinea pigs" in the years she was there.
Goodnight, all. Danny42C.
Note *: my authority is Edward Bishop's "McIndoe's Army" (Edward Bishop 2004, ISBN 1 904393 02 0).
PS: Note #: A similar thing happened in recent times, when the townspeople of Wootton Bassett (Oxforshire) spontaneously appointed themselves the surrogate mourners for the nation as the coffins of our dead soldiers from Iraq and Afghanistan passed through on their way home. For this service, the town has been granted, by the Queen, the prefix "Royal" to its name: the first time for over a hundred years that a town has received this honour.
Last edited by Danny42C; 2nd Jul 2015 at 05:19. Reason: Correction.
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Fred worked for my father, he had lead a pretty full life but he had got very badly burnt up along the way.
He was only a lowly airman driving an avgas bowser in Sicily on a forward base (at this stage the aircraft were still overnighting in Malta). He said they used to drive between the fuel dump and aircraft as fast as possible to achieve quick turn rounds. They started to borrow more and more grass cutting across the intersection of the perimeter track and the runways. Unfortunately Fred cut the corner too much and went across a landmine. More fortunately he ended up in East Grinstead though not expected to live. He said McIndoe spared his boys nothing, it wasn't just beer he had champagne, oysters even caviar. He praised McIndoe's attention to detail, Fred's ear was better than Nicky Lauda's though he kept his hair longish but partially because he said his scalp was too sore to go to the barbers. As an example of the fine detail he would show off the backs of his fingers where McIndoe had grafted skin off his leg so that hairs grew there.
Danny you must be very proud of Mary having had a noble career, we have not heard much about her between 'pram and becoming your computer guru!
He was only a lowly airman driving an avgas bowser in Sicily on a forward base (at this stage the aircraft were still overnighting in Malta). He said they used to drive between the fuel dump and aircraft as fast as possible to achieve quick turn rounds. They started to borrow more and more grass cutting across the intersection of the perimeter track and the runways. Unfortunately Fred cut the corner too much and went across a landmine. More fortunately he ended up in East Grinstead though not expected to live. He said McIndoe spared his boys nothing, it wasn't just beer he had champagne, oysters even caviar. He praised McIndoe's attention to detail, Fred's ear was better than Nicky Lauda's though he kept his hair longish but partially because he said his scalp was too sore to go to the barbers. As an example of the fine detail he would show off the backs of his fingers where McIndoe had grafted skin off his leg so that hairs grew there.
Danny you must be very proud of Mary having had a noble career, we have not heard much about her between 'pram and becoming your computer guru!