I write as a Hastings passenger, not crew...
All-arms parachute course, January 1963 or thereabouts, might have been earlier...
First night jump, I think at Weston-on-the-Green...
Also first introduction to a Hastings. Once the disbelief had been got over, off we went to the DZ. I was No 1 in the stick and had the stand in the door for an interminable period.
What terrified me out of my wits wasn't my imminent death due to parachute failure; we were becoming accustomed to that fear.
It was the solid stream of hot sparks, about 2ft wide, from the port inner engine, into which I would have to leap with my nylon umbrella, and the tailplane slicing through the air below and to the left of me, illuminated like a vision from hell by the sparks and the light from the open door, that would cut me in half as I fell.
But the fear of the PTI just behind me was far, far greater, so I jumped anyway. And nothing went wrong. But I never rode in a Hastings again, and I'm not sorry.