Carlstrom instils some Good Habits in Danny.
First, a few words to Dogle. What was our grub like? I can only answer in a general way:
a) any grub was better (at least in quantity, though not always in quality) than the poor civilians were reduced to back home. As for that, start off any octogenarian in your (or a neighbour's) family, and you might be in for quite a long haul.
b) I was essentially an ex-civvie from May 41 to the end. First, in Canada and the States, there was far more of it than we could eat. I could say what we were fed on, but I would really be saying what I think they eat now, and not really remembering at all - except that there were gallons of iced tea in Florida, and that was delicious. Steaks and ice cream, I suppose.
c) As for the wartime Jewel in the Crown, anything goes provided you curry it first, eat rice and chapattis with it, and ask no questions. I am told that Rattus rattus eats quite well, but can't say personally (I hope). Bully Beef? - I'm not sure (the Hindu people tended to be a bit touchy about that). And the never-to-be-forgotten "Soya Links", a sort of pretend-meat sausage with a faintly fishy taste. Dehydrated spuds, of course, plus anything else you can put in a tin. Eggs and the odd scrawny chicken. Plenty of fish, if you're near a coast; the squadron (all ranks) once feasted royally on an 80lb shark. The cooks made quite tasty fishcakes with the powdered spuds; the Mess found some Worcester sauce to go with it.
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Way off track, get back on the rails.
One thing Carlstrom taught me stayed with me all my flying life. They were obsessive about the care of parachutes, never to treat them roughly, always to carry them properly and to fold them the right way when you put them down. This was backed by a ferocious sanction. An offender was ordered to carry his parachute (a heavy and awkward load) right round Carlstrom field. This was almost a mile each side, so he had a four-mile walk under the Florida sun. With flying in progress, he dare not short-cut, but had to keep to the fences all the way. Needless to say, parachutes were treated with great respect there, which is as it should be.
Autumn in Florida is a pleasant season, but hurricanes were not uncommon then, although not as frequent or as severe as they seem to be now. We had one, its route was fairly well plotted, it was coming our way. There was a scramble to get our aircraft away to Tampa (70 miles north and reckoned to be safe). At Carlstrom, our Stearmans lived out in the open in a long Flight Line, as we had no hangars. (Now, of course, I know that that was complete nonsense, there must have been three hangars staring me in the face. Why didn't they stow the aircraft in these?)
Three possible explanations:
a) Why isn't your car in your garage? Because that's full of your junk!
b) The whole lot might blow away, hangars and all.
c) It was less hassle to fly the lot away than have to manhandle them all in.
Naturally, this ferry job fell to our instructors, and there was a sudden rush to get away in mid afternoon. Perhaps Tampa were threatening to close. One of them, taxying fast down the line to take-off point, overdid it and took off involuntarily, floating a few feet in the air before dropping back! I never saw that happen again.
The Stearmans flew off, we battened down the hatches and waited for the storm. I'll always remember that sunset. It was glorious, the sky full of every colour imaginable, it needed a Turner to do it justice. Then the storm came, it wasn't too bad. Our posh quarters stood up to it all right, we lost some recently planted palm trees, but that was about all. The aircraft stayed safe and sound in Tampa overnight and came back next day
Flying in an open cockpit is pretty well a thing of the past, but in warm weather it's by far the best way. You can see all round, and with the wind whistling in your ears, and the sun beating down on your helmet, it's easy to imagine yourself chasing the "Red Baron" over the 1916 lines in France. I'd think the Stearman's performance was much the same as "Biggles's" Sopwith "Camel", and we enjoyed tailchases (mock combat) as a change from our training routines.
I can still recall the smell of warm grass as we were coming in to land, and watching out for the correct moment to check your glide. This was when you suddenly see blades of grass in what was just a green blur a moment before. Much later, flying off a Wiltshire field on a pitch-black night, the same idea worked fine. Gooseneck flares, mere points of light, turn into recognisable little flames. Time to pull up the nose and hold off. It's remarkable how little light you need to land at night. In occupied France, Lysanders could routinely drop off and pick up agents in mooonlight plus a few torches on the ground.
Now I feel the restraining hand of Wittgenstein (?) on my shoulder:
"Whereof you know nothing, thereof should you be silent".
But fools rush in........
Today's airline pilots must only dream of such pleasures. On their sealed, pressurised Flight Decks they can see only a limited patch of sky and horizon. They might as well be in a flight simulator, as these are now so sophisticated that you can hardly tell whether you're in the air or not (or so I am told).
(Ancient joke: "What are we going to do about old So-and-so? He's wizard in the air, but hopeless on the simulator!)
Now I'm in trouble! Goodnight, all.
Danny42C
Orderly Officer! Any complaints?
Last edited by Danny42C; 25th Feb 2012 at 15:32.