The more we are together, the happier we shall be.
The next stage was to get myself a crewman. Actually, it wasn't quite like that. I was told that at home, the drill was (on bomber crews) that the new nav was supposed to wait, like a wallflower at a dance, until a twin-wing prince came over and popped the question. If the deal was done, the pair then went round selecting the rest of their crew.
But that presupposed similar levels of experience all round. In our case, the ex-Blenheim navs and wop/ags were all battle-hardened veterans from shipping strikes over the Channel and the like, and the squadron had taken a fair hammering. They were not going to be picked over by this intake of sprogs fresh out of training !
So it was that Sgt Keith Stewart-Mobsby (Wop/Ag - and hereinafter "Stew") came over and said "You're my Pilot - any objection ?" It seemed that the deciding factor had been that he wanted a British pilot this time - being fed up with the Wild Colonial Boys he'd had before, As I was the only new one in town, it had been Hobson's choice for him. It worked out fine, and we stayed together, off and on, till the end.
The next day we flew so that I could settle myself in the aircraft and we could have a good look round the area. There was the usual tendency to swing left in the early part of the take-off run, but it was easily controllable. We had a tailwheel lock, but it wasn't necessary and most people left it unlocked all the time. Once the tail was up, you had complete control with that enormous fin, and the rare pleasure of being able to see fairly well over the nose (come to think of it, it was the only time you could do so, except when you were pointed straight down).
The acceleration was poor; there were always complaints about the long take-off run, but eventually you wound it up to about 95 mph (a bit more if you were bombed-up), eased back into a three-point attitude and lumbered off reluctantly into the sky. Much like a 747 out of Heathrow today! - (don't you just look at them inching across the sky, and wonder: "How on Earth"?)
Putting it back was not difficult, provided you came in on a wide curve (no "Spitfire Approach" here !), and slowly, with a fair amount of power on. Attempts at glide landings (to see over the nose) almost always ended in very heavy "arrivals", as it would "mush" into the ground on round-out.
Training started at once. Really it was simple, we had to learn to dive-bomb and to fly any position in a box-of-six which was to be our normal tactical formation. A range was set up on a big sandbank (it was the dry season) on a bend in the river Damodar, about 30 miles from Madhaiganj. Who supplied the observers, and what equipment they had, I do not know. There must have been two of them at a safe distance, with lines of sight at right angles and some form of theodolite.
We went to work on this range right away. All we were concerned about was results, and with practice these became quite good. Four 11½ lb smoke bombs were carried on a rack under the left wing, and dropped one per dive. The trip to the range took about 15 minutes, and by then you'd climbed to bombing height of 10 - 12,000 ft.
The trick was to fly up to the target in such a way as to be vertically above it when you rolled over. The best method was to keep it in view, running along tight against the left side of the fuselsge from the nose back until it slid under the wing, count ten and go over, crouched, standing on your rudder pedals on the way down.
The steeper the dive, the better the result. You "throw" your aircraft at the target much as a darts player "throws" his wrist at the board. You must not forget to (a) use the dive brakes and (b) pull out in good time. As to what constituted "good time" we experimented, pulling out high to start with and then reducing until we'd established the lowest safe height. This was reckoned to be when the altimeter passed 3500 ft above ground, although the aircraft would be lower at this point, as the instrument lagged by several hundred feet.
Having planted your first bomb and swung round to see where it had gone, you climbed up and dived three more times, then home. As such a climb and repositioning took you ten to fifteen minutes, two or three aircraft could space themselves out and use the range together.
These sorties lasted little more than an hour and formed the greater part of our training. We improved with practice: at the end almost all bombs would go in a 100-yard circle.
Enough for tonight,
Sleep well,
Danny42C
We didn't have bird strikes - we had pterodactyl strikes !
Last edited by Danny42C; 18th May 2016 at 10:05.
Reason: Correct errors.