Danny has Greatness Thrust Upon Him.
A little later in February, the C.O. (it would still be S/Ldr. Lambert) opened his post one morning to find a letter from the Canadian High Commission in Delhi. This informed him that Sergeant-Pilot "A", RCAF, had been gazetted Pilot Officer "A" w.e.f.......
"A" was hauled in, mystified. He hadn't applied and knew nothing about it. The C.O. hadn't been asked for an opinion, never mind a recommendation. Feeling miffed, he referred to AHQ Bengal (Calcutta), only to be told curtly to mind his own business and get on with it.
Still fuming a week later, he got another letter, this time from the Australian High Commission. Sergeant-Pilot "B", RAAF, etc. More followed. It seemed to us that the Dominion Governments had decided on a policy to commission all their Sergeant-Pilots in India. As a Briton, I was the odd man out.
Up to then, I'd been quite content to remain an NCO. I'd been a bit disappointed when I got my wings without even having been considered for a commission. But I'd settled down and, had I stayed in the UK, would have hoped, had I lived (more than doubtful), to rise to Flight Sergeant (one year) and Warrant Officer (two years) on time promotion. But this latest business seemed most unfair.
I went to see the C.O. "Why not ?" he said wearily, "Everybody else is getting it - I'll put you up" (my misdemeanour at Dum-Dum seemed to have been forgiven). It was a formality from then on. I was called for interview with the AOC of 221 Group in Calcutta, a kindly old AVM (Williams, I think), He satisfied himself that I didn't drop my aitches, and could probably use a knife and fork, and signed me in. Thus are careers made........OCTU ?........ What's that ?
Nothing happens overnight. This took place in mid-February, but my commission did not come through till early October (backdated to May). I was still with 110, but now back from Chittagong (where we'd flown our first few ops in May) to Digri, in West Bengal for the monsoon months (June - mid October), when we couldn't operate (and they had paved strips, so we could at least fly).
I took the stripes off my shirts, inherited a pair of P/Os shoulder cuffs from someone who'd just gone up to F/O, and invested Rs28 (£2 - £100 today) in a posh new cap from Bright & McIvor's in the "Grand" Hotel arcade. Aside from moving my kit into my first own room (basha!) in the RAF, that was it. Really, it didn't make all that much difference.
Of course, I took my new cap round to a photographer in Calcutta right away, for the "commissioning portrait" which everyone sends home to Mum (and which usually only appears in public on your obituary - supposing you to have been important enough to rate one). Years after her death, I came across it again and it now graces my mantelpiece. I look at the solemn young face across the void of seventy years. Truly: "Age shall wither them, and the years condemn".
Now I was really in the money. To start with, I was credited with six month's back pay as a Pilot Officer. At Rs500 a month it was almost double my pay as a Sergeant, and more than double what a new P/O would get at home. You'd think they'd deduct my Sergeant's pay before handing over the balance. But Indian bureaucracy doesn't work like that. They paid me the whole Rs3000; it was then up to the UK to get its money back (some Rs1700) if it could (it took them two years!).
Then I got a full UK uniform allowance, about £90 - say another Rs1300. My outgoings so far were one cap (Rs28). Nemesis would come years later, when I went back to the UK and had to kit myself out in blues. Meanwhile the windfall had to stay in my paybook, for there was nothing to spend it on.
We had no Bank accounts out there in those days. Our accumulated pay was entered in a Pay Book (similar to the ones we'd had as Sergeants). It would be entered up by any RAF Accountant Officer (from whom we drew cash as required).
Even if we'd had Bank accounts, I don't think anyone would have touched our cheques with a barge pole - certainly not the Grand Hotel ! Only the major cities would have UK bank branches (Lloyds had a presence in India, and there may have been other home banks). You needed to devote a whole morning or afternoon to the simplest transaction, for Indian bureaucracy in full flow is a sight to behold.
You started with clerk "A", who gave you a "chit" to take to Clerk "B", who gave you a brass tag to take to Clerk "C", who made an entry in a ledger and gave it back to you to take to Clerk "D", who gave you another chit to take to the Cashier. (This might not be in the right order, but you get the general idea).
That worthy regarded you and your chit with the utmost suspicion and reluctantly the cash changed hands (and that was just a deposit !) All this would be supervised by a couple of burly guards armed to the teeth. I suppose that the idea was that only the most determined fraudster would persist in such a rigmarole; the rest would give up, retire to the street outside and recline in the shade of the nearest tree.
Enough is as good as a feast,
Evenin' all,
Danny42C
Excused Boots
Last edited by Danny42C; 26th May 2012 at 17:21.