Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II

[Danny42C]

Danny puts up a Black.

You came across strange aircrew in the war. 1580 Calibration Flight was commanded by (of all things) a Swiss Air Gunner (naturalised British, of course). Freddie Joerin was a collector of Indian silver filigree, delicately worked birds, butterflies and other insects, geometric patterns and the like. These he kept on display on his mossie net (when you're not on the move, your net is simply looped-up over the top on one side during the day).

Curiously, he wasn't at all worried at the chances of theft. His bearer was a Gurkha ex-soldier, who lovingly whetted the edge of his kukri until he could shave with it, and would not look kindly on any local character who might think of nicking his Sahib's little ornaments (ridiculous though he himself might consider them). All the other bearers (local Madrassis) were terrified of him.

Freddie had found a good source of supply in Pondicherry, about a hundred miles down the coast. From time to time, he'd scrounge transport to go down to see what he could find in the bazaar silversmiths there (these would be cheaper and better quality than in the more "touristy" Madras). And he had an ulterior motive.

Pondicherry was still French territory, one of the few remnants of their former colonial empire, which the Raj indulgently allowed to stay as being too small to bother with (later they would get short shrift from an independent India). But then the Tricouleur still hung in the sun outside a sleepy Hotel de Ville. And, more importantly, they still had stocks of pre-war wines and spirits. But only a Frenchman - or someone who looked and sounded exactly like one - had any chance of a bottle. Freddie (French-Swiss-British) filled the bill: we reaped the benefit.

My debut at Cholaveram did not go down too well. Besides our Calibration Flight, there was another Flight of some kind on the field, and for the life of me I can't remember what they did. But to do it they had one Vengeance, among other types. It so happened that a snag on this aircraft had just been fixed. It needed an airtest and their own pilot was away. Could I do the airtest for them? Of course! Now it was a point of honour for the mechanic who had done the repair to fly as a passenger on the subsequent airtest. Not only for the obvious reason, but because the lads did not get many opportunities to fly, and enjoyed those they did.

My chap was keen, I organised a chute and a helmet for him, strapped him in, and off we went. I later found that their driver was non-operational, hadn't many hours on the thing, and was quite happy to get it from A to B straight and level and land. He'd ask no more from an aircraft on test. An operational Squadron pilot, on the other hand, would put a Vengeance through all its paces. After all, the next trip may well be a bombing sortie: if anything's going to fall off, you may as well find out now.

I told my passenger what I intended to do. He was agreeable, so after satisfying myself that the original fault had been fixed, I took it up to 12,000 ft, did a couple of loops and rolls, then finished off with a dive down on my pasenger's Flight HQ. It was a good vertical dive, too, if I say so myself.

Now seven tons of metal screaming straight down on you at 300 mph, the row amplified by the slatted dive brakes and open bomb doors, is enough to make the stoutest heart quail, even if not followed by the thick end of a ton of bombs. (I believe the Stukas used this technique to stampede refugees off the roads in advance of their armour, and they had some sort of siren to make even more noise).

Our old squadron ground crews would take this racket in their stride, and not even bother to look up. But these people weren't so hardened. I don't suppose their Vengeance had ever been dived. It hadn't occurred to me, and if my passenger had thought about it at all, he kept quiet with a wicked grin. I scared the life out of them. Those indoors dived under tables, sending files, ashtrays and glasses of tea flying. In the open, they dropped flat, convinced their last hour had come. Their sweepers, char- and punkah-wallahs ran like rabbits, and it took days to round them up.

I was persona non grata there after that. They chalked up a notice on their crewroom blackboard: "VENGEANCE - NO AEROBATICS, NO VIOLENT DIVES" Then their own chap came back and managed to write it off (he was unhurt). Some wag added: "NO VENGEANCE". They complained to Freddie, but got no change out of him. The Station Commander/PMC reproved me with a broad grin.

(For once, I 've found the relevant entry in my log. My chap was LAC Wells and the Duty was "Air Test for 21 A.P.x." Curiously, the 'x' is not written like this, but as the (lower case) algebraic (double curve) 'x' . There must have been a reason for my doing this, what might it be? 'A.P.' could be "Armament Practice'. What Armament? What Practice? Where Range? What for? - no idea).

It was at Cholaveram that I had my first taste of Court Martial procedure as an Officer under Instruction. I think you had to have attended two Courts in this capacity before you could be turned loose as a member of a real one. There were three of us trainees and it was a bizarre case.

Some miles South lay Redhills lake, an attractive spot and quite a size, on which floated a mixed Squadron of Sunderlands and Catalinas. These flew long anti-submarine patrols over the Indian Ocean. The accused was a Warrant Officer, a Flight Engineer on one of the Catalinas. They'd been out for several hours; nothing had been seen, and frankly, nothing much was expected.

There'd been very little submarine activity for weeks. But of course you still have to show willing and keep looking. Our man was bored stiff. So was the rest of the crew for that matter , but he was in a position to do something about it. (Don't miss next Gripping Episode).

Good afternoon all, (makes a bit of a change!)

Danny42C.


Natives seem a bit restless tonight, Carruthers