Jack meets the Tiger Moth
Post no. 3 from the memoirs of Tempest pilot Flt Lt Jack Stafford, DFC, RNZAF
At last our Air Force induction was complete, we were examined and the marks were pinned upon the wall for all to see. Those who failed were posted to other positions within the Air Force. In a matter of weeks those who were successful began flying training, and I was posted to Bell Block in Taranaki.
We travelled first down to Wellington and then back up to New Plymouth. The trucks awaited us and took us to the Bell Block airfield. Now I felt I really was in the Air Force, this was it. All around the field stood Tiger Moth aircraft, while overhead they buzzed and droned.
In my imagination these pretty little biplanes became Sopwith Camels or SE5s from World War I, resting from or going in and out to battle. Perhaps the Red Baron awaited them with Spandaus loaded and his Triplane trembling with eagerness. We stood fascinated until a sergeant showed us to our comfortable billets, two beds to a room and each hut close to an ablution block. It was heaven, and after a few days' settling in we were all in the air.
My instructor was a tall, pleasant, fair-haired guy maybe a year or two older than myself. He gave me confidence and seemed pleased with my progress. I had flown dual for seven hours when he taxied back to the takeoff point, climbed out with the removed stick in his hand and said: “Off you go, Staff, you don't need me”. With joy in my heart I turned into wind and looked around for other aircraft; it was all clear, so I gave her the gun and I was in the air, oh happy day. I completed the circuit and landed, taxied back to my instructor who shook my hand and said “Good show, Staff”. I could have kissed him.
Most of my course had, or soon would, go solo. Some were grounded, some chucked it in, one or two were killed. The wing fabric from one of those crashes still covers my logbook.
My instructor seemed very successful, but they gave me some new instructors and he was given some difficult pupils. One of the new guys was a disaster. He was mean-faced, tall and gawky and had all the personality of a gumboot. He grunted, bleated and moaned about everything. His dislike of me was obvious and heartily reciprocated. My flying fell off and he seemed determined to get rid of me.
I was set down for a Chief Flying Instructor (CFI) test which would normally be the end of the course for a pilot, and I would be remustered as an air gunner or posted to ground duties, which to me would be a death sentence. As I left the room all the trainees called “Good luck, Staff” and I was buoyed by their support.