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

[Danny42C]

To keep costs down, IIRC, the members on the rail/sea party would travel on leave warrants made out to Folkestone, but would first join the air party at the assembly point (Victoria), then split up and go on to the boat train or to Heathrow (this arrangement was to be of value to us later). As far as I remember we were about evenly divided, about 30-40 in each party, mostly Army singles and no Navy at all). Apart from we two, the only other RAF representative was a W/Cdr pilot in the air party.

We travelled in early January in the "dead" (cheap !) Winter Sports season. First we enjoyed the comforts (?) of British Rail (Irish Mail from Holyhead). Then to Folkestone and on to an ancient, rusty, SNCF ferry, which pitched, rolled and groaned across to Boulogne. After that there was an endless overnight journey (but at least they gave us couchettes ) right down through snow-bound France (no TGV then) to Chamonix. There we found that the air party had had a comfortable night in the hotel, after kitting-out late the previous afternoon, and were now enjoying their first morning on the slopes. Suddenly, the air option didn't seem such a bad idea after all.

Our thoroughly train-lagged party had lunch, then went out to pick-up boots, kit, ski passes, skis and poles (and of course all the better stuff had been bagged by the air party). I wasn't surprised to find that we were on the same old cable bindings I'd had four years before in Kashmir (I was still on them in Gargellan as late as '61 !)

The Association had done us not, perhaps, proud, but quite adequately. The hotel (name forgotten) would be four-star in the terms of that era. Willie and I shared a warm, comfortable room. The food was a revelation, causing us (not for the first or last time) to wonder who exactly had won the war (I particularly remember oeufs en cocotte )

On the Monday morning we met our French instructors. They had limited English ("Bend ze knees" was about it), but we got along well enough with mime and schoolboy French. Their first task was to sort us into classes. Willie had done some skiing in Scotland and I could at least remember what I should be doing.

My memory of the topography is hazy, but as far as I can remember, the "home peak" (Le Brévent) divided into three sections. Right behind the hotel was a gentle rise over a very wide area. Generations of woodcutters had cleared all the trees; it served as one huge nursery slope. Above this was a large flat mogul field with a small ski restaurant at one side. Running up to it from the hotel was a succession of T-bar drag-lifts (I suppose it's all different now).

On the snows next time,

Goodnight, all,

Danny42C


Not to worry unduly.

[Union Jack]

Whilst he is regaling us with ripping yarns of living it up Chamonix, Danny-fans, who may have not looked at it, might wish to be aware that Danny has very succinctly aired his views in http://www.pprune.org/military-aircrew/507613-bomber-harris-interview-tv-merged-again.html

Jack

[Chugalug2]

Skiing must have had some primeval pull for you Danny. Having risked life and limb in experiencing it in the sub-continent (the risking bit being getting to and from it), here you are again and facing the self imposed rigours of British Railways and the SNCF to boot, instead of the superior luxury of a charter flight. Well, on your own head be it (not literally we trust). This must have been right at the outset of the post-war package tour trade, so trend setting again!

The previous occupant of your room at Valley must have been a strange cove. Who on earth would want to paint their stove at all, never mind in gloss paint? Had the walls been done in some "hint of white" arty emulsion? Co-ordinated drapes and scatter cushions as well perhaps? It reminds one again of the classic Yorkshire observation that, "The whole world's gone queer 'cept thee and me, and I'm not so sure about thee!".

Never mind, you have now re-attained the best commissioned rank in the RAF. An elegant sufficiency of dosh (24/- pd, what on earth will you do with it all?) and usually nothing more irksome than a barrack block inventory to distract from one's primary role of paid member of the world's best flying club. Now don't go and mess that bit up, will you? Oh, you will? Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!

[Geriaviator]

http://i1278.photobucket.com/albums/y503/Oldnotbold/Hastings_zps81ffcae2.jpg

Very early one morning in 1956 I was awakened by some disturbance before I heard our old car departing at about 5am. Like any dutiful teenager I turned over and went back to sleep, awakening at a more sensible hour after 1030 or so. Many years later my father told me what had happened.

Posted to 202 Sqn Aldergrove in 1954, my father and his colleagues were responsible for launching a Hastings at 0800 every morning. These ‘Bismuth’ flights of up to eight hours would collect data for weather forecasting, and continued until 1964. The ground crews never failed to get their aircraft away on time, although a standby was always ready as the Bismuth was so important.

By 1956 we had acquired a 1936 Hillman Minx car, purchased for £30, rewired with cable from the B-29 Washingtons on Aldergrove’s salvage dump, and with a section of B-29 bomb door just the right curvature for riveting over the boot, which had corroded clean through. The Hillman engine drank oil, but we had ample supplies of OMD-270 as used on the Bristol Hercules; if it was good enough for the Hastings, it was good enough for our Minx, which would rattle along with a trail of blue smoke just like the mighty sleeve-valve Hercs. I thought one of the Wright Cyclones from the scrap Washingtons would make it go even better but Dad drew the line at that.

On the morning in question my father dreamed he was in his office when he heard the dreaded roar of engines and the dull thump of disaster. He ran onto the airfield and saw one of his airmen coming back from the vast pall of black smoke and flame calling ‘crossed controls’. My mother remembered being awakened about 3am by my father shouting ‘Crossed controls, crossed controls’. He was very distressed and left for Aldergrove at once.

My father normally took the bus to work as it was cheaper and more reliable than the Minx, but the first bus would not leave until 6am. Fortunately the old Minx performed that morning, and he arrived long before anyone else. The Hastings was ready to go and all was in order, but he found to his horror that the elevator controls on the standby machine were reversed, the cables having been crossed during the check which had just been completed.

My father said the assembly had been done by two of his most reliable fitters and presumably he had signed it off without checking it himself, though I can’t imagine he or any other engineer would do so. More likely he did inspect it but did not notice the deadly error, perhaps an early senior moment, but fortunately his subconscious did notice and reminded him in dramatic fashion.

I’ve often wondered if the heart attack he suffered a few years later resulted from the stress and responsibilities of the aero engineer. It certainly did for my Uncle John, who in 1953 became one of BEA’s first Viscount engineers and was under constant pressure to keep the glamorous girls on schedule. Many years later, when I qualified myself and signed off many a log, I would realise the loads carried by those who had gone before.

[Fareastdriver]

Aldergrove’s salvage dump,

The many happy hours I spent there in the late 1940s. Pride of place was a Sunderland; how did they get a Sunderlnd to scrap itself at Aldergrove? plus assorted Halifaxs, Lancasters, Oxfords, Spifires and IIRC, a Walrus.

My father was a pilot on 202 Sqn Halifaxs doing the same job. I lived on the Station and having seen the latest, slide along the runway, or, spear into the mud I would be chased away from exhibit 'A' by the SPs until they had defuelled it.

I can remember a juvenile plan to convert one of the Sunderlan's floats into a boat, drag it down to Lough Neagh and sail it but my father was posted before completion..

I also lost my first love; Deidre Judkins, are you there?

[Danny42C]

Chugalug,

Thank you for your approval (in Another Place) of my Non-PC forms of address. (I'm far too old a dog now to learn any New (PC) Tricks).

As you suggest, the previous occupant of my hut might well haved been a Yorkshire lad. As they say,

Yorkshire born, Yorkshire bred.
Strong in th'arm, weak in th'ead !

As may appear later, we changed our minds about air travel from Geneva - and then had it abruptly changed back for us........D.

Geriaviator and Fareastdriver,

I have an interest in the last days of 202 Sqdn, for several of their people turned up at the ATC School at Shawbury around '65. I particularly remember a little old Master Pilot (a Czech, I think), who had managed to keep in flying posts all the time from war end right up to age 50 (he looked about 80+). Can't remember his name: ring any bells ?

He taught me a lesson which every Instructor must learn: never judge a book by its cover ! This chap struck me as an old has-been - we're going to have trouble with him ! I could not have been more wrong. He had a brain like a razor, picked up his new trade in a flash, finishing top of class in the Course exam.

Ah, the old Hillman Minxes ! Rootes sold all their factory rejects to the RAF as entry-level Staff Cars (well, that's what it seemed like). The High Oil Consumption was notorious (in an age when 2000 mi/ Gallon was "good"). I clearly recall driving one from Thornaby down to the south coast; MT section gave me three gallons of oil in tins for top-ups during the journey - and I used the lot !

Nobody bothered about the smoke - they all smoked - until (like one of my old cars) you couldn't see through the rear window. Every garage sold some sort of "house" reclaimed oil at a shilling a quart (that did me for about 50 miles). "Reclaimed" was, of course, old sump oil filtered through a few thicknesses of newspaper and diluted to taste with paraffin.

The story of your father's dream raises hairs on the back of the neck. I thought that that supreme example of "Murphy's Law" had been made impossible decades previously (by having two incompatible sizes of the cable turnbuckles that were the weak point). Not so, it seems ! Rule: Never neglect a hunch - somebody (your Guardian Angel ?) is trying to tell you something........D.

On which thought-provoking note,

Cheerio, Danny.

[Geriaviator]

Danny, could your ancient aviator have been Flt Lt Ignatowski, always known as Iggy? The name is probably Polish so maybe I have it wrong. As to the Minx, we can recommend OMD-270 as used in Hastings, 50psi oil pressure when cold, zero when warm ... eventually the old girl ran her bigends with a great clattering.

Fareastdriver, salvage dumps were indeed wonderful places. Binbrook in 1949 featured a Frazer-Nash rear turret from a Wellington on a tubular stand so we could spin it via the manual operating handle; conical bomb tails with fins and propellors for fusing; approach indicators with red and green glasses and spirit levels for lining them up; bomb dollies which were (fortunately for the populace) too heavy for us to pull to the hill down into the village; sundry armour glass which defied all attempts to break it; and a trolley-acc with Villiers engine which I managed to get going, to the great annoyance of my father who had condemned it the previous month and the greater annoyance of myself when he made me take it back.

Chugalug has suggested we might stretch this thread to include a child's eye view of the postwar RAF. Sixty years ago in faroff Aden, Khormaksar's kids kept a Cold War secret. This great untold story is here if you want it ... :8

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator

I think we have the wrong man. Our chap was certainly a Master Pilot, and I have come across Ignatowskis, certainly more of a Polish name than a Czech. (Could be a derivation of Ignatius ?).

The bomb dollies would have gone down the hill all right (and written off most of Binbrook village !). The trick would have been to get 'em up again. (you weren't planning to ride down on them, I hope !)

The "propellers " were the safety device for the rear fuses: they were the things which embedded themselves in the under wings of our Vengeances when the 250 pounders came off the racks and they spun off the fuses.

The AAIs would be the old portable things which guided a very nervous D down onto a gooseneck flarepath in a Wiltshire field long ago.

The Aden "Swallows and Amazons" story sounds a jolly good idea to me (the more, the merrier on this Thread). Bring it on ! But it is a matter for the Moderators - suggest you try it and see what happens.

Cheers, Danny.

[smujsmith]

Geriaviator,

I can't speak for Danny, who holds the flame, but I'm sure Cliff, the OP of this thread and Reg (bless em both) would have no problems with using the thread to continue the story, post WW2. I believe that this thread has proven to be something of a record of our services history and, not least, the personal experiences of people who were there. I'm sure Danny will respond in a similar manner and look forward to any inputs that would add to the wealth of information, from the horses mouth (no current food problems intended).

Smudge

[Danny42C]

That leaves the top bit, and that was a very different proposition indeed. It was about a thousand feet of unskiable sheer rock - a sort of mini North Face of the Eiger. From top left just below the summit a narrow descending ledge traversed the face down to the mogul field ( Planplace ?) and the restaurant.

A very small téléphérique (about big enough for four skiers) was the only way to get up to the top (short of mountaineering). Our instructors unanimously told us not even to think about going up there.

As I remember, the plan was: nursery slope until the class was fit to tackle the T-bars (always good for a laugh with the beginners), in stages until they could manage the very easy slope from top restaurant down to the hotel. Then we were bussed to Les Houches, about three miles down the valley, to try the intermediate slopes above the village.

They had a restaurant and cable car station beside the road, and a very good idea. I hadn't met this before, and it may be universal now (it is fifty years since I was last on skis). When you bought your cable car ticket (or showed your Pass) , they gave you a numbered token. Now you could enjoy a leisurely coffee while keeping an eye on a monitor, which showed the last number for the next car load (my local "Boots" has the same idea with the filling of prescriptions).

This did away with queues (and queue jumpers !) in the draughty cold of the cable station. You strolled out, gave up your token, and climbed aboard, trying not to do too much damage with your skis to your neighbours in the packed car. First-timers always revealed themselves by their squeals of terror as the gondola clattered and swayed on passing the first pylon.

On top, you put on your skis and looked around. There was a beautiful panorama of alpine peaks, and a fiendishly expensive restaurant. This was an important consideration for us, for in those days we were only allowed £20 In foreign currency to take out of Britain (everything else had to be covered out of the £30 sterling we'd paid for the "package").

Economy was the name of the game: the cheapest thing in the hotel bar was "Cinzano" (a sweet vermouth), so we drank that, and made each one last as long as possible. I didn't develop much of a taste for the stuff. Coffees outside were very dear. IIRC, this was long before the Franc was revalued (in De Gaulle's time ?), and we got something like Fr. 2400/£, but as everything you bought cost an astronomical number of francs, you were no better off.

To return to the top at Les Houches, my memory is of deeply wooded slopes down which we skied through the trees in the brief intervals when we were not spreadeagled in the snow. I think they had a slalom slope somewhere near the bottom.

Before leaving the subject, the word "Prianon" lingers in my memory, but I cannot recall the context. From Google I learn that it has something to do with a "bubble", but still I'm no wiser. Anyone ?

A bit more excitement next time, perhaps.

Goodnight, all,

Danny 42C


So far, so good.

[BEagle]

Coffees outside were very dear. IIRC, this was long before the Franc was revalued (in De Gaulle's time ?), and we got something like Fr. 2400/£, but as everything you bought cost an astronomical number of francs, you were no better off.

The nouveau franc was introduced in 1960, during De Gaulle's term as first President of the Fifth Republic.

Your exchange rates seem a little optimistic though. My sources indicate that, in 1953, there were 975 old francs to the £. Whereas in 1963, following revaluation, there were 13.7 NF to the £.

US dollar rates are interesting - in 1953 you could get $2.8 for £1 and in 1963 £1 was still worth $2.8. In early 1973 £1 was worth $2.35, but it had fallen to $1.9 by the time I first went to the USA in 1978, dropping to almost 1:1 in the yuppiedom of the mid-'80s.....:rolleyes:

[Union Jack]

Before leaving the subject, the word "Prianon" lingers in my memory, but I cannot recall the context.

I obviously don't wish to burst your "bubble":), but I wonder if this have been what you what was lingering in your amazing memory:

L Trinquier Trianon Train Plm Mont Blanc Chamonix 75X105,5 Imp Hugo D Alesi | Flickr - Photo Sharing! (http://www.flickr.com/photos/estampemoderne/6653268403/)

Jack

[Geriaviator]

Yes Danny, we had every intention of riding the bomb dolly down to the village and even extended its steering bar. Fortunately we had more enthusiasm than strength so the monster never reached the top of Swinhope Hill; it would certainly have reached Mach 1 at the bottom. I now cast myself upon the charity of the Mods with the opening chapter of 1949 memories:

Austerity Britain, struggling to its feet after a terrible war, was a very dull place ... but to an eight-year-old arriving from the brown plains of India in 1947, Lincolnshire was a riot of excitement and colour, the long-awaited "home" where there was something new to explore every day.

Like most Service families we had to wait for married quarters to become available, and spent our first month in a transit camp. If you explore the crumbling buildings on former airfields, note their single-skin brickwork and asbestos roofs, and the small rooms opening onto a central corridor. Each family would have two such rooms, with communal ablutions in the centre of the block. The buildings were centrally heated but the condensation would stream down the icy walls. Most houses, of course, had only a coal fire and were even more damp.

Our first home was at RAF North Coates, where flying had ceased the year before. For months my father and a few colleagues had to cycle 15 miles to Binbrook to arrive 0800 each day, and 15 miles home each evening, until the RAF reluctantly provided transport. But wartime airmen were tough.

A year later we were allocated quarters on what is now Windsmoor Road on the Brookenby estate. Life was very basic by today's standards. Local farmers collected every scrap of waste food or swill, to be boiled up and turned to valuable pig food. Sweets, sugar and some foods were rationed and our annual treat was a bottle of Coke from the Mess. In school we used both sides of scarce writing paper, and nothing was wasted.

Binbrook was just one of many schools, for Service children led a nomadic life. On my first morning Mr. Gordon the headmaster introduced me and another new boy, saying that our parents were serving our country, that like all Service families we were often on the move, and he asked everyone to make us welcome during our stay in Binbrook.This was the only such welcome I received, and we still remember Binbrook as the community which more than any other took its Service neighbours to its heart. On some stations we were regarded as interlopers, especially as wartime memories began to fade. I was glad to learn that Mr. Gordon's regard for his Service pupils, of which there were 20-25 in my time, was continued by his successors until the station closed in 1988.

Years later I learned that Mr. Gordon had remembered my father's Battle squadrons flying into Binbrook in 1940 after terrible losses in the Battle for France. He told my father that he grieved for the hundreds of young airmen who never returned to Binbrook, and said he would do all in his power to help the Service children. It is fitting that the Australian 460 Squadron memorial is placed at the roadside in front of his school.

The 1949 winter was harsh and coal for our open fires was not only expensive but difficult to obtain at one stage as the roads were snowed up. After every packing-case on the Station had been burned the men from the Patch went foraging on their bicycles, once bringing back a telegraph pole slung along the crossbars of four bikes. It was cut up and split into logs and while the creosote-soaked wood burned well, it produced a thick pall of black smoke which hung over the Patch for a week.

All too soon we were on the move again with a posting to RAF Khormaksar, Aden. My parents offered the choice of an RAF boarding school but I wouldn't miss another overseas trip. I'm still glad I was able to go in those days when foreign travel was impossible for most people, and I remember Aden as though it were yesterday. As you will find from our next instalment, Mods permitting ...

[Danny42C]

BEaegle,

I've read somewhere that there has been more inflation in this country post WW2 than in the previous six hundred years. When I was in the good old U.S of A. in '41, we got $ 4.08; this lasted till Harold Wilson got his fingers in the pie and it dropped to $ 2.8 - or was it 2.4 ? ("but of course, this will make no difference to the pound in your pocket !" - how can politicians lie so smoothly with such straight faces ?)

They are at it still: in our benighted medieval past they called it: "Debasing the Currency", and they hanged you for it, and quite right, too. Inflation is the cruellest form of tax. Now we churn out paper with nothing to back it and call it: "Quantitative Easing" (President Reagan had a better name for it: "Voodoo Economics"), and then use it to buy up our own Government debt. This strikes me as the equivalent of pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps, and likely to be as successful, but then what do I know ? (Rant over, sorry Mr Moderator, but it was fun).

I'm sure you're quite right about the Franc rate. Fr 975 in '53, applying my old (sterling) inflation tables (and assuming that both currencies were going down the pan at the same rate) would indicate about 1060 in '51. Memory is unreliable, but a factor of error of 2¼ is a bit over the top ! Thanks for putting me right......D.

Union Jack.

Jack,

Thanks for the link ! Followed it up, turns out to be something to do with a train on the Paris - Lyon - Mediterranian line. (hadn't they all been nationalised as the SNCF by then ?) "Bubble" ? - Wild guess, might refer to the loops in the line that appear on the map..........D.

Geriaviator,

Congratulations on the gripping first instalment of your experiences in the days when you were a "service brat". The mere thought of your steerable bomb trolley hurtling down to Binbrook village with a couple of ten-year olds on board makes the blood run cold ('elf'nsafety would have a fit of the vapours !) What's well begun is half done ! Welcome aboard ! Keep up the good work !..........D.

My thanks to all for the "follow-ups" which are what give life to this Prince of Threads.

Cheers, Danny.

[Chugalug2]

Danny:-

Chugalug, Thank you for your approval (in Another Place) of my Non-PC forms of address. (I'm far too old a dog now to learn any New (PC) Tricks).

Danny, you certainly don't need my approval, but I can assure you of my high regard at all times. With so much pressure on us all these days to conform to a shared perceived wisdom in all things, it is as well to remind people that it was not always thus. The maxim that, "I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." isn't heard much these days, more's the pity. Could it be that the ferocity shown against those that don't thus conform fires the extremism that is such a feature of the modern world? At any rate, unforeseen consequences seem to litter the landscape these days.
Well, we're all getting stuff off our chests now, aren't we? At least it ensures a safety in numbers, the mods won't know where to start;-)
Geriaviator, I've just worked out a cunning wheeze that will cover all our post WWII reminiscences. I read somewhere that the Cold War is seen by some historians as merely a continuation of World WarII in another form. Now the whys and wherefores of that are not important, it is merely necessary that all who post here are unanimous in that view. Ipso facto, m'Lud, and Habeas Corpus! All in favour? Against? The Ayes have it. The Ayes have it! So there you are, job done. Post on young Geriaviator, you have only your youth to lose, as do we all.

[Geriaviator]

Once upon a time there was a great Empire with outposts around the world. By 1951 the empire was crumbling but its military servants were still departing for places such as Singapore, Hong Kong, Kenya, Rhodesia, Egypt, Iraq ... and Aden at the foot of the Red Sea.

When Servicemen left on a posting there was always a delay before married quarters became available and their families could join them. During these long months the lonely wives had to care for children and home, an experience vividly brought back by last year’s very moving TV series on the Military Wives’ Choir.

Like all Service families our journey began 12 weeks ahead with the inoculation parade. The queue of National Servicemen stretched all the way round Binbrook’s SSQ, waiting for the jabs for yellow fever, smallpox, tetanus and the dreaded TABC, a cocktail against typhoid and typhus which laid out mother and myself with flu-like symptoms which lasted a week.

On the previous day the medical orderlies were busy sterilising their big glass syringes and sharpening their needles on whetstones. There was none of your disposable nonsense, I told you NOTHING was wasted. It was considered best to get in early before the needles became blunted by so many perforations but don't worry, the needles were sterilised between each customer. One or two airmen would pass out in the stuffy corridors laden with the fumes of surgical spirit, only to be laid on the floor and jabbed anyway.

Meanwhile our belongings were crated up for long storage or for Aden, marked ‘Not wanted on voyage’ as we could take only one suitcase to the cabins. Like all Service mothers, Mum was alone to do the packing, have our married quarters clean and inventoried, and take the three of us to Southampton, two long train journeys enlivened by sheer panic when my sister, then six, wandered off in Waterloo station. We just made the boat train and boarded the Dunera that afternoon.

New arrivals were housed in Khormaksar’s bungalows, for the station had yet to undergo the massive development of the 1960s. Long before the days of TV the family would sit happily under the security light, watching the lizards feeding on the insects it attracted. Around us the land crabs formed a companionable circle, their eyes on little stalks like periscopes following us if we moved from chair to chair.

Each evening my parents would listen to the news on crackly shortwave, with Lillibulero playing in Radio Newsreel on Saturday nights and Forces’ Favourites one Sunday a month. Most people wrote home weekly for there were no phones in airmen’s quarters. Telegrams were for emergencies.

The terrorist attacks were still a decade away but Khormaksar must have been a grim posting for adults, the tiny RAF community having nowhere to go except Steamer Point and perhaps Crater. The young National Servicemen hated the place, so most treated us like little brothers and spoiled us rotten. But for us youngsters, school finished at lunchtime, grown-ups went to sleep off the afternoon’s heat, and Khormaksar was wide open for us to enjoy.

Just how enjoyable you'll see tomorrow ... :ooh:

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator,

Splendid ! A true Irishman, you have clearly kissed the Blarney Stone !

Now you shall stand
At my right hand
And keep the Bridge with me. (Macaulay (?) How Horatius held the Bridge)

The Etruscans ? No chance now !

I would not change a word of it.

Danny.

[Danny42C]

There was, however, one day which will take a lot of forgetting. In the second week, our instructors had turned us loose for a day. It was a nice, quiet morning. After breakfast Willie and I had a good look at the Brévent. From the hotel, it didn't look too bad. Surely, if we were careful........We decided to give it a go (well, you do things like that when you're young, don't you ?)

We rode the T-bars up to the mogul field, then took the little cable car up to the top (we were the only ones in it). Looking down on the ledge, it looked wide enough and not too steep. The car stopped, we got out and put our skis on. There had been a light fall of snow during the night, but no sign of a footstep or ski track - not even the "broad arrow" of a raven. - we were the first ones up there. Small bushes were laden with snow, everything was totally silent and cloud had come down on the mountain top, visibility was about 50 yds.

Following the little piste direction signs, we poled slowly along. After a while the path started to slope down , and a much larger signboard hove in sight, covered in snow. We stopped to knock the snow off with our poles. And then wished we hadn't ! It was an uncompromising:"DANGER DE MORT", below an unpleasantly realistic skull and crossbones.

Gulp....... Had either of us been alone (suicidal in the mountains anyway), I'm sure we would have turned tail and taken the next cable car back (much the same as climbing up to the 5-metre diving board and then cravenly down again). But - "Courage, mes braves !" As neither of us wanted to be the "chicken", and the honour of the rosbifs was on the line, we plodded on. The slope grew steeper, we were skiing now on what seemed to be a dusting of snow over bathroom porcelain. And then we were on the ledge, and fighting for our lives.

The ledge was wide enough, the trouble was that it wasn't level as we supposed, but cambered about 15 degrees down towards the edge over which, hundreds of feet below, waited the mort the sign was talking about. The only possible way to survive was to sideslip for all we were worth. The downward slope increased; we couldn't get enough grip to stop, even though we were on metal edges, but by using all the strength we could muster in our leg muscles we managed to stay on the ledge. How long this struggle went on, and how far the ledge ran, I don't know. It can't have been more than 250 yards, but felt like miles. We hung on and at last the slope slackened and we ran out of the cloud onto the mogul field and came to a halt.

It took about three minutes before we stopped shaking - I'd never had to use my leg muscles so hard and so long since trying to hold a slow Meteor straight on one engine. We slowly poled over to the restaurant. A few early skiers eyed us curiously. Did I hear "espèce d'idiots" muttered ? Didn't matter - even at restaurant prices, we reckoned we'd earned a cognac apiece !

Then we skied slowly and sedately back down to the hotel and spent the rest of the day window-shopping in Chamonix.

Quite enough for the day,

Bonsoir, messieurs,

Danny42C.


I learned about skiing from that.

[Geriaviator]

https://s1.postimg.org/7yn7hgkr27/Dunera_and_75_W.jpg

RAF KHORMAKSAR in 1951 is a wonderful place for a precocious 10 year old, with lots of exciting things to discover, not least in the Medical Officer’s surgery which I am visiting for an ear infection. On the wall is a huge poster bearing the interesting legend: GUARD AGAINST VD!

“Mum, what’s VD?” I pipe up. “Just be thankful you haven’t got it, son, you’ll find out soon enough”, she replies. “Yes, but how can I guard against it if I don’t know what it is?” Mother looks imploringly at the MO, Flt Lt Powell, who has bowed his head and is shuffling papers on his desk. “That’s right, you don’t have to worry about it. It’s something that only affects grown ups”. “How do you catch it, sir?”, I persist. “Is it something like the flu? Why don’t children catch it? Do you get it at home, or just out here in Aden?” “Well, it’s not quite like flu, but you don’t need to worry, only grown ups catch it”. “Have you had it, sir?” I ask.

Then I notice that the MO is in some distress. His face has turned red, his eyes are watering and he has his hand over his mouth the way my little sister does when she’s going to throw up. That’s enough, says mum, show the doctor your sore ear. No swimming for another fortnight, he says, exchanging glances with my mother. There’s something going on here, I think, but there’s no further discussion as I am marched schoolwards at the double despite the heat that hits us like a wave as we emerge from the cool sick quarters.

Our house is on the corner of the married patch, overlooking the RAF school and only 50 yds away. This can be a mixed blessing, as my best friend David Brindley and I found last week when re-enacting She Wore a Yellow Ribbon after its premiere in the Astra Cinema. We gallop into our livingroom ahead of the Seventh Cavalry to find Miss Buckle our teacher has popped over for tea with my parents. Miss Buckle is very old, I overheard Mum tell Dad she was about 38. Like a cobra, she reacts instantly to any sudden movement by small boys and impales us with her basilisk stare before she remembers where she is and bares her teeth in a terrifying smile instead. It gives me quite a fright while David is so shaken he doesn’t come near our house for a week.

Mum leaves me to the classroom door, I slip into my seat and tell Miss Buckle that I won’t be able to swim in the school contest. “That’s a pity, is your ear still sore?” Yes miss, but mum says I should be thankful I haven’t got VD”. “She said WHAT?” I wilt under Miss Buckle’s terrifying glare, and fear I’ve said something wrong. “Please miss, it says about VD on the MO’s wall and when I asked him what it was he said it’s a grown up problem and I’m not to worry because children can’t catch it”.

Miss Buckle’s face turns red, her mouth twitches, she lifts her desk lid and rummages around inside it, head down. What’s wrong, I wonder? Miss Buckle is not well, maybe she has caught ... an awful possibility crosses my mind. I hope that Graham hasn’t caught one of the four-inch locusts that drift across from Ethiopia. He likes to hide one in her desk so it flies out with a mighty whirr when the desk is opened, because Miss Buckle gets very excited when this happens and while it’s most entertaining to watch in normal times we are in an unstable situation here. Robert pokes me in the back with a ruler and asks what it’s all about, while David is muttering something from across the aisle. We don’t notice Miss Buckle racing down the classroom until the crack of ruler on close cropped head and yelps of pain end further discussion.

When school ends at lunchtime we head for the pool and spend our afternoon discussing this mysterious illness. We can’t think of the answer ... but we know a man who can.

Tomorrow: our mystery deepens as the Khormaksar Kids fall under the icy shadow of the Cold War. :ooh:

[cockney steve]

Well, Geri, your light-hearted interlude has certainly given me a couple of hearty belly-laughs.

you're a natural at this story-telling,-please continue.

[Exrigger]

Geriaviator, I think I was out in RAF Khormakser around the same time frame, my dad went there straight from RAF Eastleigh if I remember correctly. He was also responsible for injuring/killing a sheep during a guard shift that did not halt and put its arms up one night, at least that was his story.

I concur that the overseas trips for us scaley brats was an education that in my view was better than you got in most schools, and those times abroad I do remember very well. We lived in Mala high street in flats with the Coca Cola factory at one end and were evacuated once due to a bomb threat.

I will leave you to continue with the tales of derring do that the kids got up to, as you appear to have a better memory than me, and tell it better than I can, allthough the school bus run was fun with two armed guards to accompany us each way.

Just seen the dates you were out in Aden, I was about 8 years later, but please keep the stories coming as this thread is great for history and memories.

[Geriaviator]

https://s1.postimg.org/7u2lb1fx0f/khormaksar_167_west.jpg


Far in the future we’ll go to Google, in 1951 Aden we go to F/Sgt Tubby Trinnick. The genial pharmacist from SSQ always helps his neighbours’ kids. Besides the others fancy his lovely daughter Marcia with her dazzling smile, though I think she’s getting a bit past it, she must be 17 if she’s a day.

Mrs. Trinnick invites us in and splits an ice-cool Coca-Cola between the three of us, an expensive treat at 50c a bottle, about 4p in 2013 money. “Please Mr. Trinnick, what’s VD?” Both parties watch us warily as we explain what has happened, then Mr. Trinnick beckons us closer. “I can’t tell you, it’s a State Secret”, he says. We plead for just a teeny inkling.

“Well, only if you promise never never never to mention it again. You know about the Russians?” Even we had heard about the Cold War and the conflict in Korea. Wide-eyed, we nod agreement. “And you’ve heard about things that come from space?” Again we nod, for a film about such creatures had shown in the Astra Cinema only last month, with an H for ‘Horrific’ Certificate to protect tender under-16s like us.

“The Russians are trying to give us something nasty like that, but we’re guarding against it. We don’t want them to know they know that we know, and that’s why you mustn’t breathe another word about it. Now I require all of you to sign the Official Secrets Act”. The Act, which happens to be printed on an envelope cunningly concealed in the wastebasket, is duly signed in shaky hand and we leave, carefully checking the street for Russian spies.

I glance back to see Mrs. Trinnick displaying all too familiar symptoms. Her face is red, her eyes are streaming, and she is making funny choking noises. Oh well, I think, Mr. Trinnick’s a pharmacist, he can get tablets to treat all sorts of infections.

Coming shortly: Family life on the overseas posting in 1951.

Thanks for the kind words, fellow Pruners, there’s more to come ...

[Chugalug2]

Danny:-
Then we skied slowly and sedately back down to the hotel and spent the rest of the day window-shopping in Chamonix.

As well you might, Sir. I dread to think of the gravity and extent of the bylaws that the pair of you had so egregiously offended, had you so carried on in 21st Century UK Local Authority jurisdiction that is of course. As it was you were under the care and patronage of our Gallic allies, so once past the "Danger de Mort" sign, obscured or not, you were on your own! Why is it that the French so assiduously reduce everything to such self serving common sense? Very annoying indeed!
Geriaviator, thank you for dating the two photos, lest we confuse the two;-) How tidy Khormaksar looks in 1951, as though it were an Architect's model of proposed council flats in a post war slum/ bomb-site clearance scheme. Oh, wait a minute though ...
I wonder if those very unpleasant terrorist gangs that made Aden such a dangerous place later got any ideas from observing the antics of the Brit kids, reducing all around them to helplessness? Probably not, more Just William and the Outlaws than FLOSY and the NLF, but an obvious threat to King and Empire nonetheless!
Edited to add, Geriaviator please check your PM's (top RH corner when signed in)

[lasernigel]

Geriaviator, brilliant the innocence of a child's curiosity can be so funny at times.:ok:
Talking to my eldest daughter the other day, and she remembers as a child being in Kuwait, when I was posted there. You'd think people would forget over time but she has great memories of there.

[Danny42C]

Chugalug,

Thank you for your wise words comparing our present Nanny State with the insouciance of our French allies sixty years ago (but I fear it may be different now - there must be some sort of EU regulation in force !)........D.

Geriaviator,

What a wonderful panoramic view ! But what a perimeter to have to defend if you needed to. (Where were the OMQs ? - not in the Mess block, surely). But with a band of "Just Williams" like you and your pals around, I think it would be the terrorists who had more reason to tremble !

If no more comment comes in by midnight, I'll launch my next Post on 22 Feb,
and then we'll see how our agreed system works out.......D.

A bientôt, you two,

Danny.

[Geriaviator]

Danny, the photo was taken overhead the Officers' Married Quarters which were on the opposite side of the Sheikothman Road from us hoi polloi. The Kids were dissuaded from entering therein for reasons we could not understand, though looking back perhaps Graham's insertion of Qty 4, Locust size 4", via the window of OMQ No. 27, Adjutant and Lady for the habitation of, might have had something to do with it. :8

[Danny42C]

That evening in the bar, we heard that there might be a possibility of swapping our rail/sea tickets for air ones (there would be no problem about identities in those days, tickets were fully tranferable - if you had one, they didn't care who you were, you got on board). But why would anyone want to do such a thing (after paying £5 extra ?)

At this point I must explain that there seems to be a general impression today that the great British public became all air-minded as soon as the war was over. But this was far from the case. Starting with some unreliable statistics, and making all sorts of unwarranted assumptions, I've come to the conclusion that about 120,000 ex-aircrew came back on the labour market in 1946 (0.3% of the adult British population). These thought no more about getting on a plane than of hopping on a bus.

The other 99.7% were in much the same frame of mind as their parents had been twenty or thirty years before. Hardly any of them had ever flown. "Going Up In an Aeroplane" was still a serious adventure; to be contemplated with anything from mild apprehension to abject terror. Long ago on this thread, Fred (RIP) and I swapped nostalgic Posts about a certain Belgian M. Giroup (oux?) with his old Fox Moth on a pre-war Ainsdale Beach. There M. Giroup. sold three-minute "hops" for 5/- a head (with four packed in the Moth cabin); post-war he was back again (to my surprise) still getting the customers in at ten bob !

The era of Mass Air Travel didn't start till the '60s, and for a long time after that the airlines ran "Fear of Flying" Courses to pull in the faint hearted punters (do they still ?)

It followed that our Air Party contained a number of first time flyers, some of a more nervous disposition than others. One young Army couple had been so petrified by the approach into Cointrin that nothing could induce them to take the flight back (the W/Cdr did say it had been rather hairy, and about this time (IIRC), a Constellation going in there had hit a peak near Mont Blanc)

This was going to be very expensive for them as they would now have to pay their own rail/sea fares back to UK (and how could they organise that with the currency restrictions ?) The air journey was a charter - there would be no refunds.

Now if any of the surface party could be persuaded to do a straight swap........It was the answer to all our prayers. We closed the deal on the spot (we did not offer to refund them the £10, I'm afraid). On the Saturday morning after breakfast, we waved goodbye to the ground party, and had a last, most enjoyable morning on the slopes. After lunch we blew our few remaining francs on coffee and a cinzano or two, then returned all our kit to the hire shops during the afternoon.

At tea we learned with some indignation that next month a party of Sandhurst cadets would be coming out to our hotel. But they would have their holiday fully paid for by the Army - it would cost them nothing - and RAF Transport Command would fly them out to Lyon and back ! (One law for the rich - there were sarcastic references to: "jeunes milords anglaises" and "À bas les aristos" !)

Our coach left promptly after tea for the short road trip to Cointrin. But on arrival, where was the next tranche of eager holidaymakers, waiting to board our bus ? Not a soul ! Something was badly wrong.

Courage, mes braves !

Danny42C


If it ain't one damn' thing, it's another.

[Chugalug2]

Danny:-
for a long time after that the airlines ran "Fear of Flying" Courses to pull in the faint hearted punters (do they still ?)
Indeed they do, here are just two that do them:-

Flying without fear (http://virginatlantic.custhelp.com/app/answers/detail/a_id/299/kw/fear%20flying)

Flying with confidence - British Airways (http://www.britishairways.com/travel/flying-with-confidence/public/en_gb)

As you say, it is easy for those of us so used to flying, but difficult for us to comprehend that there are many who can't face up to it, and others who do but suffer severely from the stress it induces (as against that caused by delays, lost luggage, terminal congestion, security procedures etc). These courses are spectacularly successful in helping many put all that worry and fear behind them. I always commended them to those who spoke of such problems of their own or of loved ones, friends, etc. Evidently explaining simple (?) stuff like how the wings can support so much weight in the air, why one has to bank an aircraft to turn it, and how that is done, why bits of the wing have to run back and downwards when coming into land and why there is usually a high pitched sound when that happens or when the gear is lowered (ending with a thump!).
Even as I write this I can see it opening a Pandora's Box of fellow PPRuNers ostensibly seeking my advice and reassurance at the anxieties they purport to experience.
Well don't bother, simply follow the links! :=

Though on reflection, after reading of the hairy arrivals into Cointrin, I might just do the same thing. :uhoh:

Danny, get those train tickets back, now!

[Geriaviator]

https://s20.postimg.org/46w5gvuul/house_jebel.jpg

From left: Our house on the edge of Khormaksar’s married patch; one of the four grim barrack blocks, each of which housed some 250 airmen; and a Bedford truck patrol grinds its way at 4,500 ft up the Jebel Sugeima, the arid mountains north of Aden.


RAF Khormaksar was a peaceful place in the 1950s, for the independence movement did not flare up until 1963. Like other bases, it was a large British village community living the same Service life in places and countries far distant and different from its origins. The only difference was in continuity, for most families were posted after a couple of years.

We were allocated a box-shaped semi with verandahs front and rear and louvred doors both sides to allow through passage of air. The kitchen was built on the end gable. At first there was nothing to distinguish the ‘garden’ from the surrounding desert but homesick residents soon diverted the grey water from kitchen and bathroom into a trench at the front. If the rich volcanic sand was so watered the local parrot trees, named for their beak-shaped flower, were 20ft high in less than two years.

Everyone slept on a charpoy, the Indian word for bed, which as Danny has described comprised a wooden frame with rattan ropes tied across it in grid pattern. It was very comfortable once you got used to it, for a mattress would have been unbearable in that heat. Ants could be annoying until the bedlegs were stood in tin cans containing an inch of paraffin. Aircon was unheard of except in the squadron office, where a bulky trailer unit used for cooling aircraft had its long trunk diverted into the doorway, after which the office became very busy with people doing nothing.

School and the RAF began at 8am and ended at 1pm, Monday to Friday. The afternoon heat was adult charpoy time, while we children walked to the seawater pool a mile away at the civil air terminal, with side trips to inspect the visiting BOAC Hermes or TWA Constellation en route to the Far East. Once a week mum would stump up 50 cents for the gharri, the three-ton Bedford QL which left at 2pm daily for Steamer Point lido with its shark-proof netting. Some took taxis to the beach at Conquest Bay and risked the shark, barracuda, sea snakes and sting rays in the shallows.

The open-air Astra Cinema ran six days a week, otherwise there was the BBC news at 9pm if the reception was good enough. We did not attend the Families Club as the main activity was bingo, then known as housey housey. To my Scottish Presbyterian parents this activity was way down there with fornication and the Hire Purchase, though looking at the British economy today perhaps they weren’t so far wrong with the latter.

Before we left RAF Binbrook my headmaster Alfie Gordon, who would do anything to help RAF families, had noticed that I would be away for the qualifying examination, and then found that hundreds of other Service children would also be abroad. He joined my father in a series of letters to the MP for Louth, Cyril Osborne, who raised the matter in Parliament. As a result, in Aden and most overseas bases we 11-year-olds underwent the Moray House Test (MHT), on which the 11-plus exam was based.

On our return to the UK and the ghastly transit camp at RAF Croft, near Warrington, we were told the MHT was unacceptable and I was sent to a grim secondary modern which was by far the worst of the 11 schools I attended. My father again contacted Cyril Osborne and the system was changed, for I and my peers were allowed to take what became the review procedure. Its result took me to grammar school, but a full year behind everyone else. Only now have I found that other Service children went to grammar school on the strength of the MHT. I wouldn’t have missed my childhood journeys but I wonder how many other families were caught by this travel trap ?

While our native bearers Mo and Saleh did the housework, Mum did most of the cooking on two Primus stoves and a paraffin oven which often gave a unique aroma to the food. Kitchen temperatures often topped 40 degrees, but she never faltered. Most of the Moslem bearers would not touch the breakfast bacon or its cooking utensils, and she thought nothing of preparing Sunday dinner with Yorkshire pudding and all the trimmings. Basic provisions, all bought from the NAAFI, included spam (in tins, not the internet pollution), powdered eggs, and dehydrated potatoes. At least they were alleged to be potatoes. Everyone soon became used to taking salt tablets every day and the sherbet flavoured lemon or orange drink made from tinned powder. We Kids preferred Coca-Cola but at 50 cents per bottle we were lucky to share one a month.

Christmas was the highlight of the year, when my parents would open their house to pack in my father’s National Servicemen, stuck in a rocky, arid desert land far from home and family. What was fun for me and my friends 1951-1953 must have been misery for hundreds of young men, most of whom told my father that they considered their Service as two wasted years. Of course life became more exciting a decade later when the nationalist attacks began in late 1963, leading to Britain’s abrupt departure in 1967. Today, long freed from their British oppressors, the good folk of Aden enjoy unfettered life in the delightful Republic of Yemen.

Coming attractions: on his second day at school, the 10-yr-old Geriaviator anoints the Headmaster.

[Fareastdriver]

The dreaded Moray House Test.

I had to do that before I left Rhodesia in 1953. In Rhodesia we stayed at Junior School until twelve years old. The result was that I went straight into Form 3 at grammar school in England.

For those that missed it Warmtoast has an excellent thread on overseas travel in the fifties.
http://www.pprune.org/aviation-history-nostalgia/455388-what-way-go-1950-s-style.html

[Danny42C]

Chugalug,

Your quote: "Danny, get those train tickets back, now !" Never was truer word spoken ! Would that we had ! (as shall presently appear).

Thanks for the links. From these it would seem that 90+% of the timorous were miraculously freed from their terrors (but then Virgin and BA would say that, wouldn't they ?)

My experience is that reason is of no avail against unreasoning fears. I know that incey-wincey-spider can do me no harm, but I still would not have him as a pet. And I must confess that, the first time I paid good money to fly in an aeroplane post-war, I was rather uncomfortable, being without a parachute (or four-point harness) !......D.

Geriaviator,

Again, a feast of pics of quite professional quality ! It would seem that the place was one of those "Far Flung Corners of the British Empire that hadn't been Flung Far Enough". Questions abound: if the airport could get seawater and it was only a mile away, why didn't you have a pool ? Was there a shortage of seawater ? Hadn't pipes and pumps been invented yet ?
And what was the fresh water source ? (place looks rather dry to me). And your sewage system ?

Your (NS) airmen didn't need to be bored. How about learning Arabic ? - think how useful that would be now. And how I appreciate the irony in your final sentence !...........D.

Cheers to you both, Danny.

[Danny42C]

In the terminal we learned the worst. There would be no aircraft for us that day - or ever. Shoestring Airways (or whatever it was called - a man and a boy affair, with one Viking) had gone bust that day. It was a defunct airline, an ex-airline, a non-airline. We were on our own, thirty-plus strangers in a strange land, with not the price of a cup of coffee between the lot of us (for we'd all got rid of our francs - as we'd be back in the UK in a couple of hours). Someone rang the Consulate.

To the end of my days, I will not hear a wrong word said about our Consular Service. They were splendid. Within an hour they'd got us a coach to Geneva rail station. There they'd booked us all, via Paris, to Calais, and on a British Rail ferry to Dover. And even booked couchettes for us on the midnight train ! And their generosity didn't end there. They stood us a slap-up dinner in the station restaurant, then (as in many places on the continent at that time), the best eating place in town. The one thing they couldn't do, apparently, was to advance us any currency (because of the restrictions).

It wouldn't cost us, or the British taxpayer a penny, they assured us: they'd get their pound of flesh back from the Liquidators. I wished them luck with it. I don't think there was any ABTA or ATOL in those days. It was said that: "the only thing an airline owns is the pilot's cap badge". The aircraft would be on lease; marketing, maintenance and all the other services contracted out; there would certainly be no money in the bank.

The next part was surreal. An attaché rang his opposite number in the Paris Embassy; he told his wife; she told the Ambassador's wife; things started to happen. They immediately rounded up all the staff and embassy wives they could get hold of. These then sallied out and raided the surrounding boulangeries and épiceries within easy reach. Then they made dozens of cheese, ham and egg croques-monsieur. They gathered all the vacuum flasks they could find in the embassy, brewed coffee and filled them.

By the time we pulled into the Gare du Sud (or was it the Gare St. Lazaire, or somewhere else ?), we were no longer surprised to find a coach waiting to take us across to the Gare du Nord. And then it was breakfast time and we were feeling a bit peckish after the overnight journey. We needn't have worried. A group of embassy staff and wives was waiting for us with the coffee, and the baskets of provisions under snowy white cloths. Our train to Calais didn't leave for an hour, so we'd plenty of time to eat all the food they'd brought.

I'm glad to say that when we got back, the W/Cdr wrote to the Foreign Secretary to express our gratitude, and to congratulate our Ambassador in Paris, the Consul in Geneva (and all their people) on a splendid effort.

Now, back to Blighty,

G'day, folks,

Danny42C.


Home, Sweet Home !

[Geriaviator]

Danny,
The runway runs across an isthmus and its builders chose to site the saltwater pool on its eastern end away from the quarters. The pool had a corrugated iron canopy section and was the only building on a superb beach, though swimming was shared with shark, sting rays and venomous sea snakes. The post-Suez development brought a new pool within the station perimeter. Today a dual carriageway runs along the beach and the entire area has been built upon. It was indeed a terrible posting for adults.
In our day water came from Sheikothman via a 12-mile pipeline and even then was seen as a major weakness. Sewage? Not even the Kids explored this connection, though I daresay it would be easy to find from downwind :ooh:
We Kids were welcomed (within reason!) in the barrack blocks as little brothers but I don't remember anyone learning languages least of all Arabic which was probably something to be left behind as soon as possible. There were some very good guitar, mandolin and accordion players, though.

FEDriver,
Interesting to hear of your Moray House Test being accepted. I'm beginning to think that the only ones who missed out were the children returning via Croft or Padgate transit camps, perhaps the Lancashire education authority were to blame. Today we have few (albeit very nasty) places to scatter our dwindling Servicemen but I still feel for the families of those who serve their country.

[Chugalug2]

Danny, what an inspiring story of action well beyond the call of duty! Could it be that the very novelty of early post war civil aviation meant that the fate of Shoestring and their stranded pax was very much a one off situation, almost as though you were the victims of a ship-wreck or railway accident? Perhaps the later bonding of airline companies made the resolution of their failure more certain, but surely not more uplifting? As you say bully for His Majesty's Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary in Paris, and three cheers for our man in the Consulate. Now they are as likely as a US Hospital to require your Bank and Credit Card details before advancing so much as a sou. The tax payer is now the victim to be defended, and those who find themselves abandoned and penniless in far off places seen as part culpable in their own misfortune.

Geriaviator, I must say that Aden never was on my "must see" short list, and it seems from what you tell us that I had got it about right. What a gamble Service life has always been! Winters spent in the cold wind swept wilds of Lincolnshire, the sweltering heat of the desert, or a tropical paradise in the Far East? "Faites vos jeux, Mesdames et Messieurs, ....rien ne va plus!" Where will the bouncing ball finish up? What will fate decree? You need to ask yourself if you feel lucky, well do you?

[pbeach]

250,000 veterans of Arctic convoys and Bomber Command to be honoured - Telegraph (http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/defence/9893878/250000-veterans-of-Arctic-convoys-and-Bomber-Command-to-be-honoured.html)

[Blacksheep]

Too late for Dad, who served in HMS KGV as a Signal Boy, aged 17. He remembered an oerlikon gunner who froze to death at his post because the "black heater" in his sponson had failed. And being sent up the mast and out along the yard arm to free a signal flag that he had got jammed in the block. In a force eight, 20 below and rolling 15 degrees either side. It was a different life. May God Bless them all - nobody else did.

[Geriaviator]

Yes, I suppose 67 years is a little on the late side but better late than never? Maybe not. I was privileged to have met quite a few Bomber Command aircrew and those who would talk about their experiences at all were sad that the sacrifice made by so many of their comrades was never recognised. None of those brave airmen is with us today, and none saw the long awaited Memorial.

Rudyard Kipling spoke for all Servicemen a century ago:
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an` "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's " Saviour of 'is country " when the guns begin to shoot.

[WarmandDry]

In a pub on Saturday I had the privilege to meet a 92 year old, fitter onDefiants, Air Eng on Halifax. Ex 6 Group whose lapel badge he proudly wore. Atlast the recognition they all deserve.

[smujsmith]

My father in law, sadly passed several years ago, served as ground crew on Stirlings and Lancasters throughout the war. Having done a bit in the modern RAF, it was my great pleasure, whilst repairing PA474 to give him a private look around. I can think of no one else who exemplifies my respect and admiration for the people who fought for us then than him. I believe he would have been proud that his service had finally been recognised for its real value. It's a shame that politicians have to get involved in this sort of stuff.

Smudge

[Danny42C]

Geriaiator,

You seem to have had some fearsome aquatic life swimming around in your end of the Arabian Sea ! Looking back, I sincerely hope they stayed up there, and didn't stray down to our end while I was splashing about in it. But then, our ignorance was bliss, I suppose !

Your point about the 12-mile freshwater link is a serious one. When the terrorists started up, it would be very hard to secure. Singapore (I was told) was a lost cause as soon as the Japs got a stranglehold on the water supply across the strait from Johore.

We are alike in our admiration for Kipling. Out of favour in the eyes of the intelligentia (?) for generations, he seems to be regaining his proper place as a Giant of English Literature..........D.

Chugalug,

I'm afraid "Shoestring Airways" was far from unique in those days. Ex-RAF pilot blows his war gratuity on getting his "B" Licence, forms Limited Company, then scrapes enough money together to hire a 2/h DC-3 (ex-Dakota) and spray it up. Gets a licence to operate from CAA (or whatever it was called then - "Board of Trade" ?). Hires a couple of other ex-RAF types, who will fly almost for nothing to get in the hours to keep their "B"s alive, buys in maintenance (kick-tyres variety) and the rest from the lowest bidder. Sets up in Charter business.

For every one who made good (Freddie Laker) ten went to the wall (the DC-3 would be recycled to the next starry-eyed hopeful, get another coat of paint - same again). We may have been one of the first to call on the nearest Consul, but I wager we were not the last, and they would soon get fed up with this caper.....D.

pbeach,

At last ! But too late for the majority (may they Rest in Peace)...D.

Regards to you all, Danny.

[Geriaviator]

Our OC and we others have been wondering about bold titles for this wonderful thread, so I contacted those very nice folk who run PPrune and Clee replied:
"Bold type in thread titles is not something under the thread creator's control. Threads show up in bold print to you if they've had new posts since your last login."

As most of us go straight to this thread, the only time we'll see our title in bold is when we go to the Forums listing. Easy when you know how, as my QFI told me after each of his flawless landing demonstrations ...

I'm glad you got home in comfort, Danny, their Airships normally arranged a much less luxurious return for their minions. Mind you the ultimate experience is the stranded package tour with 20-hour delay at the airport and all the travel money long gone ... :uhoh:

[pzu]

On the Skiing theme

Danny as a resident of that funny place slightly to the North of the Tees you may not take 'The Northern Echo'!!!, but a piece in todays issue (27 Feb 2013) may be of interest to you

Airman is king of the slopes (From The Northern Echo) (http://www.thenorthernecho.co.uk/news/10250173.Airman_is_king_of_the_slopes/)

PZU - Out of Africa (Retired)

[Geriaviator]

SENIOR Pruners will remember the stubby bottle containing one-third of a pint of milk and given to every British child each morning. Khormaksar’s supply of the familiar little bottles that I had seen in Lincolnshire only three weeks previously arrives from the RAF’s own dairy farm at Steamer Point in crates which in the heat are reeking of sour milk, something which turns my 10-year-old stomach.

Our headmaster is Laurence Acheson, and on my second day this kindly man does his best to make me feel at ease. “Drink up your milk, son, it’s good for you”, he says. “Please sir, it makes me sick, I’d rather not have it”.

It is not good to miss one’s milk, he warns, and nobody gets sick through drinking it. Reluctantly I take a gulp before spraying it and my breakfast all over Sir’s spotless white shorts as he stands at point-blank range before my desk. This feat earns me great peer respect, I gain immediate membership of the Khormaksar Kids who terrorise the camp, and nobody offers me milk again.

My class teacher Miss Buckle swiftly spots her new pupil’s weakness in arithmetic; I shall find that many teachers in the UK could not care less about Service children because they’ll soon be posted away. I’m obsessed with aircraft (and still will be, 60+ years later) and when Miss Buckle asks each pupil to recite something from memory a couple of pupils recite poems, someone else gives a few lines of prose, and I contribute the takeoff checklist for the Avro Lancaster which I have learned in readiness for the aircraft I’m going to buy once I grow up. Dad says Lancasters were ten a penny a few years ago so I’m sure I’ll have no problem finding one. Miss Buckle shakes her head sadly but a couple of days later gives me a sheet of handwritten problems.

Your Avro Lancaster carries 2000 gallons of petrol, its four engines each consume 60 gallons an hour, and it cruises at 200 mph. How far can you fly before the tanks run dry? Your Lancaster cruises at 200 mph. It is 900 miles from Khormaksar to Khartoum. How much fuel will you need ? This is great, I think. Totally absorbed, it’s the only time I fail to lead the rush home when school ends at lunchtime, and a faintly smiling Miss Buckle checks my flight plan.

“Oh dear. I don’t know much about flying, but on these figures you’re going to come down in the Red Sea. And what do we have in the Red Sea?” “Sharks, Miss Buckle”. “Exactly. Now I’d like you to take this home and recalculate your flights for tomorrow. Until you improve I’m afraid I would not fly anywhere if you are the pilot, I don’t want to be eaten”. Mortified, I slink off home and fall for her cunning plan hook, line and sinker. More flying problems follow and by the end of the next term we have explored every possibility of Lancaster operation, and I have at last learned some arithmetic.

Many years later my father told me that Miss Buckle had been waiting at Flying Wing one morning when it opened at 0700. There she had asked questions about the Lancaster and the basics of navigation so that she could set my problems. She told my father that she feared his child was totally obsessed, but she would teach him maths if it was the last thing she did.

A quarter of a century later I would have both pilot’s and engineering licences as well as my own aircraft, sadly not a Lancaster. No small part of these achievements was down to dear, dedicated Miss Buckle in her sweltering classroom at RAF Khormaksar.

COMING SOON: Pray join us at the RAF Khormaksar Church Parade, a solemn and reverential event on the Stations of the 1950s.

[Danny42C]

Geriaiator,

Your quote: "flawless landing demonstrations". That well known (and rather outspoken) Irishman whom we all love to hate (but who nevertheless runs a hugely profitable airline while others are losing money hand over fist) has, I believe, recently thought up a wizard wheeze. He has a mind to have a straphanger section fitted in steerage in his next batch of 737s.

The justification for the idea, apparently, is that he can pack a few more in and: "if there's an accident, they're all dead anyway" (which may well be true, but has raised some critical Press comment). What has escaped comment is his next remark: "and heavy landings are a thing of the past".
Really ? I'm very pleased to hear it ! Can any one throw light on this amazing development ? (With grovelling apologies to our Moderator).

PS Thanks to you and Chugalug for the solution to the Bold Type question !
(and it is Open House again on my PMs !) Your Miss Buckle sounds a very wise teacher indeed, and Mr. Acheson had reason to reflect on the old adage about leading horses to water.....or small boys to sour milk !.........D

pzu,

Thanks for the link ! (don't take the D & S Times). But the Telemark was always far beyond my ability.
Good for the lad, though, (sounds like the R.Aux.A.F. ? - but hadn't they been disbanded ?)..............D


Regards to you all, Danny.

[pulse1]

"and heavy landings are a thing of the past" but turbulence isn't. Even with conventional seats and belts a significant number of injuries are caused by it.

Please don't let this fantastic thread be sullied with the smut and grime of the modern business world, especially from that quarter.

[Danny42C]

pulse 1,

I don't think you need to worry too much on that score. It was not so much the business background of my reference, but the novel concept of no-bump landings which intrigued me ! Bring 'em on, say I !

Your point on the dangers of turbulence is well made.

Cheers, Danny42C.

[Chugalug2]

Danny,
Your reminder of the perils involved in the early post WW2 period of civil aviation whereby the similar ex WW1 rise in commercial motor transport was repeated with even more shaky results is well taken.
Freddy Laker was very much the exception to the general rule in that he wasn't a Senior Officer and he wasn't a pilot, perhaps that had a bearing on his ability to see the woods for the trees. He obtained a contract to provide cargo aircraft for the Berlin Airlift despite having only passenger aircraft. By having a freight door constructed and fitted to a cut-out chalked out on a fuselage side over a weekend he had an aircraft to offer the following week. The remaining aircraft were converted in similar short order. Once the airlift was over so was his airline. He paid off the staff and melted the aircraft down at Southend. As other airlines folded, unable to find other business, he melted down their aircraft too. A survivor, well that is until the old boys net folded in on him, no doubt justified between themselves with the thought that, "The man's a bloody Corporal, for God's sake!"
To be somewhat provocative I see O'Leary in much the same vein. Most of his outrageous suggestions (coin operated loo doors, standing for take off and landing, etc) aren't serious, but have two great advantages, they get him and his airline in the news and irritate the "old boys" enormously. He may irritate others as well, I'm sure, but his load factors, modern fleet, and profitability tell their own story. Oh, BTW, I never worked for him, if I did perhaps I might think differently!
Geriaviator, well done for resolving the mystery of the "occulting" thread titles. If only we could speed the effect up, what an attention getter that would be! Your post brought back memories of lining up at breaktime for my third of a pinta. No-one at our school had the presence of mind or ability to instantly vomit it up. The esteem it won you at yours was indeed well earned! I very belatedly salute you, Sir.

[Yamagata ken]

Delightful story geriaviator, thanks. What a treasure was Miss Buckle, getting inside the head of a 10 year old boy. Not that it's hard, but she cared and was being utterly professional. Excellent.

[Danny42C]

Now we're ashore in Dover, and it is Sunday afternoon. British Railways (surprisingly) raised no difficulty with the return half of our rail tickets (apparently it was then not all that unusual for travellers to go out from one Channel port and return to another).

And now our chequebooks were good ? Forget it ! In those days eveything in London was shut tight except the pubs (no ATMs in those days) and it would be a stupid publican indeed who'd cash a cheque for a dishevelled young stranger waving some bit of plastic. Neither of us were members of the RAF Club, mostly avoiding London like the plague, so we'd never seen any reason to join.

All we had now was the cash in our pockets, and this had to be carefully husbanded. Willie went off somewhere to spend his last couple of days' leave with his people, I took the tube to Euston, deducted from my remaining cash the price of a sleeper on the Irish Mail, and had a very frugal meal with what was left. I got on the train as soon as they let us aboard, put my head down and slept like a log.

The train got into Holyhead at dawn. The steward brought me a cup of tea. I hadn't a penny to tip him and made a clean breast of it. He was quite understanding about it (he was ex-RAF). My little Bond stood where I'd left it in the station car park two weeks before (you could do that in those days, no one would pinch it, even though it was just a matter of throwing a switch on the panel and a tug on the starter). And if they did, it was the only one on Anglesey - it shouldn't be hard for Jones the Plod to find. It started first pull, I pop-popped back to Valley. Breakfast in the Mess tasted better than I'd ever known it ! Then back to work.

About this time we learned that the Squadron's days were numbered. Some bean-counter in Air Ministry (possibly the same chap who'd picked up the mismatch between Derwent failures and flame-out practice crashes) had realised that it was a very expensive way to provide the simple services the Army needed. We were ripe for privatisation.

The job was put out to tender: the successful bidder was (IIRC) Marshalls of Cambridge. In September they wouid take over from us, setting up shop in Llanbedr (Harlech); we would hand over our aircraft to them; 20 Squadron would disband (it would in later years reform as a Hunter and then a Harrier Squadron). Yet there was still one last summer to work through.

Here I beg to differ a bit from the otherwise omniscient Wiki. They say that 202 AFS moved into Valley in early '51. The decision to move them might have been taken at that time, but they did not physically appear until early September, on the eve of our departure. In between we had some unexpected visitors.

A section of the xxxth Bombardment Group of Strategic Air Command would be coming in with their B-50s for an indefinite period. Why Valley and not East Anglia (that unsinkable aircraft carrier), which was their natural habitat, we never knew. There was plenty of unused technical accommodation on the W side of the main runway (later the AFS would go in there to begin with), but I wondered how the USAF even knew Valley existed. (Wiki tells me that they used it during the war as a staging post for aircraft delivered across the Atlantic).

On the appointed morning, the Valley weather had done its worst - rain, low scud at 2-300 ft, poor visibility, a pig of a day. I think all our flying had been called off. The plan was that the "Coinel" would bring in the first ship, with the others to follow at twenty-minute intervals. Of course we all turned out to watch the arrival.

So what happens now ? - don't miss the next Thrilling Instalment.

Good afternoon, chaps,

Danny42C

PS: Geriaviator, thanks for unravelling the Great Bold Type Mystery (the infection has reached P.2 now, our chaps must all be out drawing their pensions)..........D.


The Onlooker sees most of the Game.

[Exrigger]

Hope it is not deemed off topic now but would like to add some of my childhood pictures from Aden, taken by dad or mum (sorry about quality, they are old and scanned in:

Me in the Lido at Khormakser, safer than Elephant Bay, although the sharks were still scary through the fence:

http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm286/MLH55/AdenLido.jpg

The 'corner shop' and flats:

http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm286/MLH55/Aden4.jpg

and finally a general view from behind the flats, lovely playground for mischievous kids:

http://i299.photobucket.com/albums/mm286/MLH55/Aden8.jpg

[26er]

Sorry Danny, but I've just checked my log book and I was posted to 202 AFS Valley on 02/07/51 along with six others (five pilot officers and two sergeants) from 6 FTS Tern Hill for No 7 course. After a week of groundschool I had my first famil flight in a Meteor 7 with Flt Lt Wallace, the flight commander on 11/07/51.

The unit had obviously been in operation for several weeks when our course began as there were a couple of courses already running.

A couple of the chaps on the senior courses were granted trips in Spitfires by 20 Sqn but much to my regret in later years, I did not persue that opportunity, for which nineteen year old in their right mind would want to fly an obsolescent aircraft when daily we were able to aviate in Vampire Mk 1s and 5s, not to mention dual in the Meteor? The course lasted three months and I then reported to 229 OCU Chivenor on 28/10/51 having had had a weeks leave.

So I guess that this is one occasion when Wiki got it right!

[Danny42C]

26er,

You have me bang to rights ! It just shows how fallible memories can be ! I must now cudgel my brains even harder than before, but perhaps you could help me to get the record straight.

You started on No. 7 Course on 2nd July. As the Course was 3 months long, if we knew how the Courses overlapped, we could work back to the start date.

Was there any "folk memory" of the B-50s from any of the earlier Courses ? If so, we may be able to put them in the time frame, too.

We had our Mess and Nissen billets on the top of the little hillock to the North of the airfield. Surely you couldn't have been in there with us - there wasn't room, for a start ? Where were your accommodations and your Mess ?

You mention a Flt Lt Wallace. I have very recently been e-mailed by a Mr David Watkins, who is researching 202AFS, 20 Sqdn. and Valley. I've advised him to follow this Thread - he may get in touch with you via PPRuNe.

How could you have been with us for so long and I not remember !

Standing in corner wearing Dunce's Cap, Cheers, Danny.

[Geriaviator]

Super pix exrigger, the one in the Lido might have been myself 10 yrs before but I wasn't as good looking. Could the flats and boatyard pictures have been the village of Maala? I know that RAF Khormaksar expanded in that direction after Suez when the base became very important.

[Exrigger]

Thanks Geriaviator, but good looks, no, I think you are probably right as it looks like I spelt Maala wrong, as the flats were on Maala high street.

I had a great time there especially when my dad took me to Crater? which I believe was a no no at that time, but the markets were fascinating to a kid. The shop in the picture was great it was so easy to 'borrow' stuff that was my first go, with a mate, at smoking only did that twice since then put me off to take it up for real.

There was only one bad thing and that was unfortunately seeing a Hunter crash during an air display, quite shocking for a child, especially when it was one from the Squadron dad was working on.

[26er]

Danny, Sorry but I have little memory of the layout of Valley sixty plus years ago but assume all officers were accommodated in the one mess which was in easy cycling distance to "flights", from where one could walk a short distance to a small beach. Everyone was issued with a bike and we frequently visited a drinking establishment in Rhosneigr known as "Aunty Tatties" by cycling along the runway and climbing over a crash gate. Obviously not much night flying then.

[Danny42C]

26er,

Your account of Valley raises goosebumps ! My log tells me that July '51 was a busy one for me - 22 trips (one three in a day, a couple of twos, 24 hrs all in Spitfires. So there's me, head down, engrossed in my paperback, shuttling between Barmouth/Aberdovey, not a care in the world, never even looking out of the window - and there's you and a whole AFS load of Bloggs milling about all over the place ! Talk about living dangerously !
(Were you warned off Towyn ? - I do hope so)

You went from Flights (over far side, almost on beach) over to Mess by bike. Did you have to climb a little hill ? And was it a Nissen hut ? (we'll get to the bottom of this, somehow !)

"Aunty Tattie" Club ? Just "Tatty Club" in my day. Did they still have an old Bardic Chair (all carved dragons and things) from some past Eisteddfod ? (check spelling). If so, same place. Access was by little footbridge across the creek just off end of 34.. Approaches to bridge were underwater at high tide, but if depth no more than a foot (and on an ebb tide), you could charge it with a bike and hit planking with luck, or get very wet. No crash gate in my time.

Cheers again, Danny.

[BEagle]

The only available drinker on Sundays in my Gnat days was the Sandymount Club in Rhosneigr - everywhere else was shut as Anglesey was 'dry' on Sundays back then:

http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a341/nw969/Sandymount_Rhosneigr_zps146d6b68.jpg

A very friendly place! It could also be reached by back roads, avoiding the need to use the A5 via Bryngrwan.

[26er]

Danny - The mess was a nissan hut affair as were the accommodation huts. Divided into small rooms and saturated when it rained. I've looked on google earth and visualise it somewhere near the undershoot of 16, but where is the current mess? I certainly stayed for a couple of nights in it '65 ish but remember nothing. Perhaps the hospitality deleted it all. But in '51 the main camp with admin wing etc was on the eastern side and a very long cycle ride from "flights".

[Geriaviator]

https://cimg5.ibsrv.net/gimg/pprune.org-vbulletin/1100x339/church_77843128a545ac57e5743dbd5a1b0f25f66e4fbc.jpg


1. In the beginning the Lord created the Heavens and the Earth, and the light, and every living creature that moveth. And He created that place which is called, Aden; and for some it was heaven, and for some it was hell.

2. And the Lord created His servant which He called, Padre Ashe; and He made his servant’s voice of the booming thunder, and the people feared the voice for it boometh for many hours. Or so did it seem to the people.

3. And it came to pass that the Padre Ashe did summon to the House of the Lord all people that did dwell in the place that was called, Khormaksar. And the people did enter the House two by two and in their proper order: behold the Group Captain in his Great Headgear of Gold, his Officers, their Ladies, the Sergeants in their raiment of Best Blue, their wives, their Kids, and all manner of lesser creatures, yea, even onto the lowly Erks that did creep upon the airfield.

4. And the Lord’s servant Padre Ashe gazed upon the assembled multitude, and it was good in his eyes; and he boometh on and on and on and on before them, yea, even above the mighty blasts as of a brazen trumpet; for Flt Sgt Smith did partake of the juice of the grape the night before, and the mirth of the people did fall upon him as he slumbered.

5. Now the child Graham was of the Kids, yet not of the Kids, for he was of the Israelites and so attended not the Church Parade, and he did wander abroad that Lord’s Day morning. And lo, the devil appeareth before Graham and sheweth onto him that portal in the House which they calleth, Emergency Door. And the child Graham fell into temptation and did open that portal, and did place therein certain of the Lord’s creatures, that is to say, the locusts which destroyeth the land, and his great land crab which he had named, Abdul; and the child Graham closed that door and crept away as a thief in the night.

6. Then did the twenty and two locusts rise as one to perform low-level circuits at full boost and max revs, and the House was filled with the mighty whirring of their wings, and the Ladies cried out in their fear. And beneath them the great land crab which the child Graham had named, Abdul, did run across the bare toes of the Ladies, and they called out in their terror, and Mrs. Edwards did fall to the ground with the vapours.

7. Now the tumult awakened Flt Sgt Smith from his slumbers, and he cast his hymnal upon the great crab which was named, Abdul, and did smite him thereon: and in his alarm the great crab named, Abdul, did seize the toe of Mrs. Evans, and in her fear she leapt up and did spill the Communion wine upon her finest raiment of Dior white, and her cry of woe rose to the heavens, where all the while the twenty and two locusts did orbit in furious formation. And the Padre saith Behold, the plague of locusts is upon thee for thy sins, and the people milled about in disarray.

8. Then did the Padre’s voice of thunder arise above the tumult, saying, Suffer the little children. And the people replied, saying, Thou bet they will suffer. And the mummies and daddies seized the Kids by their necks and bore them from the House while in vain the Kids piteously cried out their innocence; for well the people kneweth whence came all pestilence in their midst.

9. And as the weeping Kids were borne past him, the Group Captain did turn from them his countenance, for it was red as of the setting sun, and his eyes watereth, and his hand was before his mouth, and he uttereth a gasping noise. And thereby the Kids did learn that the dread Russian plague of VD had fallen upon their station commander, for he guardeth not against it as the MO did warn.

10. And behold, the dread Wrath of the Lord did fill the right arms of the daddies, and thereby the Rod of the Lord did fall mightily upon the backsides of the Kids, and they were cast into the darkness of their bedrooms without any supper: and the Patch was filled with wailing and lamentation.

NEXT THRILLING INSTALMENT: In a little-known chapter of Cold War history, RAF Khormaksar converts to Judaism.

[tow1709]

A couple of years ago, I posted a series of Peter's wartime Hawker Typhoon flying exploits on this thread.

Sadly, Peter passed away peacefully yesterday morning after a short illness. He would have been 90 in June, and we were all looking forward to celebrating his birthday, but it was not to be.

Last summer, while staying with Peter's daughter, Mrs TOW compiled a set of amateur video clips of Peter talking about some of his adventures.

If you do a Google search for "Peter Brett Typhoon" you will find them on Youtube. You can't miss him, he's the one with the shock of white hair and matching beard!

Peter had overcome the perils of Atlantic convoys, airborne combat, tuberculosis, a fall from a roof in which he damaged his back and even beat cancer ten years ago, but old age finally got to him.

RIP Peter, you will be missed.

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator,

Nice pics - Abdul looks a fearsome beast ! And what a rattling good story ! (would I be wrong in suspecting an "inside job" - a confederate who contrived to get into church a little early, and opened the Emergency Exit just a teeny little bit so that a small hand could gently open it a little more from the outside ?).......Let's have lots more like this !.......D.

BEagle,

Sandymount looks fine, but as I recall the Tatty Club was more like the Valley OMQ you showed me a while back. Mind you, it was always after dark when we got there .........D.

26er,

It very much looks as if the Mess you remember was our old place (on long finals to 16 would be about right). In which case, as I don't remember 202 AFS there, do you remember us 20 Sqdn chaps ? (or shall we just forget it - it was a long time ago, after all)......D.

Regards to you all,

Danny.

EDIT,

tow1709,

Another old comrade gone - May he Rest in Peace. Please convey to his family our sympathy and condolences.

Danny42C, wife and daughter.

[smujsmith]

I remember the posts, and look back on them with great enjoyment. RIP Peter, and my regards and sympathy to your family.

bonorum virorum latronum es

Smudge

[26er]

Danny, I don't specifically remember any 20 Sqn chaps but was of course aware of the unit being on the station and thought its pilots mainly consisted of disgruntled middle european hairies. Later when serving on a Hunter wing in 2TAF I was able to refer to one of the other squadrons as a "target facitities mob" for the gunners. In those days I could run a lot faster than now, discretion being the better part of valour, but now frequently take ale with old 124 Wing mates as we continue to mull over the good times on 14, 20 and 26 Squadrons along with 79 Swift FR mud movers.

[angels]

I, too, remember the posts. RIP sir.

[Danny42C]

The first B-50 appeared, flying several low-level circuits to size-up the airfield. The Colonel seemed to have one wingtip in cloud and the other brushing the trees as he banked around. Finally, coming round "hot and high", he made a dirty dive onto runway 16, touching down well up and going very fast. "He'll never make it", we said, in pleasurable anticipation.

Then the engines thundered into life again and a huge ball of spray from the streaming wet tarmac covered everything. "Well, that's it", we said, "he hasn't enough left now to get off again". The engines shut down, the spray dispersed, and the B-50 reappeared, but now moving very slowly up the last of the runway. We looked at it dumbfounded. It was our first sight of reversible propellers, and we could not have had a more convincing demonstration.

The other five (?) aircraft came in in turn, But the weather was improving all the time and there was no further drama. They all got in without difficulty. But their whole detachment was a bit of a mystery to us. To begin with, where did they all live ? Certainly not in our Messes. There was no room for them, and I never saw any of them in our Mess even as visitors.

Presumably Valley, as a Master Airfield, would have some transit accommodation somewhere to cope with a civilian diversion with a load of pax. Did they live there ? Don't know. There would be plenty of technical accommodation around their dispersals; that would be no problem.

As to what they were for, we had absolutely no idea. IIRC, most of their flying was by night, which meant that we kept out of each other's way quite well. We went over to have a look at them, and were awed by their infinitely more complicated interiors. This gave rise to a current local joke: "Why do American aircraft always fly at night ?" ........"because it takes them all day to read the check list !" Naturally we were far too security-minded to ask, and they to answer, any questions about the purpose of their visit, but speculations abounded.

After about six weeks they noticed signs of corrosion on their beautiful polished silver fuselages. This was hardly surprising, as their dispersals were no more than 200 yards from the beach and the lashing salt-laden sea air and rain, (and this might have been foreseen before the decision was taken to base them at Valley). They up-staked and vanished as mysteriously as they had come. Where to ? Don't know.

Until next time, then

Regards to all,

Danny42C


Come one, come all.

[Union Jack]

A section of the xxxth Bombardment Group of Strategic Air Command would be coming in with their B-50s for an indefinite period. Why Valley and not East Anglia (that unsinkable aircraft carrier), which was their natural habitat, we never knew.

They up-staked and vanished as mysteriously as they had come. Where to ? Don't know.

Danny

A wee shoogle with something that rhymes brings up 2d Bomb Wing - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2d_Bombardment_Wing#Stations_Assigned) which shows that the 2(n)d Bomb Wing were stationed at Mildenhall Aug-Dec 51 and Upper Heyford between Sep-Dec 51. I don't know if these dates fit in in with your your latest great story, and haven't had time to dip into the records of the individual squadrons mentioned, but there may be a clue or two in there somewhere.

Salaams

Jack

[Danny42C]

Union Jack

Jack,

We are hot on the trail now, thanks to your invaluable assistance. Both Mildenhall and Upper Heyford dates must be much later than their six-week attachment to us, otherwise they would have been in conflict with the 202 AFS.

It would be impossible for us to have had 20 Sqdn and 202 AFS and 2nd Bombardment Wing on Valley all at the same time. Therefore their visit must have been in April '51 - or even earlier, before the arrival of the AFS.

64 dollar question - when did 202 AFS first arrive on the scene ?

Subsidiary question - If they left in (say) May '51 at the latest, but didn't show up at Mildenhall until August '51, where had they been ? (could they have gone back to the US - very likely). And why were they hopping about all over the place when they could perfectly well decide on one UK base and settle down there ?

Don't suppose we'll get much further with this. Just one of the unsolved mysteries ! Many thanks for your help, Jack,

(Sun's over the yard arm now!)

Danny.

[Chugalug2]

Geriaviator, you've just caused me to splutter my coffee all over my keyboard! I love the old testament style doom laden nature of your offering. No doubt there was much gnashing of teeth as well as wailing involved in the aftermath. No wonder that for some Aden was hell, every adult on base presumably! You paint a picture of anarchy and mayhem abounding in that awful place. How one pities the incumbents, nowhere safe, not even the House of the Lord. Woe indeed!
Danny, I was once the proud possessor of a large B50 model, made for aircraft recognition purposes and obtained in a Govt surplus store. Bizarrely it was painted with Post Office Red upper sides and Silver below. Even more bizarrely that obviously didn't worry me, as it simply joined the other models suspended perilously by threads from my bedroom ceiling. You don't happen to remember if any of those that visited Valley were so finished do you? :confused: Very unlikely of course, but whoever so embellished it also added the USAF "Stars and Stripes" markings as if to imply that the whole paint scheme was cosha. Perhaps all was not as it seemed though...

[Danny42C]

Chugalug,

No, I'm afraid the bunch which came into Valley were naked as they'd been born (their aircraft, I mean !) Factory fresh, I suppose. And very smart in the sunshine they were, too. Carried the USAF insignia, of course.

But why would aircraft be flown into a potential war zone with no camouflage ? Doesn't make sense. Another unsolved mystery !

Cheers, Danny.

[Fareastdriver]

The Mighty Eighth stripped all the paint off their B17s and B24s so that they would go faster.

[Union Jack]

The Mighty Eighth stripped all the paint off their B17s and B26s so that they would go faster.

Very interesting, particularly relative to the fact that American Airlines are changing the unpainted, polished aluminum exterior of their aircraft, presumably because of the advent of composite materials in future aircraft amongst other things.

Jack

[Geriaviator]

Danny, I too was gobsmacked when I saw my first B-50 close up, at least until I walked round a corner at Dublin Airport many years back and encountered my first 747 which towered above me like an aluminium cliff. My reason for polished alloy is weight reduction, I think a 747 takes about one ton of paint, and the humble Cherokee takes about 20lb. That's why a/c are regularly weighed especially after repaint.

Abdul the land crab was very friendly but, sir, you do the Kids a calumny by implying we welcomed him into the Church Parade. We must give full credit to Graham for the invasion, even though it had repercussions. (Chugalug, sorry about your keyboard, best keep it to one side. I see a camel cart approaching on Sheikothman Rd). :8

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator,

I must say that on the few occasions on which I have seen (from a safe distance) a 747 levitate, I've always thought "How on earth......?" - and a ton of paint would represent 10 pax, I would think. Might be enough to put the flight into profit. As most of the things I flew had hides like crocodiles with surface drag to match, it has never really occurred to me. You can learn something new every day !

I'm a bit slow on the uptake, but I've suddendly tumbled to it - "Graham" is a pseudonym, of course ! (and we all know who he really was, don't we ?) No wonder you know so much about "Abdul's" temperament. Speaking as one who doesn't much like things with big claws (and who can't run very fast - or - at all now), how big was he actually, ?

Hope you left him in Aden !

Danny.

[Geriaviator]

I've read that a good coat of wax on the PR Spitfire's duck-egg blue cellulose finish could add up to 20 mph on top speed, by improving the boundary layer flow. It reminds me of the quest to improve production in which the engineers stuck split peas over the countersunk flush rivets on the upper wing, gradually removing them from the rear. They found that the rear two-thirds of the wing could be built with ordinary dome-heads, leaving the time-consuming countersinks for the critical front aerofoil ahead of the mainspar. This enabled significant savings in production time.

Fellow vintage Pruners will remember Seccotine, the evil-smelling brown glue in a tube. It was based on animal hoof/bone and would give today's Health Police the vapours. Seccotine being all they had, it was used to stick the peas on the Spitfire wing. Fortunately it was dry as Seccotine wasn't waterproof. Ah, the gems we find on this thread ...


Danny, the landcrabs were all over Khormaksar and normal wingspan was about 3ins claw to claw. However, we prized the big ones for racing and Abdul was about twice normal size. And I plead not guilty, mine was called Ahmed and was safe in his stable under my bed when the Church Parade outrage took place. My father threw him out shortly afterwards but to the day we left we hadn't a cockroach about the house, which still stands with the rest of the Patch. I like to think of today's residents still cockroach free courtesy of Ahmed's fearsome descendants, cockroach crunchers every one.


Some of the airmen kept racing stables as well, remember they were only a few years older than us, and Dad said some had even less wit if that was possible. Technically, Graham's crab was forbidden as his family was Jewish and crabs were unclean but he arrived home several times to catch his mother talking to Abdul, who seemed to like humankind ... the heat did strange things to people in Khormaksar.

[Box Brownie]

Just a note about the split peas on the Spitfire. The man tasked with purchasing the peas and adhesive from a hardware shop in Southampton was Harry Griffiths. He also glued them in position. I had the pleasure of spending a day with Harry.

A great thread.

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator,

Only 3 in clawspan ? - I'm very glad to hear it ! (I was thinking of something more like 30 in !) Fear not if you find yourself talking to land crabs / lizards / tree rats in warmer climes - problems only arise when they start talking back to you.!

Danny.

[Blacksheep]

I was just reading a Boeing document "Surface Coatings and Drag Reduction" about the effect of various surface finishes on boundary layer control and drag/fuel savings. They committed thousands of hours research and much wind tunnel time in reaching a similar conclusion to Harry Griffiths and his bag of split peas. :)

[Geriaviator]

WE’RE ALL confined to quarters following the Church Parade incident, and during my ample time to meditate I experience a wondrous conversion. I’m going to become a Jew like Graham.

No more Sunday School, great. No more Padre Ashe droning on in church, even better. Leaving class and heading for home when Padre Ashe conducts the religious instruction, best of all. On our release from confinement the Kids join up in jubilant agreement and at the pool all our friends on National Service think it’s a great idea, they will convert too. The news goes round our little station community like wildfire, and now Dad says all his airmen want to be Jews as well because Jews don't do Sundays.

We knew who caused the church uproar as soon as we spotted Abdul, who lives a contented life in a box at Graham’s back door, eating kitchen scraps and seizing the odd cockroach as a delicacy. Graham commiserates on the grievous injustice we have suffered, listens with satisfaction as we describe the ensuing chaos, and tells us that he retrieved an indignant Abdul after Padre Ashe had ejected him with a brush. He has already rebuilt his stock of locusts, you never know when they’ll be handy. Graham keeps a pocketful of locust fuselages for his pet, and we feed these tasty morsels to Abdul as Graham begins our instruction into the Jewish faith.

We learn that the Jews have a rabbi not a Padre, or rather they don’t have one at RAF Khormaksar because his family are the only Jews. A major benefit is that Jews do not go to church, instead they go to something called a sinner-gog. But Graham has never been to one, and there isn’t one in Aden because the Arabs might object, we can’t think why but hey, it’s all good news. Robert says that Padre Ashe is always talking about sinners being washed clean of sin, so we conclude that the sinner-gog is some sort of theological laundry.

Graham talks about the Ark, the bar mitzvah and some sort of candlestick they bring out on a Saturday night. The Ark is no problem, we can launch it at Steamer Point Lido as long as it fits in the gharri. I recall that mum has a bra thing as some part of her underwear, and we fall about at the idea of wearing a candlestick as a vest, we don’t wear vests in Aden anyway because it’s too hot. These are but minor details, and clearly Judaism is the way to go.

We announce our decision to our parents, who have met at Graham’s house for lunch. They are very encouraging and agree that the benefits make our decision a no-brainer, for Judaism requires only one teensy weensy thing in return. We listen with mounting horror as the contribution which Judaism requires of its male members is gently explained to us.

Shortly afterwards three committed Christians and a solitary Israelite set out for the swimming pool.

NEXT WEEK: The Kids befriend a passing camel on the Sheikothman Road. Surely no harm can come of this?

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator,

Hilarious ! Congratulations on the recantation of your apostasy - and not a Torquemada (busily gathering firewood) in sight !

I well remember: "Fall out, the Roman Catholics and Jews" (do we still do this ?), and a W/Cdr Brown and myself standing lonely behind the parades, our backs turned to it, at ease while the CofE Padre "bothered God" (as the irreverent saying was in those days).

I rather suspect that your camel might have done well to leg-it for the horizon when he saw you coming, but who knows ? Perhaps he comes well out of it.
We must wait and see.

Danny.

[BEagle]

The mandatory church-dodging wheeze was also tried at RAFC when I was there on 99 Entry.

A bunch of ex-Apprentices thought they could get out of things by declaring themselves to be atheists. However, the staff (even Les Rodda!) were wise to such ploys and told them they'd have to stand at ease outside the church instead. So they had another idea....

One morning they all asked to see the left-footer god-botherer, on the grounds that, after much thought, they'd come to the conclusion that Roman Catholicism was the best chance there was to rescue their heathen spirits. The RC sky-pilot was astonished and was almost on the point of ringing the Pope, or similar, to spread the good news.... But even he began to smell a rat....

Of course the reason was simple. The CofE contingent fell in at 1030 on the JMPG and were inspected, then marched off to church in squadrons. If we were lucky, we might be free by about 1230...:uhoh:

The Church of Jocks group met in the JM entrance at 1000 and marched off together to the CSFC church for their short service.

Whereas the RC chaps simply turned up at their church at 0930 and were done and dusted PDQ.... No inspection, no marching and a couple of hours of extra freedom.

This didn't escape the attention of the RC padre though. He told the would-be converts that instruction in Roman Catholicism would involve many hours of study and prayer - so were they really sure they were prepared to submit themselves to such hard work, given all the other pressures of Flight Cadet training.....

Needless to say, there were a few more CofE cadets marching to church the following week!

[savimosh01]

Hello,

RE: ICARE's post as follows:

"I came across this just a few moments ago

Quote:
My late father Flight Lieutenant Rodney C. Topley served 3 years in Burma as a pilot and ' A Flight' commander from 1941-4 , flying Vultee Vengeances-A31"s against the Japanese. In 1944-45 he was switched to Typhoon Tempests in Europe which he eventully crashed on takeoff one day. by the way , the 110 's motto is "nec timeo nec sperno" Best regards, and keep up the good work, John D. Topley

about one quarter the way down on the Guest book 2001-2002.htm site. There is an email address for John Topley but it's 10 years old, but might still get him if you wanted."


Rodney Topley died in 1978 and his son John Topley died a year ago. The site you reference is how I found John some years ago, with serendipity because that email address was no longer used by John but somehow my second email to him got through. John provided me with great information on his Dad and 110(H) Squadron and also became a great friend. I miss him.

Sara V. Mosher

[savimosh01]

Hello Danny,

Just to divert back to your service with 110(H) – as you mentioned, I had told you that Reg Duncan actually survived the war (died March 2010). You posted that Reg was your mentor. Did you also know his Wop/Air gunner, Bob Harvey?

I can't locate some of my posts about 110(H), only your replies to them. I've been "away", publishing a book on No. 65 (East India) Squadron RAF ops during the summer of 1944. I'm caught up now as I've just finished reading all your detailed posts. A lot of very interesting information, especially as my father was there — posted to 110 a month before you were transferred to No. 8 IAF. Thank you for sharing your experiences with such gusto!

Sara

[savimosh01]

Also Danny, in response to your post #2607, page 131

QUOTE
I arrived back In the last week in April, and Stew and I flew a few more training exercises. In May, he vanishes. Where ? Could he have got malaria ? Quite possibly. I should remember, but I don't. From the 8th, my regular crewman was a P/O Robertson (nav), and it was with him that I went to war on the 12th. Stew does not appear again until 5th July, when we'd pulled back to Bengal from the Arakan for the Monsoon, and after that "we were not divided".

While I'd been away, 110 (maybe just one flight) went on a week's detachment to Dohazari - in Arakan a bit south of Chittagong - and flown one or two sorties (I only found this out from Wiki - I don't remember anyone telling me about it at the time - Odd ?) And again, what was the point of sending them across there just for a week ? (it might have enabled them to say that 110 was the first VV Squadron to go into action - which it was - but little else).
END QUOTE

From my book "Remember Me: No. 110 (Hyderabad) Squadron"
Sources: Reg Duncan, Elwyn D. Bell and author Peter C. Smith:

In March the Squadron is ordered into action on the Arakan front. On the afternoon of the 17th, six aircraft lift off from Madhaiganj for the trip to the advanced landing ground at Dohazari. Pilots on this detachment, codenamed Dog Group, are Flight Lieutenant Ritchie, Pilot Officer Rule, Flying Officer Topley, Flying Officer Brooks, Flight Sergeant Davies and Flight Sergeant Duncan. “The Army sent a detachment of six of us down to the front,” explains Reg. “I was on the first mission and we hit her pretty good. We did five missions to see how they worked out.” Their attack on March 19, 1943 escorted by six Mohawks of No. 5 Squadron, against a Japanese Headquarters in the village of Htizwe, Burma, launched from the traditional dive out of the sun, comes as a complete surprise.

This is the first time that Vengeances have been used in operations on this front and each of the five missions is a total success with 100% hits nearly every time. Messages of congratulations begin to stream in. From Command Headquarters comes the message, “Very glad indeed to see that Vengeances of 110 Squadron have joined in offensive against enemy on this front. Congratulations on highly successful bombing during first attack.” Group Headquarters signals, “Congratulations to all ranks of detachment on grand work carried out. Aircrew put up splendid show and high serviceability reflected great credit on maintenance personnel.” (36) The Army has been shown the true grit and accuracy they can expect from Vengeance crews.


(36) Bell, Flight Lieutenant Elwyn D. The Story of No 110 (Hyderabad) Squadron Royal Air Force. Stone Cottage, Great Sampford, Saffron Walden, Essex, Air-Britain, 1971.


Sara V. Mosher

[Danny42C]

Savimosh01

Thanks for the information concerning the "missing month" in my memoirs from March '43. Yes, Bob Harvey rings a bell, but I cannot connect it to a face. It would seem that the short detachment to Dohazari was primarily for publicity purposes (at a time when the VV squadrons were badly in need of it).

All the people named are well remembered by me. F/Sgt George Davies was the chap who had to bale out with his crewman from a one-legged Vengeance (come to think of it, I cannot think of another bale-out on 110 from a VV).

Danny42C

[Danny42C]

Perhaps two-thirds of "A" Flight's flying was on the Spitfires. the rest being on the Vampires which were used for high-level Calibration runs for the Ty Croes experimental gun-laying radar unit. As with all calibration flying trips, there was normally nothing memorable about them, but I particularly remember one such run from East to West across Anglesey.

It was late on a spring afternoon, for once there was little cloud, and from 35,000 ft I could see clear across to the Wicklow mountains on the Dublin side. But in between, the low sun reflected in the Irish sea, turning it into a wide, blazing lake of pure molten gold spread out before me. It was one of those sights that stays with you for a long time.

The spring had come, and I had two questions to settle before the end came in September. The Boss had now had me on the Squadron for eighteen months. He would know me now as well as he ever would. I put in a formal request for consideration for a Permanent Commission. He said that he would put it forward with his support.

And what was in store for me by way of my next Posting ? Obviously Ground Duties - I could not expect two consecutive flying posts. An interesting possibility appeared in an AMO. It appeared that all the Services were in need of Russian speakers - or at least translators. The London School of Oriental (or Slavonic ?) Languages would run a basic three months Course there, starting in October.

The RAF would put you up in London with a Russian-speaking household during this time. If you successfully completed the first part of the Course, you would be shipped out to Paris (presumably under the command of the air attaché in the Embassy) and again boarded out with a (White) Russian family for a further three months. The thinking was that, by this point, the basic Russian you'd just learned would be better than any French you'd managed to remember from your schooldays. As your Parisian hosts had been screened to exclude any English speakers, you'd have to speak Russian 24/7, with the result that you should become moderately fluent by the end of the three months. Then there would be an examination conducted by some sort of International Institute of Interpreters.

The A* people might get a job as some General's interpreter in Berlin. The less gifted Bs and Cs would be put on radio monitoring. The Ds would be sat down with a whole pile of old technical Russian magazines and told to look for anything which might be interesting. Whichever, you were attached to the Intelligence Branch for the rest of your tour.

This sounded to be a rather attractive option; both Niel (sic) Ker and I applied. I simply cannot remember if we had to go to London for interview (does "Bedford Square" mean anything ?), or whether it was all on paper. Whichever it was, the outcome was the same. Niel, with the fluent Urdu/Hindi that any Indian Army officer had to have to get past 2nd Lieut., was a shoo-in.

I humbly proffered my HSCs in French and Latin. "Go away", they said, "Learn some Russian and come again next year". (I believe many ex-Grammar School NS airmen were selected for this Course, which was probably a good idea, as their brains would be at their most receptive). Niel got through in the middle tranche and ended up radio monitoring in Habbaniya. (I visited him in London and Paris during his Course, but those are stories for another day)

But I was now left at the mercy of whatever would come out of the P2 bran tub. It seemed that I was to be the next Adjutant of No. 3608 (Fighter Control) Unit of the R.Aux.A.F. in a place called Thornaby. Where was Thornaby ?

But a good deal of water had to flow under the Menai bridges before I had to worry about that.

Goodnight chaps,

Danny42C


You never know your luck.

[Petet]

I know this thread has moved on from the war era but I found an Initial Training Wing exam paper today from circa 1942 on the Principles of Flight and I thought I would offer you the opportunity to debate and provide me with the answers (as I don't have the answer sheet to go with it!).

As they were ITW related I guess they are fairly basic but here is a taster:

"Name three kinds of Wing Drag and state briefly how each might be reduced".

(PS. Let me know if you would like me to post further questions on a periodic basis [just for fun really])

Regards

Pete

[smujsmith]

Hiya Petet,

From my time as a Craft Apprentice at Halton I recall the following types of drag:

1. Induced Drag.
2. Skin Friction Drag.
3. Profile Drag.

Dealing with aforesaid:

1. A winglet or similar feature will help deal with this "pesky" blighter !
Its a drag force that occurs whenever a moving object redirects the airflow coming at it. This drag force occurs in aircraft due to an aileron, elevator or flap redirecting air to cause lift. With other parameters remaining the same, induced drag increases as the angle of attack increases.

2. Skin friction drag has everything to do with the roughness of the aircraft wing surface and is largely determined by the total area of the aircraft which is exposed to the air flowing past it. Since these surfaces are exposed to high speed airflow it is necessary to keep these surfaces clean and smooth. What happens is that a small layer of air may cling to these rough surfaces and create small eddies which contribute to drag. The only way to reduce skin friction drag is by controlling the boundary layer. To keep friction drag to the minimum, the transition from laminar to turbulent airflow has to be delayed for as long as practicable. Buccaneer blown flaps a nice example I think !

3. Profile drag is basically, and I mean basically down to the frontal area of the wing creating resistance to the airflow. All wing attachments and fittings can contribute to this factor including external weapons stores, pods and the like of instrument probes. Bomb bays, etc remove such objects from the airflow and reduce such drag.

My best guess since leaving Halton in 1971. I had a great instructor in Airframe Science, Sqn Ldr John Potter, bit of a lad if I might be so bold. Anyway, hope,I'm nearly there for a non driver airframe. ( unless you count the 500 hours solo gliding )!

[Petet]

WOW ... that looks good to me .... but then I know nothing about this subject .... "I learn it from a booook".

The ITW Lecture Notes (in which I found the exam paper) call it "Form" drag rather than Profile drag ... but I won't dock you any marks for that ... unless others feel I should.

There is a second part to the question which is:

"Give reasonable values for:
(a) The Lift / Drag ratio of a wing
(b) The Lift / Drag ratio of a complete aircraft"

..... so over to you

Regards

Pete

[smujsmith]

Peter,

I'm thinking part two of the question would be better answered by proper aviators, and not the pond life. I bet, even now, Danny can offer some figures that would help you out ?

Smudge

Seems a wierd question as both answers must depend on several variables, speed, aerosol section, overall drag at speed etc etc.! I suspect one of those 1/2 rho V2 S Cd type equations might have the answers.

[Danny42C]

Smujsmith,

I bet Danny can't ! To the best of my recollection, all they told me was that there are two kinds of drag:

Induced drag (incurred in the process of creating lift).

Parasite drag (all the rest).

That's all, folks.

From your Post "Drag Artist" (1918 today), Smuj, it looks as if Halton knew a lot more than my ITW in Newquay ! (which doesn't surprise me).

Danny.

[smujsmith]

Danny, thanks for your response, I suspect that a lot of the stuff they gave us at Halton was superfluous to requirements. A pilot once stopped me halfway through expounding the lift equation etc etc and said this - I want an engine that makes it go faster, the faster it goes the more Bernoulis I get under the wings. More Bernoulis I go up, less Bernoulis I go down. Lecture end of. Generally speaking I like the Bernoulis theory (sorry for the spelling).

Smudge

PS, he was a Lightning pilot. :ok:

[Danny42C]

Smuj,

If he was a Lightning driver, he wouldn't have to worry about lift anyway. Surely the thing was a rocket, and the wings were put on just to make it look like an aeroplane ?

PAX to all Lighning Top Guns (and you wouldn't hit an old man, now would you ?)

Danny.

[smujsmith]

I promise you Danny, the wings did have a function on the beast, if not for directional control in the vertical then at least you had somewhere to stow the undercarriage away, good look with the Fighter Jocks, I'm sure they can take it as well as give it. :ok:

Smudge

[Geriaviator]

Tiddles the tomcat is half a stone of pure evil. Sgt. and Mrs. Wilson belong to him, he allows them to share his house along the Patch two rows away from ours. Tiddles spends his time sunning himself on the front step, waiting for unwary passersby to stroke him, so he can sink his teeth into their wrist while raking four tears down their forearm.

In between he strolls through his neighbours’ gardens leaving generous presents thinly covered with sand. He likes killing land crabs and has eaten Sayed, Robert’s pet. However, we Khormaksar Kids tolerate Tiddles because he is even more unpopular than we are.

We’re operating our Dinky lorry fleet at Graham’s back door and, concentrating on our driving, don’t notice Tiddles until he races up and pounces upon Abdul who is quietly watching from the sidelines. Graham cries out in alarm, for he’s very fond of his pet, now invisible beneath the huge tomcat. But a year of juicy cockroaches and locusts has built Abdul twice normal size, and his new shell has hardened into armour plate.

Suddenly Tiddles leaps vertically upwards, a snarling, hissing, spitting ball of fury. He spins around and streaks homeward, leaving a trail of dust and orange fur. Graham, now crying, dashes to Abdul who extends his legs, raises his twin periscopes and lifts his pincers in the air like Joe Louis winning his big fight. His fighting pincer contains a tuft of fur and something that looks like a scrap of meat, which he devours with relish.

Tiddles never returns to Graham’s house and everyone except the Wilsons seems quite pleased at what happened. Dad tells Mum that he doesn’t know what Tug Wilson is moaning about, the vet would have charged him a couple of quid. “A couple of quid for what, Dad?” But he won’t tell me.

[Geriaviator]

http://i1278.photobucket.com/albums/y503/Oldnotbold/pilotsignals_zps32153e21.jpg

For those sitting Petet's wonderful exam paper find, the answers and much more are to be found in the superb AP129: Pilots' Flying Manual. I have both 1951 and 1955 editions, the most concise, clear and enjoyable textbooks I've ever encountered. I have even used some of the signals in our Tiger Moth trio formation.

These days, I find Fig. 16 "Opening Throttle" works well when alongside a boy racer at traffic lights, though I'm getting a bit old for this as well. :uhoh:

[Petet]

Geriaviator

I will need to check with the Central Examination Board, Royal Air Force, to ensure that books published after the exam date can be utilised "for the purposes of cheating".

Would anyone like another question?

Regards

Pete

[Geriaviator]

https://s20.postimg.cc/73dsr928d/Camelcart.jpg

Camel cart passing along The Crescent, Steamer Point, in 1951.

ABDULLAH the chowkidar guards the families’ gate from his little sentry box, leaving one section open for pedestrians and opening the other only for the gharri. Everyone likes Abdullah, who spent many years in India so we converse in a mixture of Arabic, Hindi and English. Dave and I greet him as we leave his gate onto the Sheikothman Road on our way to the pool, with Graham and Robert a short distance behind.

Along comes a camel cart, its driver asleep on top of his load. Dad says the Arabs have a special chewing gum called qat that makes them sleepy so the carters pull their dishdash over their heads and leave the camel to plod the 18 miles from Crater to Sheikothman or vice versa. It has been known for carts to be set onto reciprocal heading, so the driver awakes at his starting point. We choose the variation known as camel cart tennis, in which the cart is sent to and fro between the participants.

Dodgy things, camels, they will bite, kick or spit from both ends, so we’re careful as we walk alongside, bid it salaam, and gently pull on the rein. This one is quite amenable and is soon padding back towards Crater, and when it reaches Graham he turns it around again. Unfortunately this beast has a defective autopilot, and as we wait to turn it back it swings to the left, then right, then hard left. We watch in horror as the camel plods wearily through the pedestrian gate.

One wheel of the cart brings down the closed section of gate, the other topples Abdullah’s box which acts as a chock and brings it to a halt. A furious driver slides down from its side and begins to shout in Arabic, an equally angry Abdullah emerges from his wrecked box. We flee to the swimming pool and forget all about it.

On our return the good fairy had repaired both gate and sentry box, or so we thought. The angry shouting had awakened half the Patch, including our parents, who had to leave their afternoon naps and carry tools and timber half a mile from the hangars to repair the damage during the hottest part of the day. This is explained to us in a brief but very painful interview. :{

FORTHCOMING ATTRACTION: Dismay as VD, the deadly Cold War plague released by the Russians, strikes another victim.

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator,

So Tiddles is a sadder, a wiser - and (hopefully) a more placid cat - it will be a long time before he ventures within claw range of another land crab !

The hand signal pictures I have never seen before. We didn't do any formation at Primary in the States, so they weren't necessary in our Stearman trainers. I am rather surprised that aircraft equipped with retracting undercarriages, flaps and dive brakes would not also have radio, but there you go. My contempories may recall the Highway Code of long ago, and the circling whip signal to indicate a turn by the driver of a Horse-Drawn Vehicle!

The 180° turn camel trick had its counterpart in India. A bullock-cart (1mph) could be gently turned round without waking the sleeping driver, and set off back home (a rather cruel practical joke IMHO).

Cheers, Danny.

EDIT : The car in front is a Jowett Javelin. What is the second ?.....D.

[Fareastdriver]

Looks to me like a Nash cabriolet, (drophead, convertable).

[Icare9]

... and there's me thinking one is a Standard something and the other a Morry Minor ... what do I know?
The Jowett Javelin had such beautiful lines, until I saw the Citroen DS it was my idea of what a car should look like. No idea what it was like to drive but that fast back shape was delightful. The motoring equivalent of "If it looks good..."

[Danny42C]

The Citroen was very popular in RAF Germany in '60-'62, but most people could only afford the cheaper ID. Cost about £620, at a guess. But it looked good !

D.

[GANNET FAN]

I think the car in front is an Austin A 30. Pass on the one behind

[Wander00]

But some Citroen's rusted badly - remember my flight commander at Watton (360) jacking his Citroen on the drive and it collapsed either side of the jack. ....the late Eric D.... who figures in the Nuclear Test Veterans' claim saga. RIP

[Schiller]

I learnt to drive on a Jowett Javelin, and I don't think that's one. But I'm quite prepared to be told I'm talking rubbish and to get back in my box...

[Geriaviator]

I think the one in front is an Austin A40 Dorset, and the one behind is a Minor convertible. I've just discovered that the headlights on export Minors were raised from either side of the rad grille as per home production, and Minors were big in Aden. I can still see Miss Buckle arriving from her home in Steamer Point. Service personnel could buy cars tax-free and take them home. I remember Tubby Trinnick bought a Ford Prefect and was the talk of Croft concentrationxxxx transit camp when it appeared with its ADN registration.

By the way, in the background is the Cowasjee Dinshaw department store. He was a far-sighted Parsee from Bombay who foresaw the importance of Aden after the Suez Canal opened in 1869, and did much to develop the port and help its people. He became known as Aden-wallah and troopship tenders came and went via the Dinshaw Pontoon as there were no deep-water quays.

Errrr ... I started this, but how much farther off-thread can we go? :bored:

[Fareastdriver]

The headlights on Minors were raised to meet American legislation in the same way as the Jaguar E Type and the Rover SDI had to have their headlights vertical.

A problem in Aden in later years with cars that had chrome strips along the bodywork was the clip points rusting. When the cars were made the strips were thumped on and the metal clips would cut through the paint on the inside on the holes. To overcome the effect of this those that bought a car in Aden would have all the strips removed, damage repaired and then they would drive it around without any strips on, just holes. Just before it was indulged back to the UK on a carrier the strips would be replaced.





Then the carrier would be dispached to some emergency in the Far East and all the cars would be dumped overboard. It happened once.

[Chugalug2]

Geriaviator:-
Errrr ... I started this, but how much farther off-thread can we go?
This thread is very much like the camel cart of which you tell us, Gerry. It can be turned, then turned again, or allowed to wander where it may. Provided it does not cause mayhem by colliding with whatever might be the PPRuNe equivalent of Abdullah's gate or his box, then I'm sure all will be well. Not that I am suggesting that the Mods are under the effect of qat or indeed of any other hallucinatory substance. I wish to make that very clear!
Thanks for the pic. I will leave others better informed than I to comment on the motorised content, but the whole splendidly encapsulates both time and place.

[ancientaviator62]

Gerivator,
I like think that the late Cliffnemo who started this wonderful thread is looking down on us and enjoying the many twists and turns it has taken. Thanks to all who have contributed since it's inception it is by far and away the best on PPRuNe. Long may the track drift continue.

[Fareastdriver]

I still think it is a Nash There was a large industry in Port Eizabeth assembling Canadian versions of Detroit iron. I used to drive them up as part of a convoy to Bulawayo.
This is a Nash;
http://i229.photobucket.com/albums/ee224/fareastdriver/nash_zpse669efd6.jpg
The one behind it is a 50/51 Chevrolet.

[Danny42C]

Schiller,

I defer to your superior knowledge ! (anyone who has learned to drive in a car knows that car !) - I have fond memories of the '37 - '38 Austin Seven "Ruby" Saloon the last (and best) of the Sevens - and could describe it exactly today).

The Javelin (and the Jupiter ? sports car) were unattainable objects of desire to us in the '50s. It was a 80 mph car in an age when 80 mph was a wonderful thing (even if the crankshafts were machined out of hard cheese, as the car's detractors maintained).

D.

EDIT: On examining a specimen for sale on Internet (£7000 !), I can now see that you're right. Proportions of windscreen are quite different.......D.

[Geriaviator]

Well, as everyone seems to be enjoying this afternoon's chat, here's another picture to ponder. From AP129 1951 edition, and with apologies to our revered and much loved Officer Commanding:
http://i1278.photobucket.com/albums/y503/Oldnotbold/Meteorcrash_zps4fb97e91.jpg

From one who was told he was a cheeky brat and would forever be a cheeky brat. I'm off for a glass of wine and my dinner before the OC puts me on a well deserved 252.

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator,

Re:
Form 765C

Not my fault, Guv ! It was this Gremin (Gremlinus Prangiferous) - you know, the one that shifts the runway sideways just when you're nicely lined up - wot did it.

Let all the compressed air out of the tank it did ! - just on touchdown ! - No brakes ! - Honest ! - Saw the little blighter running away !

Danny.

[Danny42C]

In March '51 there had been a strange little interlude. Niel and I were selected to go on an Air Gunnery Course at 226 OCU (Stradishall). It would be a really intensive Course (dates 21 - 31 March, and there was no flying 22 - 27th - weather ?) I flew three exercises on the 21st, and eleven in the four days 28th - 31st (including four on the 28th). As I recall, about half of this was on range and tracking practice with the GGS, and the rest air firing on a flag target towed by a Meteor. (I don't think we put many holes in it - the flag, that is).

The novelty for me was that this was all flown on Griffon Spits (Mks XIV and XXII indiscriminately) which I had never flown before, and with which I was now not at all impressed. They looked like all other Spitfires (indeed I thought they looked even better, the longer nose making them more elegant), but they didn't fly alike. It was the same as the A31/A35 Vultee Vengeance story, where two types which looked identical behaved differently and should have had different names.

(All what follows is IMHO, of course, and with only 12 hrs on Griffons, I stand to be shot down at once by any true Spitfire aficionado).

They had Coffman starters, which frightened the life out of me. Then the prop went round the wrong way (widdershins ?) so that the brute swung right on take off if you let it. And even if you kept it pointing straight, it had the disconcerting habit of hopping sideways across the runway ( a sort of "right close march" movement) if you fed in power too fast. In the air, if you gave the throttle a bit of a poke, it would jump fifty feet up and the same to the side - rather like the Knight's move in chess.

I was glad I did not have to fly formation in the thing. My opinion was that the engine went where it liked: the rest had to follow on behind like Mary's little lamb. The effect was that of taking a big, powerul, playful dog for "walkies". However neither of us bent anything, so all was well. (Niel had the advantage over me, he had flown the XIV on 8 Sqdn IAF (my old Sqdn) in the later stages of the Burma war).

The really mysterious thing was: what was this all about ? (Ironically, it was the only real bit of live firing I'd ever done in my supposedly "fighter pilot" career). The Korean War was in full swing at the time, but only a madman would introduce a Spitfire into the mix out there. I believe the RAAF tried some of their Meteors, but they were so outclassed that they were relegated to ground-attack duties.

The air war was fought out between the USAF F-86 Sabre and the Mig-15, (powered by copies of the Rolls-Royce "Nene" engine which the Attlee government had helpfully supplied to Russia. Also, our designers had been too slow (or too stupid) to take advantage of captured German research into the advantages of the swept wing).

But there was another low-key war going on at the same time. The French were having no end of trouble (with the Viet Minh) in hanging on to their colony in French Indo-China. Might someone have had a brainstorm, and decided that we should give them a hand ? (stranger things have happened). If that were the case, thank Heavens nothing came of it ! As we know, the Americans took over that war in 1959 and were to come spectacularly unstuck. (We never heard any more about it).

Getting to and from this Course was an adventure in itself, for I got permission to make it a duty journey by road. I think I got the car allowance for this which, IIRC, was 4¼ d per mile then (and I think I got another ½ d for Niel as passenger). As it was 300 miles or so each way, I would pick up the best part of £ 12 (less about 10/- for petrol), which was not to be sneezed at, and it would be cheaper for the RAF than the two rail warrants.

We piled ourselves and our kit into my Bond and set off at dawn on a Sunday, sharing the driving and averaging about 30 mph. This may sound dreadfully boring now, but we were so close to the ground that it seemed quite a respectable speed. And there was a lot of slow-moving traffic on the roads in those days (I think trucks - "lorries" we called them - over 3 tons were restricted to 20 mph, and carried a plate to that effect. There would be steam "lorries" still, and these travelled very slowly indeed). 40 - 45 mph was quite a normal cruising speed for a car.

My interest was to see how the Bond coped with its first long haul, and we were both very impressed. The little (122 cc) Villiers engine did not miss a beat and buzzed along happily for the ten-hour journey (navigation courtesy of AA Route Maps - remember them ?). The weather was pretty good, so it was really an almost enjoyable trip across England to Stradishall (Cambridgeshire) and back.

Next time Danny will do some Heavy Lifting (in two exciting Parts !)

Cheerio to all our readers,

Danny42C


Worse things happen at sea.

[pulse1]

Danny, I am amazed that anyone could face a 300 mile journey, 2 up, in a Bond Minicar. I once bet a friend of mine, who only had a motorcycle licence, a half pint of cider if he would buy one of these machines. This was on the mid 50's so, even if it was a Type B with the bigger engine, it was quite old. He actually bought it and we had great fun driving it around the local countryside. We once tried to ford a stream by rushing it. We got halfway and it sunk in about a foot of water. We simply dragged it out, stripped and dried out the magneto, and off we went. If you took your foot of the accelerator for two long the engine would stop so braking had to be done in a series of quick prods.

Strangely, my friends name was also Danny!

[Danny42C]

Pulse1,

Yes, it was an "A", bought May '50 for the magnificent sum of £199. They wanted another £25 for the "de luxe" job, for that you got the 197 cc Villiers and a proper glass screen with surround. I just had perspex with no top rail, so of course it got bust.

Luckily Perspex was not in short supply in the RAF, we cut a piece to size and moulded it to the curve, softening it in the Mess kitchen boilers. A serious snag was the steering system: thin steel cable with a couple of twists round a bobbin on the end of the steering shaft.

As it was open to all the water, salt and grit thrown up by the wheel, the cable soon rusted and snapped. It happened to me twice: on the first occasion I was pushing it, on the second I was moving at only walking pace.
But I heard of a young RAF M.O., who lost steering this way at full chat; he was badly injured, for it was one big crumple zone.

Again, there was plenty of control cable in Stores, and airmen skilled in silver-soldering (for a consideration) the end fittings. Soon a DIY retrofit rack and pinion kit replaced the cable - you probably had that (or you were living on borrowed time !)

Your little Amal carb needed some TLC, I think. Shouldn't have kept stopping like that. I could write a book about the Bond !

Cheers, Danny.

[Chugalug2]

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/e6/Mark_B.jpg/280px-Mark_B.jpg
So this was later improved version? Interesting that (according to Wikki) they were made of aluminium, as were so many of those early postwar cars. I recall the A40 Sports and the Triumph Roadster were too, amongst many others. Hardly surprising with so many surplus aircraft to recycle, not least by Sir Freddy Laker's Southend smelter, as previously mentioned. At least you didn't have to climb into the engine compartment to kick-start the engine...or did you?
Your comments on the Griffon powered Spit are interesting Danny. Why would they have a prop rotating in the opposite direction to all previous Spitfires? Seems to be a recipe for disaster, even before you start to cope with the much higher power output. Was there a standard direction of Rotation for British propeller aircraft? Indeed was there such a standard for US aircraft? If so did they accord with each other? Did you Vengeance turn and burn the same as the Merlin Spits?
I recall that the effect of antisymmetric propeller thrust on the Hastings meant you had to correct a tendency to swing to the right (like the Griffon Spit) by feeding the throttles in with No. 1 leading, with 2, 3, and 4 lagging in turn. Perhaps the Griffon Spit was an early casualty of the NATO Stanag system that later targeted the Hastings. Overnight all our boost gauges calibrated in lbs were swapped for "Hg ones instead. "So what?", you might ask, the same power was still achieved at the same pointer position. True enough, but pilots did not operate the engines for Take-off, Approach and Landing. That was done by the Flight Engineer, as both hands we needed to fly it. The familiar calls on the approach of "-2, -4, -6' -4" etc were suddenly replaced by "28, 24, 20, 24" etc. The conversion required you to double the normal number you would have previously call for, subtract that from 32, and then call for the result. Of course, unless you were a budding Carol Vordeman, by the time you had completed this mental arithmetic you now needed a far greater alteration, and steady 3 degree glide slopes became alarming divergent excursions. I'm sure though that it all made sense in some staffed paper!

[Fareastdriver]

The Merlin tuned anti clockwise from the front because it was designed during the years of hand swinging or the Hucks Starter. After that British engines went he same way as automobile engines.
The Americans always had done but they attached the propellor to where the clutch would have been so the engine was turned around. In British engines the cylinders are numbered from front to rear, Americans from rear to front.

I remembered it as 'British push the clutch' 'American push the accelerator' because they didn't have a clutch.

Overnight all our boost gauges calibrated in "Hg were swapped for lbs ones instead

I think there is a typo there. In my experience it was the other way round.

[Chugalug2]

FED:-I think there is a typo there. In my experience it was the other way round.
Ah, glad you spotted that one, yes quite right! So edited. I am obliged to you, Sir.

[Danny42C]

Chugalug,

I think FED has the answer (as the Hucks starter was a bit before even my time, it hadn't occurred to me). All the props I ever flew behind, British or American, - rotated clockwise as seen from the cockpit - except the Griffon. Why ? Don't know.

Thanks for the lovely pic ! How many times have I banged my head on that lid when pulling the plug out (when a 2-stroke won't start, it's always the plug). We did our courting in one like that, but my wife says ours was much nicer !

Re: lbs/sq.in. (+/-) versus in/Hg (absolute), our poor instructors at Advanced School in the US had to cope with cm/Hg (absolute), to add to their other woes, in the diabolical AT-12.

Kick start ? No way ! If ever more vigorous pulls on the in-cockpit handle didn't do the job, a push-start was a piece of cake, as it was so light.

Cheers, Danny.

[Danny42C]

I was at a loose end in the crewroom one afternoon. The Army had called off my trip (gun u/s ? - no ammo ? - no idea), and I had settled down contentedly with a pile of old newspapers. I am indebted to the D.T. for the interesting information that there is a Taoist concept of "wu wei", which seemingly translates into "masterly inactivity" or "knowing when not to act". As a past master in this art , I relaxed in the best armchair for a nice quiet time, and a chat with casual passers-by (fat chance !).

The Boss poked his head round the door: "Make yourself useful !" - "Go down to St. Athan and pick up some MT spares they've got for us" - "Right, Boss !" There isn't much room in a Spitfire. Something small, I thought - a pack of gaskets or a box of bearing shells, something like that - but didn't ask. The Authorisation Book was no help: "St. Athan and Ret. - P/U Spares" (so Willie had no idea, either). I drew a line on my map, put a protractor on it, took a Spitfire and got airborne.

It was a lovely day. Apart from our little NW corner, Wales was terra incognita to me. I cruised down the middle of the country, past the Breckon Beacons and the Black Mountains, aiming to hit the Bristol Channel a bit east of the Rhondda. I'd read so much about the Valleys ("How Green was My Valley" etc), where the boyos all sang soulfully in the Male Voice Choirs, (when not playing rugger with lumps of coal), to miss the chance to take a look from the air.

In all mapreading, you must read from the ground to the map (and never vice versa). But any aviator will agree with me that, on rare occasions, there are times when the picture on the ground positively jumps into the cockpit and onto your map, shouting:- "Look - here I am, here, here !"

This was one of those days. Each of the Valleys, with its road, rail line and ribbon of miner's cottages running from the bottom up to the mine and its slag heaps at the vale head, exactly matched the black lines on my map like the teeth of a rake. The green hills, as I recall, were in varying shades of violet on the map.

Heading West, I followed the coast past Cardiff and Tiger Bay. Next stop Barry. Given the topography of the south Wales coast, any cub scout worthy of the name would be chucked out of the pack if he couldn't find Barry. Tucked behind it was RAF St. Athan. QSY to good old 117.9, ask for landing instructions.

St. Athan was the biggest RAF station I'd ever seen. It seemed to stretch over most of Glamorgan. I landed and taxied over to what looked quite a busy Duty Flight ( I think they had three or four visitors on the line already). A Flt. Sgt. was in charge, I stumped into his office. Sad eyes rose to meet me; here was a chap with all the woes of the world on his shoulders (he was actually doing his Pools Coupon). His initial irritation at being disturbed softened when we "clocked" the Burma Stars in our respective Fruit Salads. I stated my business. "I'd better give Stores a ring for you, sir". A rickety chair was dusted off for me and Chiefy reached for the phone.

Events then followed a predictable path. First, they denied all knowledge of me, of Valley, or of any such arrangement. concerning stores. Chiefy persisted, the tone becoming increasingly acerbic. Then someone remembered that a Dai had said something about some stuff for Valley, but that was some time ago. "Get hold of Dai !" growled Chiefy. But it seemed, they couldn't do that, Flight. "Why not". Dai had gone on demob last Friday, you see, Flight, so there was no way to ask him now, you do see, Flight, don't you ? Nothing we can do. Sorry, Flight.

Then Chiefy grew wroth: "I shall get on to my Engineer Officer, and he will call your Equipment Officer, and you will be on coal-shovelling party for a month if you do not GET OFF YOUR FAT @RSES AND GO AND LOOK FOR THE BLOODY STUFF !"

This was no idle threat. The two officers concerned were climbing buddies of some renown, spending much of their spare time roped together, scrabbling about on some vertiginous crag in Snowdonia or the Lake District (not my cup of tea, but it takes all sorts). It produced the required result. Stores would have a scout round and ring back.

Would they find anything ? Or will Danny have to go back empty-handed ?
(All will be made clear in the Next Gripping Instalment).

Good Day, folks,

Danny42C


Seek and ye shall find.

[Geriaviator]

Back in 1956 one of my teachers used to corner his Bond like a sidecar, his long-suffering fiancee being expected to lean to the inside of corners. The little engine used to foul its plug as soon as he eased off the throttle, hence the flat-out technique. I was planning to install a 500cc Velocette engine he had acquired but perhaps fortunately Ian graduated to a Ford Ten powered Dellow.

Danny, I look forward to your exploration of that Aladdin's Cave, that Depository of Dreams, the Stores Section :hmm:

[smujsmith]

Danny

St Athan ( known forever throughout the RAF Ground trades as "The Factory"). What delights you will find deep down south is an instalment I anticipate with glee. I must say though, we're still sitting here, me and SWMBO, in awe of a time when a chap could swan off in a Spitfire, and not be full of delight. Keep going Sir, we await the next 'Eisteddfod'. :rolleyes:

[pulse1]

Danny,

You are really ruffling the feathers of nostalgia at the moment. In 1957 I was sent on my first solo in a glider at St Athans by Lt Cmdr Brett Knowles RN. He was quite a character and drove an old Daimler which used to belong to Sir Bernard Docker. Orignally it had a 12 cylinder engine under a very long bonnet, a nightmare when pulling out of blind junctions. Knowles had replaced it with a Perkins diesel. He had been on a recent Greenland expedition where he was most famous for quickly removing anything useful from a Hastings which crashed while dropping supplies to them.

He was one of those larger than life characters, especially in the gliding world at that time, I wondered if any other readers would remember him.

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator,

The Bond was very stable in normal circumstances. I only managed to lift the inside wheel on a couple of occasions, and then no more than a foot or so. I can see the advantage in your teacher's method in RH bends. If his plugs were always fouling, then either he was putting too much oil in (I found 20:1 better than the recommended 16:1) or he was running rich (the needle in the carb could wear and you could drop it down a click). I found the three-prong plugs the best (KLG ?); if one point fouled up, you should get a spark from another.

Every 5,000 miles or so, the exhaust port would coke-up, and power faded out. Not to worry, head off, manifold off, BDC, poke coke into cyl. with blunt screwdriver, TDC, wipe coke off head, reassemble. All 2-strokes of the time needed this (do they still ?)

If he had succeeded in fitting the Velocette 500, then the tractor unit would have wrenched away from the bulkhead, punched through the front and vanished into the middle distance. Not to be recommended ! I thought that the power increment from 122 to 197 (5hp to 8hp) was dodgy enough.

Even the smaller engine would wind it up to 40 mph, at which speed road-holding was at best tenuous and at worst non-existent. The last ones had a 249 (?) weird thing which could be switched to rotate backwards (to give you reverse drive). As by then they had fitted springs to the back, maybe it could handle the extra power. They lasted well into the mid-seventies.

I would think the fiancée had something to do with the change of wheels. Exactly the same happened to me.

Your turn, now. I look forward eagerly to more tales of Abdul, Graham and their villainous associates in Khormaksar ......D.

Smujsmith,

Sad to say, Spitfires of all Marks were treated as "hacks" then, as there were so many left over from the war. I would imagine you could pick them up for a song at any military surplus sale (why didn't I invest my Gratuity in half a dozen, and store them in some old barn ? - I'd be a millionaire now !)......D.

pulse1,

Would that be the one with the gold stars on the paintwork ? And did they try putting the V-12 into the Daimler Sports 250 ? And there was a half-size replica Spitfire flying in the US with the Jaguar V-12 under the bonnet. Could they have been the same engine ? Long noses were common enough, I remember the SS I and SS II of the late '30s - it was all show, there was nothing to speak of underneath.

Don't know your chap (try Union Jack ?) but - "There were Giants in those Days".........D.

Cheerio to you all, Danny.

"Be careful of what you wish for - you may get it"

[smujsmith]

Fair cop Danny,

I suppose I take quite a few things for granted these days without realising their future potential. Although seeing the hashinee about the potential for buried Spitfires in Borneo recently, I suspect had you bought half a dozen you could well be Lord Danny42C by now. My thoughts go from the chaps like yourself, who, had a crack on some of these classic aircraft in their infancy. To, 10 to 12 years later finding them so mundane. Whilst in modern times of course, we sit here and read it and say blimey, I'd give my left leg to have done that. Don't get me wrong, when I started as a C130 Goround Engineer, I could not believe that someone allowed me to enjoy the flying I had. After around 5000 hours in the back, I still loved the job, but was less "distracted" by the flying. I still say that anyone who could, "choose a Spit and get on their way" was indeed a blessed individual. My respects

Smudge

[F Neil Sim]

Sorry for not getting back to you but I moved and had to change my email and the rest is a long story so I won't bore you. The Catlin crew were tour expired after crash landing at Manston. Four were wounded, two seriously. This crew had been beat up that night with the FE ,Barry Wright, being awarded a CGM and the rest ethier the DFM or DFC. They had landed at Manston after being shot by two German fighters which were also shot down . They also had flown home from Mannheim on three engines earlier in 1943. In 1944 my dad was assigned to Staverton where he qualified as a bombing leader. In 1944 also he was married to a Welsh WAAF who came to Canada early in 1945 and he followed her back a few months later. You can read the crew stoy in 'Lancater at War II' by Garbutt and Goulding. The story is entitled 'Clap Hands For The Walking Dead' by the authors.

Neil Sim

[Union Jack]

In 1957 I was sent on my first solo in a glider at St Athans by Lt Cmdr Brett-Knowles RN. - Pulse 1

Don't know your chap (try Union Jack ?) - Danny

Sadly neither do I, especially since he certainly seems he seems to have stood out from the crowd - and quite a bit before my time too!:D

However, I note that he was actually an Instructor Lieutenant Commander with seniority of 16 July 1952, who would therefore probably have been in his late 30s in 1957 when he sent Pulse1 soaring solo skywards.

By implication in view of his gliding skills, as a member of the Instructor Branch/Specialisation (broadly equivalent to the RAF Education Branch), it sounds as if he almost certainly would have been someone who had sub-specialised as a Met Officer, the duties of which were carried out by Instructor Officers prior to the much later formal establishment of the Meteorological and Oceanographic (METOC) sub-specialisation.

Meanwhile, back at St Athan ......

Jack

[Geriaviator]

Danny is the master of the throwaway line ... "I drew a line on the map, took a Spitfire and got airborne". But maybe it's like those old cars, lovely to look back upon but horrible old beasts when you actually meet one again. I tried a Green Goddess (Bedford RL) a couple of years ago and what a pig she proved to be!

Did you three-point your Spitfires or wheel them on? I found tail-draggers were easier on grass, but of course there's precious little grass around today's airports even if you were admitted to pay your exorbitant landing and parking fees. Anyway, back to RAF Khormaksar in 1952:

https://cimg5.ibsrv.net/gimg/pprune.org-vbulletin/874x287/aden_interior_167w_d7160a133e8c7ffc5fcaab68623267fe6cb5b3f8. jpg

ANOTHER 10 days’ detention imposed for the camel cart affair, and I’m woken by a terrible racket from below. It’s very late, about 9.30 pm, and I peep down from the top of the stairs to see David’s parents with Mum and Dad. The air is thick with cigarette smoke, and they have a bottle of special Grown-up Cola that I’m not allowed, not that I’d want it anyway. I tried a sip of Dad’s once when he was at the bathroom and it’s foul, it’s nearly as bad as milk.

Mum is all giggly, the way she is at Christmas, and the two fathers are roaring with laughter over a big green folder which they pass to David’s mum, who reads it, turns bright red and collapses onto the sofa making a gasping noise. At once I recognise the symptoms. I’m about to go down and tell Mrs. Brindley I’m very sorry she has caught VD and I hope she gets better soon when, just in time, I remember the Official Secrets Act. I tiptoe back to bed and go out like a light.

I wake to the bugle calls from the Aden Protectorate Levy lines half a mile away. My parents are still sound asleep and I consider flinging their doors open shouting ‘Wakey wakey rise and shine’ the way Dad does with mine, but some sixth sense warns that this might not be the wisest course today.

From the verandah I see Graham mooching towards our house, passing the house of Tiddles the tomcat. Tiddles hasn’t been seen since his fight with Abdul, Graham’s land crab. Following on our close brush with conversion to Judaism, we have worked out that Abdul removed a certain component of Tiddles, thereby turning him into a Jewish tomcat. Graham’s a thoughtful boy and just to show there’s no hard feelings he pops a couple of locusts through the louvres of the front door. He says his parents are still asleep too so we look around for something to eat. On the table beside the overflowing ashtray is the green folder they had last night. Inside we find a single typed sheet:

Station Routine Orders, RAF Khormaksar. Addendum ref. 234/52
It has been brought to the notice of the Station Commander that personnel have been interfering with camels on the Sheikothman Road. This practice will cease forthwith.
Signed: Officer Commanding.

“What’s funny about that? Last week they give us a whacking for turning the camel, now they laugh about it”, says Graham. We commiserate on the problems of having grown-ups until Mum comes downstairs and we assure her that we are not hungry, we don’t mind having no breakfast. She looks guilty and says Graham can stay for breakfast, after which he can ask his parents if he can go to the lido, and here’s a shilling for the gharri. We can’t believe our luck.

As we pass Abdullah he says naughty boys, naughty boys, but his eyes are smiling. I lean from the gharri, put my hands together in Indian greeting and say Salaam, Abdullah sahib. Salaam, chota sahib, he replies, points at his gate and breaks into a roar of laughter. We wave to each other until the gharri goes out of sight. We’re friends again, the sun shines and all’s well in our happy little world.

COMING SOON: Our homeward posting casts a shadow over happy days at the Khormaksar Pantomime.

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator,

Another winner, chota sahib ! The pics of your quarter look nice - could that possibly be a TV set right over on the left ? (in Aden ? - in '52 ? - that size screen ?) We had our first TV in '55, and I think it was only a 12-in.

We tried to 3-point our Spits, but it didn't always come off. They were really just like big Tiger Moths to land. And none were ever "horrible old beasts" - I'll always remember them as the nicest things I ever flew. Familiarity never bred contempt !

As for the Green Goddesses, I would think they were heavily overloaded versions on the same chassis as I had on my 900 (?) gallon bowser in India. Empty, I reckoned it my best vehicle: the Bedford/GMC straight six was streets better than the Ford V-8. Full, I would suppose it would be a pig to drive, too.

I fear poor Tiddles may have lost rather more than the appendage in question, and thereafter probably sang soprano in the Cats' Choir.

I'm afraid the clerk who cut the Roneo stencil for that Addendum to SROs chose the words all too deliberately, with a view to arousing unseemly mirth among the brutal and licentious soldiery ! Anyway, it gave your Sahib and Memsahib a good chuckle over their sundowners.

Regards from the Burra-Sahib,

Danny.

[Danny42C]

(Follows Part 1 on #3609 p.181)

Chiefy seemed to be able to convey orders by some kind of thought transference. No word was said, but two steaming mugs of Earl Grey (poetic licence) appeared as if by magic, a tin of sugar and the Duty Spoon were found; soon we could feel again the hammer of the Indian sun and hear the mournful cry of the char-wallah, as we exchanged reminiscences of our years in the subcontinent.

We'd just about finished our tea when the phone rang. They'd found my stuff, they were sending it over. I expected to see a lad on a bike, but instead a 15 cwt turned up. The driver rummaged about in the back and with difficulty dragged out two very large cast iron brake drums - must have been for a 3-tonner at least. Carrying one of these under each arm, and the paperwork between his teeth, he dumped them at the flight hut steps, and came in: "Sign here please, sir".

Chiefy and I looked at these things in dismay. Where on earth are we going to put them ? Two of his chaps carried a drum apiece and the little party went out to my Spitfire. First we took off a wing panel and tried the (empty) gun bays. No good, the drums were just too big to fit any way we turned them. The radio compartment behind my head ? - no room there either. There's nowhere else. Chiefy shrugged. "They'll have to go in the cockpit with you, sir".

Sir did not like this idea one little bit. A Spitfire cockpit is, shall we say, "snug" (it is better to be not taller than 5' 10" and BMI no more than 20). But as our last great "Statesman" was wont to say: "There is no alternative". So we tried.

The seat back is right on the armour plate. You can't put them down the sides, there's too much gubbins down there already. On the floor (was there a floor in a Spit, or just foot rails under the double-decker rudder stirrups ? - Can't remember), they'd curtail the "Free and Full Movement of the Controls" - and what would you anchor them to ? Impasse. Chiefy frowned.

Then he brightened. He sent a lad off for some half-inch rope. Had he flipped his lid ? Was he going to lash the things onto the structure somewhere, to carry them as external stores ? Reason tottered on her throne. But he'd had a better idea than that. They cut a length of rope, enough to form a loop through both centre holes of the drums. "Hop in, sir".

Sir hopped and strapped in with grim foreboding. Then they lifted this monstrous garland over my head (I think it needed a chap on each wing for the job). The two enormous breastplates clanged and chimed like mad church bells. It was a good thing that I wasn't wearing a Mae West, or I would have had difficulty reaching the spade grip, never mind fly the aeroplane.

They'd left the knot behind my neck so that the loop could be adjusted. Too small, and the weight would bow me down: Valley would have the "Hunchback of Notre St. Athan" on my return. Too big. the full weight would fall on my lap, acting as a tourniquet on my femoral arteries, (gangrene would probably have set in before I got back !).

"You'll be all right, sir !" Sir sincerely hoped so.

By now the melodious (?) chimes had drawn wider interest. Had Mr Whippy come round ? A little knot of spectators watched our struggles with some amusement. Chiefy pushed the cockpit door closed, I managed to get the thing started. The mag switches were a bit hard to reach, but I got them on, and the fuel cocks. Luckily. it was still quite warm, for I couldn't get across to the "Kigass" (primer) in the far right corner. I flicked the covers off the two black buttons (Start and Booster) more or less in front of me, pulled the stick as far back as I could, splayed two fingers on my left hand, and poked. It fired straight away.

I pulled out of the line, merrily clanging, and swung onto the taxiway. Not only the marshaller, but the whole bunch of sightseers gave me an ironic salute ! I returned it grimly (morituri te salutamus ?)

Now you are all delightedly waiting for the inevitable disaster to overtake Danny. Sorry, folks, but it didn't happen. It was a bit awkward map reading, but all I had to do was to aim a bit west of north and I must end on familiar ground (Snowdon helped, too). I got back with no trouble at all. I must admit that the airman who marshalled me in had a rather puzzled look (never heard a Merlin make a noise like that - a ring broken ?) and was even more startled when the door flew open, and a Tin Man bawled: "Get these bloody things off me" (he had to summon assistance).

I stamped into the Flight Office to confront a very apologetic Willie. "If I'd known they were that big, you could have had the Harvard". Now he tells me ! It later struck me that, if I'd crashed on the way back, the Court of Inquiry would have had the strangest case of F.O.D. in the history of aviation.

So, all you young "steelies" remember: NEVER, on any account, agree to carry any cargo unless you know exactly what it is and how it is to be stowed.

Goodnight, chaps,

Danny42C


Heed the Gypsy's warning.

[Chugalug2]

Now you tell me Danny! Too little and too late I fear. Mercifully though there was no call in my flying career to personally transport "Drums Brake 3 Tonners for the use of" nor for that matter fly a Spitfire (more's the pity).
Had you devised an appropriate Abandon Aircraft Drill? To do so with the drums still attached would have risked a face full of cast iron with possibly fatal results, but to divest yourself of them without creating the biggest FOD incident ever equally problematic. I thought that the Spitfire lent itself to creative external stores solutions. Weren't they once famously bombed up with barrels of Watneys Red Barrel?

Geriaviator, your total recall of those days of boyhood innocence are to envy. It's not so much the incidents themselves, though they delight in their Outlaws like anarchy, but the thought processes that they engendered in you at the time. Thank heavens for that advice received re the OSA, for Moscow might otherwise have gained a strategic advantage from which we could not escape. A damn close run thing indeed!

[Union Jack]

Danny

Talk about dropping a clanger! - I believe that you have just "black catted" Geriaviator - at least for the moment ....:D:D

Jack

[Geriaviator]

Another wonderful tale from Danny, surely the only aviator to have flown a Spitfire while sporting a cast-iron bra as part of his flying kit? It must have been as uncomfortable on the front as my (kindly donated) Sea Vixen dinghy was on the rear.

Chugalug, I agree it's wonderful to have such clear early memories especially when I can't remember where I put the item I was using two minutes ago, or when I carefully stow the biscuit tin in the refrigerator. Which, with Danny's mention of uncomfortable flights, leads me to another rambling tale ...

In 1972 the Tiger Moth and I were bound for an air display in Weston-super-Mare when the wind for once was in our favour. With a 50-knot nor-wester at 5000 feet I reckoned I could cross the Irish Sea direct to Sleap in Shropshire without my usual stop to refuel at Blackpool. (I should add that ATC at Blackpool and Isle of Man were very tolerant of my regular journeys, allowing me through their zones non-radio as long as I phoned first, and keeping a grass area trimmed for the Tiger).

After a vertical takeoff and climb into the gale I turned downwind and streaked across the coast. The Isle of Man flew past at 140 knots and clearly range would be no problem for the Tiger, but it would be for me. It's mighty cold in an open cockpit at 5000ft, even after a hearty breakfast with orange juice followed by three big cups of tea. Not for the first time I reflected on the wartime instructors who had sat in the front seat often for six hours a day in the depths of winter.

Leaving Snowdonia I began to eye up the fields with their inviting hedges. I considered the benefits of my immersion suit, which I knew would keep the water out but would be equally effective at keeping it in. After two hours I carefully turned my eyes from a sparkling river off to port, lest I should provide one myself. At 10 miles out I pushed the nose down and went flat-out for Sleap with a steep slipping turn into wind and a landing run of 40 yds, by which time I had shut down the engine, undone my straps and dived over the side.

Sleap Control, understandably concerned by this airborne lunatic, despatched the fire engine which arrived shortly after I had managed to release my immersion suit and attain a state of undreamed-off bliss. The crash crew dashed up brandishing a fire extinguisher and fell about when they saw I still had working pressure on my own.

Ah, happy days when one could rely on one's plumbing system. Today I reflect that two or three times a night when I was 21 has a totally different meaning now that I am 71. But not to worry, I've forgotten what was different about it.

[Danny42C]

Chugalug,

I'm afraid I didn't think much about a possible bale-out at the time, but in hindsight I suppose my best bet would have been to open the hood (I could just about manage that), invert the thing and hope that gravity would do the rest !

Yes, I remember the story of the beer being taken out attached (must have been to a bomb rack under the Spitfire fuselage), but it must have caused a fearful drag, and surely the better idea would have been to shift it by Dakota. I believe the payload was 5,000 lbs, so guessing 400 lb per 36- gallon barrel, there should be capacity for 10 barrels plus the necessary lashings. And, in my experience out East, anywhere a Spit could get in and out of, a Dak could, too.......D.

Union Jack,

Perish the idea of "black catting" (if it means what I think it means - is it RN slang ?). ....D.

Geriaviator,

I sympathise with you in your little local difficulty. As all my flights were of relatively short duration (and in India anything you drank came out immediately as sweat anyway), it was a problem which did not concern me - and in any case. most SE aircraft had relief-tubes under the seat.

Sleap I know, in '56 I did my GCA Controller course there, but in my day I think the airfield was inactive........D.

Regards to you all,

Danny.

[BEagle]

With regard to the Spitfire beer dray, beer could be carried in a long range tank:

http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a341/nw969/SB3_zps30d8f118.jpg

However, it seems that it was also carried in kegs under the wings:

http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a341/nw969/SB2_zpsde2028c0.jpg

Close up of the modification:

http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a341/nw969/SB1_zps1e7cea1b.jpg

On its way to the front line:

http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a341/nw969/SB4_zpsf3013ce7.jpg

Cheers!!

[Union Jack]

Gives a whole new meaning to a barrel roll!:D

Jack

[Danny42C]

Beagle and Union Jack,

I see it, but I can still hardly believe it ! The stuff in the LRT must have been pretty flat on arrival, but then - "there's no bad beer, but some is better than others". Did the drayman get his customary pint after each drop ? And was it duty-free as export ? Did they get the money back on the barrels (Container a/c) ?

I hope they left the stuff a day or two to settle, or the customers would be complaining.

Cheers,

Danny.

[Danny42C]

Beagle.

Thank you for the lovely pics of the Mk. IX (I reckon) Spitfire and beer barrels. I've just noticed the short aerial sticking out under the starboard wing, near the tip.

Turns out it's a Mk. III IFF aerial. So?

Only this, I have 250 hrs on type and this is the first time I've noticed it - or even knew I had I had IFF ! (what sort of walk-round could I have been doing ?)

Ignorance is bliss,

Danny.

[BEagle]

Danny, it was an indeed a Mk IX in those photos.

Here's what I've been able to unearth about those times:

During the war, the Heneger and Constable brewery donated free beer to the troops. After D-Day, supplying the invasion troops in Normandy with vital supplies was already a challenge. Obviously, there was no room in the logistics chain for such luxuries as beer or other types of refreshments. Some men, often called sourcers, were able to get wine or other niceties from the land or rather from the locals.

RAF Spitfire Mk IX pilots came up with an even better idea.....

It was discovered that the Mk IX’s under wing bomb pylons could be modified to carry beer kegs. According to pictures that can be found, various sizes of kegs were used. Whether the kegs could be jettisoned in case of emergency is unknown. If the Spitfire flew high enough, the cold air at altitude would even refresh the beer, making it ready for consumption upon arrival.

A variation of this was a long range fuel tank modified to carry beer instead of fuel. The modification even received the official designation Mod. XXX. Propaganda services were quick to pick up on this, which probably explains the official designation.

As a result, Spitfires equipped with Mod. XXX keg-carrying pylons were often sent back to England for maintenance or liaison duties. They would then return to Normandy with full beer kegs fitted under the wings.

Typically, the Ministry of Revenue and Excise stepped in, notifying the brewery that they were in violation of the law by exporting beer without paying the relevant taxes. It seems that Mod. XXX was terminated then, but various squadrons found different ways to refurbish their stocks. Most often, this was done with the unofficial approval of higher echelons!

Roughly 40 years later, Luftwaffe F-4 aircrew evolved a similar method for resupplying their Tornado mates at Cottesmore with German beer and schnapps. This involved an F-4 with a highly modified 4000 lb centreline tank....:ok:

[smujsmith]

Brilliant stuff BEagle. And how typical that HM Customs were showing signs of what they were to become later in those perilous times. Must have created some serious drag though (the barrels).

Smudge

[Danny42C]

BEagle and Smujsmith,

Post-retirement, I had 13 years with HM C & E. While not on the Excise side (I was a dreaded VAT Inspector !), it occurs to me that the trick might have been to designate the Spit a "Bonded Warehouse". The beer could then have been lodged in it without payment of duty.

AFAIK, there was nothing in the law to prevent a Bonded Warehouse flying off to France if it wished (I don't think the eventuality had even been considered), and when it got there, presumably only French law would apply.

There was a good old tale about Bonded Warehouses which involved the miraculous conversion of whisky into water (the reverse of the Gospel story), but I'm afraid it would be too far off thread to relate here.

Thanks for the enthralling details of the "beer - run"..... Sudden thought: why not fill the empty barrels with good vin du pays and return to the UK ? (what the Customs man doesn't see won't hurt him).

Danny.

[Fareastdriver]

why not fill the empty barrels with good vin du pays

Never mix the grain with the grape.

[Danny42C]

The summer turned to autumn and our time at Valley was coming to an end. There would be no "At Home" day there that year. To show the youngsters of the AFS how it should be done, "Red" Dunningham led a vic of three Spitfires (I was No. 2) in a formation landing. On the 30th August I flew my last run for the Army, and climbed out of TB858. I would never sit in a Spitfire cockpit again in my life. EDIT: Not so- see my Page 313 #6244 !

There was no parting celebration - we just dispersed to the four winds. I'm not sure exactly when I left. The Boss signed my F414(A) on the 14th September. Good old Alex ! I was "High Average" ! (which is meaningless) - he couldn't bring himself to put "Above Average" (which I certainly was not ), but wanted to say something nice. Come to think about it, all the "term-end" 414s I've had had something "funny" about them. Driffield had said that I was "Average - as a u/t Jet Pilot" and my swan song in November '54 ended in "Proficient as a Meteor Pilot" (for I ended my post-war flying career as I'd begun four years before).

My faithful tin box slid nicely into the passenger side of the "Bond", the other bags packed round it. I crossed Telford's elegant Menai suspension bridge for one last time. My joining date at Thornaby must have been around mid-October, for I had a couple of weeks at home in Heswall. Then I set out, Liverpool to Teeside is about 130 miles. I followed the A59 (Preston - Skipton - Harrogate -- the "Blubberhouses" route). There are (or were) some serious gradients on the Lancashire side: the "Bond" overheated and seized at one point, but after a quarter of an hour's rest to cool off it restarted without any damage, and we reached the watershed with no further trouble.

Then it was downhill all the way, on the long straight bits the Bond screamed away happily with the needle against the stops at 40 mph. Four miles short of Harrogate, turn left for Ripon and Thirsk and then enter Thornaby from the south.

There was no trouble finding the place. I passed a well-worn Victorian or Edwardian mansion, then a half-dozen obvious AMQs along the road, then the notice board and the pole barrier across the camp entrance. Before the Duty Corporal got out of the Guardroom and got his cap on, I was in (one of the more useful features of the Bond was that it was so low that you could "limbo dance" under most pole barriers).

I established my bona fides, he directed me back under the pole and down the road to the mansion. As I left the main gate, I saw that directly across the road was the "Oddfellows Arms" (known to all as the "Oddbods"). "The NAAFI will have to look to its laurels", I thought. I parked outside what was called "Thornaby Hall" (which was stretching it a bit) and went in.

All was quiet - it was a bit like the Marie Céleste. There was a small table in the hall, with the In/Out and Visitor's books. I booked-in and left my two Visiting Cards (do we still do this ?). Somewhere I still have the little copper engraving plate for my embossed Cards (only a bounder would use printed ones !)

Hearing some sound from the door on the left, I found myself in a little bar. "Quiet tonight", I said to the steward as he drew me a half-can from the wood (always warm and flat in those days). "The Auxiliaries have all gone home, sir", he said, "and there's only the SDO around at the moment". To prove the point, the chap himself strolled in and we exchanged introductions. Jack Derbyshire was, it seemed, the Station Adjutant (ex-war Flight Engineer).

And what will he have to tell me ?

Till next time,

Danny42C.


J'y suis, j'y reste.

[Geriaviator]

My goodness, Danny, your journeys by Bond seem to be even more intrepid than your journeys by Spitfire! Today's comfortable, reliable cars are great but I still hanker after those wonderfully traffic-free roads.

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator,

Well, the roads weren't all that empty ! Do you remember the flocks of sheep, the cows coming in for milking, the crowds of cycling clubs all over the road - and the odd steam-roller every few miles ?

The Bond was more fun than anything I've had before or since. Happy days !

Now we're all agog for the final chapters of youthful villainy, the sad farewell to Abdul, and at last: "They say there's a troopship just leaving Bombay" (no, Aden !)

Don't keep us waiting ! Danny.

[Tim Mills]

More marvelous stuff from Danny, Geriaviator, Chugalug, BEagle(hooray for 20,000 posts) and all. Must try and participate more but my typing finger tends to have a mind of it's own which doesn't help.

Anyway, had Danny had a two seater for his spares run it would have saved him some discomfort. I knew there was a use for it! And the brewers dray with 1000 horses or so up front instead of just two was fun, I need a delivery of the real warm flat stuff out here rather than the ice cold fizzy, though I am getting used to it after twenty odd years here!

More please, and I'll try to follow on a bit in spite of going wildly off thread having not got my wings until '51. But my father got his in '20 or so, so that might count me in!

[Geriaviator]

http://i1278.photobucket.com/albums/y503/Oldnotbold/footballers_zps7a9a827f.jpg
Where are they now? Flying Wing football team, winners of the Cowasjee Dinshaw Cup 1952. Most of these lads were less than a decade older than I was, and they spoiled the Kids rotten. Sadly I can't remember their names.

GOOD NEWS and bad news yesterday ... Dad tells us we’re flying home instead of the boat, and we leave in six weeks’ time. I can hardly sleep with the prospect of flying again and pester Dad for all available info on the Hastings transport; I would have preferred a Lancaster myself, but one must take what Their Airships provide. Just a moment. Did he say SIX weeks? A tiny cloud appears in the sunlit skies above Aden, a cloud which spreads into eight octas as the days fly by.

But before we go, it’s December 1952 and everyone has a part in the Khormaksar Pantomime at the Astra Cinema. Warrant Officer Haden brings the house down as Baron Hangover, LAC John Elliott tap-dances brilliantly as Buttons, the Chorus Line Kids excel with unintended comedy from appalling timing and one (me) always managing to turn the wrong way, and Marcia Trinnick steals the show as Cinderella, in a dress of silk, parachute, white, the property of His Majesty. The creation comprises an awful lot of unclad creamy Marcia atop yards of layered silk, and when she comes on stage the thunderous roar from the appreciative airmen can be heard inside Dad’s hangar half a mile away. Me, I don't know what they're all excited about, it's only Marcia, as I've said before she's a nice girl but she's past it, she turned18 last month.

Afterwards we’re praising the costumes and mum says Marcia looked like a big meringue. Dad says he wouldn’t mind a nibble of that himself and mum kicks him on the shin. To my surprise he doesn’t kick her back as a normal person would but instead they fall on each other, their faces turn red, their eyes start watering ... Oh no, I think, here we go again.

In an instant it’s time to go back to England, and for the first time on a posting I don’t want to go. I walk listlessly around the station saying goodbye to my friends around the hangars, and more than my eyes seem rather moist. Even Abdul the crab seems sad, he stops eating his cockroach while I stroke his shell.

Next day I look down from the departing Hastings at the square of houses that once was home. That little white speck is our school, inside are my friends at their desks and dear Miss Buckle... my last glimpse of Khormaksar is blurred by the tears which stream down my cheeks. To the rumble of four Bristol Hercules I find myself singing the Aden Song from the pantomime finale:

All the little phones go brrr brrr brrr, HQ staff want you ...
Bound to be a panic, flap flap flap,
Last thing on a Saturday, too !
The Vampires go wheeeeeee, the Brigands crash,
Main gate guards shout Aintcher gotcher pass ?
Watching all the troopers, sailing out to sea,
Here we are in Aden, happy as can be !

Footnote, 60 years later: As we now know, the secret was kept and the Russians never succeeded with their cunning plot. The Khormaksar Kids exchanged a few letters but as so often in Service life, we never saw one another again. At 71 I’ve probably grown up as much as I’m going to, and I haven’t caught VD. But my wife keeps the chequebook because I’m still a menace with figures.

[Danny42C]

Tim Mills,

Tim, (guessing that "Tim Mills" isn't a pen name - or is it ?),
Welcome aboard this Prince of Threads! (our fingers are all right, it's just these keyboards that keep jumping about - I too belong to the "Search and Destroy" school of typing).

Our Moderators seem generous and accommodating to a fault, as we must all acknowledge. All of us are entitled to our say in this Virtual Crewroom in cyberspace, so follow on a lot, and start now. As you were ten years behind me, it's not hard to fix your age group. Any remembered tales your Dad told you would be much appreciated, too.

I am in two minds over the two-seat Spits, nice idea, but was it really necessary in a world full of Harvards ?

Congratulations, BEagle ! (I've only 19,500 odd to catch up......Ars longa, vita brevis).

Cheers, Danny.

[Chugalug2]

Geriaviator, the leaving of Aden was clearly a very emotional experience for you. The pangs seem as sharp as ever, despite all the years that have passed. I can appreciate the turmoil, for I remember like you touring the station before my repatriation flight, once of course with a manilla card collecting signatures from accounts section to the bicycle store and once more to take in all that I could of its sights and sounds (rather more scenic I suspect, as it was RAF Changi). The greatest loss though was, as with you, of friends that I would not see again for many years, if ever. That you were then so young made the parting the harder still, never mind being a "mere" dependent. What stayed with you clearly were the memories, so vivid that you have made us all witnesses to the joy that was your boyhood. Would that we could all be so blessed!
Are you sure that the Station Pantomime, the Chorus Line Kids, even the somewhat Geriatric Marcia (well, 18, I mean!), were not all part of some elaborate cover for something more sinister? Was there a roll call the next morning, were all still present? You don't remember any puns about Greek Urns, perchance?

Danny, I too am much impressed by your seemingly robust and dependable Bond Minicar in which you crossed and re-crossed the nation loaded down with all your worldly goods, while lesser mortals such as I merely sent our trunks PLA, ahead of our own journeys by rail. I wouldn't be too surprised to learn of a record breaking run in the Monte Carlo, but there I go again pre-empting future escapades...sorry!

Tim, I can but echo Danny's warm welcome aboard. Kind of you to include me in your list of contributors, but I am a mere spectator, a member of an entranced and enchanted audience.
Gaining your Wings in 1951 puts you well in the running as a contributor, as Danny says. Having a father who gained them in the 20's better still. Between the two you bracket the thread title nicely, I'd say. I'm hoping that we may be treated to both tales!

[Danny42C]

Chugalug and Geriaviator,

"The best of friends must part". How true ! - in the context of Service life. I remember my sonnet-writing room mate at Finningley in '49. He wrote one on the subject of how it takes time to make new friends (all I can recall is the last couplet):

"You feel the loss more than the gain
And life appears most cruel"

The Bond was one of the best automotive designs of its time (for its time). It stood in relation to a car as a Lambretta to a Harley-Davidson. It carried three adults abreast, with weather protection (sort of) and you could put it anywhere. A child could push it, any adult could lift the back up and carry it round like a wheelbarrow. Two-up, it climbed all the gradients in the Lakes, albeit slowly. But hey ! - what's the hurry ? you get there in the end (Festina lente). But no, I never entered it for the Monte Carlo (although I'm sure it would have got there - even if only to collect the wooden spoon).

I have high hopes of Tim (many hands make light work). The more, the merrier ! Cheers, Danny.

[Blacksheep]

All the gradients in the Lakes? Wow! I can't imagine what it would be like driving a Bond up The Struggle and completing the Kirkstone Pass, but you WW2 veterans are in a different class. I have always lived in awe of your generation Danny.

[smujsmith]

Blimey Danny, did you include Hardknott Pass in your tour of the lakes with your Bond? I remember the late Fred Dibnah doing it with his steam roller, and having lived near for a few years, I used to do it in a 4WD jobby, but the brakes used to get bloody hot going down the other side. You did push that Bond Sir, respect :ok:

[Danny42C]

Smujsmith,

Yes, Hardknott too ! In bottom gear (max 10 mph) it would climb up the side of a house. Two-up ? Yes, but the other one was rather petite !

The vehicle itself was very light (just an alloy box, really), and the cable steering was feather-light with about 160 degrees lock to lock, so the hairpins were no trouble - it would whip round on a sixpence.

Lakeland roads were very quiet, too, in those days and the Bond was only about 4 ft wide.

Main trouble was going down, rear brakes were useless, so it was bottom gear all the way, too (Heaven bless Villiers).

Danny.

[Geriaviator]

http://i1278.photobucket.com/albums/y503/Oldnotbold/Hastings_Hermes_zps8a02e7f2.jpg

Chugalug’s trusty steed, the Handley Page Hastings C.1 which brought us home from Aden. The Hastings was basically a Halifax bomber with transport fuselage. On the right, its civil derivative the pressurised Hermes which staged through Aden three times a week. This one, G-AKFP, spent 1947-1949 with the Ministry of Civil Aviation, 1949-57 with BOAC, and 1957-60 with Airwork. IWM Duxford had a Hermes fuselage last time I visited.

BEFORE the age of mass travel in the 1960s, our overseas postings were considered exciting and glamorous -- even Aden. Most people had never been abroad even to the Continent, and the height of chic was to visit the holiday camps, some of them thinly veiled wartime accommodation.

Flying was a very different experience for those who could afford it. The day before we left in March 1953, every one of the 30 passengers on the homeward flight would report for weighing so the weight and balance calculations could be carried out. Piston aircraft are much less tolerant of weight variations than today’s huge jets, even though people were lighter. A few of today’s tubbies in the tail would give even Chugalug a problem, for the nose comes up and the aeroplane falls out of the sky in a stall. This is a Bad Thing and if it happens on the landing approach it is a VERY Bad Thing.

There were only a couple of steps to the door of the tailwheel Hastings, but inside there was quite a slope from the tail-down attitude. The seats were rear facing, a safety feature adopted by Transport Command after the war and continued to this day with results well proven in the Command’s relatively few accidents.

As we boarded we were given a cardboard box containing sandwiches and a bar of chocolate, this being our inflight meal for the eight-hour flight. Tea was served from a couple of big urns kept in the tail beside the Elsan. My parents were placed amidships, but being only six stone I was delighted to be seated in the tail beside the loadmaster. The downside of this came later, when like thousands of rear gunners I discovered that the tail constantly wags from side to side; this, combined with the ups and downs of turbulence and scoffing my entire packet of Smarties, produced the inevitable result. Fortunately Their Airships had thoughtfully included a waxed paper bag in the lunch pack.

After a few hours there was great excitement when a pencil-filled form was passed row by row from the front. The Flight Report informed us that we were cruising at 180 mph and 8000 feet. Below the Ethiopian scenery was unchanged from two hours ago, a featureless brown plain devoid of vegetation or habitation. I wondered even then how anyone could live in such arid surroundings.

Khartoum offered a hearty breakfast at 6am, being porridge, greasy bacon and eggs ladled from two-foot square metal dishes familiar to Service diners. Boys wore shorts in those days and as we headed north I began to feel an icy blast across my legs. The double doors alongside were battered and I could see through the one-inch gap along the bottom. Dad said the Hastings had been used on the Berlin airlift and like the Dakotas and Yorks had taken a battering.

After a refuelling stop at (I think) Castel Benito we landed at Lyneham that evening, totally exhausted by the thunderous noise of the four Hercules. To communicate one had to shout into the recipient’s ear and to this day I wonder how the Halifax crews withstood it night after night -- and the Merlins were even worse.

For all that I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, and 60 years later I can remember that flight as if it was yesterday. Thanks for listening!

[Fareastdriver]

March 1953 was the same month that I arrived back in the UK with my parents after his overseas tour at Heany, Southern Rhodesia. Him being a Flight Lietenant we came back First Class by courtesy of the Union Castle Line.
There was great excitment in Southampton when we arrived; it was the 5th March 1953 and Joe Stalin had just died.

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator

It sounds like quite a memorable trip - with your "back to the engine", too. And was an Elsan the best they could do for the families ? (hessian screens, I hope !) It was ever thus. I remember when they laid on a truck to move our few belongings from Holland to the Volkspark in Cologne. Its last job had been on coal delivery !

BEA were still using the passenger-weighing routine at the Victoria Air Terminal in early '52 (flying Ambassadors).

Almost all WW2 aircrew had high-tone deafness to some extent, due to the battering from engine noise.

Must put in my next a bit later,

Danny.

[Danny42C]

(follows #3632 p.182)

"You'll be the new chap for the FCU ?".........(I nodded assent)........"We've been waiting for you"........"Why - I'm not due in post till tomorrow ?"..."Yes, I know but (name forgotten) had to go early ten days ago, family trouble of some sort"......"So who's been looking after the place ?........"Well, no one really"........"Who's the C.O.?"...... "Well, of course he's an Auxiliary - but he won't be much use to you - he's in the process of resigning his Commission"........(I perked up - nice juicy scandal, perhaps) .... "No, not that, he's a schoolteacher, a lot of your Auxiliaries are. He's just got a Headship way down South".

"Well, I'll see him tomorrow"...... "No, you won't"......"Why not ?"......."It's the Auxiliary Weekend. You work Wednesday to Sunday, then have Monday and Tuesday off"...... "Does the whole Station do that ?"..........."No, we just work the normal week".

"So, who's in command ?"......."It looks as if you are, at least for the moment".......(pause for reflection, then, brightening)......."Any chance ?"......"Forget it, it's only an Auxiliary S/Ldr post"....... "Have I anybody else ?".... "Yes, you've a Training Officer - very nice chap - Bob Schroder, by name. He's Tech/Radar, not GD"........"Where's he ?"........

"Lives out in Middlesbrough, got a TA Adjutant's Quarter next to a Drill Hall. The Army chap's a bachelor, so he didn't want it"......."And when shall I see this Bob Schroder ?" ......."He'll be in Wednesday morning" (little did I think that he'd be my Best Man in three years' time).

"So what now ?".......... "Well, we'd better get you settled in first. Is all your kit in that thing of yours outside ? Well, I'll walk round to your hut, you follow me - it's only a few yards. Steward here will shut the bar and come round with a batman and lug your stuff into your room".

It was a Seco hut with three (I think) rooms down each side and the bathroom, etc down the end. I'd never seen such a tiny hutch in all my life (I think they were originally NCOs quarters). As a full kit of furniture had been crammed into it, there was just enough room to squeeze me in. There wasn't room to swing a conker - never mind a cat.

The bed occupied all the smaller wall - say 6½ ft. The side of the bed was almost touching the end of my desk, this would be about 4 ft wide. The other desk end was hard up against the wardrobe (say 2 ft for that) which was in turn up against the wall.

So now you have it: allow 3 ft width for the bed plus 4 for the desk plus 2 for the wardrobe and throw in a foot for a bit of clearance, and you've got an area 10 ft by 6½ ft. 65 sq ft to enjoy, less the chest of drawers (say 4 x 1½ ) opposite your desk (say 2 ft wide). You're left with a free space of some 7 ft by 3 ft. Oh, and you've got a chair, and the door opens inward ! I was lucky - my tin box would fit under the bed ! I lived in this monastic cell for three years - for it had central heating !

The old House must have had several bedrooms upstairs, but Jack was the only one living there. I am 90% certain that the only sources of heat in the building were the open fires in the anteroom, bar and dining rooms.. He would be very unlikely to have an open fire upstairs, and I think, kept himself warm with electric fires.

Now I come to think of it. he must have had some, for on one occasion (for which I cannot supply the reason, or possibly imagine one) he was looking after a batch of day-old chicks in his room, as it was the only place where the temperature could be kept up to enable them to survive.

In those days, hardly any domestic houses had central heating. The norm was the single open coal fire in the "lounge" (living room): this would have a "back boiler" which heated (not very effectively) the hot water for baths and washing. In bedrooms and bathrooms you froze. I did not live in a centrally heated house until OMQs in Germany in '60.

"Come down to SHQ with me after breakfast tomorrow - the Old Man'll want to see you "........."And he would be?"....."Malcolm Sewell - it's only a Wing Commander Station"........."What's he like ?"........"Quite nice - doesn't trouble you much if you leave him alone"........."Where does he live ?" .....

"He's got his Quarter at the far end of the garden. It's the only OMQ on the place. All the marrieds have to live out. After you've seen him, you can pick up your keys and SDs (I've got them in my safe), and go and have a look at your place. It's right across the road from SHQ."

And that was about it for my first day. Scrappy dinner, unpack and hit the sack.

What will the morrow bring ?

Danny42C.


It is better to travel hopefully than to arrive.

[Chugalug2]

Geriaviator, the Hastings Mk1 was actually not among my steeds, for it had become the Mk1A by my time with the underwing External Auxiliary Tanks that brought its fuel capacity up to that of the Mk2 that could carry its fuel entirely in the wing tanks.
I'm sorry that you were incommoded by the rear fuselage excursions but you had obviously made whoopee by the distance separating you from your mother's supervision with inevitable results. Yes, being unpressurised and having a combined double freight door and para door on the port side with a second para door starboard allowed for somewhat excessive ventilation and cooling in the rear. It was very comfy right up front though, didn't they allow you a visit?
As to the conveniences Danny, Elsans yes, but in two properly doored toilets at the rear. It was the Hercules that had one Elsan only, stowed halfway up the rear side fuselage that had to be lowered for use and around which could be pulled a glorified shower curtain. We have already discussed the matter of fact attitude to these matters by our transatlantic cousins though so I'll leave it there, other than to say that reading the Times needs appropriate space in which to do so, don't you know? It doesn't seem that your new home even aspired to that, but attitudes were less demanding in those days. My one and only OMQ (at Hullavington) had two fires to tend throughout the winter, one in the summer. The lounge coal fire's back boiler serviced the one radiator in the main bedroom upstairs. The kitchen's coke stove providing hot water for bathroom and kitchen alike. So two bunkers outside for the two fuels, to be ordered and replenished in good time before running out. Nice house though, and handy for the M4 which was then newly built. Worth a bob or two now even in these restrained times.

[Tim Mills]

Having retrieved the iPad from the grandchildren who commandeered it over the Easter weekend, I must agree with Danny that a Harvard would have done just as well for his uncomfortable spares run, and I was harking back to our non difference of views of the need or reason for the Spit two seater, I can't imagine why it was invented. But I am glad it was, I enjoyed it. I thought I read somewhere that Jeffrey Quill, or someone of his standing wondered why they didn't keep the rear seat and put an extra fuel tank in the front seat position to give extra range for the PR variant. Maybe an urban myth!

I'd better finish off my 'last flight in a Spitfire' story which I referred to before, the one where I brightened BEagles' day by appearing in the circuit at Cranwell. After lunch my accompanying Jet Provost and I leapt off for Coltishall, he had to do all the R/T as all the RAF stations had UHF and my Spit only VHF. After clearance from Colt and thumbs up signs from my friend, and green light from the R/W Caravan, I swept in fast(ish) and low for a run in and break to show the resident Lightning chaps how it should be done!

Past the caravan, tight left climbing turn to short downwind leg, power back in the turn, speed OK down with the wheels, ease on trickle of power round short curved finals, no trickle of power! Only large three blade prop grinding to a halt! Cut downwind even shorter, delay flaps, made runway easily, came to a halt. Now what with trainee Lightnings in the circuit using fuel at alarming rate and seeing defunct Spit on their only runway. Out of the cockpit, start pushing and luckily caravan had seen it all, notified Tower, and in a flash W/Co Flying who I knew of old, was with me and we managed to push my favourit (until then!) Spit out of the way.

My last Spit flight! The ride back to Cranners in the JP was a distinct anti climax!

[Fareastdriver]

like thousands of rear gunners I discovered that the tail constantly wags from side to side;
Years ago in Hong Kong I bagged a ride in a Cathay aircraft as an observer on a crew training sortie. This was in the days when you actually had to fly an aeroplane to get a rating. During the flight the training captain told us all to go right down the back and see what happens. He then fishtailed the aircraft to demonstrate to his new pilots what it feels like down the back if you are hamfooted with the rudder. It was quite unnerving be pushed about three feet one way to the other.

Later I was flying into Hong Kong when Kai Tak was still in use. My tight fisted company had me down the back in cattle class and being a smoker I was in the last row. The 747 did the normal starboard wingtip festooned with TV ariels approach but had to much drift on final touchdown.

He booted the aircraft straight and the effect in the back was seriously disconcerting for me but terrifying for my fellow passengers. They were screaming and crying all the way down the landing roll. There was a bit of an apology on the PA and the hosties did their best but it was not a pleasant experience.

[Danny42C]

Chugalug,

Well do I remember that little square beast in the kitchen ! I spent half a freezing night just before Christmas '67, made about six attempts to fire the thing up (Leeming OMQ) before success, as marching-in with family next day.....D.

Tim Mills,

Did the Merlin seize on you ? ("prop grinding to a halt !"). That must be pretty rare - can't remember another case, but open to contradiction. Sorry that my favourite aircraft let you down so badly, but - "well handled, Sir !"
........D.

Fareastdriver,

Practical example of The Tail Wagging the Dog ! Curiously enough, this is the first time I've heard of this phenomenon, having spent all my time in a cosy cockpit up front. Just shows, you don't know how the other half of the world lives.....D.

Cheers to all, Danny.

[ancientaviator62]

I think the average paratrooper (and the ALM) could have quite a bit to say in respect of inconsiderate 'ruddering' during the the last 20 mins of an airdrop task.

[Tim Mills]

No Danny, bad choice of words. Should have been 'large three bladed prop windmilling to a halt'. I can't remember when it actually stopped, I imagine on short finals as the speed dropped off, or even when the Spitfire and I came to a stop! I seem to remember that a mixture problem was the cause, which makes me wonder why it didn't happen before, same showing off at Cranwell, the previous arrival. Could have been self inflicted I suppose, but I think I was fairly well up with the landing checks by then. Anyway I am glad it didn't happen half way across the Wash!

Maybe an appropriate end to 50 odd hours of undeserved enjoyment, together with 30 odd in the Hurricane, and as a special treat, 30 minutes in the Spanish version of the ME 109! Talk about right place, right time!

My favourite, not made my mind up yet! But that and the Mk 5 were the nicest Spits.

[airborne_artist]

I think the average paratrooper

There is no such thing as an average paratrooper ;)

[Nervous SLF]

Sorry to intrude but quite a few years ago I knew a Royal Marine, hell of a good chap, and he thought Paras were only average in comparison to Royal Marines.:)

[Danny42C]

What breakfast brought was the realisation of how small the living-in population really was. Besides Jack Derbyshire and myself, there was only John Newboult, the 608 Squadron Adjutant, our M.O. (F/O Hamlett), F/O Keith Marfell (Secretarial), and (later) one or two NS Secretarial Branch P/Os (one was a Smith of Smith's Instruments}. There may have been one or two others, but memory fades.

RAF Thornaby was unusual - may even have been unique - in that the whole family of Auxiliaries was together on one Station. In order of importance, then, we start with 608 Squadron, (motto: "Omnibus Ungulis", loosely rendered as: "All Balls"), with Vampires (originally IIIs, but Vs later - what was the difference ? - I flew my first V in Apl '52, but they may have come in before that). Their C.O. was a S/Ldr F.A. Robinson, to be almost immediately succeeded by S/Ldr G.A. Martin. He, his Adj John Newboult, whom we have already met, and the F/O Training Officer (whom I shall just call "Mike", for the moment), were all Regulars. All the other pilots were Auxiliaries, as was their Engineer Officer (John ? Oliver), and their M.O. (Dr Ian Stewart).

Next in line was No. 2608 (Auxiliary) Squadron of the RAF Regt. Their only Regular was Trevor Rhys-Davies, who IIRC, doubled as Adjutant and Training Officer. But his C.O. was an Auxiliary S/Ldr, whom I don't remember ever seeing, and whose name I've forgotten (if I ever knew).

Bringing up the rear was my No. 3608 (Fighter Control) Unit. The only Regulars were Bob Schroder (Training Officer) and myself. We had an Auxiliary S/Ldr as C.O. - or would have when they (and mark the "they") decided who to appoint in place of the departing incumbent.

Thornaby suited everybody. 608 had the place to themselves (there were no other flying units) with their Vampires and a Meteor T7 for I/F and ratings. The Station had a Harvard and a TM, which 608 looked after. The Squadron also had a big black and yellow thirties' Rolls-Royce saloon as its aircrew runabout, a magnificent thing with partition, speaking tube, a little silver flower vase in the back, Bedford cord upholstery and enough room for them all with a bit of a push.

The Regiment was well placed. Their Depôt was (then) at RAF Catterick, only about 25 miles away, and a bit further out they had all Catterick Garrison to play around in.

It suited me fine. At that time the policy was that officers on Ground duties had to find for themselves whatever flying happened to be at hand to keep in practice on an operational type. I was luckier than most, with the Vampires on the spot.

On 1st December '51, 608's Boss (S/Ldr Robinson) let me take one of theirs for the first time . My brief was simple: keep doing rollers until we tell you to stop. I'd always liked the Vampire, it was simple, vice-free and docile. The forward view was perfect (after a lifetime of taildraggers). It was very easy to land, you just had to be careful not to get the nose so high as to scrape the tail booms on the runway.

It seems that he went up to the Tower, got out the binoculars and watched carefully. I reeled off four or five greasers on the trot before he pronounced himself satisfied, with the minor comment that I was a bit slow each time in getting the power back on (I didn't think so). I became "Silversand 21" (R/T) and took my place in society.

In mid-week (when the Auxiliaries would be away) I see I did a number of airtests for them, and even at weekends it looks as if they fitted me in when it suited them: I have entries like "GCI famil", "Blue 2 PIs" and "Battle Formation" but, apart fom one occasion when I landed as Mike's wingman (he was pushing his luck !), I have absolutely no recollection of these flights (except that you could smell the steelworks and ICI 30 miles out to sea), but would hazard a guess that I would be the "hare" for their "hounds".

A Tale of Fortune and Misfortune next time.

Goodnight, all, Danny 42C.


You never know.

[Blacksheep]

. . . except that you could smell the steelworks and ICI 30 miles out to seaA smell that is long gone (along with the jobs) but it all came back to me when I visited Shanghai.

You missed out 1261 Squadron, Air Training Corps, but no doubt the cadets were invisible to the real Air Force. We were however the last light blue unit to operate from the station.

[pzu]

The Badge

Scan 12 | Flickr - Photo Sharing! (http://www.flickr.com/photos/21234417@N06/8618161491/in/photostream)

BOS Cartoon 1953

Scan 18 | Flickr - Photo Sharing! (http://www.flickr.com/photos/21234417@N06/8619265102/in/photostream)

Another 1953 BOS Cartoon - My Dad

Scan 20 | Flickr - Photo Sharing! (http://www.flickr.com/photos/21234417@N06/8619290484/in/photostream)

PZU - Out of Africa (Retired)

[smujsmith]

pzu,

Great cartoons, I wonder if Danny has any recollection of them. Thanks for sharing them, very relevant to the current topic.

Smudge

[Danny42C]

Blacksheep,

Sorry I forgot 1261 Sqdn ATC ! But now I have someone to cross-check my memories with ! What dates were you at Thornaby ? (I was there 10/'51 - 10/'54). If we overlap, we'll have plenty to talk about.........D.

pzu,

Marvellous cartoon ! Any idea when it was done - and who was BOS ? Most of the names ring a bell with me, but the faces are out of memory now. Dr Ian Stewart took over from Doc Groves. John Newboult was the sqdn Adj up to about May, '53, when I picked him up from Manby in the Harvard, and he was a S/Ldr then, so Fred Morris must have taken over about that time (which ties in with a '53 date for the sketch).........D.

Smudge,

Yes, I've plenty of memories. Hector Watts used to beat-up his home town of Scarborough (when he got the chance) at weekends, then write letters of complaint about low-flying aircraft to the local rag ! He ran an old Model A Ford saloon from the 30's, IIRC. Most of the Auxiliaries were characters, nearly all were ex-war pilots, and much of the old spirit survived.....D

Cheers to all three,

Danny

[Geriaviator]

Hello folks
I've been busy lately and have just caught up with the always interesting posts, and I've something else in the pipeline. Meanwhile, to lower the tone again, there were times I would have been very happy to have an Elsan. Such as the flight from San Sebastien to Faro when we encountered a stronger headwind than forecast.

Fuel was no problem for the Arrow but it became one for me. It had been very hot, I had drunk plenty as recommended, and after three hours the situation had become as desperate as it had been in the Tiger Moth a decade before. Fortunately lunch had come in a plastic bag, and the Arrow has a small direct-vision opening window ... you get the picture.

With apologies to the good folk of a tiny village five miles west of Oviedo.

The rain in Spain falls mainly from the plane. :uhoh:

[OffshoreSLF]

First of all, my sincere apologies for butting in on this wonderful thread. You will see from my username that I am not a pilot, and I was born after WW 11, so I’m WAYout of order on 2 counts!



I have read this thread from the beginning over quite a few evenings (and late nights),and have enjoyed every single one of them. I was born near Montrose, which is the site of the first ever military airfield in the UK, opening in 1913, so this year it celebrates its centenary. Here is a link to theMontrose Air Station Heritage Centre for those interested. - http://www.rafmontrose.org.uk/ (http://www.rafmontrose.org.uk/)


I have only seen one reference to Montrose on this thread, although it was a training school. What did strike me was the number of pupil pilots who were killed in accidents during training. The same must have been true at Montrose, owing to the number of war graves in SleepyhillockCemetery I always think that Sleepyhillock is a wonderful name for a cemetery,don’t you?

I’d love to hear of any memories of anyone who was based there at any time. I’ll be going to visit the heritage centrewhen (if?) the weather improves. If anyone wants any photos of anything when I’m there, just ask.

It’s been a privilege to share so many wonderful memories with you guys.

[Tim Mills]

Great stories GGeriaviator, not only about being an RAF brat, as I was, but really enjoyed the Tiger Moth Irish Sea transit and the similar one by Arrow San Sebastian to Faro, similar only because of one engine across lots of water, but specially the discomfort involveed! And the adapted quote about rain and Spain.
Luckily I never encountered that, the Falcon 20 I flew in later life had all mod cons, and in general our trips were not long enough to make use of them. The only shortcomings were firstly that the relatively small headroom in the back didn't make it too comfortable for a tall gentleman in the P mode, as our chief pilot put it, and secondly, the luggage locker very quickly filled with very expensive Gucci cases and the like, and tended to overflow into the aformentioned mod con! Dont know how the passengers managed, we were safely up front!
Better get back to proper crew room/happy hour chat before being censored, I'll try and do better next time.

[Danny42C]

Some of my very old readers may remember the "Tee Emm" award of "The Highly Derogatory Order of the Irremovable Digit" to F/Sgt ****** for "Failing to Put Up his Hand before Leaving the Room".

In extremis as a passenger in an Anson, he opened the door for the purpose - and fell out ! Luckily he was wearing his parachute.

D.

[Geriaviator]

Welcome to this superb thread, Offshore, which seems to have occupied you just as it has occupied most of us. We are privileged to have such stories from those who created them, sadly a diminishing number. My father was at Montrose in 1938 and you will find his tale of the yellow Painted Pongoes in post #3322 (Dec 23 2012). Of course the stuff was not harmful except to the Army's bull, but it was made clear that the real thing was readily available if the Germans had used gas.

[Taphappy]

Danny,
Your story of the Order of the Irremovable Digit reminds me of an occasion when on a night nav exercise in an Anson with two pupil navigaters when the port engine caught fire. We were steadily losing height and the Polish pilot made a bale out call. The two pupils one of whom should have jettisoned the door of the aircraft shot past me to pick up their chutes which were lying at the back and sat down again. Luclily the pilot spotted an airfield ahead and we managed to land on one engine at Syerston.

[Danny42C]

OffshoreSLF,

Glad to have you aboard ! Congratulations on your first solo (Post !) Butt in by all means (the joy in this Thread comes from the "butters-in" as much, or more than from the main serial stories.

D.

[OffshoreSLF]

Thanks for the welcome, guys. I must admit to being a bit nervous posting on this thread from my background.

Geriaviator
I read your thread #3322, and I as far as i remember, it's the only one to mention Montrose. I was wondering why you thought your Father's little "incident" happened at Fort George? It's quite along way from Montrose, and if they were testing the system along the coast, it would have made more sense to spray the Pongos at Barry Buddon, which is just down the coast between Carnoustie and Dundee. Perhaps not, as when did anything in the services make any sense?

Do you have any other stories of your Father's time at Montrose? I'd love to hear them.

Danny42C
As I said, I was a bit nervous about going "solo" here, but your welcome has put my mind at rest. Unfortunately, I was born with less that perfect eyesight, which precluded flying, and quite a few other careers. However, I carved out quite a successful life in the oil/gas industry, and gained quite a few hours in the air as SLF, hence the name.


Keep up the good work!

[angels]

Re Elsans, I recall Dad telling me of one of his chums in Bomber Command who took to throwing the Elsan (and contents obviously) from the plane during raids.

Bomber Command finally got a letter from the Red Cross in Geneva asking them to stop bunging out the things because they were classed as chemical weapons and thus banned. It was okay to carry on dropping HE though.

I presume this is an old yarn and has no truth to it, or am I wrong?!

[Fareastdriver]

Probably made up by Bomber Command. At that time 1,000 lbs bombs would have been cheaper than Elsans.

[Geriaviator]

OSLF,
My father didn't say where the spraying took place, or if he did I cannot remember. The squadron was there for exercises and thought it appropriate to attack at an unexpected time, such as the Special Bull Parade in question. He said the tanks were about the size of 40gl oil drums and were held on underwing racks. That's all I know about Montrose.

Another story which may be apochryphal, yet contains some believable items:
In 1942 many runways were still being laid or lengthened to handle the four-engined fleets now rapidly increasing. With most young Britons conscripted, an army of Irish labourers crossed from neutral Ireland.

The work did not always run smoothly and the workers sometimes went on strike for more money, as indeed did the dockers. The aircrews, nightly risking their lives over Germany, were not in general agreement with these workers' rights. It was therefore rather unwise of a group of striking workers to inform a couple of crews that civil engineering was strenuous and deserved extra payment, while some had an easy life flying about in aeroplanes. It was even more unwise to express such views to Canadian aircrew.

As my father heard the story, the crews kidnapped the foreman and possibly one of his workmates as they left the pub that night and held them captive the next day, while their base was locked down before operations. The hapless foreman was taken to the Ruhr and, fortunately, back again. He did not enjoy his flight, still less the extra ventilation which appeared beside him, and of course raised a great commotion after he was dropped from a Hillman utility somewhere across the airfield.

The culprits did not return from operations a few days later, and the inquiry was quietly dropped. The story did not say if the airfield works were completed.

[millerscourt]

OffshoreSLF

In a book named the Devil Take the Hindmost by Denis Peto-Shepherd, he mentions that after leaving RAF South Cerney in 1942 where my father was his Flight Commander he was sent to No 2 C.F.S Montrose the selfsame school at which he trained as a Flying Instructor at Cranwell ,now removed to Montrose .

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator,

Your #3670 refers. I don't think real Mustard gas came in 40 gal drums - 65lb tins were the biggest I saw. I would think it was some harmless stuff (Coleman's mustard?), mixed in water, that was sprayed on the Pongoes, to give them the general idea.........D.

To All it May Concern

Danny42C's Laptop has gone well and truly u/s; am struggling with 12 year old laptop discarded by daughter years ago. Although I can chip in like this, cannot transfer stuff from flash drive TFN. The rest of you will have to keep the pot bubbling until I can sort it out.

Danny42C

[Fareastdriver]

Stick your flash drive into your daughter's up to date computer. Email it to her old one and copy it to 'my documents'. Then, when you go to the reply page on this thread copy it onto the pane.

[Danny42C]

Fareastdriver,

Ta ! Will try it tomorrow evening (don't hold your breath !),

Danny.

[Geoff Wright]

I spent nearly four years in the RAF starting as PNB, Lords, RAF Brough, 11
ITW Scarborough.101 Squadron Ludford Magna, Leconfield. etc then Heaton Park three times before I eventually sailed for Egypt then to Bulawayo via Heliopolis in a Dakota. Then Chipmunks and Harvards until the atom bomb dropped after 150 hours of training. Sent home without our wings.
My story can be found in on the BBC site People at War, Geoff Wright, pilot training, Parts 1 to 5

[Danny42C]

Fareastdriver,

It works ! Thanks a lot ! Danny.
****************************

I must now tell you a heart-warming (and heart-rending) story of some Good News and some Bad News (the Good News first).

It must have been some time after September '52. We were slowly sipping our ersatz coffee after lunch in the anteroom, and I was desperate for something to read. All the more interesting publications had already been "bagged", someone had got the D.T. and was vainly trying the crossword. Lonely and neglected, the "London Gazette" gathered dust at the back of the magazine rack. It was better than nothing.

As we all know, the pages of this Official Publication are never turned except on the twice-yearly Feasts of the Passover, and even then without hope or expectation. The Mess resounds with anguished cries of "Oh, NO !", and "What, HIM ?" and similar outbursts of incredulous horror ("Squadron Leader ? ? - he couldn't lead the pigeons round Trafalgar Square !"), as we read of the good fortune of our erstwhile comrades.

But this was mid-term, and it was hardly worth turning the cover. I riffled idly down a table of newly hatched Flight Lieutenants - and a name jumped out. "Mike, your Flight Lieutenant's come through !" It was the first Mike had heard of it (it was so in those days). Jubilation and congratulations all round ! Good old Mike ! Beer's on Mike tonight !

The sudden influx of wealth would make it possible for Mike to take a step up the ladder of Old Bangers which we penniless Junior Officers had to use for transport. Mike ran a mid-thirties Austin Seven, the famous and well loved "Baby Austin". This was about at the bottom of the pile, a position which it shared with the old "Y" model Ford Eights. It was the subject of many a merry quip and jest, as it was very snug inside (What is a gentleman ? - A man who can change gear in a Baby Austin without getting his face slapped !)

In order to move up the ladder, Mike wanted best price for his "Seven", but there were no takers among his friends (who all knew the car). He was forced onto the commercial market, no luck there either, and he was at last reduced to a place little more than a scrapyard. The Man sucked his teeth: "Ten Pounds". "What !" cried Mike, affronted, "Only ten pounds for this beautiful little car ? I should think not" (or words to that effect). He'd left the car ticking-over, both to demonstrate that it would tick-over, and that there wasn't too much smoke coming out the back end, (and in case it might not restart) . Now he leapt back in, with the intention of making a Le Mans getaway to show The Man what he had so unwisely scorned.

The clutch on the "Seven" was very fierce - about the thickness of a cigarette paper between all-in and all-out. Mike overdid it. "Bang" went a half-shaft. The car rolled about three feet. "Five quid now " said The Man. Poor Mike had to take it, and trudge to the nearest bus stop.

I trust Air Chief Marshal Sir Michael Beavis, KCB CBE AFC, is enjoying his retirement, and (as I know, for I ran into Dave Brown a few years since) has not forgotten his humble friends of long ago, and does not mind me retelling his story.

Back with you again. Goodnight, chaps,

Danny42C.


You never know.

[Geriaviator]

How better to demonstrate Fareastdriver's computer workaround ? Well done Danny, and thank you for yet another superb story :D

[Fareastdriver]

My story can be found in on the BBC site People at War, Geoff Wright, pilot training, Parts 1 to 5

Can you provide a link for that. I cannot find it in the People at War site because it's too big and difficult.

[Yamagata ken]

Use this search (without the quotes) "Geoff Wright site: bbc.co.uk/history". You are right, archiving of the BBC at war section is appalling. The "site" command forces google to do what the BBC have failed to achieve.

[OffshoreSLF]

This should get you there -
BBC - WW2 People's War - Part 1 RAF Pilot Training - Geoff Wright UK (http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/ww2peopleswar/stories/02/a2855702.shtml)

[Fareastdriver]

Yk. Thanks for that, fasinating reading. I lived in Rhodesia about 5 years after he left.

[Danny42C]

Geoff Wright,

You mentioned (#3675) 101 Squadron at Ludford Magna. Did you ever come across an Air Gunner called David Brown there ? (I know it's a long shot).

Danny.

[Petet]

Welcome aboard Geoff; I read your story on the BBC site a couple of years ago when I was researching aircrew training at ACRC and ITW. Do you recall much of your early training?.

One thing that has bugged me is that some stories mention performing guard duty whilst at RAF Regent's Park and it made me wonder what they were guarding.

I have been assured that there was not a "perimeter" fence around RAF Regent's Park so I can only assume they were guarding individual buildings / stores etc. Do you have any thoughts on / recollections of this ..... or any other stories relating to your early training?

Regards

Pete

[smujsmith]

Geoff

It's an interesting read, and, one that would sit well on these pages. Should you feel able to post your story on this thread, serialised as in the BBC thread, I'm sure many of us avid followers would appreciate it. I'm sure the mods are more than amenable to more historical input, and, I bet Danny42C (current OC) would approve.

Smudge

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator,

Ref your #3670, I was told at the time of the Battle of Britain that the labourers working on the airfield construction were being paid more than a Pilot Officer fighting the battle. Don't know if it's true.

D.

Smudge,

Danny heartily approves ! (but you do me too much honour - I'm not the O.C. - just one of the lads).

D.

Cheers to you both, Danny.

[Fareastdriver]

I was told at the time of the Battle of Britain that the labourers working on the airfield construction were being paid more than a Pilot

Times didn't change. In the mid seventies we had a married ATC Pilot Officer who was on Income Support.

[Geriaviator]

Danny

You are without doubt our senior officer, please don't mind if we consider you as OC as well ... you're certainly kingpin of the thread. (Remember kingpins? They formed the stub axle pivot and when they became worn the front wheels became knock-kneed and the steering became even more vague. Those on our 1948 Austin 16 required lubrication with gear oil (definitely NOT grease) every 500 miles!

I think you are correct about the labourers' pay as this was the reason for the aircrew taking such exception. My father recalled that some of them would idle all day in order to obtain weekend overtime. No extra pay for the crews, of course, even if they survived to collect it.

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator,

Ah, the '48 Austin 16. The RAF had them in the '50s as a rather posh Staff car (all black and glossy). We had one, but that is a tale for the future !

Heavy engine (or gear) oil was what we used to put in our grease guns when we couldn't shift the dried gunge in the bearings of our old bangers.

I must insist in retaining my humble place in the ranks. This Thread should have no prima donnas; all contributions are of equal merit in my fanciful virtual Crewroom in cyberspace !

Cheers, Danny.

[taxydual]

I must insist in retaining my humble place in the ranks. This Thread should have no prima donnas; all contributions are of equal merit in my fanciful virtual Crewroom in cyberspace !

In that case, Danny. It's your turn to make the tea. :):ok:

[Union Jack]

This Thread should have no prima donnas

I never had you down as a chauvinist, Danny!:) On second thoughts, since I believe that the male equivalent of a "prima donna" is "primo uomo", I agree that "this thread should have no prima donnas" .....:O

Jack

PS One lump and no milk, please!:ok:

[Danny42C]

taxidual,

Dream on !


Jack,

Touche ! (for donna read uomo).

You'll be lucky !

Cheers to you both, Danny.

[pulse1]

In posts 3655/6 Danny and Blacksheep refer to the co existence of the local ATC Squadron at RAF Thornaby.

As this thread has become an excellent historical record of the RAF in the 50's I wanted to ask about this. In my days in the ATC, some of us cadets used to put on our uniforms and cycle 8 miles to 614 sqdn at Llandow where we would spend a happy few hours helping to refuel the FB5's and the one T7 (they also had a Meteor 8 which was a bit of a hangar queen as no-one liked the ejection seat). I can still remember that the FB5 main tank held 395 gallons, and I also remember helping to hold the tail booms down after a wet start. Occasionally we were rewarded with a flight in the back seat of the T7, although I never managed that myself. This activity was completely unofficial and carried out on our own initiative. I am therefore surprised that "the cadets of 1261 Squadron were invisible to the real Air Force", to use Blacksheep's words.

[Danny42C]

pulse 1,

I've been racking my brains trying to remember 1261 Sqn, Air Training Corps during my time at Thornaby ('52 - '54), and am sorry to say I've come up with nothing (which is not to say that there is nothing to remember).

A haphazard search in Google is no help. There is a great deal of reminiscence from the late '60s onwards, and of course detail from the war years, but the early '50s seem strangely blank.

Another source (published '92) says that Thornaby was placed on a C & M basis in Oct '58, and: "The only remaining living connection being the Air Training Corps, who use the only surviving airmens' barrack block". So it was there then - the question being when it was formed there. Can Blacksheep or any other reader help ? We should remember that the Cadets of that day would be around 15 years younger than my generation, so there should be a fair number around still.

If it can be established that they weren't there in '52/'54, then I'm exempt from Blacksheep's stricture ("the Cadets of 1261 Squadron were invisible to the real Air Force").

Cheers, Danny.

[Danny42C]

(Follows on my #3676 p.184).

Came the dawn at Thornaby, and the usual silent breakfast, everyone immersed in his own thoughts, or reading a paper. Then Jack and I strolled over to the SHQ, only a short step. It was the next building to the Guardroom, where I had first arrived the evening before. Next to it was the Flagstaff, and directly opposite that my place of business. It looked formidable, a single storey building surrounded with high blast walls and (so Jack said) had six feet of reinforced concrete on top. It would need a Tallboy to get through that lot.

Thornaby had been a Coastal Command station during the war, with Hudsons and Ansons on anti-submarine duty over the North Sea. This had been the station Operations Room, and had very easily converted into a mock Fighter Sector Operations Room for us. But, although Jack gave me my keys and Secret Documents, he'd never been in the place himself and so was no use to me as a guide.

However, first things first. W/Cdr Sewell greeted me warmly and confirmed what I already knew - I would be acting C.O. of this lot TFN. In my innocence, I had supposed that it would not be difficult for 12 Group to choose one of my half-dozen auxiliary Fighter Control Flt. Lts. for the post. But in all dealings with the Auxiliaries there was an Elephant in the Room - and a big, strong beast was he.

I refer, of course, to the Territorial and Auxiliary Forces Association (TAAFA). This sounds like a fairly harmless gathering of old fuddy-duddies with vaguely charitable purposes in mind. It was nothing of the kind. It was a power in the land. Created in the early years of the last century to gather all the many semi-official Yeomanry and Volunteer companies into one single organisation, it was established on a county (almost a feudal) basis to administer the newly formed Territorial Army, and it was very jealous of its privileges. Naturally, the R.Aux.A.F. was incorporated into this body.

The Lord Lieutenant of the County was ex officio the President. All the major landowners of the district would have retired Generals and Admirals somewhere in the family tree: they naturally gravitated to the governing bodies of TAAFA. The Secretary of the North Riding of York Branch was a Brigadier Fairweather, and it was with him that I would have most of my dealings. They operated from County Hall in Northallerton; their quarterly meetings (which all Territorial and Auxiliary C.O.s had to attend, or be represented by their Adjutants) were held in the palatial brass, mahogany and leather Council Chamber there (the County Councillors being told meanwhile to go and play somewhere else).

TAAFA had the last word in the appointment of Auxiliary C.O.s, but fortunately their thinking (in our case) was in accordance with mine, after I'd had time to get to know my people. All but one of my Fighter Control officers were ex-war pilots and navigators (who would be "naturals" for the new Branch). The odd man out (David Brown) had been an Air Gunner - with a DSO. You don't see many of those about, and they don't come "up with the rations". Of course, the unspoken rule then was: "Never ask, never tell"; and it is only a few months ago that I learned (from Google) of his WW2 record. He would have finished, after 61 ops, as his (Lancaster) Sqdn's Gunnery Leader, and must have been a fine one, too. There was another "front runner" (at least, in his own estimation), but he was doomed to disappointment.

My log shows that I flew David Brown (as passenger in the Harvard) as a F/Lt on 30.8.52. and as a S/Ldr on 3.3.53, so he must have been appointed some time between the two dates. It seems that I was "holding the fort" for at least nine months, and I suspect the delay was due to infighting between TAAFA and 12 Group.

Next time we'll explore the place more thoroughly.

Goodnight again, chaps,

Danny42C.


Press on regardless.

[DFCP]

Geoff Wright.
I noted elsewhere Geoff that early in your training you got special lenses to correct your vision.
I was surprised that they were willing to do this in 1944 when U/T aircrew were close to becoming surplus.
Was there some reason for what would appear to have been unusual consideration?
Also how close to "wings" were you when training stopped around VJ Day.?
DFCP

[Danny42C]

Petet,

In your #3683 above, you ask: "One thing that has bugged me is that some stories mention performing guard duty whilst at RAF Regent's Park and it made me wonder what they were guarding."

Ah, if only the RAF were as logical as that ! You don't have to be actually guarding anything. It is sufficient that someone has issued an order that a certain number of guards be set out, and honour is satisfied if they have.

I myself have vivid memory of a beautiful moonlight night in the midsummer of '41, standing (two on, four off) with my "pick-helve" in the garden of the Trebarwith Hotel, Newquay, looking out over the deserted beaches to the shining Bristol Channel. The idea was that, if a German paratrooper came floating down in range of my "helve" (handle), I should bang him on the head.

A rifle would have been useful, but we didn't have any. Luckily the prospect was remote.

Cheers, Danny.

[Petet]

Thanks Danny .... it all makes sense now!

I hope Geoff has similar memories and will be able to tell us all about them.

Regards

Pete

[26er]

Nicosia 1956. Suez. Lots of Hunters parked - though one less than a few days earlier as EOKA had blown one up by attaching a bomb to the undercarriage. Easily done as hundreds of local labourers entered the station each morning without being checked as far as one could tell. Anyhow, as orderly officer one pitch black night I was obliged to inspect the guard on the pan. From the darkness a quavering voice said "Halt, who goes there?". "Orderly Officer" said I. "How do I know that?" said frightened airman. "Shine your torch" said I. "They didn't give me one and don't come any further, I've got a gun" said he. "Is it loaded" said I. "No sir" said he. At this stage the moon appeared from behind a cloud and we could see one another vaguely. He suggested I put my F1250 on the ground and step well back which I did and he groped around until he found it, couldn't read it of course, but said it felt like a F1250 so we agreed he had done all that could be expected. I said "Well done, airman" and sloped off back to the bar for a cooling Keo.

And some folk think the present RAF is bad!

[taxydual]

Guarding Leeming 1979 with a helve.

plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose

[Danny42C]

(follows my #3694 sent 14.4.13.)

However, it was still Monday morning, and I had a pleasant surprise. Bob Schroder must have checked with the Mess and been told that I'd arrived the night before. He came up and tracked me down to SHQ. We went over to our place and he showed me round.

It was gloomy inside, for the protective blast walls cut off a lot of daylight, and of course in the interior we were on artificial light all the time. The offices were on the south outside wall, IIRC, mine on one side of the massive steel external door, my C.O's and Bob's on the other. In the corner past my office was the Battery Charging Room; apparently the equipment needed a lot of low-voltage DC - and, although it had an extractor fan, the acid fumes worked their way down the internal corridor, on the inner side of which was the orderly room, opposite my office.

The core of the building was a large square space in which our simulator Fighter Sector Operations Room was laid out. There cannot be a soul in Britain who is not tired of seeing (on film and TV) the Fighter Plotters with their croupiers' rakes, each busily moving the markers in response to the information fed through their headsets from their "oppos" - the Radar Operators - who would be in front of a (simulated) individual radar display; these had been set up in spaces behind the "Ops Room". The rest of the peripheral space was allotted to radar and radio workshops, a Telephone Exchange, our little "canteen", and the Usual Offices.

Bob told me that the prime purpose of the unit was to train Auxiliary WRAFS in these two trades only. We had a small establishment of Auxiliary Clerks, Nursing and Equipment Assistants, etc, but they would go out to the various sections of the Station and learn their trades by "sitting next to Nelly". These "admin" people from all three units would "muck-in" together - for example, all the Nursing Assistants would be instructed by Dr Ian Stewart (the Auxiliary M.O. of 608 Sqdn). And these ancilliary trades would have Auxiliary NCOs, recruited from ex-war RAF trades. It worked fine.

For the devising, and the maintenance of all our technical equipment, Bob had two first-class technical assistants. They were basically civilian employees, but a condition of their employment was that they should join the Auxiliaries to fill two F/Sgt posts which had been established for the purpose. Both ex-Group 1 tradesman, one a Radio and the other a Radar Fitter, it meant that we had as good as two regular RAF Flight Sergeants.

After our recruits had been kitted-out and medically examined, they did all their basic training in the simulator until they were adjudged ready for the Real Thing. Every Sunday morning a double-decker hired from the Stockton Corporation would take a full load out to RAF Seaton Snook (some miles NE along the coast), and there "down the hole". This was one of the many underground Operations Rooms in the Sector Defence complex, being linked-in to (IIRC) Boulmer and Patrington (?). There they would spend all day with the regular plotters and operators "on the job".

A lot of the time they would be tracking, and doing GCI exercises with Auuxiliary Fighter Squadrons (608 and others), who would be most of the RAF traffic over the North Sea at weekends.

We had no RAF Fighter Control officers on strength, so all the Auxiliary officers' instruction was done by the regular Controllers at Seaton Snook. It is important to realise that there was a strict divide between the Fighter Control "operational dog" and my "administrative tail". For example, I never once went underground at Seaton Snook - for that required a special security clearance which was denied to me on the "need to know" basis.

Paradoxically, this meant that some office clerk or shop assistant who had been recruited a month ago would be issued with this clearance, but I would be turned away by the SPs at the gate on top (the same went for all my Secretarial officers, clerks, drivers, cooks and bottlewashers - and the Station Commander).

Bob Schroder was in charge of all our technical training: all the rest fell to me. and I spent the rest of Monday and Tuesday in the empty HQs, with me asking the questions and Bob trying to provide answers.

On the Wednesday morning all my regulars came in, chief among them Sergeant Watt, my Orderly Room Sergeant, who was to prove as much of a tower of strength to me over the next three years as Sgt. Williams had been on 1340 Flight in India in '44. (I've always been blessed with excellent SNCOs: they are the bedrock of the RAF). A rather lugubrious Scot, he rarely smiled (and I cannot recall ever hearing him laugh), but he was worth his weight in gold to me. With him came a dozen airmen: a couple of clerk/typists and telephonists, an MT driver, a storeman, Radar mechs, one or two others - and of course, the two civilian cum Auxiliary F/Sgts who managed all the technical details and problems with Bob.

Thornaby had a Drill Hall, and it came in useful early in '53 as the venue for the Court Martial of G/Capt Jarman (O.C. Middleton St George), where room had to be found for all the National (and some overseas) Press, their hangers-on and the numerous public attracted by this very interesting cause celèbre.

That's enough for the night,

Cheers, Danny42C


All in the day's work !

[brianofchester]

Greetings This is my first message. During WW2 I met a young RCAF flier in Parkstone, Dorset, and I am trying to trace his wartime history. He spent time as a POW, and I am told he was captured in Belgium. He was apparently in Stalag Luft III and possibly in Stalag Luft V..His Service number may have been J86903, and he may have been on LV813 in 78 Sqn,- but incorrectly shown as British. For JD118 in 78 sqn he was shown as both British and Canadian. He died in Canada in Dec 2012. Much of the above is gleaned from forces-war-records. Can you help, or give me any advice, please regards Brian Everett

[Danny42C]

I soon had problems on several fronts. Alex Hindley's recommendation for my PC had not fallen on stony ground, for my first flight from Thornaby was in the station Harvard to 12 Group at Newton, on 20th October. I took Jack Derbyshire with me as a passenger, but my business was with the AOC (AVM Harcourt-Smith). He looked me over and added his weight to Hindley's submission. So far, so good. It looked like a repetition of my original commissioning in '43. All I had to do now was wait. Done and dusted. Or so I thought.

But it happened that Fighter Command was then headed by the redoubtable Air Marshal Sir Basil Embry (he who in one of his escape efforts had killed a German guard with his bare hands - which did not endear him to his captors when they picked him up again - and who had dismissed the Vultee Vengeance as worse than a Fairey Battle). As at that time we were (IIRC) not fighting anybody in particular, he found time hanging heavy on his hands.

To keep himself busy, he decided to check out a selection of the young gentlemen who had been put forward for PCs in his Command. Later in the year (I cannot be more specific, for I must have gone down to Bentley Priory by train - could you get to it from Stanmore ?} I was bidden to present myself to the great man.

He greeted me cordially enough, but the difficulty was that he had done his homework, and worked out that the best I could hope for was a "scraper" around the age of 40 - not quite what he was looking for at all ! That was bad enough, but when he found that, although I'd been to a rugby school, I didn't play - no, not even for the Station, he lost interest in me completely; my fate was sealed. Thumb down.

(One Saturday last autumn, I filletted my D.T., and my eye was caught by the "Property" section. Normally, this would be of little interest (as I don't have a spare half-million), but on the cover page was a Spitfire Gate Guardian in front of a noble pile that looked familiar. It had to be Bentley Priory, looking fine in the autumn sunshine, and I was not at all surprised to read that the MOD were trying to sell it off to some developer for conversion into flats. I looked at the Spitfire. Surely the engine panels' shut lines were never as accurate as that ? Of course they weren't - they'd been done by a signwriter (with a felt-tipped pen ?) The thing was a fibreglass fake.

So there you have it. The very epicentre of the Battle of Britain, the place from which, seventy years before, Britain had been saved from its greatest peril in a thousand years, had now no place in the hearts of the British people, and was tossed on the market like an old bingo hall. And its guardian was an oversized Airfix model ! With the contracting RAF, could they not find one real Spitfire as a memento of the building's glorious place in our history ? So what next ? Chop up " Victory" for biofuel ?)

As for me, it rather looked as if, in five years' time, I would be out on the street, and have to start working for a living. It was time to dig a bit deeper, if I wanted to stay in the service. I came across AM Signal P3406 of 2.6.50. * This introduced what was laughingly called the "Limited Career Permanent Commission" (for "Limited", read "No"). Even so, it was a fair offer. They would keep me on till age 50, and then pension me off. I would not get past Flight Lieutenant. Take it or leave it.

(* No, my memory's not as good as all that: I've a couple of yellowing copy letters in the back of my log).

This LCPC was on offer (originally) only in the Air Traffic and Fighter Control Branches (later it was renamed the "Branch Commission", and was extended - on application - to age 55). I applied for ATC, and was duly accepted. This may strike you as surprising, seeing that I was already in a Fighter Control Unit. But as I've already explained, I was only "admin", and I didn't fancy a troglodyte existence "down the hole", whereas in ATC I'd at least see aircraft flying, blue skies and green grass. And I'd spent some time helping out in Binbrook ATC in '49: the job did not seem too onerous.

Anyway, after Bentley Park I was down in London and I think it was then that I looked up Niel Ker. He was slaving away on his Russian Course, and they'd devised a cunning way to keep their students' noses to the grindstone. Starting with 12 more people than they needed for Paris after Christmas, they set a progress test every fortnight and chopped the bottom two. Simple but effective.

Niel was in digs, his landlady bore the good old Russian name of Mrs Braithwaite, although she'd probably been Grand Duchess of something or other in the Tsarist court. She was the relict of a Mr Braithwaite, and normally lived alone except for a very friendly old labrador called Pyotr. This animal was well trained and obedient, but the thing was that he would obey only commands in Russian. So it was that I learned that the Russian for "Sit" was "Sidi" (seedee). Mrs B mothered Niel, and I can vouch for the fact that she could turn out a very tasty steak-and-kidney pie.

Goodnight, all,

Danny42C

P.S. Perhaps I've been a little hard on Airfix. In the middle of a roundabout in Thornaby town centre is a plastic replica Spitfire, and that's fair enough, but at Bentley Priory......D.



You can't win 'em all.

[Molemot]

Danny, I think you'll find that all the "real" Spitfire gate guardians have been replaced by plastic replicas by now. The originals are either back flying, being rebuilt to flight status or used as parts to keep others airbourne; they're far too important to leave rotting in the rain!

[ricardian]

After reading of the adventures in a Bond 3 wheeler I found this
https://fbcdn-sphotos-c-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/601659_369717496470001_1118477452_n.jpg

[Geriaviator]

What a magnificent machine! I think we should all subscribe for a fibreglass replica which we can donate to Danny for a gate guardian. It would bring a real touch of class Chez Danny. :ok:

[airborne_artist]

Geriaviator

I think we should go one better - Ppruners could subscribe (a la wartime Spitfire funds) to buy a Bond Minicar for Danny to cherish and enjoy. He could write up his exploits for us all.

There's one on a well known auction site (http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/Bond-Minicar-Mk-F-Ranger-Van-/251262468613?pt=Automobiles_UK&hash=item3a80690205)right now :E

[Yamagata ken]

Danny: having climbed from your gazillion hp Spitfire or Vampire, didn't you find the Bond a little under powered at 10-or-so bhp? And what was the Bond's roll-rate? :)

[Danny42C]

Molemot,

Yes, I fear you may be right - money talks !. But surely they could keep just one for Bentley Priory ?

As for rotting in the rain, they seem to have some marvellous paint finishes these days. I run (from time to time !) a 14-year old car with the paint almost as good as new, and it lives out in all weathers.

Needless to say, you couldn't say that for cars (particularly British ones) twenty or thirty years ago - for then the dreaded tinworm stalked the land !

(My wheels are basically German, but wearing a sombrero).......D.


ricardian, Geriaviator and airborne artist,

You are all too kind ! The Residents' Association would be up in arms ! I shall have (regretfully) to decline the generous offer (and I don't think we're agile enough to get into a Bond now - and would certainly never get out again........D.

(ricardian, all that appeared on my museum piece was a little red cross, but thank you all the same !).....D.

Yamagata ken,

T'was worse than that (5 bhp from 122cc, or 8 from 197 - but that cost you £25 more). Amazing what you could do with it, though. They have been rolled, which might be hard luck if you just had the unsupported perspex screen. Never did it myself, only lifted the inner wheel a foot or so a couple of times. The rear track was so wide that it was remarkably stable.

Mine was the Mk.1 version, Chugalug put in a nice pic * of one a few pages back, but that was the de-luxe Mk.1 with proper glass screen, a wiper and 8 bhp. I only had perspex and a little hand-operated wiper which you used as little as possible as it scratched the screen......D.


* EDIT:

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/e6/Mark_B.jpg/280px-Mark_B.jpg
So this was later improved version? Interesting that (according to Wikki) they were made of aluminium, as were so many of those early postwar cars. I recall the A40 Sports and the Triumph Roadster were too, amongst many others. Hardly surprising with so many surplus aircraft to recycle, not least by Sir Freddy Laker's Southend smelter, as previously mentioned. At least you didn't have to climb into the engine compartment to kick-start the engine...or did you? (Text and pic copied hopefully by permission of Chugalug)........D.




Thank you all for your kind solicitude,

Danny.

[NutLoose]

Brian of Chester, thanks for your post, I have put a copy on the main page as it may not get noticed here, click on the link below

http://www.pprune.org/military-aircrew/513013-leslie-gordon-preece-jd118-possibly-lv183.html#post7803575

[pulse1]

As I recall it didn't have much of a roll rate but you could pull a fair bit of g - at least, too much for my mate's Bull Terrier which went straight on when he turned right a bit too quickly. Thereafter, one had to be very cautious if you touched his tail.

[XH175]

I've answered Brian of Chester's post over here
http://www.pprune.org/military-aircrew/513013-leslie-gordon-preece-jd118-possibly-lv183.html#post7804508

Regards
Ross

[Danny42C]

(follows my #3702 p.186)

Back at Thornaby......

The Bond was in a motorbike garage for a rebore (ten bob for the bore and fifteen for the piston), so I took the bus to Stockton. The strip advert above the seats was interesting: "SUMMER HOLIDAYS FREE - Join No. 3608 Fighter Control Unit, Royal Auxiliary Air Force at RAF Thornaby........ " This did not seem to be exactly the kind of message that we ought to be sending out in our recruiting advertising.

Unfortunately it was not very far from the truth. It rapidly became apparent that things had been allowed to slide in the time of my predecessor. I (honestly) cannot recall his name, but I was told that he had in his time been the Meteor Aerobatic Champion of Fighter Command. Obviously his talents did not tend towards Administration and Organisation: his Auxiliary C.O. would not be of much help to him, being primarily a Fighter Controller.

This is not to say that he had no smart ideas: one in particular (which was up and running when I arrived) I admired, but had to admit was on the wrong side of the law. We ran our own tea-and-bun swindle inside the unit on training days; with no overheads this can be a profitable business. Funds accumulated but there did not appear to be any form of accounting in place. It was not a recognised "Non-Public Fund", so the Station Accountant Officer had no interest in it. However my chap had thought of a neat way to augment its finances.

They designed a quite attractive Christmas Card for the Unit: it sold like hot cakes. An arrangement had been reached with the printers whereby the job was invoiced to us as "Recruiting Posters". TAAFA paid out without question for anything with "Recruiting" in its title - without even asking for a specimen of the goods. As we were getting the cards free in this way , we could sell them cheaply and still make a killing (I think the law calls it "fraudulent conversion", but I am no lawyer).

It was obvious to me that someone was going to get his collar felt if this sort of thing went on, and it could well be me. It was too late to do anything about this particular swindle, but I resolved that there would be no more. I went out and bought a magnificent Cash Book (big enough to be in use yet if the Unit had lasted so long). One of my (two) Auxiliary Secretarial Officers, Tom Oliver, was Assistant Manager of a Darlington bank. I collared all the cash I could find washing around and locked it in my safe. I issued a receipt for all the cash I received, and demanded one for everything I paid out. The counterfoils were passed to Tom, he set up a full set of books, opened an account at his Bank for us, and we were in business.

It rapidly became clear that the appointment of my new C.O. was going to take some time (in fact it took some nine months) and in the meantime I was well and truly left "holding the baby". As I've said, there was no acting rank in prospect, but by the strangest of anomalies it appeared that I was entitled to an Entertainment Allowance of (wait for it) 3/- per day in keeping with my exalted status. I can only suppose that this came from TAAFA in some way, but the amount was so small, and as I had no intention of entertaining anyone except myself, I decided that I was the best home for the windfall.

IIRC, Flying Pay was introduced about this this time, but I cannot be exact. It started at 3/6 a day, and it was payable so long as you remained appointable for flying duties, so I was in the money there, too. The idea of Flying Pay struck us as strange and unwelcome. Why pay an RAF officer or airman extra for doing the job he was paid for already ? It had not been found necessary during WW2; the principle had always been that (apart from specialists like doctors and dentists) all officers got the pay of their rank and seniority no matter what they did. An Equipment Officer store-bashed, a plumber plumbed, a pilot flew and the Admin and Special Duties Branch stirred round the paperwork. All lived happily together on equal terms, but now a divide of Have and Have-nots had been created. I suppose the purpose may have been to encourage pilot recruitment, but when we have reached the stage of having to bribe the young gentlemen of Britain to come and fly in the RAF, it's time to pack-in. (Having said that, we took the money of course !)

I had an unnerving experience in a Vampire one day. It must have been in summer, for when I closed and sealed the canopy it got uncomfortably warm, and I fully opened the "eyeball" fresh air inlet up on the left. Half-way through take-off, I'd just got the nosewheel off when something small hit me hard on the cheek, and it was followed by more tiny missiles. I hastily pulled my goggles down (this was long before helmets and visors); we were far too far down to stop and I took it round for a quick circuit and down. Downwind the fusillade had stopped, but looking in my lap I found two or three small BA bolts.

I climbed out, the cockpit was checked: there were more of them all over the floor and of course others could have gone anywhere in the aircraft. The Vampire was put u/s at once. Maintenance records were checked and the whole sad story came to light.

It seemed that an instrument technician had recently done a job in the cockpit, changed an instrument or something of the sort. To do it, he had taken a little cardboard box of these BA bolts, opened it and found there was no flat surface to put the open box - except that the tiny thing could just fit in the open "eyeball". Of course the inevitable happened: he upended the box and the whole lot went down into the air duct.

He now considered the situation. If he reported the occurrence, half the front end of the aircraft would have to be unshipped to retrieve the bolts, and he would not be Chiefy's blue-eyed boy. On the other hand, the bolts were wholly contained in the ducting and could not possibly escape to do any harm. They could stay down there (wherever they had got to) for the life of the aircraft and no one be any the wiser. And of course, they were "C" stores (consumables); he did not have to account for them.

He took the logical way out and kept his mouth shut. It was just his hard luck that the gale that went through the duct when the aircraft got under way was enough to convert the bolts into the swarm of projectiles which had attacked me. He was for the High Jump: I do not know what happened to him.

More about my problems next time,

Good evening, chaps,

Danny42C.


It's just one damn' thing after another.

[Union Jack]

All lived happily together on equal terms, but now a divide of Have and Have-nots had been created. I suppose the purpose may have been to encourage pilot recruitment, but when we have reached the stage of having to bribe the young gentlemen of Britain to come and fly in the RAF, it's time to pack-in

.... and the rest is history!:)

I had an unnerving experience in a Vampire one day.

.... and the rest could have been history but, fortunately for us all, and Danny especially, it was not!:ok:

Jack

[Chugalug2]

Danny, nice of you to credit me with the Bond Minicar pic, but in truth I merely plucked it out of Wikki. That however is bye the bye, for I believe in posting it again you have scored another first. If so congratulations, for you now know how very easy it is. There's a little more to it than that in order to post your own pics,I admit, but nothing that such a versatile operator as yourself can't manage. You'd just need a scanner (often part of a printer these days) and registering with the likes of Photo and image hosting, free photo galleries, photo editing (http://photobucket.com/). The rest is experimenting until you get a result. Advice (much better than mine) is readily available here as you know. It's up to you Danny. If you haven't the kit and/or the inclination, no problem. It's your story and your anecdotes that we treasure, and you treat us to both splendidly.
As to gate guardians, the real things are still around, as this story relates:-
BBC News - Gloster Meteor lifted from Imjin Barracks by helicopter (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-gloucestershire-22244953)
Here's hoping for a safe landing since its last one in 1977.

[Danny42C]

Chugalug,

I must say that I was astounded myself when I managed to copy the Bond picture from your Post. But that's the easy bit ! It's likely to be some time before I get round to being able to scan and transfer pics into my laptop (in dock at the moment). But thanks for the detailed and helpful advice !

This is a particularly useful picture as it shows the massive cast alloy twin-wishbone rig which carried the power unit and front wheel assembly. The thing was really an articulated vehicle, in which this almost stand-alone tractor unit dragged along the rest. And - as pulse1's pal's Bull Terrier found out - it can be whipped across very smartly, the side cut-outs are very low, and Newton's First Law reigns supreme !

Yes, I can see the point in gathering in all the real Spitfires - they're far too valuable to be left lying about. Even so, Bentley Priory ! Is nothing sacred ?

Danny.

[Danny42C]

As I mentioned in my last Post, I was unhappy with the lackadaisical attitude shown by many of our Auxiliaries to the duties they'd taken on (and who could blame them after seeing the kind of recruiting material we'd been putting out ?). I went through the attendance records with Bob and Sgt Watt: it was obvious that up to a third of our people had just "come along for the ride" - and the "Summer Holidays Free" (I'd had the bus posters removed !).

I decided to take the bull by the horns, and wrote an Open letter to our troops, and for issue to all future enquirers and recruits. I explained that the choice of their next Commanding Officer had not yet been made, but that it was my duty meanwhile to hand the unit over to him (whoever he might be) in the best condition possible. I outlined the purpose of a Fighter Control Unit, and how important it was that we should develop into an effective, well trained and instantly available reserve for the regular Fighter Control service (as the Warsaw Pact would not give us a month's notice of attack).

While I hoped that they would enjoy with us the companionship which is such an integral part of Service life, they must realise that we were not a paid social club; we had a serious purpose; we expected them to live up to the undertakings they had given us on acceptance into the Unit: and if they could or would not do this then, regretfully, we would be obliged to show them the door.

Here my memory becomes rather hazy. We cannot have "enlisted" our auxiliary airmen/airwomen. I do not remember administering any Oath at all, and if any swearing-in had to be done, it would obviously have been done by me. IIRC, they were "in" on a very loose arrangement indeed; they could get out at a fortnight's notice: I could get rid of them on the same basis. Short of doing that, I had a very useful sanction: I could bar them from the Summer Camp if they had not put in the requisite number of weekend and weeknight attendances. As this was the "plum" of Auxiliary service, they would generally then resign in a huff. I suppose it amounted to "constructive dismissal", but there were no Tribunals then.

All this sounded eminently reasonable to me, and to the 70% of the auxiliary strength who were pulling their weight. It did not appeal to the others who were largely passengers in the system. Someone passed the good news along to TAAFA, where it hit the fan.

TAAFA regarded recruiting numbers as the only indicator of a Unit's efficiency, the more the better, never mind the quality. It was a "target-chasing" exercise, long before the expression came into common use. Not only did my intentions threaten to reduce numbers (in the short term, at least), but I had embarked on this course without so much as a "by your leave" from them . They leaned on 12 Group: "Who will rid us of this turbulent Adjutant ?"

Luckily for me, the rather quiet and gentlemanly AVM who'd passed on my PC application a few weeks before had just been succeeded by one of the RAF's more colourful characters in the person of "Batchy" Atcherley. His first instinct was to throw me to the wolves. But then he found that his Staff were equally divided on the matter: one faction said: "The man's trouble, get rid of him" and the other: "About time someone tried to get some value out of these Auxiliaries for all the money we're putting in, more power to his elbow". He decided to see for himself.

Accordingly I was summoned to attend at HQ Newton, cap and gloves on (no chair/coffee/biscuit) . "I hear you have been making a nuisance of yourself, young man ", harrumphed Batchy, "what have you to say ?" I made my case as well as I could. "Well", said Batchy, "I see what you're trying to do - but WHY DID YOU HAVE TO WRITE THIS DAMNED LETTER ?"

"Look, withdraw the letter, we'll say no more about it, I'll square it with the TAAFA, you can throw out as many as you like, but NO MORE LETTERS do you understand ?" "Yes, Sir".

"If you want to stand by your letter, I'll have you removed and the next man will withdraw it: nothing will have been achieved. But if that's your decision - my Comm Flight chap's coming to the end of his tour, how would you like that ?" "But, Sir, I'm not twin trained !" "Doesn't matter, we'll give you a conversion".

It was tempting, but I remembered a meeting two years before (when I spent a week or so at Newton between Driffield and Valley) with a woebegone individual - he was the OC Comm Flight, and he was not a happy man. It seemed that every Staff Officer and wannabe Staff Officer in the place regarded himself entitled to be flown wherever and whenever he liked, at a moment's notice, and did not take refusal kindly. This offer might be a poisoned chalice. The Devil I knew might be the better option - and besides, I'd "set my hand to the plough" and wanted to see it through.

I am mortified to admit that I hauled down the flag and took Batchy's first offer. As it was to prove, it would be extremely fortunate that I did so - but that's a story for two years ahead.

That'll do for the time being,

Cheers, all,

Danny42C


You can't please everybody.

[Union Jack]

You can't please everybody

Perhaps not, Danny, but you're making a bloody good job of it!:ok:

Jack

[smujsmith]

He who fights, and turns away, lives to fight another day ! OK Danny, I'm hooked, and, I bet there was an "although" ?:ok:

[Danny42C]

Union Jack and Smujsmith,

Thanks for the kind words ! You never know how things will turn out, but as it happened it was all for the best.

At this point I should like to put on record that, in my rare dealings with Airships, I have always been treated with courtesy and consideration. It's the middle-management you have to watch out for !

I am pleased to announce that the Well Known Catalogue Shop has just rung to say Laptop back and ready for airtest. Now no more frantic poking at nonexistent touchscreen and ruddy spacebar that doesn't space (probably "Wotsit" jammedunderneath).

Danny.

[Chugalug2]

Danny:-
in my rare dealings with Airships, I have always been treated with courtesy and consideration.
I suspect that my dealings with them were even rarer than yours, Danny, but like you found them to be, for want of a better word, gentlemen. When our NCO aircrew were recommended by the boss for possible commissions their first hurdle was an interview with the AOC 38 Group. At the time it was Mickey Martin. On return to the Squadron they tended to report that the AOC was more interested in what was going on at Station level rather than with them. He complained that he was kept in the dark in that regard by his Staff and thus used such opportunities to subvert them and find out things for himself. A good man that man, as were they all in the main. Of course that was then (late 60's) and not now...

[Fareastdriver]

Mickey Martin; that brings back memories.

About one week after he had taken over 38 Grp Chunky Lord (RIP) and I pranged Whirlwind 10 XR478 just outside his office just as he was getting out of his car.

He was the first to arrive. He was most concerned about our health and supervised all the fire and medical services.

Probably the only time that there has been an AOC as a witness to a board of inquiry that he convened.

[D120A]

Mickey came into the Odiham bar on a Friday night after an exercise ended, in his tactical kit. Unfortunately he had his flies undone, in a spectacular way, and a whole army of largely career-minded officers affected not to notice. Except one, a less than career-minded 54 year old Flt Lt who stood on a table, called for quiet and announced that the "AOC had his flies undone, and that all General List officers were advised to follow suit."

All GL officers did, pulling out their shirt tails. Most Supp List officers did the same, thus disclosing their career ambitions. MM laughed harder than anyone and a great evening ensued, noted only for the absence of WRAF who came into the bar, saw, and fled before anyone could explain.

[radar101]

With the 70th anniversary of the Dams raid coming up Radio Lincolnshire are going mad with related programmes:

the link is the summary page - bottom right is an interview with Lancaster FE, Harry Parkins - 'Ackney Harry'


BBC Lincolnshire - Dambusters 70: After me, the Flood (http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p0177t31)

"Known as 'Ackney Harry', Harry Parkins served with two squadrons, based at two different airfields - 630 Squadron at RAF East Kirkby and 576 Squadron at RAF Fiskerton. The service with 576 Squadron at RAF Fiskerton was more by accident than design. His first crew was a mix of British and Commonwealth, including crew from New Zealand and Australia. The second crew was all British. He flew exclusively Avro Lancasters.

First crew: Pilot Joe Lennon, Flight Engineer Harry Parkins, Bomb Aimer Jimmy Hurman, Navigator Bruce Reese, WOP Jimmy Marriot, Mid Upper Gunner Joe Malloy, Rear Gunner Joe Pollard.

Second crew: Pilot Flight Officer Fry (Chips), Flight Engineer Harry Parkins (Ackney Harry), Bomb Aimer Woodliffe (Fingers), Navigator Smith (Smithy), Wireless Operator Lait (Sparky), Mid Upper Gunner Younger (Geordie), Rear Gunner Jones (Taffy).

On a bombing raid to Munich on 24 April 1944 via the French Alps and Italy to fool the Luftwaffe night fighters, a round trip of more than 2,000 miles, Harry Parkins and his crew are believed to hold the record for the longest flight by an Avro Lancaster. After taxiing for take-off, the plane was topped up, it ran out of fuel just as they touched down at East Kirkby, 10 hours and 25 minutes later.

The final operation of the war, the dropping of food to the starving Dutch (part of Operation Manna) on VE-Day, brought the final tally of operations to 45.

enjoy

[angels]

About one week after he had taken over 38 Grp Chunky Lord (RIP) and I pranged Whirlwind 10 XR478 just outside his office just as he was getting out of his car.

That is very funny!

How did you prang it? Do tell, I reckon it'll fit in nicely here.

danny - keep up the great work. Superb stuff. :ok:

[Danny42C]

At about this time, Niel invited me over to spend a week with him in Paris. This sounded a good idea - except for the air fare ! As a general principle, we had a rooted aversion to paying good money to fly in any aircraft - it seemed to us an unnatural state of affairs. The cheapest BEA/Air France could offer was a £11 "Positioning Flight" (LHR-Orly) at 11 pm. This was a substantial sum (about a quarter of a month's pay for a Flt.Lt.), but there was no competition in the market in those days.

But for the money you were very well treated. I took the evening train to London, and reported to the Victoria Air Terminal about nine. There all the formalities were completed politely; they made sure I was taking no more than £10 (?) in currency out of the country; they weighed me and my luggage and loaded the passengers onto a coach. Next stop, aircraft steps! (Eat your heart out, Ryanair and Easyjet). Of course, there was no left/right business then: we were all "first class" and took our places in ample and comfortable seats in a BEA "Ambassador".

The flight was uneventful, I don't remember their offering us anything in the way of food or drink, but suppose they must have done. He thumped it down at Orly like a bag of coal, it was just like old times. Then, after customs and immigration there, a coach to the Aerogare des Invalides, where Niel picked me up, and onto the Metro.

Again, he'd been billeted at the apartment of a Mme Semionoff, another White Russian widow from the old regime, who lived alone in the top floor of a house in the Rue de Vaugirard. The two-person lift was an open Meccano kind of thing which squeaked, rattled and swayed up and down the centre of the stairwell: it frightened the life out of me.

He seemed to have been left to his own devices in his Russian studies, but chatted on in Russian well enough with Mme Seminonoff, whereas I had to do my best in schoolboy French. Apparently his only official duty was to attend a pay parade at the Embassy every week or so, apart from that he must have been working to some sort of a syllabus. He had to read a Russian language newspaper regularly, and I found that there were two different ones in Paris.

It seems that at the time of the Revolution, the Bolsheviks had declared a number of letters in the old Cyrillic alphabet to be redundant, and abolished them by decree. The emigres, however,regarded any decisions of the Soviets as null and void, and continued to use the old orthography. This caused additional problems for the student, and meant that two different newspapers had to be printed (with widely differing editorial views !)

With the limited time I had out there (and the even more limited money), we had a look at Notre-Dame, the Sacre-Coeur and Napoleon's tomb. We got up the Eifel Tower, went to the Opera one night ("Tosca", I think). one afternoon to the Galerie des Glaces (ice rink), where I was able to demontstrate my skills to Niel (insofar as it is possible to demonstrate anything on hired boots/skates other than the ability to stand up and move about).

One evening, I recall, we found ourselves in the Salle Pleyel (wherever that was), listening to an erudite lecture (with slides) about "Les Moines d'Athos", who live on pinnacles of rock to be free of the temptations of this world, with which their only contact is a man-carrying basket on the end of a long dodgy rope (sounds like a case for Elf'nSafety). How Niel got hold of these tickets I don't know, most likely someone dumped them on Mme S., and she palmed them off on him.

The only two abiding memories I have of the visit are of a car showroom, with a gleaming new black Citroen Light Fifteen (Maigret's "Traction Avant") at (old) Fr615,000 (about £600) to anyone with the cash. (This at a time when you couldn't get a new car in UK for love or money).

And a clever little electrical plug/socket idea. At the time, Woolworths used to sell little 250V 5A two-pin plugs and sockets for 9d (4p) each. They were very useful for extending flexes, I must still have a dozen in the house. (Elf'nSafety, reach for the smelling salts). The French went one stage better with a combined one hardly bigger than a single. There was a side entry flex, one end was plug. the other socket. It was ideal, you plugged your first one into the wall for your lamp or whatever, and a socket appeared ready for another plug, and so ad infinitum, or until the fuses blew.

All too soon, the week was over, the return (Air France) the same as outbound, and back to Thornaby. Niel ended up in Habbaniya, I don't think I saw him again until '59.

Cheers,

Danny42C.

[Danny42C]

Sgt Watt brought in the post one morning: "Here's something interesting, sir". We had, it seemed, got an Increase in our Establshment. Not much, but we had suddenly become entitled to "Bicycles, Tradesmen, Qty 2." "Should we demand these, do you think, sir?" Sir thought for a few moments. As a general rule, anything with wheels on was worth having.

A whole generation must now have grown up since the last "Tradesman's" or more colloquially "Errand Boy's" bike was a common sight on our streets. Nowadays a huge pantechnicon goes round with the legend: "You Shop - We Drop". The idea is an old one,for once upon a time every grocer, butcher, baker and candlestick maker in the land would have an "errand lad" on strength (five bob a week if he was lucky), for delivery of goods to the customers.

The lad had transport provided in the form of one of these bikes. A very strong frame had a 26-in wheel at the back, but only about a 12-in one at the front. This allowed for a big frame surrounding a large carrier basket ahead of the handlebars, ideal for carrying a large number of small parcels. Advertising had not been overlooked: a steel plate filled the gap in the frame, with "John Smith, Quality Butchers" - or whatever - (plus address & phone number - if any), and a graceful flourish to finish it off.

We were pretty well self-sufficient, but there are always bits and pieces to be collected from, and return to Stores, (about half a mile away). One of these bikes would be handy. And then it suddenly struck me ! Suppose I kept my parachute, Mae West and flying kit in my office ? Then, when I was going flying, all I need do was to pile the lot into the carrier, hop on, ride to the Flight Office, book-out and ride out to my aircraft. You can't do that in a car, and it may mean humping your chute and the rest a few hundred yards from the Flights to the Line - for Fate will have it that your aircraft is always on the far end - on a hot day. You're knackered before you climb in.

I know that, strictly speaking, no vehicles are allowed in the Aircraft Movement Area without permission of ATC, but they didn't object to my bike, and I could drop it down among all the rest of the necessary bits of things - fire extinguishers, trolley accs, mech's tool chests, cockpit ladders etc, which live in the space between parked aircraft. And of course pick it up and ride away when I climbed out.

"Get the demand in for both right away, Sarge !" The two duly arrived, finished in RAF blue. We dug out a couple of the old "Summer Holidays Free - Join 3608 FCU" posters and stuck them on the frame plates to demonstrate ownership. Sir made it clear that one bike must always be kept serviceable for him. They were very useful, and we were much envied - for it seemed that we were the only Unit so favoured, but nobody knew why.

Once we were well into '52, all our activities tended to build up towards the climax of the Territorial and Auxiliary year - the Summer Camp. This would not be literally a "camp" under canvas (although that had been tried in '51, and proved disastrous). Rather it was a detachment to a regular Fighter Control Station of all the Unit members who had been trained to operational standard. Recent recruits who were still in "Basic" training would remain behind.

You might suppose that this heralded a period of frantic activity for me and the regular staff, but in fact we were only concerned with making up the numbers who had earned their right to the supposed "Summer Holiday", and then solve the logistical problem of getting them to the Station selected. As these "host" stations had mostly been used for the purpose in previous years (and would get a whole series of FCUs in any one season), they had the business pretty well "sussed-out".

All I needed to do was to get them through the camp gates: they would take over from me then and I could "rest on my oars" for the remainder of the fortnight, and see my troops off on the way home again. I think Bob Schroder stayed behind to mind the store and supervise the training of our newer recruits. Of course there was no purpose in my taking Sgt Watt and my Orderly Room staff down, as I had no "standing" down there at all.

More about this next time.

Cheers, chaps,

Danny42C.


The onlooker sees most of the game.

[Tim Mills]

I seem to remember Batchey Atcherley coming to see us at Horsham St Faith in his Meteor, as he did with all the stations in his Group, and think it was housed at Newton, grass runway and all. Which makes me wonder, in retrospect, whether the undoubted pleasure in being given two redundant bicycles would outweigh the thought of maybe having access to the AOCs' Meatbox when he wasn't using it to relieve the tedium of driving people about in the Station Flight Anson had he not turned down his offer. Full marks, though, for seeing the other alternative through!

Met Mickey Martin when he was SASO in NEAF HQ Episcopi, and I was junior air staff office boy as Command Weapons Officer, he was a lovely fellow. My job seemed mostly to import sand to the Libyan desert for the El Adam bombing and ground attack range! He had left 38 Group when I was there on the Phantom training staff, again as junior office boy. At least I knew what a Phantom looked like having had a ride in one at Conningsby where I was Sqn Ldr car parks and visits, or so it felt like!

While at 38 Group I was summonsed to MOD, was it called that then, for an Air Secretary branch interview on my future prospects with a charming Wing Commander, who told me no more flying posts, more likely more staff or station jobs, maybe making wing commander by retirement age. I asked him what the chances were if I wanted early retirement. Pretty good he said, but I'd leave it for couple of months if I were you. A couple of months later the first of the redundancy schemes was announced! Good chap. Leading on from which when I told Gp Capt Ops 38 Group, who was an entry below me at Cranwell, I was applying he said "good idea, Tim", which nicely summed up my own views by then as well! Though I had enjoyed it.

[Chugalug2]

A substantial outlay for your Paris trip, Danny. Was the Bond being de-coked, re-bored, or whatever? It would have been a hit in La Belle France for sure, even with their idiosyncratic take on what constituted a Voiture. Given its frugal consumption and the relatively low cost of petrol anyway, the only real big ticket item would have been for the car ferry. I'm not sure if that didn't require vehicles still to be craned on board, or were RORO's then up and running? But we already know of your preference for CAT in those days despite the cost and experience suffered. Positioning flight? Isn't every one? £11 for the 11pm one? Sounds like a marketing ploy. The 1pm could have been a bargain ;-)
Your successful indent for "Bicycles, Tradesmen, Qty 2." was a triumph, for anything that the RAF provided for ground transit was fiercely fought over and never sufficient for the demand. How a RAuAF FCU so qualified I cannot imagine, but possession is 9 points of the law, and 3608 FCU possessed! Your description of the vehicles took me back to my childhood, for I did a Greengrocer's round on Saturdays and a paper delivery round on Sundays. The former was done with a similar bicycle as you describe, albeit in black. The basket was piled high with produce and off I went on my teetering way. The round was rather the opposite to the famous Hovis errand boy ad, in that I went down a steep hill outbound, returning empty up it. An advantage one would think, but the AUW, gradient, and indifferent brakes all led to an acceleration which was both exhilarating and problematic. The unevenness of the road surface seemed to set up a harmonic vertical oscillation of the basket and its contents. Soon cabbages, cauliflowers, or other larger assorted vegetables and fruit could be flung out hither and thither. I would have to squeeze hard on the brake handles, steer into the kerb and, bringing the bike to a halt, stand it up on its retractable legs in order to recover the produce before it was run over. A quick dusting off of gravel and other contaminants and all was as good as new, well almost. Fortunately the customers never complained and indeed often added a tip or two to my 10/- retainer!

[Geriaviator]

From Spitfire to carrier bicycle ... this thread gets better and better! Most message boys would have given anything to swap bike for Spitfire, but we can rely on Danny to turn things about.

Having tried bike but not, alas, Spitfire (and these days either steed would present big problems, probably ending in disaster) I can sympathise with its riders. Chugalug, I would suggest winding in a couple of turns aft trim to avoid entering the dreaded spiral dive :uhoh:

[Danny42C]

Tim Mills,

Long shot: were you at Episcopi in the summer of '54 by any chance ? Then, as you were in touch with El Adem in the course of your sand-exporting business (sounds a bit like coals-to-Newcastle to me !), did you hear anything of the loss of one of 608's Vampires plus pilot there about that time ? They were very tight-lipped about it when they came back, I never learned the details.

"Batchy" was one of the greats; they don't make 'em like that any more (more's the pity). Yes, he was AOC 12 Group at Newton (can't remember if it was grass or runways in early '50s - think runways). .......D.

Chugalug,

The Bond was in for a rebore (but it had done 20,000 miles). I think I've described the DIY decoke procedure earlier, I must look it up. I don't doubt that it was capable of getting to Paris (every garagiste had melange a deux temps on tap), but I chickened out. (I did the same in '60, when picking up my 403 - the best car of my life - from the Peugeot showrooms in the Champs Elysee). I spent my last few francs in hiring one of their drivers to take me out to the last Metro station, and then point me in the general direction of Germany.

He was a little wizened old chap, eyes half closed against the fumes from the Gauloise permanently stuck to his lower lip. I can still vividly recall my horror as he hurled us nonchalantly into the rush-hour maelstrom of the rond-point round the Arc. Horns blared and tyres screamed, but by some miracle we survived until he got out somewhere near Le Bourget, and I survived after that.

As for sea transport, a matelot or two fore-and-aft could easily carry the thing on board. I'm not sure about the ROROs.

Yes, with a full load aboard the Errant Boy's Bike was sadly in need of a Stab-Aug system and required careful handling. Ten bob plus tips ! - you must've had a generous Boss. As for your veg: "We must all eat a peck of dirt before we die", and "what the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve over"....D.

Geriaviator,

Comparison is odious, but the Spit (once clear of the ground !) was more directionally stable than the bike, I must admit.....D.

Stop Press: Have got own laptop back, but have forgotten how to use it. Will edit this at some future date to put in accents.

Regards to you all,

Danny.

[Nervous SLF]

Hope it is ok to post it in this section ?

During a WW2 German bombing raid on Southampton for once my mother actually went to the shelter in her back garden.
The next morning there was a large dent in the ground but obviously if it had been caused by a bomb it hadn't gone off.
In the 1960's whilst digging in the same piece of ground she dug up a Nazi medallion - hopefully my picture of it will post ok.
In the late 1990's I showed this to a German gentleman who was staying with us and told him the story of how it was found.
He straight away insisted that I contact the Police in England as he strongly suspected that it had been caused by a 250kg bomb
which hadn't exploded. This I did with the result that a truck from the Army bomb disposal unit turned up and investigated for several
hours, it rather shocked the now resident of course but being British she offered tea and bikkies to the soldiers.
They didn't find anything but agreed it was probably caused by an unexploded bomb. However they thought that it must have
skipped into a neighbours garden and been taken away. Snag is to this theory is that when my mother found this object she showed it
to the neighbours and they had a chat about the war as they also lived there at the time. They never said anything about a bomb being
taken away but they did remember that air raid.

I wonder if it had been put into the bomb to sabotage it and so prevent it exploding, I won't say what a cousin of mine said,
suffice to say it was a lot more gruesome and IMHO rather silly.

http://i1153.photobucket.com/albums/p505/Nervousslf/img035.jpg (http://s1153.photobucket.com/user/Nervousslf/media/img035.jpg.html)

[BEagle]

According to the Internet, that is a German 1936 May Day badge. There should be a manufacturer's name on the reverse side, togther with the attachment pin.

Presumably these things were handed out to employees?

[Nervous SLF]

The pin has rotted away, the medallion appears to be made of a light alloy. The name on the back is, as far as I can see, M. Kutsch Attendurn I.W.

We found out in 1980 that it was to raise money for the Nazis the mystery is how it ended up in our garden in what is strongly thought
to be a bomb crater from WW2

[lasernigel]

Keep the stories coming Danny, so enjoyable.

I remember those bikes vividly, mainly for the same reason as Chugalug.
My Uncle had a butchers shop in Blackpool. I started at an early age gutting chickens and boning out lamb breasts. I progressed as I got older. As soon as I was big enough to ride the errand bike that was it. Off to hotels, guest houses and homes laden down with meat and eggs. Winter was the only time I got caught out going down the hill on Northgate, where I skidded and came off. Not many eggs left btw! For that I got the princely sum of 2/6d on a Saturday. Plus tips if I was lucky.
Sorry for the departure...back to you fliers.:ok:

[BEagle]

Nervous SLF, that would be M Kutsch of Attendorn, a light engineering works situated in a small town in North-Rhein Westphalia.

?v=JY0TSWcNy64

[Tim Mills]

Reference Episcopi, Danny, afraid not, I was there '65/'66 after a great tour on 32 squadron Canberras down the road at Akrotiri. Main role nuclear deterrence, so lots of LABS bombing practice on Episcopi range tossing 25 pounders into the Med, but also iron bomb practice, both "left, left,right, steady,back a bit", and shallow dive, not as steep as yours though! And low level rocketing with 2" rockets, 50 feet level, on what is now Larnaca airport. Great fun.

On another matter, I seem to remember a post a while back mentioning bomb trolley go carts not being launched down the hill in to Binbrook village; probably one of Geriaviators' lovely stories. Made me think, hills, in Lincolnshire, oxymoron surely! During my years in RAF Lincolnshire I never saw a hill; but then I only saw the south of the county, never posted to the craggy north!

See you later, as they say in this neck of the woods.

[Danny42C]

Tim Mills,

Found a spot height of 124 ft near Binbrook airfield (seems as if it was at the top of "Ash Hill"). Yes, Geriaviator and his fellow juvenile delinquents did launch scrap bomb trollies down the hill to Binbrook village (the mind boggles !).

As you say, the rest of the county was flat as a pancake.

Cheers, Danny.

[Bob Wyer]

Safety Heights still apply even in Lincs!!!
Wolds Top at 168 metres (551 feet) above sea level (TF121964).
Others include:
Castcliffe Hill - TF301735 - 139 metres (456 ft)
Gaumer Hill - TF289778 - 129 metres (423 ft)
Meagram Top - TF392789 - 58 metres (190 ft)
Warden Hill - TF347737 - 113 metres (371 ft)
Tetford Hill - TF326761 - 142 metres (466 ft)
Hoe Hill - TF308731 - 127 metres (417 ft)

[exgroundcrew]

Not forgetting Lincoln Cathedral now only 83 metres but was 160 metres before the spire fell down