What a Way to Go — 1950’s Style
Thread Starter
Fareastdriver
You lucky beggar!
RMS 'Edinburgh Castle' 1951 to South Africa for Rhodesia
Mind you for someone who'd never been out of the UK before, my experience of travelling Cabin Class on the RMS 'Edinburgh Castle' was absolute luxury, especially when one considers the the UK of 1951 was still locked in austerity mode. I also managed to strike up a shipboard romance - but that's another story!
Anyway a couple more snippets from my album:
Enjoy - and marvel that this is how the RAF travelled in 1951!
I was more fortunate than Warmtoast going to Rhodsia and back. My dad was a Flight Lieutenant so we went First Class.
RMS 'Edinburgh Castle' 1951 to South Africa for Rhodesia
Mind you for someone who'd never been out of the UK before, my experience of travelling Cabin Class on the RMS 'Edinburgh Castle' was absolute luxury, especially when one considers the the UK of 1951 was still locked in austerity mode. I also managed to strike up a shipboard romance - but that's another story!
Anyway a couple more snippets from my album:
Enjoy - and marvel that this is how the RAF travelled in 1951!
I didn’t have a camera when I was ten so I cannot match Warmtoast’s memories.
In those days husbands who were posted to Rhodesia went out their first. When they had found suitable married accommodation then they could call for their wife and family as there were no married quarters available. In my case we, my mother, sister and I went out about three months after my father in August 1950.
Off we went on the Stirling Castle, as mentioned, First Class. My mother and sister in one cabin and me in all my glory in another all by myself. There was a small outdoor pool for the plebs but in First there was another, larger, pool in the gymnasium on ‘A’ deck. Not that you could do much; there seemed to be a non stop tidal wave going from one side to the other. There was also an artificial horse with a full size body and head, which replicated the walk, trot and gallop of the real thing so as to keep the landed gentry in riding practice.
The first week was great fun for a ten year old and judging by the number of times I was lead out of some no-go area it was lucky I wasn’t lost overboard. A short stop at Madeira and the long trip down the Atlantic. After that it was a bit boring; wave at the Union Castle liner going the other way and the crossing the line ceremony was the only thing that happened. Surprisingly the only other service family travelling was a navy family going to Simonstown in South Africa.
On arrival at Cape Town things were organised. All our luggage was taken care of and we were taken to the base of Table Mountain and then rode the cablecar to the top. That evening we boarded the train for the three day trip up to Bulawayo.
The train was magic! There was an ENORMOUS engine up front. A Garrett 4-6-2-2-6-4 with a massive water tank, cow catchers and all the carriages were made of wood with balconies at either end, just like in the wild west films. We were all together this time. The sleeping compartment had two sofas in green leather with two drop down bunks overhead. First class was down the back of the train. The front was fourth class, ie blacks, and they got all the soot and cinders coming from the engine.
I spent most of the time on a balcony watching South Africa go by but after a day or so the scenery changed as we entered the Kalahari Desert and Bechuanaland.
Here was poverty with a capital ‘P’. Every time we stopped the train would be lined with children, most with nothing more than a loin cloth, begging for money. There was one beggar there, probably blind, being guided by a little boy. He was clad only in a loin cloth which was about a foot long. It still wasn’t enough to hide his tackle and I remember my mother being transfixed by this with a look of absolute amazement on her face.
The scenery changed to central African bush as we entered Rhodesia and arrived in Bulawayo. There my father met us and we all climbed into the family's first ever car. A 1935 Chevrolet. Reg No G74.
In those days husbands who were posted to Rhodesia went out their first. When they had found suitable married accommodation then they could call for their wife and family as there were no married quarters available. In my case we, my mother, sister and I went out about three months after my father in August 1950.
Off we went on the Stirling Castle, as mentioned, First Class. My mother and sister in one cabin and me in all my glory in another all by myself. There was a small outdoor pool for the plebs but in First there was another, larger, pool in the gymnasium on ‘A’ deck. Not that you could do much; there seemed to be a non stop tidal wave going from one side to the other. There was also an artificial horse with a full size body and head, which replicated the walk, trot and gallop of the real thing so as to keep the landed gentry in riding practice.
The first week was great fun for a ten year old and judging by the number of times I was lead out of some no-go area it was lucky I wasn’t lost overboard. A short stop at Madeira and the long trip down the Atlantic. After that it was a bit boring; wave at the Union Castle liner going the other way and the crossing the line ceremony was the only thing that happened. Surprisingly the only other service family travelling was a navy family going to Simonstown in South Africa.
On arrival at Cape Town things were organised. All our luggage was taken care of and we were taken to the base of Table Mountain and then rode the cablecar to the top. That evening we boarded the train for the three day trip up to Bulawayo.
The train was magic! There was an ENORMOUS engine up front. A Garrett 4-6-2-2-6-4 with a massive water tank, cow catchers and all the carriages were made of wood with balconies at either end, just like in the wild west films. We were all together this time. The sleeping compartment had two sofas in green leather with two drop down bunks overhead. First class was down the back of the train. The front was fourth class, ie blacks, and they got all the soot and cinders coming from the engine.
I spent most of the time on a balcony watching South Africa go by but after a day or so the scenery changed as we entered the Kalahari Desert and Bechuanaland.
Here was poverty with a capital ‘P’. Every time we stopped the train would be lined with children, most with nothing more than a loin cloth, begging for money. There was one beggar there, probably blind, being guided by a little boy. He was clad only in a loin cloth which was about a foot long. It still wasn’t enough to hide his tackle and I remember my mother being transfixed by this with a look of absolute amazement on her face.
The scenery changed to central African bush as we entered Rhodesia and arrived in Bulawayo. There my father met us and we all climbed into the family's first ever car. A 1935 Chevrolet. Reg No G74.
Last edited by Fareastdriver; 26th Jun 2011 at 08:24.
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My first posting overseas is well and truly etched into my memory. The helmsman with a solid grip on the wheel in rough weather; the grimy stokers shovelling coal into the rapacious engines; the cabin boy making his way unsteadily for'ards with a tray of tea things.
Ah yes, there was something wonderful about a trip on a British United VC10.
(I did do a couple of steamship trips to/from Singers though when my dad was out there - HMT Dunera)
Ah yes, there was something wonderful about a trip on a British United VC10.
(I did do a couple of steamship trips to/from Singers though when my dad was out there - HMT Dunera)
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Trans Atlantic travel
In 1954, after pilot training in Canada our course returned to the UK onboard the Canadian Pacific ship Empress of France. We flew to Canada on a BOAC charter flight in 1953 but some time in 1954 it was decided to change from air to sea travel. I believe this continued for the next few years until the piot/nav training wound down.
In 1961 I was fortunate to sail from Aden to the UK on the Oxfordshire. It was the Oxfordshire's final voyage as a troopship east of Suez
In 1961 I was fortunate to sail from Aden to the UK on the Oxfordshire. It was the Oxfordshire's final voyage as a troopship east of Suez
A 1935 Chevrolet did not have a boot. There was a luggage rack that folded down and everything was loaded onto that. It coped easily with two shipping trunks and a couple of suitcases and the first task was to go shopping. A butchers shop was the first requirement so in we went. We had escaped the worst of rationing because we had been at Aldergrove in Northern Ireland for three years but my mother was staggered when we walked in the shop. It was wall to wall with joints of every type of meat hanging from hooks. Having loaded up with what would have been a months supply of meat in England we then proceeded to Meikles, Rhodesia’s premier retail and hotel chain. We had seen supermarkets in American films but this was the first time we had been in one. It was fantastic; all you had to do was wander around with a trolley and fill it full of goodies. Unfortunately most of my goodies were unloaded from mine before we reached the checkout.
Bulawayo had been planned as a modern city way back in the 1920’s. It had a modern block arrangement and the streets were incredibly wide. Cars could be parked face in to the pavement, two lanes of traffic, centre parking across the middle of the road with another two lanes plus face in parking the other side. When it was planned the requirement was to be able to turn a Full Span of Oxen (16 or 8 pairs) around in one movement. The oxen had gone but the ease of parking remained.
We punched out into the bush up the Salisbury road. Twenty five miles out of Bulawayo we arrived at an establishment known as Ntabazinduna Mission. This was right in the middle of the sticks. It consisted of a Presbyterian church, house, school and a few hangers on. How we managed to live in this place was purely by chance.
Just across the road and railway was a relief landing strip for Heany called White’s Run. My father had an inexperienced student who he took up there to give him some circuit practice. Having established that he was not going to kill anybody he sent him off solo and retired to a hut where the ambulance and fire tender crews used when there was nobody around. A Rev Williamson, Pastor of said Ntabizinduna Mission came in and asked him whether he knew of anybody who could look after his house whilst he went to the UK on leave. My father jumped at this, finding accommodation was almost impossible and that is why we could go out and join him.
The house was extensively furnished and had every convenience except electric light. There were light switches in every room but this relied on a bank of batteries in a shed that required careful husbandry with recharging from a wind generator. This came under the heading of ‘far too difficult’ so we were stuck with Tilley lamps. The telephone was a party line and the operator called the necessary number by the number of rings on the bell; we were on four rings. My mother was more than happy with the facilities available so after a late dinner I settled down to my first night listening to the sounds of the wildlife of Africa.
Bulawayo had been planned as a modern city way back in the 1920’s. It had a modern block arrangement and the streets were incredibly wide. Cars could be parked face in to the pavement, two lanes of traffic, centre parking across the middle of the road with another two lanes plus face in parking the other side. When it was planned the requirement was to be able to turn a Full Span of Oxen (16 or 8 pairs) around in one movement. The oxen had gone but the ease of parking remained.
We punched out into the bush up the Salisbury road. Twenty five miles out of Bulawayo we arrived at an establishment known as Ntabazinduna Mission. This was right in the middle of the sticks. It consisted of a Presbyterian church, house, school and a few hangers on. How we managed to live in this place was purely by chance.
Just across the road and railway was a relief landing strip for Heany called White’s Run. My father had an inexperienced student who he took up there to give him some circuit practice. Having established that he was not going to kill anybody he sent him off solo and retired to a hut where the ambulance and fire tender crews used when there was nobody around. A Rev Williamson, Pastor of said Ntabizinduna Mission came in and asked him whether he knew of anybody who could look after his house whilst he went to the UK on leave. My father jumped at this, finding accommodation was almost impossible and that is why we could go out and join him.
The house was extensively furnished and had every convenience except electric light. There were light switches in every room but this relied on a bank of batteries in a shed that required careful husbandry with recharging from a wind generator. This came under the heading of ‘far too difficult’ so we were stuck with Tilley lamps. The telephone was a party line and the operator called the necessary number by the number of rings on the bell; we were on four rings. My mother was more than happy with the facilities available so after a late dinner I settled down to my first night listening to the sounds of the wildlife of Africa.
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Some of us had it a bit different!
1st 'overseas' posting and 1st trip outside of the UK, a Beverley flight to Istres in 1957.
A trip home on leave was overnight on SNCF and a 'voyage' across the Channel.
It wasn't very far, but it was a great experience for a 20 year old
1st 'overseas' posting and 1st trip outside of the UK, a Beverley flight to Istres in 1957.
A trip home on leave was overnight on SNCF and a 'voyage' across the Channel.
It wasn't very far, but it was a great experience for a 20 year old
Ntzinbinduna was government land so it was populated fairly thinly by the Matabele tribe. The mission school was on holiday at the time so the area around the mission was almost deserted. We had two Africans, a houseboy and a gardener. The house boy did the cleaning, washing and ironing, something my mother had never experienced before, and the gardener looked after the vegetable patch and the water supply. There were no seasons for English vegetables; it was always warm and all they needed was water so there was always everything that was needed. There was the traditional wind driven water pump and the gardener’s job was to top up a large water tank by the house every time the wind blew.
As the area was, albeit, thinly populated there was no game around so walking into a Lion or Leopard was not on the cards. The inevitable hyenas were there, one could hear them during the night scavenging around. The most dangerous thing to meet was a bad tempered ostrich; a hangover from the days when there was big money in big hats. I had never seen anthills before so watching endless ranks of ants marching from place to another was fascinating. The very first day I found what looked like a used elephant’s condom, not that I knew what one looked like and I took it home. The houseboy pointed out that it was a cobra skin; snakes periodically shed their skin because it doesn’t grow with them and I had picked one up. My mother went berserk and wanted to keep me in the house out of harms way but the houseboy told her that people make so much noise when they are walking that the snakes get out of the way.
(Unless they’re asleep, or shedding their skin.)
There were a couple of donkeys and one day the gardener got out a basic head harness and a blanket and let me have a go. It was easy; you kicked both your heels into it and it went forward and by pulling on the harness it stopped. I was now fully independent, I could now explore wherever this donkey wanted to go. It was a good idea, really, because the donkey was bush wise so it wouldn’t be going into places where one could come to any harm.
There was a large walled water tank near the pump about five-foot high and thirty feet across. One day this was filled when a stiff breeze was blowing. I got into my swimming costume and jumped into the brilliant clear water. It was ruddy freezing cold! I came out the other side like a dolphin at a water show.
We were not going to stay there long because (1) the Rev Williamson was coming back and (2) we had to go to school; the mission school did not count. When the Rev came back he was with us, or vice versa, for a week and during that time we were entertained at different schools that were part of his parish. He was better off than a Flt Lt, he had a 1948 Ford Coupe Imp.
We then upped sticks and moved to another place as tenants/house sitters in a suburb called Famona in Bulawayo.
As the area was, albeit, thinly populated there was no game around so walking into a Lion or Leopard was not on the cards. The inevitable hyenas were there, one could hear them during the night scavenging around. The most dangerous thing to meet was a bad tempered ostrich; a hangover from the days when there was big money in big hats. I had never seen anthills before so watching endless ranks of ants marching from place to another was fascinating. The very first day I found what looked like a used elephant’s condom, not that I knew what one looked like and I took it home. The houseboy pointed out that it was a cobra skin; snakes periodically shed their skin because it doesn’t grow with them and I had picked one up. My mother went berserk and wanted to keep me in the house out of harms way but the houseboy told her that people make so much noise when they are walking that the snakes get out of the way.
(Unless they’re asleep, or shedding their skin.)
There were a couple of donkeys and one day the gardener got out a basic head harness and a blanket and let me have a go. It was easy; you kicked both your heels into it and it went forward and by pulling on the harness it stopped. I was now fully independent, I could now explore wherever this donkey wanted to go. It was a good idea, really, because the donkey was bush wise so it wouldn’t be going into places where one could come to any harm.
There was a large walled water tank near the pump about five-foot high and thirty feet across. One day this was filled when a stiff breeze was blowing. I got into my swimming costume and jumped into the brilliant clear water. It was ruddy freezing cold! I came out the other side like a dolphin at a water show.
We were not going to stay there long because (1) the Rev Williamson was coming back and (2) we had to go to school; the mission school did not count. When the Rev came back he was with us, or vice versa, for a week and during that time we were entertained at different schools that were part of his parish. He was better off than a Flt Lt, he had a 1948 Ford Coupe Imp.
We then upped sticks and moved to another place as tenants/house sitters in a suburb called Famona in Bulawayo.
I could now go to school; Milton Junior was the one. I was equipped with the standard school attire; white shirt, grey shorts and socks and a trilby hat with the school band around it. A bus at the end of the road took me and my sister to our separate establishments. There was no problem about mixing with the existing pupils, a third of them were children of UK immigrants.
We were not going to stay long in this house and the follow on was still very difficult. Fortunately in my sister’s class was the daughter of somebody who had just built a house on his property so it was arranged that we would move into that. It wasn’t furnished so we had to get some second hand furniture to make do and it wasn’t finished; no internal doors or ceilings. The door were sheets hanging on curtain wire and when it rained heavily on the corrugated tin roof you couldn’t hear yourself think.
It was about four miles out of town at Glengarry so I had to have a bicycle, my first. 14 guineas bought a new Hercules Sports with drop handlebars. My sister didn’t need one; she was getting a lift with her friend. Boys were expected to use a push bike.
One Friday my father was later than usual coming back from work. I then saw the cloud of dust as the Chevvy came down the road and turned into the drive. It undershot the turn and collected the brick pier that the gates were going to hang on to. There was great bang and then a pile of collapsed masonry and dust. We all, including the landowner, rushed out to see the damage. The Chev was untouched; 3/8steel bumpers were attached by springs direct to the chassis and so it was unmarked. My father was in remarkably good humour about it too; probably helped by the amount of Castle Lager he had consumed before coming home. The landowner was not so. He was quite upset about it and gave us till Monday to get out. My father was still very cheerful about it. He had been celebrating with a couple of others as they had each been allocated one of the new married quarters at RAF Heany.
That weekend we moved.
We were not going to stay long in this house and the follow on was still very difficult. Fortunately in my sister’s class was the daughter of somebody who had just built a house on his property so it was arranged that we would move into that. It wasn’t furnished so we had to get some second hand furniture to make do and it wasn’t finished; no internal doors or ceilings. The door were sheets hanging on curtain wire and when it rained heavily on the corrugated tin roof you couldn’t hear yourself think.
It was about four miles out of town at Glengarry so I had to have a bicycle, my first. 14 guineas bought a new Hercules Sports with drop handlebars. My sister didn’t need one; she was getting a lift with her friend. Boys were expected to use a push bike.
One Friday my father was later than usual coming back from work. I then saw the cloud of dust as the Chevvy came down the road and turned into the drive. It undershot the turn and collected the brick pier that the gates were going to hang on to. There was great bang and then a pile of collapsed masonry and dust. We all, including the landowner, rushed out to see the damage. The Chev was untouched; 3/8steel bumpers were attached by springs direct to the chassis and so it was unmarked. My father was in remarkably good humour about it too; probably helped by the amount of Castle Lager he had consumed before coming home. The landowner was not so. He was quite upset about it and gave us till Monday to get out. My father was still very cheerful about it. He had been celebrating with a couple of others as they had each been allocated one of the new married quarters at RAF Heany.
That weekend we moved.
Last edited by Fareastdriver; 11th Jul 2011 at 18:15.
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Farelf troopship
... Such an interesting post and superb photos WT.
I too was lucky to experience 4 weeks aboard the Dunera in the
late Summer of 1951 - We were R.signals - RM COMMANDOS and RAF en route to Singapore and Malaya. Soon after sailing from Southampton an announcement went out calling for musicians - Being a grade 3 amateur trumpet player soon found myself amdidst a bevy of skilled RAF musicians - spending most of the voyage playing to the officers sergeants and their families - thus relieving us the tedium of ships chores - and with the added benefit of almost unlimited free beer despite our renderings from battered instruments that appear to have served countless squaddies over the years. It would be great to hear once again from any of those RAF musicians that sailed on the Dunera that summer. Thanks again WT for bringing back great memories.
...
I too was lucky to experience 4 weeks aboard the Dunera in the
late Summer of 1951 - We were R.signals - RM COMMANDOS and RAF en route to Singapore and Malaya. Soon after sailing from Southampton an announcement went out calling for musicians - Being a grade 3 amateur trumpet player soon found myself amdidst a bevy of skilled RAF musicians - spending most of the voyage playing to the officers sergeants and their families - thus relieving us the tedium of ships chores - and with the added benefit of almost unlimited free beer despite our renderings from battered instruments that appear to have served countless squaddies over the years. It would be great to hear once again from any of those RAF musicians that sailed on the Dunera that summer. Thanks again WT for bringing back great memories.
...
We took two things from Glengarry to Heany. A cat that had adopted us soon after we arrived and our landlord’s ex-houseboy, whom he had just fired for laughing at the wreckage the Chev had left. We took him on because Mrs Landlord assured us he was one of the best houseboys going, and she was right.
I went on the first trip in the car there but when we came back I had to ride my bike, some twelve miles. The problem with riding on the main road was that they were mainly strip roads. Strip roads were merely two 18 inch tarmac strips set about a car wheel track apart. Driving along one used both lines but to pass opposite traffic involved moving over so that the offside wheels were on the left strip and the others in the dirt on the side. You then passed each other with about six inches clearance. With a bicycle you had to listen for somebody coming behind and get off the strip before they arrived. It was quite a pleasant ride; left at the main road, over the Induna River, up the hill passing the cement works, then Glasby’s Garage and turn right off the road to Heany.
The land the quarters had been built on had just been bulldozed from the bush. The houses had been shutter built. A foundation raft was put in; the moulds for the walls were then erected and concrete poured. The window sills were open so a couple of buckets trimmed them off. It was given a week to cure and then the moulds were removed, the window frames door frames and roof put in and on and the whole thing rendered and plastered. They are still all there some sixty years later.
Everything was brand new. When we took it over the carpets were wrapped in rolls, the three piece suite covered in cardboard and brown paper and there were boxes of everything a house needed. It was like Xmas unpacking and pulling out crockery, bed linen, saucepans and cutlery. The kitchen had a brand new REFRIGERATOR. We had brought some supplies with us and as I was loading the fridge I dropped a packet of liver. Our adopted cat just happened to be within range so it pounced and she had the lot in about fifteen seconds. From that day on when you opened the fridge the cat, whether it was in the room or half-a-mile away, would be at its door within two nanoseconds.
For Fesius, our new houseboy, it was heaven. Out the back he had his own khia. A small house with a toilet cum shower, a small kitchen and a 12X8 room with a bed airman and a large and small locker; absolute luxury.
The Air Force had organised a school there so we had a headmaster brought out from the UK and the other two teachers were qualified wives. Despite it being the English curriculum we had to follow the Rhodesian pattern of staying in primary until one was twelve, a year later than the UK. They had built a large NAAFI on the camp and there was a swimming pool and a cinema so there was enough to keep one occupied.
A big problem was dust, what with the building work and dirt roads everything used to get covered; this would only improve when the rainy season came along.
I went on the first trip in the car there but when we came back I had to ride my bike, some twelve miles. The problem with riding on the main road was that they were mainly strip roads. Strip roads were merely two 18 inch tarmac strips set about a car wheel track apart. Driving along one used both lines but to pass opposite traffic involved moving over so that the offside wheels were on the left strip and the others in the dirt on the side. You then passed each other with about six inches clearance. With a bicycle you had to listen for somebody coming behind and get off the strip before they arrived. It was quite a pleasant ride; left at the main road, over the Induna River, up the hill passing the cement works, then Glasby’s Garage and turn right off the road to Heany.
The land the quarters had been built on had just been bulldozed from the bush. The houses had been shutter built. A foundation raft was put in; the moulds for the walls were then erected and concrete poured. The window sills were open so a couple of buckets trimmed them off. It was given a week to cure and then the moulds were removed, the window frames door frames and roof put in and on and the whole thing rendered and plastered. They are still all there some sixty years later.
Everything was brand new. When we took it over the carpets were wrapped in rolls, the three piece suite covered in cardboard and brown paper and there were boxes of everything a house needed. It was like Xmas unpacking and pulling out crockery, bed linen, saucepans and cutlery. The kitchen had a brand new REFRIGERATOR. We had brought some supplies with us and as I was loading the fridge I dropped a packet of liver. Our adopted cat just happened to be within range so it pounced and she had the lot in about fifteen seconds. From that day on when you opened the fridge the cat, whether it was in the room or half-a-mile away, would be at its door within two nanoseconds.
For Fesius, our new houseboy, it was heaven. Out the back he had his own khia. A small house with a toilet cum shower, a small kitchen and a 12X8 room with a bed airman and a large and small locker; absolute luxury.
The Air Force had organised a school there so we had a headmaster brought out from the UK and the other two teachers were qualified wives. Despite it being the English curriculum we had to follow the Rhodesian pattern of staying in primary until one was twelve, a year later than the UK. They had built a large NAAFI on the camp and there was a swimming pool and a cinema so there was enough to keep one occupied.
A big problem was dust, what with the building work and dirt roads everything used to get covered; this would only improve when the rainy season came along.
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UNION CASTLE - WINDSOR CASTLE
That took me back to 1977 . . .
I sailed on the Windsor Castle in March 1977, as I was emigrating to Rhodesia. The trip was paid for by the Rhodesian government and I took an XJ6 with me to drive from Durban to Salisbury.
We called in at all the usual ports Southampton, Las Palmas, Cape Town, Port Elizabeth, East London and Durban. It was about the same time as the two 747s (KLM & PanAm) collided at Tenerife.
The trip was enlivened by a diversion to rendezvous with a cargo ship whose 1st mate had acute appendices. Fortunately we had the ships doctor, a Rhodesian Army doctor and a Scottish surgeon on board. The medical team had to operate as the patient was in a serious state and could not wait till we reached Cape Town. All went well and he was taken off by stretcher to a hospital as soon as we docked.
From Cape Town to Durban, many South Africans came on board for a cruise to Durban. The rumour was that Ian Smith the Prime Minister of Rhodesia was on board, but manifested as 'Mr Chancellor'.
Great memories of a great voyage. My dive up to Salisbury was a great trip to!
I sailed on the Windsor Castle in March 1977, as I was emigrating to Rhodesia. The trip was paid for by the Rhodesian government and I took an XJ6 with me to drive from Durban to Salisbury.
We called in at all the usual ports Southampton, Las Palmas, Cape Town, Port Elizabeth, East London and Durban. It was about the same time as the two 747s (KLM & PanAm) collided at Tenerife.
The trip was enlivened by a diversion to rendezvous with a cargo ship whose 1st mate had acute appendices. Fortunately we had the ships doctor, a Rhodesian Army doctor and a Scottish surgeon on board. The medical team had to operate as the patient was in a serious state and could not wait till we reached Cape Town. All went well and he was taken off by stretcher to a hospital as soon as we docked.
From Cape Town to Durban, many South Africans came on board for a cruise to Durban. The rumour was that Ian Smith the Prime Minister of Rhodesia was on board, but manifested as 'Mr Chancellor'.
Great memories of a great voyage. My dive up to Salisbury was a great trip to!
Thread Starter
What great stories and fantastic colour pictures, any more please ?
Not at the moment.
However, I've been toying with the idea of posting my memories of my earlier service between 1951 and 1953 at RAF Thornhill (5 FTS), S. Rhodesia here, but with 159 scanned photos plus annotations from my album describing my time at 5 FTS it will be a major task and possibly overkill - but keep watching - we shall see.
FWIW I gave a selection of my S. Rhodesia photos to the (DORA?) archivist at the RAF Museum at Hendon a couple of year's ago. He was quite chuffed as apparently the museum have/had very little about RAF training in the Colony whether during the war or afterwards.
WT
Thread Starter
what camera and film were you using in those days
Similar on the way back, but this time I'd upgraded to a Rolleiflex. Any square photos were using the camera's full 2¼" x 2¼" format whilst oblong shots were with the aid of a 35mm film adaptor that let me use 35mm film, mainly Kodachrome.
Addendum:
Large format (120 size film, twelve 2¼" x 2¼" negatives or transparancies per film) was mainly Kodak Ektachrome and sometimes a local (Singapore) rubbish film that faded very raipdly.
35mm 36-transparancies per film Kodachrome was brilliant and even today the colours are as vivid and vibrant today as when they were taken some 55-years ago. An example can be seen here: http://www.pprune.org/aviation-histo...request-5.html (post #98).
FWIW Kodak finally ceased making Kodachrome film earlier this year bowing to the digital revolution.
Last edited by Warmtoast; 7th Apr 2012 at 15:33. Reason: To add an addendum
Join Date: Feb 2012
Location: Cape Town / UK / Europe
Posts: 728
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I throughly enjoyed reading all this and looking at the photos. What wonderful memories and specially for me, those of South Africa and Rhodesia. I sailed to Cape Town from Southampton on the Pendennis Castle in 1975 and ended up some while later in Rhodesia and briefly in Malawi before going back to South Africa via Kenya.
I'll post some of my photos later.
Thank you!
I'll post some of my photos later.
Thank you!
Warmtoast,
to quote the immortal Bard 'if twer done it was best done soonest'.
I for one would be very interested in you pics and memories. The best thread by far is 'Getting a pilots brevet in WW2 ' (started by the late much missed Cliffnemo) and your post war memories would dovetail nicely.
to quote the immortal Bard 'if twer done it was best done soonest'.
I for one would be very interested in you pics and memories. The best thread by far is 'Getting a pilots brevet in WW2 ' (started by the late much missed Cliffnemo) and your post war memories would dovetail nicely.